Response to "Things Are Changing-Have Changed"

My pesky swan set up her last post (which will counter-intuitively appear on the Blog as the post following this one) to not be able to be commented on. This will not keep me from responding though (I too have the capacity to post here:)

Dear, yes, we are changing......both of us. And as I push on to 60 years old it seems that there are more "changes" all the time. As we age there will be more and more of them.

Each change is an ending. It is also a beginning. You and I are together for the remainder of our days with T. That is unending. We are not spending the remainder of our lives mourning what was. We are going to live and enjoy our future by living in the present.


As for the question of what you are to be called, let me clear this up for you. You are swan, my slave, the one who had my initials carved into her back, and who is mine always and all ways, and whom I love. That has not changed. It will not change. It is unchanging!!


As for SM, if you think your inability to enjoy spankings is about to exempt you from them.........all I can say is NICE TRY! Dear I am a sadist. While it pleases me occasionally to be sensitive to whether or not you are gratified by a spanking or whatever, I often absolutely love it if you find your sessions quite difficult. I absolutely do not session you as we once did, out of concern for health and safety, but we are in no way ending this aspect of our expression of intimate connection, excitement, power exchange, and our love.


I realize you are wrapping your self around the concept of your aging, but you are still mine, and you will continue to live as I see fit.


If any of you wanted to respond to swan's post "Things Are Changing-Have Changed" but were prevented from commenting by her block, feel free to do so here. I will assure you she will read and respond to each of them.

swan I love you, and cherish you, and own you, and will for as long as I am able. There are no changes that will effect that in the slightest.

Tom

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

Things are Changing -- Have Changed

"Things are changing -- Have changed."

That's what He told me late last night as we sat, together, on the patio enjoying a lovely, late summer evening. He's right of course. It is a verdict that I have pushed away; a judgement that I've tried to avoid hearing for a really long time. But, after yet another in-session meltdown yesterday morning, and the awful, difficult, painfully distant, and scary hours that inevitably ensue, the truth was simply inescapable. Fifty-three is not forty-six. When it comes to SM, I am not able to do what I could do a few years ago. I still have the cravings, and I still have the desire to please Him, but I don't end up feeling "fulfilled" (His word), or turned on, or sexy, or powerful, or even successful most of the time. I feel hurt. I feel exhausted. I feel sad.

I have battled and struggled to try and get that old feeling back, but it isn't there. Just as Yoda advised Luke Skywalker in Star Wars, " Do or do not. There is no try." All that trying gets me basically nowhere. I might as well not have bothered. I remember when He used to beat the living daylights out of me, and I'd roar with the energy, and float on the endorphin mix. No more. Hardly ever happens anymore. I hang on, and I grit my teeth, and I try to remember to breathe, and I work really hard to stay put and be good. Then, usually, we make love, and, if I'm really good at it, He achieves release. Not me. Not more than now and then -- every few months maybe. I can't ever avoid, for very long, the sense that there is no real payback, or at least not enough of a payback, and that tends to bring up feelings of anger, sadness, and resentment. Not a recipe for a good scene, and not something that I am able to hide from Him for very long. And He loves me, so setting off that chain of emotions isn't something that He chooses to do most of the time.


Harder still -- He hasn't changed. All of His drives, desires, and fantasies are still exactly what they were "back then."

So. There is love. There is our undeniable, unshakable, unbreakable connection. I will, of course, continue to care for Him, and serve Him, in all the ways I have for years. I will cook His meals, and take care of His laundry, and manage His pills. I will handle the household finances, and make sure that the C-Pap is cleaned and set up every single night. I'll keep Him apprised of where I am and when I'll be home (or gone), just as I always have. I'll obey and I'll defer and I'll listen and speak with the same kind of respect. I'll be His, when and as He chooses to have that be the reality, but it isn't ever going to be what it was.

All of that seems just about like what any wife would say -- except, of course, I'm not "a wife." It surely doesn't seem that there is much there that would entitle me to claim the title of "slave" as I have for the last number of years. That label feels dishonest to me. So, I don't know what anyone will call me from here on out -- assuming anyone feels the need to "call" me anything at all. There's just no easy label for the place that my life has come to.

