M/s Under Stress -- This is How We Do it

I've long held to the view that there is way more to true power-based relating than the hot and spicy, sexy, flashy, "stand and model" interactions that so fuel the imaginings of those "outside" our lifestyle. I am sometimes perplexed by those who report that, when life becomes stressful or challenging, the power exchange aspects of the relationship fade into the background. It seems that there is a prevailing view that this thing we do is only for the good times, and cannot be carried into those parts of our lives that are not sunny and light. I've never believed that was the truth, and having lived through the last 7 or 8 days and nights, I am even more convinced that our way of life is durable enough and functional enough to carry us through whatever may come our way.

We are in a passage that has Master feeling terribly ill. Recovering from His surgery and the infections that have ensued has been far from smooth or easy. He is weak and frustrated and sad. He is in nearly constant pain. He remains, for me, "Master." I remain, for Him, "slave." We cannot play, but our relationship is firmly grounded on the solid rock of our understandings and committments.

Service, in these difficult days, is even more vital, even more appreciated, even more needed than it is when He is well and strong. I have carried endless pitchers of ice; poured cup after cup of juice and tea and cool water. I've cleaned up the messes -- the vomit, the urine, the feces, the pus. I've bathed Him, kept clean linen on His bed, fluffed His pillows, straightened His blankets. I've opened and closed the window to His room, and adjusted the fan -- now on, now off, now on again. I've watched the care He is given and questioned when I didn't understand or didn't like what I was seeing -- keeping a running list in my head of the medications, the vital signs, the visible extent of the infection, the foods consumed (or not). It isn't my role to play "cheerleader," but it is important that I am there with Him, believing in what He cannot presently see of the future, supporting, holding, listening, advocating.

Now that school has started up again, I am rising from sleep just after 4 AM. I get a quick shower and dress for school before the doctors and nurses begin stirring around. I get Him all set up and arranged for the day. I listen carefully to what the doctors might say at morning rounds. I grab a yogurt and a piece of fruit from the hospital cafeteria, and head for school. When my teaching day is done, I am headed back to the hospital, or somedays like today, I'll head home to tend to chores there before I go to the hospital. I spend the evening doing whatever it is that He wants; whatever will help Him to heal and regain His strength. I straighten and tidy and put away all the detritus of the day, tuck Him into His bed, and settle down to sleep in the recliner beside Him. Whatever He needs through the night, I am there and able to help.

I know there is a big part of our lives that is not possible for us. The intimacy that we so enjoy when we are both well, is necessarily on hold for the time being. That will come back in due time. For now, it is enough that He is cared for, loved, and supported through all of this.

swan

"Those Things Should Commend Me"

John Hope Franklin, a scholar and pioneer of African-American studies who wrote the seminal text on the black experience in the U.S., and worked on the landmark Supreme Court case that outlawed public school segregation, died Wednesday. He was 94. Franklin was born and raised in an all-black community in Oklahoma where he was often subjected to humiliating racism, and he was later instrumental in bringing down the legal and historical validations of such a world. He was the first black department chair at a predominantly white institution, Brooklyn College; the first black professor to hold an endowed chair at Duke; and the first black president of the American Historical Association. Franklin's book, From Slavery to Freedom (1947) sold more than 3.5 million copies. It was based on research Franklin conducted in libraries and archives that didn't allow him to eat lunch or use the bathroom because he was black. Some of his greatest moments of triumph were marred by bigotry.

I heard a National Public Radio interview with him, done a few years ago. He told the story of searching for a house to buy near the campus when he became a professor at Brooklyn College. He spoke of being unable to find a realtor who would agree to show him properties that were clearly being advertised for sale, and he told of the struggle he had, once he did find a place to buy, in getting a bank to loan him the funds needed for the purchase. The interviewer asked him if he'd ever felt like just getting in front of people and saying, "Do you know who I am?" He told her that he'd never done that, and when she asked why, He said, "I am a human. I am well-educated, fairly well-dressed, well-mannered and well-spoken. I think those things should commend me."

