Sunday Spanking

Things here have been, at best, in a state of upheaval. Over the weekend, t's Mom was moved from the hospital to a rehab center where it appears she is receiving excellent care.
We are hopeful that the rehabilitation professionals are going to be able to return her to functioning enough to return her to her home and independence, but we are at least equally fearful that will not be possible. It is a continuous drain on all of us, but for t it is pretty devastating.



Then, for whatever reason, swan is really struggling with her return to school this year. She is enjoying her new class. She has one of her larger classes ever and it comes to her with a reputation of being a class of "bad kids"... a whole group of recalcitrant, incorrigible, bad sixth grade boys and girls. She is thrilled. They are her favorite type of kids, and so far she has them enthralled, engaged, and eating directly from her hand. The previous year's teachers are in awe, in that they considered leaving their teaching careers from dealing with this bunch (perhaps not a bad idea if they have fifth graders who can hornswoggle them:) Yet she is missing our more leisurely summer schedule with lots of time for her to take care of me, walks, touching, sex, spanking, intimacy, etc. She has it in her head that what with my lacking her full attention I will be lost to another. She is making noises about being unworthy to have me, that I should get a "real woman," etc. This is a cyclical issue, and if it continues she may well find herself receiving the reassurance she was granted back in 2007, and which is documented in this series of posts:

March 31,2007
April 1,2007
April 2, 2007

Sunday morning I was ready to spank and reconnect sexually. I was hoping too to reassure her. I decided to photograph this session.



Here you see her pre-session picture. I have often thought as I took after spanking pics that you should be able to see what a glorious sight swan is in position submitting to a blistering,and I have regretted not capturing that preliminary image. This time I have remedied that oversight.


Fairly early on in her session, after some hand spanking and a paddling with the leather side of the fur paddle she freaked out, slipping down off the couch and out of position. I quite firmly required her to get back into position and then fetched wrist cuffs and our spreader bar. Once restrained, she never "budged" from position again.

You can see here the repertoire of spanking implements I collected to use prior to this session.

They were all employed at least once....some more than once. Besides that as we progressed I added both the signal whip (fifty licks) and the (if you read here regularly, you know hysterically fearfully anticipated) new rubber bull whip (12 licks). She was remarkably stoic....even for her.

The aftermath picture below does not do justice to swan's bottom post session. She'd had a heroic blistering. Just as we finished, t arrived home from staying overnight at her mother's so she could visit her Saturday night and Sunday morning. She really cringed when she saw her sister heart's bottom and the array of implements she had been whipped with when she walked in on us.

I am feeling that swan needs the reassurance that spanking and perhaps even serious discipline instill for her to recover her faith in us, and more importantly, in herself. Work. work, work, ... a sadist Master's work is never done, but challenging as it may be I will rise to the occasion.

~~You were awesome in your session my sweet, and I loved the wonder of your submission. You are now and will remain Mine Always and All Ways, no matter what comes.~~

All the best everyone,

Tom

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

Maybe a Story from the Early Days?

We (but mostly I) have been writing here and at The Swan's Heart for one heck of a long time. If my math is correct, there are 985 posts between the two places -- counting this one. I've written through times of joy, times of fear, times of anger, times of sorrow, and just about any other kind of time that you can think of. Our family has had some "times" in the years we've been writing here. In the archives of these two blogs there are all sort of bits and pieces -- some serious, some silly, some pedantic, and a few that seem sublime (and which amaze me when I stumble over them again after all this time).

Right now, I feel as if I've run out of words, and out of things to say. Life continues apace, but I am having a difficult time imagining that anyone cares about the mundane day to day business of making it all work in our little world. Each of us is busy in our career lives. There is trash to haul. There are dishes and clothes to wash. There are bills to pay and finances to tend to. Our new dietary regimen and exercise routines are fast becoming "habit," but they take up a chunk of time and energy each day. The kids (who are not kids anymore) and the grandkids are all cruising along living the lives that they are choosing for themselves. The aging parents continue to age, and to encounter all the issues and challenges attendent on "being old," and while we try to support them, we are all reminded that we are just not that far behind them.

But Blogger is a demanding task master. Once a person gets into communicating here, it starts to feel "needful" to keep the conversation going. Not posting something every now and then is a bit like getting together with friends for a meal and then sitting there without a word to offer. Rude --and a bit odd. We watch our statistics enough to know that, when the level of posting drops off (as it has in the last few weeks), the number of daily hits falls precipitously. Before too long, the old blog is tottering along on wobbly legs, barely breathing; not quite dead, but not definitively alive either.

So, the question becomes, what can we write to help resuscitate the social exchange and reassure our friends, acquaintances, and dedicated anonymous detractors that we have not expired? Maybe we could tell a story from the earliest days of our relationship that would amuse and entertain? Perhaps that would enliven things just a bit.

That is the line of reasoning that brings us to the point in our blogging lives where you, dear reader, are about to be subjected to the story of the broken thumb. Fair warning.

In the earliest part of our lives together, we were NOT together. Master and T lived in Cincinnati, and I was living some 1200 miles away in Denver. Ours was, in the beginning, and for a long while, a long distance relationship. We met online, became acquainted on a listserve where we all participated, and eventually came to meet face to face at Ohio Leather Fest. From that first shared weekend, a friendhip blossomed; and that eventually turned to love. After that first weekend event, we spent time together as we could. We traveled back and forth across the country, and shared bits and pieces of time reveling in the joy of time spent in one another's presence.

Once we acknowledged our love for one another, it was a matter of a few short months until we gathered together, all of us, to consider what the future would bring. It was during a holiday visit at the new year that we decided that I'd move from Denver to take up my life here with Master and with T.

When He and I were able to be alone together during that visit, we were crazy to get our hands on one another. Worse than any pair of teenagers, we were hungry for simple physical contact with one another. That's how it came about that, late one winter night, He and I were wrestling around on the living room floor while our respective spouses slept in their rooms down the hall.

In the flickering light of the fireplace; stirred by the promise of a time when we would no longer be separated by so many miles; completely enraptured by one another, we were filled with a lust that belied the years we each bore. For us both, the sexual side of our relationship was completely uncharted territory. Years after His diabetes diagnosis, His ability to function sexually seemed irretrievably compromised, and my experience with marital sex had been such that I did not fully comprehend the capacities of my own body to respond with sexual pleasure.

That night, for the first time, we ventured into some mutual masturbatory sex play (what we probably once would have called "heavy petting"). Lying side by side on the floor, He had me pulled in close. One hand was under the back of my head while His other hand teased and prodded me to a crashing orgasm. In the throes, I bucked and thrashed until finally, I reared up off the floor -- and then flopped back, mashing the back of my rock-hard skull squarely onto the end of His upraised thumb. He yelped and the thumb cracked. Our ardor cooled quickly after that...

It was another day or two and thevisit ended. I flew back to Denver, and we began sorting out the details of my eventual move to Cincinnati. In time, His thumb sort of healed, but it has never ever been "as good as new." Today, years later, the thumb still aches, still pops, still reminds us both of the time when we first came together in joyous intimacy.

swan

Adjusting

The school year started yesterday. My newest class arrived promptly at 8:00, and we launched into the adventure that is a new school year.