I imagine, there will still be words to write here, but it is time to acknowledge the truth. There may still be some BDSM in our world, but I don't know what that is going to look like, and I don't have any idea what I'll have to say about it all, and I can't imagine that it will be of any interest to anyone who is really "into" the lifestyle. We'll go forward, as family. Whatever else there is, will be seen in time.

swan/sue

Mmmmmmm... Blindfolds

We were finishing dinner with a bit of dessert: fat free, no sugar added, vanilla frozen yogurt. I still had some of my wine from dinner, and I don't like to mix wine and "ice cream." So, I was busily working my way to the bottom of my glass of Pinot Noir, anticipating the frozen confection sitting on the table in front of me. Which, of course, led to some teasing from the family.

Himself suggested that I could simply put the wine on the ice cream -- a pretty revolting idea, actually. No thanks. I don't even want to contemplate the idea of a good, sturdy, honest red wine poured onto vanilla ice cream, or even vanilla frozen yogurt. Except that it reminded me of the days, a long time ago, when I was sometimes prone to pour Creme d' Menthe on vanilla ice cream -- and that was yummy!

So, Master suggested that T can make us a sugar free "version" of Creme d' Menthe. It's true. There's just one problem. The mixture that T whips up is the most vibrant, glaring, neon shade of green. It is just scary!

Well, that minor impediment didn't dissuade Him at all. "We'll just get you a blindfold," He said.

And -- that's where I stopped being part of the conversation in any valid or viable sense, because in my head, I was exploring the whole idea of blindfolds. I like blindfolds. At least, I seem to think / remember that I like blindfolds...

It isn't a part of our usual play scene. I've been blindfolded a few times in dungeons. There is something sweet and thrilling about that elimination of the sense of sight. I can sink into the warm darkness, and it becomes easier to flow with whatever is happening. There are fewer distractions, less input, a whole lot more ability to let go and simply go with the energy.

Mmmmmmm... blindfolds.

swan

At The Heart of Everything

I wear the BDSM emblem. So does He. So does T. I realize that, within the community, there is not complete agreement about the symbol and the propriety of using it to represent our community. It isn't my intent to address or attempt to reconcile that. For me, the symbol suffices.

I've heard many interpretations of the meaning of the triskelion motif. If you poll any group of lifestylers who use the symbol, you'll get a range of ideas:

It stands for the largest divisions in the practice of BDSM -- bondage/discipline, dominance/submission, and sadism/masochism.

It stands for the sexual/gender variations within our community: homosexual/heterosexual/transgendered and (or) bisexual.

It stands for the underlying principals upon which BDSM relationships are founded: "duty, honor, obedience," or "respect, honor, obedience."

I, personally, ascribe the latter set of meanings to the pendant that I wear. When obviously vanilla people ask me about it, this is exactly what I tell them: "It reminds me that I have dedicated my life to the principals of respect, honor, and obedience."

Given that, I try to take the events and cycles of my life and use them to teach me about living that ideal. I believe that there are lessons in just about everything that comes our way, and that, on the days when things aren't exactly as I might once have dreamed them, there is still good to be garnered, and something to learn and grow from.

That has been a place where I've been diving deep in the last couple of weeks. Our relationship was placed in an enormous spotlight this summer, and the things that I took away from that have been difficult to wrestle down and find words for. I've known that it was important for me to be quiet about it until I could make some sort of sense out of it, and do it without the tinge of emotion that has accompanied the whole experience.

Some things have been painted in very clear contrast to "other" relationships which I've come to know. One of those things is that Respect is absolutely foundational to our relationship. We don't always agree. I know that may come as a surprise to some, but it is the reality. We are all mature, educated, strong-willed adults, and we have a range of ideas and opinions on a whole variety of issues. We come from different backgrounds and different perspectives, and sometimes that variance shows up. Whatever our differences of approach or opinion however, we absolutely value the person at the other end of the exchange. Agreement or disagreement doesn't become the criteria for addressing and treating each other with kindness, gentleness, and respect. There are real skills to managing an adult relationship without stepping outside the boundaries of respectfulness. We work hard at managing our language, our tone of voice, our body language, our choice of words. All of those basic communication tools reflect what is woven throughout the fabric of our lives and our values: each one of us, regardless of role or status in terms of the lifestyle is a human person of value and worth. Without that basic understanding and belief, none of the rest of this works for very long.