That simple statement really struck me. I've been in several conversations lately about the way our lifestyle choices have impacted our lives; about our decision to keep our choices largely private. I know that I have a simmering anger about the fact that such hiddeness is necessary, about the fact that we could lose our jobs should any of this become known, about the fact that there are absolutely NO legal protections or guarantees for us or our family. It just isn't fair.

There is a segment of the polyamory/BDSM community that believes strongly that the only path to equality for all of us is to "be out" so that we can be seen as another definable minority able to petition for the same rights as others are given. I understand that thinking, and I believe there is power to a grassroots citizenry that is visible and united. However, the beliefs that underpin that approach seem to me to be very close to the question asked by the incredulous interviewer: "Don't you ever want to say to people, 'Do you know who I am?'" Like Dr. Franklin, I think we ought to be able to insist that we are human, polite, responsible, educated, honest, committed ... and that those things ought to commend us. It ought to be enough. It probably won't be enough, and it is likely that we'll need to fight for a very long time before we are allowed to live openly and safely in the communities that are our homes, but I hope we never lose sight of those qualities of character that commend us.

swan

Internet Censorship

Oh good grief!

This is day three of our temporary residence in room 1220 here at Good Samaritan Hospital. For the most part, it has been fine, and we've not had much that would cause us to complain. However, this morning, I am feeling completely crabby about the place's Internet censorship policy.

Here's the way the paperwork reads that we were given as we registered:

Free Wireless Internet Service --
Because we want you to have a good experience at Good Samaritan Hospitals, we are providing Wireless Internet Service to you free of charge. We offer this service as a way to continue your life while being inside the hospital.
TriHealth ascribes to a set of values that help direct our daily choices. To ensure that we are honoring those values -- respect for all people, stewardship, service excellence for all customers, response to community needs, respect for our spiritual heritage and valuing differences – we use a filtering program. While most sites are accessible through our free Wireless Internet Service, we will filter sites that conflict with our values (such as pornographic or gambling sites).
So...

I can't get to a good number of places that I regularly visit. If your site is identifiable by the filtering program as having sexual content or adult content of any sort, I can't get to it -- even though I am an adult. There are many sites that I can't access from here in the hospital that I can easily get to from school. Go figure!

At first, I found it just annoying and frustrating, but I'm working my way up to fullblown anger over it all. I might be less angry if their policy statement simply made it clear that they are praticing moralistic, judgemental censorship that declares that their choices are more right than those that others might make. But they are at great pains to claim that they respect all people and value differences. Since that is part of their organizational value system, I wonder why I don't feel respected or valued? Grrrrrr...

Wikipedia tells us that censorship is the suppression of speech or the deletion of communicative material which may be considered objectionable, harmful or sensitive, as determined by a censor. Moral censorship, is the removal of materials that censor deems, or thinks, to be obscene or otherwise morally questionable.

I've long worked in school settings where Internet filtering, and consequent censorship is just part of the deal. I'm not at all opposed to adults making decisions and choices about what is and is not appropriate for the children in their care to access. However that is not in play here. We are not children.

Too, I understand that this is a hospital that has a religious affiliation. Fine. However, this is not a hospital that limits its client base to those who share the same religious perspective. This hospital will quite happily bill our insurance for the full price of the care they've provided, and they will not feel the need to "filter" their charges based on moral judgements about our choices. Our money is perfectly good, even if our morals are seemingly objectionable. Blech!

Oh yeah, and one other thing about hanging out with folks who are unable to hear or understand because the static of their religious views drowns out everything else -- why is it that, in spite of clear directions to the contrary, the hospital chaplains insist on coming in to visit? Get a clue, please! Those blank stares that we're giving them until they leave are obviously not registering.

swan

All is Well

Both Master and T came through the surgery just fine. Both are resting. T seems more comfortable at this point than Master -- He seems to have some pretty significant pain. They did have different operations. Master ended up with the rouen-y gastric bypass, and T had the sleeve gastrectomy, so I am thinking that the difference in pain levels may be related to that.