This group comes with a reputation for being ill-mannered and difficult. The teachers that worked with them last year ended feeling very negative about this group of children. Hearing their daily complaints about these students, and knowing that they would be "mine" this year, I spent a fair amount of time extablishing the rudiments of relationships with many of them as I encountered them on the playground and in the halls. So, they are not an entirely blank slate...

Two days in, I am finding them cooperative and interesting. There have been some minor behaviors that have needed to be addressed, but nothing that seems out of the ordinary for people who are mostly 11 years of age. In general, they seem very much like a bunch of exuberant, and not particularly well socialized puppies. There are some definite wrinkles in this crowd... but I am excited and looking forward to a good year for them and for me.

That's the good news.

On other fronts, things are challenging.

There is very little new to share about T's mom. She remains largely unresponsive, although T suspects that she is over-medicated with vicoden, and perhaps not able to be coherent, aware, and interactive. T and her brother are beginning to confront the legal issues related to taking care of mom's affairs. There is no power of attorney and that will likely necessitate a process of establishing someone as "guardian." It is emotionally complicated and painful. Things are not going easily.

Our daily summer walks have ended. He is walking on His own in the mornings now. His I-pod provides the companionship, and His times have improved as He walks alone. Because I had an evening meeting yesterday, I came home in the afternoon and tried to walk on the treadmill. I got 41 minutes in, and then fell off the cursed thing. I twisted my ankle, and so am not walking tonight... Blech!

He spent some time yesterday, while I was gone, practicing with the various whips. There is really nothing much to say about that. I've said too much on the subject already.

Days that begin at 5:30 leave little time or energy for the other stuff. He's taking care of Himself these days... the best I can do is fix His breakfast and His lunch. For the rest of it -- it is out of my control. I feel like I settled into the summer this year in a way that was much deeper than I have in years past. Leaving each day feels really bad. It is like I am abandoning Him, and abandoning territory that had come to feel like "mine." Now, again, for the next nine or ten months, it is all up for grabs. I can't change any of it. I am torn, and it feels exhausting.

swan

Grouchy Mood

That's exactly the way I seem to be feeling right now -- I am a GROUCHY PURPLE MONSTER.

It seems that just about everything that happens winds me up and makes me sad, weepy, angry, frustrated, anxious, and generally upset.

The biggest part of that, is feeling horribly angry and frustrated about the situation with T's mother. As of yesterday, they had moved her from intensive care to the neurological wing in the hospital. She is more awake -- or at least, her eyes are open and tracking on people as they move around her room. They've begun transferring her to a chair for part of each day, having her sit up some. She can hold your hand with her right hand, and she sometimes squeezes your fingers. There is still no language of any sort. Everyone is involved trying to talk to her, calm her, explain things to her ... but we don't know what, if anything she actually understands. She can't swallow, and so they will be placing a feed tube into her stomach this week.

T is wearing herself out. Trying to be at work, trying to be here -- and wanting to be there. She is so worried. So sad. So brave and so strong. It is all so horribly unfair, and there is nothing I can do but offer hugs...

There is no power of attorney, and so as we move forward, there are beginning to be questions about how to manage mom's affairs; how to arrange for her ongoing care... It is just an awful, painful, sad situation, and there seems to be no way to resolve any of it.

Are there medical professionals who are legally liable for this circumstance? I just don't know, but my heart tells me that someone didn't do what should have been done to ensure a positive outcome here. Grrrrr!

There's more. Lots of stuff that is making me feel fussy and insecure and out of sorts:

I am inexplicably into a whole raft of symptoms that would point to menopause. Most annoying -- hot flashes. They wake me up, and keep me up, and make me pretty sincerely miserable. I wonder if it is some sign that I have reached the point at which I would have done menopause if I'd been left to my own path.

I've got school starting on Tuesday. Everything is ready, and all that is needed is the addition of kids. Then it all comes to life. I am excited for the beginning. But I have some colleagues that seem to just not have much of a clue or much enthusiasm for the whole business, and for some reason, this year that is really bugging me.

Starting school means I have to go back out into the world. It is unsettling. I've nested in and been very happy here this summer. I don't want to abandon my nest to go back out. I love the work, but hate to leave home behind. I feel torn.

And, always, there is the questioning in my own mind and heart about my performance in my role and my life. Am I good enough? Have I failed? Are my fears too limiting? Is my aging body a liability (duh!)? Does it matter how hard I try? The mean and nasty voices in my head that make me just crazy...

I get pictures of my Xander. He is so amazing... and so far away. I cannot be there. I don't want to be there. I want them to be here. Dammit! I am one frustrated grandma!

I spend less and less time at Fetlife. Surely, as school starts, there is less time to spend. But, even without that, I'm feeling so separated from the place. Too negative. Too petty. Too mean. I feel like immersing myself in that milieu is bad for me. I can't just let it all slide by. It impacts my heart and my head.

I think that is most of it. I am just soggy with things that feel heavy and sad and irritating. I need to go and walk and see if the fresh air and the moving can help cleanse some of that.

swan

Jeans to Get a Person Spanked

Some fellow, having observed a woman walking away from him in a pair of tight jeans, imagined that her butt was winking at him. That was the genesis of this particular fashion venture. Part of me thinks this is hysterically funny. Another part just knows that this qualifies as "asking for trouble."

swan

I Have Huge Power

Master and I have become fierce walkers. Our daily routine now includes a 4-1/4 mile walk that takes us just under an hour and a half to complete. We've walked in the blazing heat, and we've walked in the middle of the night (if we finish a ninety-minute walk at twenty minutes past midnight, for which day should we count it?)

With my return to a schedule that more closely resembles my school-year routine, our options for walking narrow considerably. Waking up at 3:30 in the morning to be able to walk before work just doesn't appeal to either of us. As we are full into the typical heat and humidity of August in Cincinnati, our preference is to avoid the sunny parts of the day. That leaves us walking after the sun goes down in the evening. Most nights, that means that we are heading out at about 9:30 PM.

Last night, as we took off for our evening jaunt, it became very clear that we were walking off into a dark and stormy night. Heavy clouds made the dark sky even darker except when the blackness was split by ferocious forks of lightning. Master's comment, as we completed the first 200 yards or so was that we'd likely end up being caught in a downpour before we finished the first lap.

Some years ago, I discovered that I have a facility for weather witching. I've never practiced it formally, and I do not try to influence the weather on some sort of schedule, so I cannot (as far as I know) make shifts that will guarantee that your family picnic won't get rained out -- unless I happen to be there. I can fairly reliably "push storms around" enough to keep them away or shift their path so that they miss the place where I am. I don't do it very often. I am cautious about messing with forces I don't really understand. Still, over the years, I've moved storms in order to keep a friend's wedding in the park dry; I've pushed storms away from the playground at recess. I can't explain exactly how it works. It is, I think, about directing energy with my intent. My logical mind refuses to discuss it, and the witchy part of me is perfectly OK with that, because feeling it happen is just such a rush.

But... I haven't pushed on the weather in a good long while. I didn't consciously decide to quit doing it, but I have let the impulse to control that part of my environment drift away from my awareness.