Or, perhaps, the first part of the triad set of commitments is "duty" rather than "respect." Duty is surely an ongoing, operational assumption in our day to day life. It isn't a glamorous word -- not at all sexy, but it is, in fact, a very real part of our commitment to one another. T and I understand the duty that we undertake to serve; to make sure that there are clean clothes, and wholesome meals, and a pleasant and rejuvenating environment for us all to live inside of. We all know that we have the absolute duty to be THERE for each other in whatever circumstance life throws our way. Hence, I had a "cheering section" for that colonoscopy business on Friday, and T and I played backup and support when we got word yesterday that His father was headed to the hospital after a fall at his home. We listen to each other and look for ways to be present and good for each other. This "triad" is built on the sure knowledge that the other parts of the family have your back no matter what is happening.

The notion of "Honor" is another facet of this. It is a word that isn't used a whole lot in our modern society. It feels almost old-fashioned. In our dynamic, it is simply the given that He is honored as the Head of our family, the Dominant, the Master. All of those terms acknowledge the role He plays and the position He holds within our lives. But it goes deeper than the role He plays. It is an honor to be part of His life, to be alive in the glow of His love, to be included in supporting who He is in the world. I know I've brought down criticism before when I have spoken of this relationship in terms that border on religious or spiritual. I understand that there are some who find it difficult to comprehend the tone that makes it seem that He is like a God in my life. I try to be sensitive to that, and not be over the top with it, but the fact is that I belong to this Man, and I am so honored that He found me, brought me to Him, and keeps me in His world.

Lastly, in the triskelion symbolism, is the notion of Obedience. For us, this is glue. It keeps everything running no matter what else is going on. I obey. T obeys. We don't have big elaborate protocols or rituals or long lists of rules. We do what He wants, and take care of what He needs, and we work really hard to live up to His expectations. We want His happiness, and when that is "there," then there is happiness here in our small kingdom. Ours is a household that runs on obedience willingly given. There is very seldom any need for discipline, punishment, or correction. We work to make sure that we are doing what He wants done. It isn't all that complicated: smart and capable adults who have agreed that it is His world, and so it is and shall be.

We tend to do all that, woven around all the stuff of our lives and our work and our families, and never give it a second thought. It becomes so routine and so much the norm, that it is really almost invisible. At least is seems invisible until we see others who do not structure their lives in that fashion. Then, oh then, the contrast is so stark that it is almost painful. It is uncomfortable and unpleasant. It is disturbing.

I've always maintained that this way of life isn't for everyone. I don't recommend it and I don't encourage people to seek it or to try and create it for themselves. After this summer, I am even more convinced that, unless you are quite special, particularly mature, committed and determined, self-aware and self-disciplined, and more than just a little lucky -- you don't stand a chance. We are special. In ways that I think I never really fully appreciated. What a marvelous, fabulous gift we've been given!

swan

About Blogroll Links

He just noticed that sometime in the last little bit of time the link to our blog has been taken down from Spanking Blog.

Wow! We've been linked from Spanking Blog from very early in the life of this endeavor. Even though, as anyone who reads us with any regularity knows, we write very sporadically about spanking per se, somehow, we were included there for a very long time.

Now, it isn't like we invest a whole lot of energy in the business of "link-whoring." Links to other places on our blog come and go, and are entirely dependent on our sense of interest and connection to the other writers that we encounter. We don't keep links up that we don't have some sort of attachment to, and we don't maintain a gigantic blogroll of sites that we don't ever read. Really, Spanking Blog is a place that He likes. I very seldom ever go there, but the link remains precisely because it is a site that He enjoys.

So. The sort of empty sadness that comes from finding no reciprocal link back is not about not understanding the situation. We know and understand that our little chronicle isn't a good fit for someplace as dedicated to "pure" spanking as Spanking Blog is. We know that the "cut" isn't personal. We know about the kinds of dynamics that drive these kinds of connections. It is just a given that a site as BIG as THE Spanking Blog sure as heck doesn't need us. Still, it feels a little like having walked a long path with a familiar companion, and then having the paths diverge. That divergence is tinged with a sense of loss.