Both are sipping water and tolerating that fairly well. They've had times of queasiness, but no serious nausea which is a very good sign. T has already been up and walked the length of the hospital hallway. Master is due to sit up for the first time in about 15 minutes.

We are all fine. I haven't been able to get connected to the hospital network all day long. Just finally managed to get a connection, so I apologize for keeping everyone waiting to hear. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back tomorrow and update you all.

swan

The Journey Makes us One

I teach in a Catholic school. Part of the deal is that we take our children to worship once a week. I've been attending Catholic masses on a weekly basis for some 18 school years now, and while I know there are some who will find it amazing, I have yet to burst into flames at the door to the church.

I am an increasingly confirmed "heathen," and I find that there are weeks when it comes around to Thursday morning, and I just cringe at the thought of having to go sit through the ritual. Still, it is my view that I can participate in the "customs" of the place at the highest level I am capable of. Learning to be respectful when encountering another culture is part of what I try to teach, so I try to model it in my own behavior.

Every now and then, sitting there watching the whole business, something will strike me as meaningful. Not necessarily meaningful in the way that is intended, but with a message that speaks to my heart in the moment. That has been the case in the last week, with a hymn that is being sung during this season of Lent. The music line is particularly evocative -- and it does seem to be stuck in my brain, but the words speak to me about my life; about our lives, especially just now --

Jerusalem My Destiny by Rory Cooney
...Though I cannot see the end for me I cannot turn away.
We have set our hearts for the way; this journey is our destiny.
Let no one walk alone. The journey makes us one.

swan

Keep Quiet

Things got pretty intense around here yesterday. As we struggled to understand what had happened to land Master's father in the hospital, and the possible implications of that for the planned bariatric surgery on Monday morning, we received information from one of his nurses that "grandpa" was about to be moved to intensive care.

The whole situation was upsetting and scary. Worry for our elder family member combined with frustration and concern for the well-being of Master and T, and the whole business created an atmosphere of tension and short-tempers.

I was terribly upset. I knew, absolutely and without any doubt, that if it came down to it, Master would cancel His plans to be able to take care of His dad. In my heart of hearts I was enormously proud of the Man He is. It is simply His way -- whatever is going on with Him, He puts those He loves first, and that often costs Him in big and small ways. I wanted Him to make the choice for Himself this time. I wanted Him to let me handle whatever needed to be handled, and just go forward with taking care of Himself --and I knew with a sure certainty that He would not do it.

A tumble of arguments and reasons and debating points (many of them really good) ran through my mind -- all worthless, useless, of no merit in the circumstances. Master would do what He would do. It simply did not matter what I might think about it. The choice would be made, and my opinion was just not needed.

That is a foundational reality that goes with our dynamic. It very seldom comes up, and I don't usually smack into the fact of that truth. Most of the time, we converse and banter and debate, and my opinions and ideas get weighed into the mix, and it is easy to believe that I have an equal say. It isn't true, but most of the time it just isn't something that we pay attention to.

So, when I find myself right in the face of that fact, it is shocking, and terribly difficult to accept. After all, I am a product of my culture and I lived my whole life knowing that I had the right to my opinions, and the right to speak my mind, and the right to be taken seriously when I have something to say. I learned "the rules" about all of this at a very early age:

• You are a citizen and you have the right to say what you want to say. You have the freedom of speech.
• Say what you have in mind. People can't just stare at you and expect you to be quiet, they don't own you.
• Speak clearly and make yourself heard, but you don't need to yell, just speak loud enough to let people hear your voice. Say exactly what you have in mind.
• Practice speaking your mind even when the most simple things are going on, say what you want and what you think it's better.
• If you believe what you have to say is important, others will too.

Except that here, inside our home, within our power-based dynamic, He DOES own me; He can expect me to be quiet; He can refuse to listen to my opinions. I'm not "entitled" to speak my mind, even if I do usually have the privilege of doing so.