Last night, as we walked into the crashing storm, He said, "don't you know how to stop this weather?"

I was surprised; surprised that He was willing to consider the possibility; surprised that He remembered it in the first place; completely surprised by the whole idea. I was also uncertain. It has been a number of years since I even tried to intervene in the patterns of the weather around me. This storm was fully upon us; not somewhere off in the distance; I felt like I needed more time. The weather pattern that was giving us such trouble last night was BIG. There were no visible breaks, gaps, or edges. From horizon to horizon, the sky was one giant brooding, swirling tempest. Witching, for me, usually consists of moving the storm away and into some "open" sky. Last night, there was no open sky that I could see.

I hesitated. I demurred for a few minutes. I made excuses, and tried to explain why it was just completely impossible.

He was having none of that. "If you don't do it, we're going to get very wet." There is a certain sound that He can make that tells me the discussion is over with. Hearing it, I put all the doubts aside, forgot how rusty my skills might be, and simply focused on the wild sky above us.

It didn't happen quickly, but as we walked, the almost certain threat of a drenching and violent storm eased; the lightning subsided and the rising wind dropped off to a mere breeze. The sky above us lost the blackness of heavy cloud cover, and here and there, a pale star appeared.

I am one powerful woman I guess. It is a power that I happily put at His service.

swan

Wednesday Update

Yesterday sucked out loud.... Swan posted about the day and as awful as it sounded, it felt worse.

Today Mom had the MRI. They told me that they were not going to have to put her on the ventilator to do the deal. But come to find out there was no choice. So she was on the vent and heavily medicated for the MRI. She was off the vent in 4.5 hours.

She had a medium stroke in the left side of her brain.... a small stroke in the top of her brain...and another small stroke in her cerebellum. The first 2 are understandable, since she is weak on the right, has no speech, and now we learn has no reasoning or understanding, and the carotid clean out surgery that kicked all this off was on the right side. The cerebellum is harder to explain. They are going to do an echo cardiogram to see if there is a clot in the heart that may have broken away and traveled to her brain resulting in the stroke in her cerebellum.

She is more awake today, according to my brother. She reaches for his hand and squeezes tight. He explained to her today that she has a daughter, son, 5 grandchildren, & 4 great-grandchildren.....she cried. We do not know if she cried because she is relearning this, or if she is confused because she isn't understanding language. But later, my brother called my niece and put her on speakerphone. Mom cried when she heard Nik. Maybe she IS understanding somethings.

We have a long haul. Until she can understand speech. She is not able to participate in therapy. She can't understand and comply with the therapists requests. If she continues improving, she will be moved to the neurology floor. And from there?...who knows.

Thanks again for all of the well-wishes.

T

Tuesday Update

We went up to visit T's mom this evening.
It was a very difficult and scary day for T, as she ran into a seemingly endless array of roadblocks in terms of finding out what is happening, and what is being done for her mom. Doctors, nurses, patient representatives -- just about everyone she tried to talk to today was uncooperative and unhelpful.
Eventually, with a lot of fussing and a lot of pushing, she managed to find out that the second CT scan was inconclusive, but an EEG run last evening showed some definite damage on the left side of the brain and a "lesion" in the brain that is problematic. They are now thinking that her mom is strong enough to undergo an MRI without having to be intubated again, so that will happen tomorrow morning around 10:00.
As we drove north, we were all feeling pretty glum. Things just did not sound encouraging.
However --
When we got to the hospital, we found Mom showing a great deal more movement than any of us had seen previously -- on both sides. Her color is much improved, and the swelling in her face and neck is much, much less. The nurse who examined her while we were there noted that her pupils are now responsive. She is making some noises, and that too is new. Admittedly, they are only grunts and groans, but we believe we saw both some reception of spoken language, and some awareness and attempt to make a response.
Those are all bits of good news. Small bits, but there nonetheless. We left feeling far more hopeful than we did earlier in the day. This seems likely to be a very long, very difficult road to recovery, but it feels as if there might really be such a road.
Off to try and get some sleep. Thanks to all who are holding Mom in your thoughts. You cannot begin to know how we value that simple gift.

swan

What Did You Do on Your Summer Vacation?

Today is the first of the "back to school" teacher meetings. It means the summer is officially over. It is time to have that perennial back to school conversation: "What did you do on your summer vacation?"

Me?
I spent my summer being in love with, and loving the most wonderful man on earth. We have had a wonderful summer together. We've slept late. We've walked. We've spanked and spanked. We've grown healthier together, and we've fallen totally, head over heels in love all over again.

I am feeling so strong, so contented, so completely joyful and happy.

I don't have a big, smart sounding analysis of any of that. I don't have an explanation or a theory. It is simply the fact. I have come to believe that I am in exactly the right place for me. There is nothing I'd rather be doing and nowhere I want to be but here. I'm going back to school, but my heart feels like it might just stay on vacation forever.

swan

Vanilla Violation

Like so many bloggers, we track statistics. We've done it for years. Doing that gives us a picture of our readership. In the beginning, we obsessed over our numbers -- up days; down days; monthly totals... Now, though, it has come to be a matter of interest without driving what we do.

Sometimes, the information that comes to us through that medium is amazing or amusing or sometimes simply odd. Keyword searches bring people to us through a rather remarkable array of creative and fanciful word strings.

As of this morning, there is a not atypical group of oddball searches on the list...

gay spanking blogs
robin whittle spanking
the herpon clan
bdsm nettles stories
random punishment tips bdsm
domestic discipline is degenerate

I am often tempted to take a page from Bonnie's book and comment on that sort of thing, but I'd be hard pressed to do it with near the wit she musters. I will admit, though, that there are all kinds of smart alec responses that fly into my head when I look at our keywords and find some of that ... Mostly I wonder how people come up with that stuff.

Beyond all of that, though, every now and then, one of these things pops up and it causes me pause, because clearly, the person on the other end of the search wasn't looking for what they got. Like this one...

what is appropriate dessert for a recuperating teenager?

That particular search brought some poor, unsuspecting, (probably vanilla) parent to this post. Talk about an internet search gone wrong! I can get the clear picture in my mind the person on the other end of that search -- clearly a victim of Google, and I really feel for the consternation that I imagine they might have experienced. It sets me up for a bit of cognitive dissonance. I feel bad for them, and then I get just a little grumpy that I feel bad...

This sort of misadventure in the cyber neighborhood falls almost over the line into a sort of BDSM play that I've always felt was perhaps questionable. There are those people in the lifestyle who get a thrill out of what is sometimes labeled "vanilla violation." It is a practice of taking BDSM behavior out into public spaces and putting it in the face of some vanilla person who never saw it coming. The thrill derives, at least in part, from the shock and dismay that is experienced by the witness to whatever it is. It is a sort of BDSM play that is, by definition, non-consensual, and I have some trouble with that.

Taking what it is that we do out into public places, and "letting the chips fall where they may," so to speak, seems unkind. I don't feel at all ashamed about my lifestyle or my sexuality, but I am sensitive to those who share the streets with me. I wanted the right to choose what my children were exposed to when they were small, and I'd imagine that today's parents feel the same way. I have the same sort of scruples about public profanity (although I am capable of swearing with the best of them), and with gratuitous public nudity (although I am a happy naturist when the opportunity presents itself). It offends me to hear some scruffy adolescent say, "FUCK" in the toy department at Wal-Mart, and I have a sort of "no boobs, butts or belly buttons" internal limit when I'm walking along downtown.