Be sure, He'll keep tabs on the doings at Spanking Blog. That won't change. And, I imagine that none of the Spanking Blog visitors will ever miss the fact that they can't come cruising in to find out about the doings in our little corner of the world.

swan

And Then -- Yesterday

We came away from the last week with a very much deepened sense of love and attachment to one another, and a significantly heightened urge for SM play in the style that we used to enjoy. Something happened to tip us back toward one another, and that is a fabulous feeling.

We sessioned Saturday night, late. In fact it was during the women's 4x100 meter relay (if you were watching the coverage of the Olympics), and in time to allow us to watch the men's relay.

It wasn't a lengthy session. A bit of strapping and then right on to some paddling. Enough to get Him ready to make love. All finished "just in time" to let us settle in and watch our guys win gold in the men's 4x100 relay.

Sunday morning, He was ready to go again. It was, perhaps, the most intense session that I've had in a couple of years -- maybe more. He restrained me with my collar and cuffs, and a strap bound tight around my knees. It ramped up very quickly to intense toys and I was battling to stay in place (even with the restraints), and stay focused. He was right there with me, rubbing, petting, stroking -- and tracing the lines of the cutting with the blade of His knife. Something about that particular sensation -- a knife blade tracing the cutting -- settles me almost immediately.

I don't know for sure what implements were part of our session. I am sure there were a variety of paddles. I know that He used the rubber punishment strap for just a bit somewhere in the middle of things. It hits so hard and heavy, and the rubber just burns... I know I cried -- a whole pile of emotions and fears and feelings bubbling to the surface and pouring out with my tears.

At one point, He was holding onto me, with His arm wrapped around my midriff, stroking my belly as He pounded away on my ass. It was the most discordant set of sensations, and in my struggle to hold on and be good, it was overwhelming. Finally, I'd had as much conflicting sensation as I could stand, and I blurted to Him, "Don't Touch Me!" I think He offered to whip me at that point. Sometimes, my limited vocal ability in the middle of getting the tar beat out of me is a real detriment.

He didn't whip me. He did finally end it all and we made love. It was wonderful. I'm sore and still a bit bruised. We'll have to lay off this week as I have a colonoscopy scheduled for Friday, and it simply wouldn't do to have my butt looking a mess for all the doctor/nurse types.

swan

Flogging

We have a pretty wonderful collection of floggers.

Most of the floggers that we own are from DeTails Toys, made back in the days when Shelley was still making all their whips by hand. We've got matched pairs of suede and buffalo floggers, along with a matched pair of braided rawhide lace floggers. We also have a rubber flogger and a very intense, sharp and heavy, latigo flogger. The collection of also extends to a handful of quirts, and a lovely, kangaroo-hide braided cat. Too, for whatever reason, it seems that "flogging" almost always includes a variety of straps, and we've got a wide range of those as well. Several of our straps and tawses come from Hanson Paddles. Another, called "The Viper," was made by the now gone Toybag. It is an intensely fiery toy that leaves very distinctive two-pronged marks.

Master is wonderful with floggers and all the related implements. He likes to do two-handed flogging, and has a unique style that is not at all like the "Florentine" flogging that seems to be all the rage. His technique reminds me a little of "Double-Dutch" jump-rope -- it has that sort of cadence to it, and the blows fall very quickly when He's got two floggers in His hands.

Last Sunday, He set out to do a "flogging demo" for our guests. Flogging is something that we don't do very often, and I was thrilled. We set up the frame, and He worked at showing them style and techniques to use in a well-developed session. He ran up through the range of floggers, landing heavy blows on my back and my ass. He switched late in the session and worked on me with a quirt, and a few of the straps. Nothing terribly heavy. It was heavenly, although it ended too quickly as He moved from demonstrating with me to working with our company. Still, it was a joy to have had a session with all that wonderful leather.

Best of all, when everyone else was done for the night, and all had retired off to sleep, He had me put on some music, light some candles, and we began again -- just the two of us. I was so thrilled and happy to be there in that place with Him! I don't think our second session went very long, although I know I've worn those lurid "Viper" tounge marks all week long -- a very present reminder of our time together.

For me, flogging is like a present. I love the feel of the leather, and I can find a rhythm and lose myself in the ebb and flow of the sensations. I am still, a week later, smiling quietly to myself as I replay all the nuances and moments from that wonderful session.

swan

Gosh, Life is Good

Sometimes we get so wrapped up in our daily grind, that we start to lose sight of so much of what is really good about our love and our life together. When that happens, it is really good for us to take a giant step back and pay attention to the wonderful gift that is our life together.