Slavery is a funny thing -- I can go along, day by day, and never really notice it at all. It is just part of who I am, and I can sometimes find myself questioning whether it really exists at all. But then, I encounter some hurdle like this, and I am reminded. There are all kinds of things that a person might imagine are difficult about slavery. Those imaginings are,I believe, largely fueled by the very sensationalized views of BDSM that we can pick up from the fictional realm. The truth is more subtle, and even tougher than the "stand and model" fantasies. For me, the business of holding my tongue when I just know I have something incredibly important to say is devilishly difficult.

swan

So I'll Remember

We have not been playing these last few weeks. We've been very preoccupied, and for some significant part of this stretch, He hasn't felt especially well or vibrant.

We haven't talked about it much. He commented about a week ago, that He'd read somewhere that severe caloric restriction kills the libido. Maybe so. I have simply focused on trying to serve, trying to keep things calm here, trying not to make demands or increase the tension levels.

Waking up this morning, knowing it was our last morning before surgery, I was resigned to the likelihood that we'd probably not be going there today either. I was feeling sad, feeling scared, feeling already lonely and small.

So, when He woke up and wanted to play, I was thrilled, but also afraid. My emotions have been under such a tight rein these last weeks, that I was worried that the intensity of SM play would bring them boiling to the surface.

He wanted to play with our new spreader bar. We've had it since Winter Wickedness, but hadn't had it out to play yet. So, when He was ready, I rounded up all the cuffs, the pillow, the spreader bar. Once I was in place over the trusty pillow, He proceeded to hook me up, and with my face buried in my little, squishy, red neck pillow, we were on our way. He did some hand spanking, some caning, the red paddle (of course), the 5-fingered tawse, more red paddle, the dressage whip, and the single tail... oh, and more red paddle at the end.

I cried. I begged. And, yes, some of my fear about the pending surgeries did bubble to the surface. He was right there. Settling me and soothing me, and then taking me on further on the path He had in mind. The spreader bar worked just fine, thank you very much. We finished, and we made love and it was good.

I imagine I'll remember, quite vividly, just who I belong to as I wait for Him and T in the hospital tomorrow morning. I am feeling warm, stronger, safe, better equipped to make the journey ahead.

Thank You, Sir.

swan

Practicalities and Legalities

We are in the last couple of days of preparations for the surgeries on Monday morning. Assuming that all our planning stays in place (Master's father was admitted to the hospital tonight with an unexplained and transitory paralysis in his left leg), we'll be heading for the hospital somewhere aroung 4:30 in the morning.

Of course, there are the practical considerations that we are working to take care of this weekend. Both condos will be cleaned thoroughly. Laundry is well on its way to being done. We've laid in most of the groceries that will be needed in the immediate aftermath of the hospital stay. I'll be putting together a collection of food stuffs that I can take with me to the hospital so that I can stay close and not have to leave to eat. I've got all the appropriate phone numbers in my cell phone. Reading materials, and extra blankets are packed in my bag. I'll make sure the bills are all paid before we head off. All of those items that can be taken care of ahead of time will be.

There are some legal realities, engendered by our unique family configuration, that are also on the table to be taken care of in these last few days.

The hospital and the staff that we've dealt with are all "in" on the fact that we are three, and have agreed to accommodate that. Hopefully there'll not be any battles to fight on that front. Master and T are scheduled to be put into a double room where I can stay with them and keep watch.

We've got medical power of attorney forms for both Master and T. We will fill them out as much as we can, and then take them with us to the hospital where we believe we will be able to find the two necessary witnesses. That should give me the standing that I'd need to make decisions if that should become necessary.

Master has also changed the beneficiary designation on His insurance, so that the benefit can go entirely to T rather than to His, now adult, children (as was required under the terms of His divorce decree).

Now we just need the stars to align. We need grandpa to be found to be basically well. We need the doctor to do his work with skill and compassion. We need to find our way to the other side so we can begin to live the rest of our lives.

swan

Happy Anniversary, Tom

Yes, I know.... we were married in June.....but today is the most cherished anniversary, to me. Today, is the anniversary of our collaring...