However, (and this is a LARGE "however") it isn't illegal to swear while out at a nice restaurant, and it isn't going to get you arrested if you wear some ludicrously immodest wisp of a thing to the local fair. Those kinds of behavior may expose you as boorish and impolite and crass, but they won't get you thrown in the slammer or discharged from your place of employment. The same cannot be said for "vanilla violation" with regard to BDSM. For those of us who practice forms of power exchange, there is the defacto reality that "being who we are" out in public is risky behavior which might subject us to all manner of social sanctions. It is a double standard that I find annoying and troubling. I don't get to consent to the assault on my senses when some young gang banger struts his stuff with his pants sagged below the "polite" level. I don't get to veto the public display of love and affection that any heterosexual couple is entitled to engage in "out in public." Why then is there an assumption on the part of society that it is appropriate to draw lines around our kind of self-expression and declare it completely and totally "off limits" except in the seediest and most out of the way locales? Why must we all sequester ourselves behind closed doors or out in the far depths of the wilderness to be fully who we are?

So, I feel bad for the poor person who simply wanted to know what sort of treat to give their sick adolescent. I don't actively look to put my lifestyle in anyone's face. Still, I wonder if it is more a matter of perspective and practice -- perhaps if we simply were more publicly visible, it wouldn't feel so shocking when people do stumble upon "what it is that we do."

swan

Sunday Update

I first want to express my DEEP gratitude for all of the well wishes, prayers, and sacrificial offerings for my Mom. While I might morn the loss of a goat, lamb, or whatever the "offering du jour" might be, I think Mom benefited more. So thanks. It is such a small word for all of the gratitude I am filled with for this community.

I am home. Mom had the trach removed today with a great deal of difficulty. She didn't respond very well to the removal and required 4 breathing treatments before they had her agitation under control. She is not fully awake and very uncomfortable. She opens her eyes a tiny bit and uses both feet to thrash around in the bed. She has really severe arthritis in her lower back and hips and HATES to lay around and when she does, she shifts position frequently. We can see that she is uncomfortable, but little we do improves that condition. She is still not using the right arm much. She tried to push with it, but it is obvious there is less strength than the left.

I spoke to the Intensive Care Doc before leaving her to come back to Cincy. He says they are keeping a close eye on her breathing and there is a possibility that the trach might have to return. As long as she is off the trach, she will be moved to a step-down unit in a few days. PT should start tomorrow as well as speech therapy. He is thinking a MRI might be another step in the next few days.

She is still not speaking, but when she is not pleased she lets us know by her body language. My brother lives in her area, so he will be able to see her each night. I am thinking I will go up after work on Tuesday and then go back for the weekend next Friday. This will be my schedule until she is on the mend and home where she belongs.

So, I am home. I am exhausted. I have wrestled the fur-ball, Pranzer and he is calming down. Tom and Swan are at our daughter's college graduation and dinner. They just called me so I could congratulate the graduate......and for the FIRST TIME EVER, she responded "I love you, too", when we were saying goodbye and I said it first. I was not only tickled but very teary over that.

Years ago, someone told our family that when we find money on our path, it was my Dad checking in. So whenever we find coins, we always say "Hi" to my Dad. Yesterday I was exiting my car in the hospital garage, which is under a great deal of construction. I am always looking around on the ground, to make sure I am not going to run over nails or construction crap. The area around the car was fine, and debris clean. I went to visit Mom and when I returned to my car after visiting hours, there was a dime and a penny on the ground by my driver's side door. I smiled and told Dad "Hi".....then it dawned on me that it was 11 cents.....My Mom's birthday is the 11th. Guess he knows more than I do, huh?

Again, thanks to all.

T

Hopeful News

We heard from T, and the good news is that the CT scan showed no signs of any sort of stroke. There was one "cloudy" area in the brain, but that appears old, and the doctors do not believe that there is any current damage to Mom's brain.

It also appears that she has movement in all her limbs and extremities. She is moving her head and attempting to raise her upper body off the bed. She is still not responding to anyone; not opening her eyes; not talking. Hopefully that will come as the sedation and anesthetic wear off.

The plan currently, is to remove the breathing tube tomorrow if things continue as they appear to be. We are, for the first time in days, feeling relieved and hopeful.

We are continuing to share your good wishes with T. Thank you all so much for your kind words and thoughts.

swan

Saturday Morning

I have just spoken to our t who is awaiting the arrival of further family to go see her Mom. If she had any awareness, she would be so pleased at how those who are her closest love ones have gathered around her through this. I have shared with her the latest crop of all of your supportive and hugely caring comments, wishes, gifts of positive energy, payers, etc. and she is very touched and supported by all your good wishes and knowing there are so many of our friends who are caring about us all as we pass through this.

Today may well be a big day. We will be 72 hours out from her surgery and stroke and they are planning on giving her a CT scan today. We imagine that the scan will enable them to tell what is the location and extent of her brain damage. It may well give us the opportunity to know what it is that the future will hold. We (and especially our t) are on one hand looking forward to knowing but very fearful of what having that information will bring.

Yesterday they had her bandage off her neck and she has the mother of all carotid incisions. Her surgeon said her carotid was way more clogged than he has usually seen, and that the consistency of the plaque was about like toothpaste. She has an incision that goes diagonally up the side of her neck to almost up to her ear. It must be about eight inches long, and is way gruesome looking.

Looking at her as someone with some slight amount of medical background, but only enough to be barely more knowledgeable than your just average guy, the most encouraging thing I have seen is that her facial musculature shows no signs of hemiplegia. Additionally, she is breathing on her own now. They still have her trach in, but it is no longer functioning other than to supply the same level of oxygen support as she might get from a cannula. They had a terrible time getting her vent trach established because of the huge swelling of her anatomy from the surgery and they don't want to remove it until they are sure it will no longer be required. they don't want to have to reestablish it once it is removed. I think that is positive and hopeful. On the other hand Eleanor, who is the most verbal and social of people so far has shown no signs of any sort of responsiveness to anyone in even so much as a hand squeeze, or an eye blink, toe wiggle, or anything else.

She does seem to move her right leg in some limited degree though and to have sensation in reaction to irritation of her upper right arm. So we shall see what further healing brings her.

I verified her age yesterday. When sue first posted about this Thursday she'd estimated her age as 78. I then edited the post on Friday to change it to 75, which was what I'd thought she was. She is in fact 72.

To all our friends out there who smoke, please as you read this think about the consequences of a fifty year smoking career. T's Mom is way too young at 72 to be facing these health consequences and it is clear they are very much directly the result of her nicotine addiction.

Thank you all again and we appreciate so much all of your caring, and positive energy.

All the best,

Tom

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

Friday Afternoon

Very little has changed today.
T tells me that the swelling is down about 40%. Doctors have reduced the pressure on the ventilator some. They have tried to wean her mom off the sedative today, but she becomes very agitated, so that will have to wait. There is some "infiltration" in her lungs, and they are watching that carefully...