We are people who find joy in the simplest things, and we love sharing that with one another. The pleasures of family, funny stories, the successes and struggles of our assorted careers, our shared interests in people and politics and the life of our community are all things that we share with each other and take great joy in.

We are "for" one another. We make sure that, in the midst of all the busyness of our days, we check in with one another, share bits and pieces of news, keep track of who is where -- doing what. We cheer for each other, sympathize with one another, pull for "us." We pick up the load for each other whenever that is appropriate. We shop and manage laundry and haul the trash for the whole household, and we don't keep "score." There is a "mutual" sort of care that is passed around our small circle so that none of us ever stands alone against the world.

We fight fair. It isn't that we don't ever disagree. We are just human beings, and we have human faults and failings and weaknesses. There are times (mercifully, not frequent) when we get "crosswise" with one another. We have had and will have our battles with one another. When that happens, we roll up our sleeves and sort out what happened. We talk. We sort out feelings and we examine the communications and we listen to one another. We don't bury our disagreements, and we don't let them fester. We know that, however difficult it might be, we can and must work it out between us.

We play together, and not just in the BDSM sense of the word. We find things to do that are enjoyable for us all, and we make sure that we take the time to go and do those things that are fun and lighten our days.

All of that seems pretty mundane to us most of the time. It is the stuff that we use to weave the whole cloth of our life together. It is not especially sexy or exciting or kinky. It is just us, making our way together. We sometimes get into the rhythm of our lives and then it starts to seem pretty ordinary. We let the sense of how wondrous and fabulous it is for us to be who we are together slip away.

Tonight, after the experiences of the last week, we are awash in a renewed sense of amazement and pure gratitude for the miracle that is our life together.

swan

We've Had Company

We've had company this week.



They go home tomorrow.



We'll be back in a day or two.



swan

Blood

In Goethe's poem, Faust, our hero enters into a pact with the evil powers, represented in the poem by Mephistopheles, the emissary of hell. Faust strikes a bargain with Mephistopheles, signing the deed with his own blood. Faust, in the beginning, considers it all a great joke. It is Mephistopheles who describes how seriously this particular bargain really is: "Blood is a very special fluid.”

Blood is a very special fluid.

Blood has been on my mind more and more in the last few weeks.

I've been remembering that, in the early days, when I was just beginning to explore BDSM, there was a woman Dominant with whom I played just a bit. In the "negotiation" stage of our relating, she asked if I had any limits. I don't recall what all I told her, but I very clearly remember going immediately to, "I don't want to bleed."

Of course, that mindset evolved. Not with her, but surely as Master and I became partners. I most definitely have bled for Him; in a variety of ways. Most significantly, of course, was the ritual cutting that left His initials on my back. We captured the blood flowing from those cuts on white silk handkerchiefs, and mounted and framed them. That "blood" became, for us a very evocative piece of art. Clearly, the "limit" of wanting to not bleed was vanquished in the connecting to Master.

Here lately, He's been talking now and then, about re-doing the cutting. It has faded. Part of me wishes He'd decide. The experience was so intense, but it was also a hugely bonding time for me. Everytime He gets close to deciding, He backs away. It is faded, but still visible. Not yet.

Too, I've developed a number of weakened places on my butt that frequently break and bleed in sessions. I can't tell it. It doesn't hurt any more than anything else He might be doing. But I do think that my bleeding impacts on Him. I think it is hard for Him to see me bleeding and not become concerned that I am being harmed.

Of course, for all of us, during our adult years, there is the regular reality of menstrual blood. I battled my own periodic flow of blood for years and years. It was never an easy, simple passage for me. I bled profusely, and there was never a single "feminine hygiene" product that I ever found which wasn't, ultimately, defeated by my bloody femininity.

We are currently involved with a group of young marketing professionals who are donating hours and significant talent to help create a new marketing strategy for Master's agency. They've put us through all sorts of exercises to try and define the "marketing equity" for the agency. It is like a one-line catch phrase that is supposed to define the "product." One of the very dapper young guys is a marketing "whiz" for Proctor and Gamble's Tampax line. He, in an effort to illustrate to us what "product equity" was, explained that the equity for Tampax is "white panties." That simple. That's what they sell.