I can remember the date we married (6/16), the date of the reception (9/22), our first date (Sunday after Bird-Day).....but this one seems to get me every time. Tom always remembers every date. Hell, he probably remembers the first time he pee'd as an infant! But I never can remember. But today, is more important than all of those other dates. Today is the anniversary of the day he made me His.

There I was, trembling, nekked, suddenly bashful (and I am NEVER bashful!) and in front of friends and strangers, kneeling before Tom and becoming his submissive. We had talked about it and planned the brief ceremony, but until it happened, I was all butterflies & bumble bees until he asked. And when he asked me to be His, it was better than all of my childhood Christmas' rolled into one. What a gift to belong to this wonderful man! A sincerely good man, when (at times) I wasn't sure there were any left. He wanted quirky, fluffy, older-than-the-usual-bimbette, ME!

We played hard that night....at least I THINK...I was pretty sub-spacie most of that night.

Last night, laying in bed doing all of that plotting and planning I usually do at the end of the day... I was thinking about the fact that I have to remove all of my jewelry for the surgery. I can leave my Heron necklace at home, and even my wedding bands, but I want Sue to hold my collar. I want to put it on as soon as I can. It is a simple gold and platinum little earring. I never take it off. It is more precious to me than diamonds...... because he took me as His.

Happy Anniversary, my Be-Be.....I love you with all of my heart. The 3 of us have a glorious future before us. I am honored to walk into that future with the both of you.

Mores & Mores

T

Brainy Might Be Sexy

When I first came here, Master worked on the taxes. It was an annual ordeal. He almost always put it off until the very last minute, and T and I would spend the day either scrambling to lay hands on whatever documentation He needed, or trying to hide out as His temper descended to the depths. No one LIKES doing that tax thing, but with Master battling His way through it each year, it was simply horrible for us all. For the last few years, the task of preparing the annual tax returns for our family has fallen to me. I handle the rest of the finances (they refer to me as "The Checkbook Nazi)," and so it just got to the point where it made sense.



It seems that our tax reporting is never "simple." Every year, there is some issue that complicates things, and we are always left sweating out the question of whether we will owe additional taxes and how we might pay that debt. This year was no different. We did some financial wizardry in the last months of the year that allowed us to pay off a lot of debt, but there was a tax liability associated with that business.



Now, I know that taxes are not sexy, and a slave that prepares taxes isn't the stuff that fantasies are made of, but our taxes are completed and when I was done combing the corners of the tax code for all the allowable deductions, our potential additional tax payment of perhaps $5ooo was down to about $1500. That is well within the grasp of our finances (especially as I'll receive a refund that easily covers that amount), and we are all enormously relieved. Going into the next month, it is good to know that we can handle that without stress and strain.



Perhaps we are just getting old, but sometimes it seems that the definition of sexy is too narrow.



swan

The Way the Day Has Gone

I made breakfast.

I cleaned up the breakfast dishes.

I folded socks and underwear and towels from the laundry that T washed and dried on Friday.

I graded papers.

I went to the store.

I made lunch.

I washed up the lunch dishes.

I figured out the taxes.

I made a pot of tea.

I revised some documents for a legislative advocacy project we're involved with.

I fixed dinner.

I cleared up the dinner dishes.

I packed up meals for Master to take tomorrow.

I changed the sheets on the bed.

It is almost 10:00 in the evening.

Time for bed soon.

swan

"Kink Fingerprint"

Way down at the bottom of our Blog link list where we link those Blogs who don't have feed readers or which are not blogs but other locations called "other places" you will find a Blog called "Lost In Our Eyes." Their apparently last post in August 2008 was called "The Kink Fingerprint and Punishment." It is an intriguing piece that posits that each person's kink is unique unto them self, like a fingerprint, and that when we think we see the same or similar practice in another we are in fact noticing that theirs is like our own, but that similarity may only be superficial. Ours is unique as is theirs. That being accepted then, each relationship would have a "joint fingerprint" that would represent the confluence of those (however many) "fingerprints" dynamically interacting. The exponential permutations of this are mind boggling.

It is too bad these folks have not continued blogging. What insightful thoughts they had.