T has been at the hospital all day. Master went up to be with her early in the afternoon. I've been at school all day, working to try and prepare for the first day of classes, and am just now home for a bit to shower and change before I head out as well.
We've told T about all your good wishes and she is deeply touched. Thanks to each one of you for your words here, and your private emails. We are sure that all that positive energy helps somehow, and right now, we'll take all the help we can get.

swan

Update -- Thursday Evening

Master and I have just returned from the hospital. Here's what we know at this point...
T's mother did, indeed, have a stroke. It seems she has no speech and no movement on her right side. They took her back into surgery this afternoon, to attempt to determine the cause of the bleeding. Apparently, all of the surgical connections and patches are fine. There is no leakage and no seeping. They believe that the earlier bleeding was a result of a very large hematoma that formed under the skin after the first surgery. As of this evening, she is in intensive care, and they have her heavily sedated and on a ventilator. If the sedation wears off, she becomes very agitated and begins to flail and wave her left arm. They are concerned that she might dislodge the ventilator tube and so they have her restrained to prevent that.
T has gone home to her mother's house to try and get some sleep. I am sure she will be back at the hospital as soon as they will allow her into the ICU in the morning.
For now, we wait and hope...
Thank you for all your kind words. We'll keep you updated.

swan

Trouble

T's 75 year old mother, Eleanor, had surgery this morning to clear a blockage in her carotid artery. This was supposed to be pretty straight forward, but this afternoon, it seems things are going very badly. Doctors believe that she has suffered a stroke, and she is bleeding profusely at the surgical site. They are taking her back into surgery to see what is happening. Master and I are headed to the hospital to be with T now. Please keep our family in your thoughts -- especially T and her mother. I'll keep you posted as we learn more.

Thank you all (in advance) for your care and your friendship.

swan

Silly Signs

Every so often, I get one of those emails that is full of pictures of something -- cute animals, sweet kids, beautiful scenery, but I often get a huge kick out of the ones that show the silly signs that people find. This one, in particular, seemed appropriate for this space...

It is early and we are off for a walk, and then off to work. So, no real time for anything more substantial. For today, I hope a smile will suffice.

swan

Profanity and Pain

I was out driving early this afternoon, coming home from taking Master's father to a medical procedure, and as I listened to the radio, I heard a report about a scientific study, conducted in Great Britain, about the effects of Profanity on the perception of pain. Apparently, these researchers took off from the experience that we've almost all had -- hurting ourselves in some fashion, followed immediately by language that is generally not considered appropriate for polite society. You know how it works... stubbed toe -- "OH! SHIT! FUCK that hurts!" Interestingly, what they found was that that taboo language works to somehow change the perception / experience of pain.

Yeah!

So, there I was driving down the road, thinking that the next time I start hollering, "FUUUUCCCCCCCCKKK!" in session, I ought to get a pass. After all, it's just another tool for processing pain. Right?

swan

Summer Vacation

"Holidays - Have no pity"

I've often said that our year is punctuated by the transition as I shift from school to summer break. That annual lengthy holiday is something which I love, and also a time during which I accomplish lots of work that is just not all that easy to fit around the schedules that are the norm when we are all working full time.

For me, the biggest shift in emotional and physical energy is that "coming home" part of the year. Much as I look forward to summer (especially in May), there is a sort of whiplash that happens as I drop my teacher persona and become the fulltime "at home" slave. Suddenly, there is nothing at all for me to control, no schedule that I must keep, nothing about what I am doing from day to day that is pressing or terribly important in and of itself. In one 24-hour day, sometime in early June each year, I go from time obsessed, planning and executing, teaching whirl -- to His. The things that He simply does not "get to have" from me while the school day schedule forces me out of the house each day at 6:40 AM, become the commonplace currency of our summer days. He revels in having me around all summer, and I get very used to the patterns of the days that revolve around His schedule rather than "mine."

And then, August arrives, and I begin the gradual but definite process of taking myself back to school. There are stages to doing that. For me, and I suspect for most good teachers, there are a series of dates that catch our attention as the start of school looms. There is, of course, the first day of school. For parents and students, the first day of school is THE DAY. That's the day when all the new clothes need to be ready to go; when the supplies need to be packed in the new back pack; when the nerves and butterflies kick into high gear as they wonder about a new teacher, and a new classroom, and new classmates. What is probably not visible or apparent to those parents and their students is the period of work that most teachers put in AHEAD of that first day. For teachers, there are, inevitably a series of days that are devoted to meetings -- staff meetings, team meetings, departmental meetings, ... The meeting day schedule becomes a sort of "teacher first day" that happens before the student first day. Too, for many of us, there is some more nebulous August date that demarks the beginning of the "getting ready" season. A classroom does not simply put itself together. All the things that are packed away in the spring must be unpacked in the fall. Rooms need to be set up and decorated to create the welcome that we all hope students will feel when they arrive. Textbooks need to be set out. Papers need to be printed and sorted and organized. Plans need to be made. So there is that "in the school" getting ready date that leads the way into the preparation season.

Master has terrible trouble with August. It makes Him very crabby. He sees and shares my growing excitement over a new year and new kids and new plans, but feels the impending loss of my daily presence in His life, and it is a struggle. Usually, the beginning mentions that I make about starting to head back and begin working in my classroom, generate push back -- it is too soon; it is too hot; wouldn't later in the week be better; aren't there still three weeks of summer? Even more difficult is the shift that I always want to try and make to a more "regular and reasonable" (my words) bedtime that resembles the schedule we keep during the school year. As surely as He senses that an earlier bedtime is about getting onto a school schedule, He begins pushing to stay up later. I know that part of that is about delaying the inevitable, but I honestly believe part of it is an artifact of His youth, when I imagine His parents insisted on earlier bedtimes as the start of school approached. Mostly though, I know He dreads the diminishment in unstructured time for the two of us, and I love Him for feeling the way He does. After all, He could just not give a damn!

So, here we are, in the early part of August beginning the shift to my more outside part of the year. It isn't easy. We always seem to manage it. It is simply part of making this all "real."

swan

Dungeon Stories

Over the years, and the many evenings spent in dungeon play parties, I have seen a number of happenings that were humorous.................humorous in ways that only those who appreciate BDSM might enjoy. This is a small collection of stories about those funny dungeon moments:


The first occurred while playing at my first trip to Thunder in the Mountains in Denver. I believe it was July 2000. We were staying at the home of my swan (she wasn't "my" swan then) and her ex. There were two other BDSM couples there too, one from Oregon and the other from Toledo, Ohio. The dungeon at Thunder was an enormous space, and there were great double rows of St. Andrew's Crosses arranged back to back, leaning at about 30 degree angles against each other facing in opposite directions. The last night of the conference I had my t, swan, and the wife of the other couple, Jan, all restrained side by side on crosses. I was going "down the line" as it were, flogging each of them using two-handed flogging. For whatever reason, I don't know if it was just the level of experience of those in that dungeon that evening or what, it seemed that not many people there had seen two-handed flogging previously. We became kind of a sensation. We gathered a crowd. Somehow the fact that I had put a flogger in my left hand at the same time as grasping one in my right and was able to coordinate swinging them simultaneously made a stir. Anyway as we were doing this, suddenly from behind our row of crosses, there landed near the bare feet of my sweetheart and then fiance, sly, a dart. I was way more than simply intrigued and curious. The potential to touch another's possession and partner in a dungeon without the owner's permission, let alone non-consensually and dangerously, is well, to say the least, to expose oneself to potential serious violent mayhem. I stopped flogging and walked around the end of the row of crosses. Who and what should I find, immediately across from and in front of our crosses, but a nude man, restrained kneeling with his ass thrust out, and three charming young ladies, each with nothing other than honest to goodness African blow guns. These three were having a riotous time blowing darts into this fellow's ass. He clearly had several darts in his ass, little trickles of blood from some of the resulting piercings, and was squirming and making appropriately pained noises as each new dart pierced him. I was transfixed. It was one of the more unique BDSM practices I'd then encountered. I haven't encountered it again since. I reminded the three ladies of the importance of keeping their darts from our play area and returned to my three submissives languishing for the attention I had been paying to their backs.


In my early days of BDSM practice, I was closely involved with a woman who had been a practitioner at that time for about 35 years. She had undertaken, thank goodness, to mentor me -- giving me technical training, essentially the how-to's of using floggers, how to control a quirt, how to paddle, and on, and on, etc. She was very good and I am for ever indebted to her for her attention and tutelage. I try to repay it by assisting others who are new to all this. Anyway, our local BDSM group traveled to a BDSM club in Detroit. As luck would have it, the party that night was crashed by a young guy in his early twenties. He wore your typical wife-beater t-shirt which he had cut off to expose his abdomen. He was amazingly proud of his carefully sculpted and well exercised 6-pack abs. He went about the dungeon bragging to people that he could take a punch in the stomach from anyone, and that no one could hurt him -- so buff was his abdomen and core. Eventually he encountered this woman who was my mentor.


I need to digress to describe her (my mentor). She was about 5 ft. 4 inches tall. She was large. She was very large. She was like 55 years old. She had a very gruff voice and typically dressed in a wardrobe the would have been the envy of any good lumber Jack. She was the antithesis of femininity. She was strong and very powerful, a registered nurse by profession. She has spent decades hitting people with things, studying hitting people, the physics of striking people, the sensations one can create in the process, pleasurable and painful and in between.

This young guy thought that talking to this fat old dyke (which was a wrong assumption on his part, but one that was understandable) was a hoot. The very thought that she could hit him hard enough to cause him any distress was ridiculous in his view. I can still recall her usual discourse in these sorts of situations. "Let me see now, do I understand that you want me to hit you in the stomach? I see, OK, you do, and you are sure that I can't hurt you, but you are challenging me to try. And if I do hurt you, that is OK with you, because you are consenting for me to hit you. Well, all right then." (Whenever she said "well. all right then"...your ass was fucked...believe me I knew.) She gave him one last, "Are you really sure about this?" He smirked at this old crone thinking she could in anyway hurt him.

She reared back and slugged his gut. He doubled over with a huge gasp and did a slow motion backward somersault after wavering for a few seconds as though he was groping for balance. When he arose, a minute later, he could not stand up, and was clearly having distress breathing. He slunk from the club -- doubled over -- and we never encountered him again. It's not nice to fuck with very experienced old crones when you are the hot young kewl kid:)


The next anecdote features the same woman again. Her submissive, a younger woman, was getting married. We traveled up for the ceremony and reception -- a play party in the home of a friend. Like many BDSM-ers they had a dungeon with a good bit of equipment in their basement. There was a young woman at the party who we had not met previously. She confronted my (then former) mentor. She told her that she had heard of her reputation and that she had a huge desire to cry from being sessioned. It seemed she had been in "the life" for about two years at that point, and no one whom she had been with had been able to enable her to achieve tears. She made a simple request: could she possibly make her cry, and make her cry a lot? After the usual consent conversation, which followed the same pattern as the one in the previous anecdote, having received all the appropriate consent affirmation, the fateful, "well, All right then," was uttered, and the directive, "Follow me to the dungeon, dear."

t and I stayed in the living room. I'd moved away from that community over a year before, so I was renewing old friendships, and talking to others in for the wedding who we usually only got to be with on line, and introducing (and showing off ) my then new submissive, t. After a while, as we were socializing, a submissive came up from the basement asking the hostess if she could have a box of Kleenex. It seemed she was helping sop up the tears of the young woman who had asked to cry and they had exhausted the supply in the first box. After she retrieved the new box of Kleenex, we went to the basement stairs and peered down into the scene below us. "Young Miss I Only Wish I Could Be Made to Cry" was restrained facing a St. Andrews cross. My mentor was behind her at that point I believe using a rubber discipline strap. The young woman's ass was the only part of her that was redder than her face. She was practically dancing on the cross which despite the weight of the cross and her body was, likewise, practically dancing. She was not only crying but weeping hysterically and trying to utter garbled pleadings for mercy which were unintelligible, but of course everyone knew exactly what she was begging for. There was a submissive on each side of her, each with a plastic trash bag, daubing and sopping the tears and snot from her face. She stayed on that cross for about an hour. They went through three boxes of soaked Kleenex sopping up her tears. Never again did this woman have to wonder if she might be able to be brought to tears from BDSM play. I'm betting it was a while before she asked anyone to try to assist her to achieve that, or even to sit down for that matter.


These are just a few moments that stand out in my memory as I think back on experiences in dungeon play.


All the best,


Tom


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

Mindless?

Measha is a DD blogger who, together with her husband has been exploring power exchange for a number of years. She, wrote in a post that she called "Submissive Fears," that: "one of the things I'm afraid of is being mindlessly obedient. By this I mean, obeying him without thought to the matter."


That's an interesting statement, and it got me thinking about my own committment to obedience within this dynamic. I don't think that I am "mindlessly" obedient, but perhaps that is what people perceive. Thinking about it, I believe that it is rather "mindful" obedience. How, I wonder do those two ideas compare and contrast?

Begin with the notion of "obedience" itself.

Obedience is an idea that has largely fallen out of favor in our society. Even children are not expected to acquire the habit of obedience anymore, and it is certainly not something that adults expect from one another. Our culture values independence, and self-esteem, and personal autonomy, and it is generally held that obedience is the destroyer of all of that. We may, depending on the circumstance, be situationally compliant, but that is not the same thing as "obedient."

Obedience is one of the guiding principles of slavery. A principle is that from which everything proceeds, or on which it depends as its origin, cause or source of action. The act of obedience is a very complicated act, and it requires a number of integrated attitudes. I believe that the single most essential element of our dynamic, from my end of the bargain at least, is obedience. It is the one immutable standard against which all my actions and all my choices can be measured. I might "succeed" or "fail" at whatever it is I am attempting to do, but if all of my effort has been directed toward obeying Him, then the success or failure is of no particular consequence.

Obedience is closely aligned with the taking of vows. Those entering into a religious community will often take a vow of obedience. Until recently, the usual marriage vows included a vow of obedience. For most of us, that sort of vow has come to sound almost archaic. In our time, the notion of relational equality has wiped out the former belief in the promise of obedience we once made one to the other.