Now, I've got to tell you that in the grip of my raging bleeding days, white panties weren't the goal. I never imagined that there might be a feminine hygiene product that would give me something so unobtainable as "white panties. I tried Tampax. I used the biggest, hunkiest sanitary pad known to man (I called them 5-day, turtle neck, sanitary pads), and I went through cases of Insteads. Nothing kept me "white." I'd have been happy to achieve something like "not publicly embarrasing." Hemohrragic bleeding is an ugly thing.

And I would give anything -- ANYTHING -- to have it all back. That battle was central to the business of being female. Without the blood, I'm terribly "neat and tidy," but essentially sexless. I'd happily bleed again if I could have my sexuality back.

Which is, at the heart of it all, I think what makes me contemplate what it would mean to create bleeding for myself. Yes, I do obsess these days on cutting. On bleeding. Would bleeding restore me to some deeper, more essential, important sense of being a woman? Or would it simply end up being some disappointing, grand-standing bullshit call for attention? So far, it has been my inability to answer that question that has kept me from checking it out. That, and the belief that He'd react badly to me going that way.

Still, late at night, in the dark, I wonder about the nature of blood. It is, after all, a very special fluid.

swan

Color My World

Just over a week ago, we had the carpets professionally cleaned in both our condos. Since we had to move darn near everything out to have that work done, T and I got to talking about how it would be "easy" to paint the relatively empty rooms.

We've lived in these places for almost six years now, and they were still sporting the same plain old off-white paint that they had when we moved in. There were plenty of dings and marks on all the walls, and the places were just starting to look dingy.

Neither T nor I are fans of the basic white wall. Given our preferences, we'd have painted top to bottom within the first year of residence here. Himself however was just fine and happy with our pristine white walls. No matter how we tried to talk to Him about the notion of painting four or five years ago, His response was a firm and definitive "no." And around here, a "no" from Himself is the end of the conversation. So, our walls have remained plain white.

This last week, however, when the question of painting came up, He gave the go-ahead. You could have knocked me over. Still, knocked over or not, it didn't take the two of us very long to pick some likely paint colors, and the very next day, I was at the Home Depot purchasing the paint and needed tools/supplies.

Painting slave was born. We talked it over and decided that it really wasn't wise for T to try and paint as her knees are not at all good. So, I've painted and painted and painted. Got my place "finished" yesterday, and planned to move and do T's side of the household today. She took today and tomorrow off from work, and we discussed the possibility that perhaps she could do the base level trim if she simply "scooted" around the perimeter of the rooms on her backside. With that agreement in place, I hauled the ladder and other assorted crap next door, and she and I worked like fiends. She painted low and I painted high. When we finished all the "cut" work, I started in to roll paint onto the walls. We worked all day long, but tonight, both our places are freshly painted and looking great.

Even Master -- He who has held out for white walls all these many years, likes the new, fresh, clean look. The painting slaves are tired out. But it is all good.

swan

Stirrings

I have stirrings.

Faint and whispery and not very consistent or reliable, but there nonetheless.

In the quietest depths of my mind, and in my long silenced loins, there are the undeniable rumblings of sexual wishing and desire. What is more, those stirrings are the familiar longings that I remember from what seems a long time ago.

I am finding myself thinking about asking Him for bits of His time so that I can get spanked. I was ready for that this morning -- but He was already wrapped up in a thousand busy details by the time He got back from T. So, not today... but soon, perhaps: a day when it will be OK to ask for what I am starting to need more and more.

I am caught up in dark fantasies that revolve around our light and stingy leather tawse, and the requirement that I hold my place, stay open, and ask Him to strap my pussy -- again and again and again.

More and more, my house is full of furniture that suggests places to get spanked, and positions for spanking, and opportunities for spanking.

These days, I am inside my head, trying to figure out what to do about the difficult reality that I often don't "like" the hurting that comes from what He wants to do. That is my continual dilemma -- the hurting that I crave hurts, and hurting makes me sad and angry in the event. Still, the cravings are there and, seemingly, growing. For Him, the problem is that He loves me, and He hurts me, and I get frustrated and angry and weepy, and He loves me, and... He used to not care whether I "liked" it or not, but things have become more complicated between us in some ways.