The next time you see another's Kink described and you are tempted to say whether it is like or unlike yours, or if you feel drawn to be judgmental of "how they do this," I think we all would do well to remember the concept of the "kink fingerprint."

God I enjoy my fingerprints all over swan and t and theirs on me:)

All the best,

Tom

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

Question Month?

Somewhere in the blogosphere, someone decreed that this month, March, is "Question Month." These kinds of things come around every now and then. There's a whole group of people that participate in "Gratitude Tuesday." For a long time, HNT (Half-nekkid Tuesday or Thursday) was a staple on many sites. Bonnie is the author and prime mover of the now annual "Love Our Lurkers" extravaganza.

For March, it seems that all the "cool kids" are on the "Question Month" bandwagon. Asking and answering questions seems to be the motif just now. However, I just cannot bring myself to play along. I've considered it. Maybe it would make it easier to write just now, when energies are focused mostly elsewhere, if I didn't have to come up with topics and then consider what I thought about that subject. Easier, I imagine, to simply sift through the questions and answer as I could or as I pleased. Sigh.

Except that I am just not willing to open the doors that wide. I understand this is a public place, and it has become our custom and habit to welcome a host of "strangers" and on-lookers into our lives. Many of those strangers have grown into friends, and it is good. Our welcome is not unlimited however. We do reserve the right to simply refuse to deal with people who come here with less than honest or respectful intent. Further we preserve some of the inner workings of our dynamic and our relating for ourselves. We do not share details that might cause discomfort or emotional upset for one another.

I believe that we answer sincerely asked questions here on a pretty regular basis. Often, that process brings up new information or a perspective that we hadn't considered before, and we enjoy the dialog. Questions from our readers keep life interesting.

So, no "Question Month" here at The Heron Clan. Or, perhaps, every month is question month. Let the Grand Arbiters of the cyber-schedule tut and cluck, I simply am not in the mood to play this time around.

swan

Untimely Fantasizing

One of the items that we purchased from Danny at Winter Wickedness was a very unique, well-designed, and aesthetically pleasing spreader bar. It is manufactured from lovely old (reclaimed) wood. It has a series of holes drilled along its length, and is therefore adjustable from a length of about 15 inches out to probably three feet. There is an ingenious peg system at the end that allows the D-rings of ankle or wrist cuffs to be inserted into a notch and then pegged in place. The intention of this design is to prevent the spreader bar from banging into the ankle -- the linkage keeps everything aligned appropriately. We paid a pretty sum for it, brought it home, and stashed it in the corner. It has been there ever since.

I've scarcely thought about it. I could have found it if requested, but beyond that, I've not contemplated its presence at all. Until the last few days.

In these last days (well, nights really), I've become fascinated with the spreader bar. It has come to occupy a prominent place in my imaginings and my dreaming.

In my dreams, we decide to play using the surface of the coffee table / flogging frame. The table is designed with rope "handles" that are able to serve as tie-down points. With a comforter and my "spanking" pillow on the surface, I imagine Him fastening the spreader bar to my ankle cuffs as I lie face up on the table. Then, He attaches it to the tie downs on the table, and restrains my hands above my head. The scene that invariably plays out in my head involves seldom used implements like the crop and the dogging bat used on my tits and my pussy as I writhe against the restraints. Somewhere, in the middle of everything, through the magical power of fantasy, I always end up flipped over as He finishes up the session on my back and ass.

I find it ironic, and more than a little frustrating that this particular bit of perverted fantasizing is making its appearance now when we are all fully wrapped up in this pre-surgical fast. Our energies are at a low ebb, and we are generally not any of us feeling well. The likelihood that there will be any sort of significant play anytime soon, is very, very small.

Perhaps, I'll simply have to savor this one for the duration; keeping it tucked away in my brain; a bit of mind candy to be tucked away and enjoyed while we weather these next few months. It might just be that this is something to look forward to when we've successfully navigated the road of surgery and recovery.

swan

Wondering if...

Hermione gave voice to the shadowy knowledge that is hovering over our days and nights as we go along toward the date for Master and T to have their surgeries:

"I confess I had been wondering if play had been put on hold because of all the lifestyle changes going on."