Obedience is attentive, undistracted, securely centered on hearing the one voice of the beloved. We have to “hear” to be obedient. Hearing suggests an attitude of receptivity, openness, and responsiveness. The word obedience is derived from two Latin words: (Latin oboedire)
1. Ob= the prefix meaning “towards.”
2. Oedire= “to hear.”

Literally, to obey is “to hear or listen towards.” In other words, to listen and respond to what has been listened to. Coming down to us from Old French, the word comes to mean “pay attention to, or give ear." The idea that obedience is related to listening and hearing relates it to another word from the Old French: audience, meaning “to perceive physically, or to grasp.”

In a personal/relational context, obedience pertains to listening and responding to a person. This is a different from the way that obedience is commonly viewed as a more legalistic act of obeying laws and precepts out of a sense of obligation. Obedience, in its purest sense, is about making a personal response out of love for a person.

This kind of “hearing” requires a particular kind of knowing. I need to know who I am listening to. This not just an intellectual knowledge, but a knowing in the heart. This is the basis of trust. Learning to know allows the surrender of personal will -- a free and deliberate choice to move my will out to the other. If I have doubts, or if I’m not convinced of Master’s inherent integrity, my obedience will be defective. Obedience is about relationship and a personal response of love expressed in “doing.”

Obedience creates movement out of the self seeking union with the other. It is outwardly directed in a determined movement of the whole being in love and service. It is inwardly rooted in a conscious, unbroken attentiveness born of deep listening. Someone self-absorbed, self-preoccupied, concentrated on self, cannot hear with ears that are intent on pleasing the other. In the etymology of the word obedience, the meaning is “to hear or listen towards”- the word “towards” implies a particular focus that remains directed toward someone else, rather than on our own personal “goals” or “needs.”

So, if we then talk about "mindless obedience," as Measha does, what might that mean?

The word "mindless" is defined as:

1) marked by a lack of mind or consciousness

2) marked by or displaying no use of the powers of the intellect

3) requiring little attention or thought; not intellectually challenging or stimulating

I tend to associate mindlessness with things that people do when they are on "automatic pilot" intellectually. So, for example, I might eat without giving it very much thought, or (if I were inclined to shop -- which I'm not, but just for the sake of an argument let's pretend) I might use shopping as a diversion that doesn't require much thought on my part. Based on my own observations, I believe that there are far too many people who drive mindlessly. I can sort socks mindlessly, and I can clean toilets mindlessly, and I can wash dishes mindlessly (although perhaps I shouldn't -- more on that later)...

Obedience, however, requires that I pay attention, listen, extend my whole self toward Master, and then act in accord with what I learn in that movement. It is not something that I am able to do without investing my whole self in the endeavor.

That, to me, is not mindless. That is mindful.

To be mindful means to be fully aware right here. If I am mindful, I might find that I am aware of a wide variety of things, happiness, confusion, anxiety, pleasure, frustration, weariness, excitement. When I have all kinds of things coming at my senses -- noises, people demanding this and that, distractions of various kinds, internal emotions, external demands and temptations -- I may not be able to concentrate on any one of them for very long. But I can be aware of the confusion, or the excitement, or the pleasure; and I can be aware of the reactions in my own mind. If I pay close attention, I find that my mind is continually full of chattering with commentary or judgement. Once I notice that commentary, I become free to release a thought or a judgement without getting caught in the commentary. Mindfulness allows me to understand that my thoughts are just thoughts, and not necessarily representative of reality. Knowing that, I can release some of my attachment to thoughts, judgements, wants, and biases.

Mindfulness shapes the experience of time and place. It entails much more than just the mind; it embraces the whole person: the body, intellect, will, and emotions. In its essence, mindfulness then can be seen as gratefulness as I become aware and willing to embrace what is without struggling to control or change it.


Learning to become and then be mindful makes it possible to choose obedience as the normal way of being. With mindful obedience, things that may have seemed difficult or unpleasant or boring lose the overlay of judgement and become simply what is. This description of a Buddhist contemplating the (potentially boring) act of washing dishes is illustrative:
"The warm water is in unison with the detergent and is currently washing away the plate's grime, the sun is shining through the window and casting an a warm glow on the dish's white ceramics."

I think slaves obey. Obedience is an act, and it requires intent and presence and attention. It is possible to derail the impulse toward obedience with too much mental chatter. To recognize and become mindful of that chatter, and then seek to listen carefully toward the Master, is not mindless. It is a choice to live in gracefulness and integrity and wholeness.

swan

Encounter with Terror

Last weekend, Master ordered a new whip. He likes a whip maker named Arturo, who makes whips that seem to be intended for the "non-kinky" market, and that seems to keep his products in a price range that is way more reasonable than what similar items cost in "the lifestyle."


Himself has been pining away for an 8-plait rubber bullwhip that Arturo makes, and so Saturday morning, He placed the order -- and I began a spin into complete terror and despair.


Whips scare the crap out of me, and that is the plain, old, garden variety of whip -- made from leather. Rubber is a material that, in my experience, is way more wicked than almost anything else that impact play implements get made out of. Rubber sticks to the skin when it hits, and it then pulls the skin with it when it pulls away. The kind of damage that rubber does is much more intense and more long lasting than leather or wood or acrylics... A rubber bullwhip seems beyond my capacity to actually imagine, and serious contemplation of that combination takes me to a place that is beyond panic. Beginning shortly after He placed that order on Saturday morning, I was obsessively contemplating the impending reality of a RUBBER BULLWHIP, and it didn't take me very long to get past panic and all the way to terror and utter and complete despair.


But I didn't say anything to Him. He was so delighted in His purchase, and I am His slave. I don't say, "no." I work hard to please Him, to do what He wants me to do. I understand that, in our dynamic, He decides how and when we will play, and with what. None of this pivots around my pleasure or my desires. It is for me to submit; to obey; to trust... So I didn't tell Him about what I was feeling -- I didn't want to be seen as trying to "top from the bottom," and I was acutely aware of His distaste for anything that even remotely appears to be "service topping."

We went to bed late on Saturday evening, and He dropped almost instantly into a deep sleep. I laid there in the darkness, and the RUBBER BULLWHIP loomed larger and larger and larger in my imagination. I know how whips cut and burn, and I know how rubber sticks and pulls. A RUBBER BULLWHIP would, I was absolutely certain, pull great strips of skin right off. I couldn't sleep. I could barely breathe. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest. Tears simply streamed down my face as I tried to keep from sobbing out loud. In my mind, I saw myself, standing under the lash of the RUBBER BULLWHIP -- skin being flayed from my body; blood running down my legs and back and pooling at my feet; knowing that I must stay in position; knowing that I must not make too much noise; knowing that I would die (really and not metaphorically) before it was all over.