For all of that, I feel cautiously joyful and hopeful. Is it possible to be cautiously joyful? I feel lively and awake. I haven't been asleep, like Rip Van Winkle, for decades, but I've been sleep-walking through my life for way too long. Waking up feels really good.

swan

Strange Search Engine Visits

Here's another sort of odd artifact of our preoccupation with our statistics: every now and then someone comes in via a keyword search that is just weird. Like this one from yesterday:

church whores caught on tap bdsm

OK. Say what? Not only does that make me wonder what on earth this person was thinking, but it makes me terribly curious as to how that sort of weird search string brings people to us -- and where exactly does it land them?

So, I went and looked. To tell the truth, I can't exactly see where that search takes the searcher. The set of entries that come up given that set of search terms don't really seem to match in any very exact way with the "spirit" of that particular search. The closest thing is probably this discussion of marriage and marriage vows:

Marriage--Thoughts

Oh well. One more person to add to that group of folks that I imagine in my mind who sometimes stumble onto our site and get way more than they bargained for.

swan

The "P" Word

Yesterday was difficult for me and (I think) for Him.

We're connecting with some people who are pretty new to the lifestyle. In just a few days, we'll be coming together to spend some time with each other, and while we'll be doing some "vanilla" entertainment sorts of things, our time together will assuredly involve varieties of BDSM "play." All good.

I, unfortunately, got tangled up in language on Saturday night. In a phone conversation they mentioned that she was hoping to be punished alongside me. Now, to be fair, they are recently evolved from a strictly Domestic Discipline model to BDSM, and for them, I think spanking = punishment. They do not distinguish between erotic spanking and punishment.

I do. Distinguish.

Just the word, "punishment," is enough to put me into a full-on panic. My stomach twists and begins to churn, I break out in a sweat, and my head pounds as the blood roars in my ears. Punishment, in my world, is not erotic and not hot. It is brutal and miserable and horrific. Mention "punishment," and my one semi-rational thought is likely to be about how I might get away -- not, of course, that that would be an option in the event.

The whole idea of an unearned, undeserved punishment sent me into a total crazy, rage. The thought that I'd be punished simply because someone else thought that might be "entertaining," or "hot," left me shaking with a nasty mixture of fear and anger. I believe that Master tried to explain to me that this was all likely about "semantics," but I couldn't hear the logic of that over the shrieking in my head. I didn't sleep for hours and hours after we went off to bed, and the dark of the night thoughts that stomped through my head were far from serene or graceful. The truth is, that for at least part of that time, I was contemplating what sort of wickedness I might engage in so that, at least, when it came to it, the punishment might feel less unjust.

I did finally fall into an exhausted sleep, and I was just a bit calmer when the morning came, but still far from settled. We did manage to make love in the early morning hours, but I couldn't shake the repeating drumbeat in my mind: "unfair, unfair, unfair, unfair." I know that the nature of what it is that we do is such that He gets to decide what to do according to His whims and moods, but there is a part of me that expects Him to protect me from everyone else. I trust Him to have my best interests at heart, and so it is possible for me to go with Him where I wouldn't otherwise. It may not be appropriate or legitimate, but I want Him to step up when someone else comes up with some wild scheme, and say, "this is mine, and that won't be happening." And so, along with fear and hurt and anger, was the added misery of my unstated expectations going unmet.

Sheesh! What a mess! When it all boiled over, He just wasn't that sympathetic. He figured it had been dealt with, and couldn't comprehend what I was so wound up about. To Him, I think it felt like an attack, and that never goes well. I very quickly "got" that there was no moving forward with the whole business, and went off to get breakfast and get started on the work of the day. We simply sank into a tense and unhappy silence. Eventually, I worked my way through it all; probably the adrenaline wore off, and I calmed down. I found Him, apologized, and asked if it were possible to begin again. The answer came in the affirmative, and things settled back into some sort of reasonable place again. By the time we headed for bed last night, we'd found our footing again, and were able to be affectionate and playful with one another. What a huge relief.

Today, is better. I'm calmer and reassured. He's off to work, and I am off to continue my efforts to paint the entire domestic universe.

swan