It hasn't yet. We know that it will -- have to be. We know that is one of the realities with which we will have to cope as we approach and then recover from this very serious surgery. We've gone through periods before when there was no possibility of play, and it is never easy to contemplate or live with. We also know though, that healing occurs and things do come back around.

For us, it is almost harder at this stage than it might turn out to be in the event. Anticipation of such a radical shift in our normal patterns of intimacy is very difficult. We'll muddle through, wrapped up in and snuggled around each other until we find ourselves on THE DAY somewhere in the future when it will all begin to come back for us again.

swan

Red Welts

I was beginning to believe that my friend Tangerine might be the only one to end up with welts this weekend. I was absolutely clear how that might happen; aware of the kinds of stresses and worries that are going on in our household just now. Still, I was feeling disappointed and "abandoned," and I was really glad when we finally woke up this morning, and He indicated that He was wanting to play and make love.



Of course, for me, that "glad" is always mixed up with an equal measure of fear and worry that I might not "do it" well enough -- might end up disappointing Him. It is my own, private mental stew that takes me from thrilled to despairing in moments. Add to that the reality that I wasn't feeling all that terrific this morning (we did Mexican food last night, and tequilla does not agree with me), and the level of difficulty gets ratcheted up just a bit.



But, there is, for me, always that lurking, niggling masochist that starts to fuss when not fed regularly. It is my perpetual emotional dilemma -- hate it but crave it...



This morning, He began differently than is the usual thing. He spent time, considerable time, playing with me sexually, trying to find the key that might send me off into that rarest of critters -- the orgasm. We didn't get there, but it was wonderful just the same, and I was feeling floaty and happy when the actual "session" began. Lately, He's been starting with some fairly low end straps that we have, and it gives me a chance to get "on board" with the sensations and the building intensity. I really do so appreciate that.



The red paddle remains a fixture at the heart of our sessions these days. He is all wrapped up in it -- loving just about everything about it. I am getting better with it as time goes on, but there is a point that comes up everytime we play with it, where I am simply desperate, frightened and miserable, and convinced that I have somehow, by reaching that point, failed miserably. That is a very emotional place for me. It reduces me to tears. Not so much from the pain itself, but from the sense of not being what He wants me to be...



Except that it really isn't that way at all. He likes that place where I suffer. He told me this morning, "You are a sadist's dream." I understand that intellectually, but I struggle to comprehend it emotionally.



He held me, calmed me, soothed my ruffled feelings, and then went right back to the red paddle -- a second set of strokes. And then He was done, checking in with me, wondering if that last set was really so awful. It really wasn't. Really. And, that was the point at which I asked, in the littlest, tiniest, most respectful voice I could manage:

"Could You please -- would it be alright -- do just a little bit with the dressage whip, please, Sir?"

He was, I think, surprised, but more than willing to oblige. So, it happens that I managed to acquire a set of red welts of my very own.

(picture is illustrative only -- it isn't really me)



swan

Our Family Is consumed

I know we haven't posted here in a week. If you want to know what is really happening with The Clan Heron you would need to look at our new sister Blog, Herons Transforming. The prospect of, and more specifically planning for, t's and my impending bariatric surgeries has consumed most of our attention and time..

As is always the case for us, it is going to be interesting to see how the health care professionals we deal with accommodate our family's unique structure and make-up. It is always the same. The three of us working together actually eases the burden of caring for us, but that benefit to the professionals is off set to a degree by how astonished they are to encounter three adults who live together as a committed family. They rarely come to be aware of the D/s dynamic between us all. If that were to come into play they likely would be particularly "freaked out."

Anyway we have not forgotten our Blog. We are continuing to be who we are and to deal with our lives as we always do. The immensity of the huge change and the extensive ordeal that is on the horizon is simply consuming all our collective energy.

Thank you for continuing to visit us and for your friendship. If you are interested in our latest developments, click on the Herons Transforming Link and read us there.

All the best,

Tom

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