It all made me very sad. Very sad. I mourned the years ahead that we would not have together. I wondered why He wanted to kill me when He'd always seemed to be completely thrilled with having me in His life. I wondered what it was that I'd done or not done that had changed things to make that happen. I went round and round with the internal voice that wanted to declare that "it wasn't fair," explaining the dynamic and the agreement I'd made and how that impacted the notion of "fair." Lying there, in the dark, awash in panic and misery, completely unable to sleep, I began to formulate a list of things that I needed to get done in the few days I had before the RUBBER BULLWHIP would be delivered: laundry, final phone calls to my son and daughter, some sort of legal transferal of the deeds to my condo and my car so they could belong to Master after I was gone, batteries in the smoke detectors, one more trip through His closet to make sure everything is in order... What a crazy hodge-podge of "chores!"

By Sunday morning, I was limp; exhausted both physically and emotionally. I wasn't angry, but I was completely without any hope. There wasn't one shred of belief in me that I'd be able to survive what was coming, and no thought to do anything to change my fate. I was completely resigned. All that was left of the emotional storm I'd been through was a slow, steady, seemingly inexhaustible stream of tears.

When He woke up, all fresh and rested and ready to go, He found me completely wrung out; compliant but without any energy or enthusiasm for anything. I was completely into a "whatever -- nothing matters anyway" state of mind.

He read the despair in my eyes immediately and demanded to know what was wrong. At first, all I could do was burrow into His chest and shiver. It wasn't the response He was looking for, and eventually, I heard that tone of command that inevitably brings me straight to whatever is demanded: "What's wrong? Tell me!"

Five words, spoken in a tiny, and very tired voice: "I don't want to die."

"What!?!?! What are you talking about? What is wrong with you?" And, so I told Him. Told Him all of it. My fear; my certainty of the outcome; my confusion as to His reasons; the whole list of things that I needed to get done before... well, before; and my utter and total saddness at all of it.

I think He might have laughed except that I was so clearly serious, and in such a state. He pulled me in very close, and began to reassure me, as if He believed that all of my craziness was, in fact, not crazy. Carefully, step by step, He walked me through the logic of all of it; He loved me -- always and all ways; would never harm me; had ordered the whip because it was such a great deal, and because He liked it; had never ever hit me with the one bullwhip we already own... so why would I believe He intended to use this one on me? It was a tapestry of reasoning and logic that began to pull me slowly back into a contemplation of the possibility that I might not be at the end of my life (and yes I know how melodramatic that sounds -- welcome to my sometimes wild internal universe).

Finally, sensing (I think) that I was through the crisis I'd created in my mind, He asked me, "Why are you still here? Why didn't you leave? How is this "protecting Master's property?"

I just looked at Him, incredulously, tears springing afresh -- "I can't leave! Where would I go? I don't know what I would do!" The idea that I would somehow leave was beyond my ability to even conceptualize. It had never once, through all the long and scary hours of the night, crossed my mind...

Which brings me to the point of this whole long, pitiful tale: slavery is about relinquishing control. It is as simple as this: all the decisions are now His. Often, when someone wants to get into a tussle with one of us who claim the title "slave," there will be the proposition that we would surely draw the line at some point -- family, work, physical injury, or death. I've always resisted getting into that sort of hypothetical discussion, because I don't think there is anyway for any of us to know for sure what we would do in the event we came to be pressed in some atypical and very difficult fashion. I've watched others wrestle with their own enconters, and I know that the outcomes are as unpredictable and variable as the people involved. There is no pattern, no prescription, and no "one size fits all." Giving up control, as it turns out, is a risky business. I only know that I encountered my own terror, all alone in the depths of the night, and I stayed put. It is a piece of information about the nature of our dynamic that I've never had before.

swan

GURUS

One of the comments on yesterday's post, the one by TC, has had me thinking. She said, "someone needs to offer another approach here, because though it is YOUR blog, people read it like any other blogs for direction and "expert" advice." When I read that I audibly said "I hope not."

One of many factors that has led me to value BDSM as compared with DD is the affinity for developing gurus in the DD community. Within the ranks of DD Internet fora there are (and have been for well over a decade) individuals, most of whom have little or no personal experience, but who have control of a LISTSERV or a Blog, who pass themselves off as "experts," and who proselytize for "followers." They actively recruit people who will agree to practice the lifestyle and relationship dynamics they preach as the right, or healthy, or spiritually superior, way to "do it." It usually isn't long before they are urging others to write them to ask questions about their relationships, or to get help for whatever it is in their lives that is troubling them. This is not a phenomenon you find in the BDSM community. I was lucky to find experienced BDSM practitioners who gladly helped and taught me, but I sought them out -- not one of them ever solicited my questions.

Many of the people who come to DD are typically women who are attempting to manipulate their men to take charge in a fashion that those women would find pleasing and fulfilling (a paradox more ironic than military intelligence). How does one take control at the direction of the person to be controlled? But that is another lengthy discussion... These women are often very insecure about who they are in their new lifestyle. They are concerned that there might be something wrong with them for having these "kinky" needs. Then, to make things worse, they are troubled that their partners are just not up to performing their role as "HOH" consistently enough to please them. They only wish their husbands/partners will assume control just as they would have them do it. And then, amidst this trial and tribulation, what should appear here on line but the guru! He/she tells them that DD is "the way." Usually, the guru recounts at length the story of how their marriage was saved by DD, and thus they know just how to do it. They tell them how they should live DD, and assure them that if they follow their exact prescription for living, the insecure DD newbie will soon succeed and find happiness. If not, it is likely the fault of the poor, doltish HOH she married. With enough time and careful manipulation and enough earnest advice from the guru, even the most pitiful specimen may learn to be in control and so please his wife. Whether it's Vickie Blue, or Robin Whittle (Mr. Fondman), or Frank and Mina at 1DD, or Vivian the Disciplined Feminist, or any of the current crop of new DD guru's evolving today into soliciting requests for advice from new DD'ers on their blogs, very similar motifs prevail.

I am a very experienced practitioner of BDSM, DD, polyamory, and life in general. I have no desire to prescribe for or advise anyone else. I am very decisive and controlling. My decisions on my private life are for my family. I have no reason to judge or decide what others should do.

I will, if asked, share my experiences, whether that is the how to's of using a flogger, or other BDSM techniques. I am happy to discuss my life, what has and has not worked for us, what I think and how I feel. If that is helpful to others, then I would certainly be pleased, but I have not nor will I recruit others beyond my slave and my submissive to become my disciples.

There is a great parable about a Sufi Wise Man: This fellow was so learned that he was much sought after by people who wanted to learn to live their lives wisely and successfully. There was a village where the people learned that he was going to be traveling to their province. They sent a messenger to the Wise Man. They instructed the messenger to say, "We need you to come teach our village your wise ways. We are very ignorant, and only you can save us from our lack of knowledge and wisdom. We know nothing." The messenger was very disheartened by the Wise Man's response. He told the messenger, "I have no knowledge of my own. All I can do is remind you of what you already know. Since none of you know anything, there would be nothing I could tell you that would be of any use to your village." The messenger returned to his village with this very disappointing response. The head of this village was a smart man and was not to be so easily thwarted. He sent the messenger to the next village up the road to tell them of the Wise Man's rebuff of their request. He asked them to send a messenger to tell the Wise Man that in their village they had a great wealth of knowledge about most things, but that they had unfortunately forgotten what was important for them to know. They needed the Wise Man to come and remind them of what they needed to know.

The second village's messenger went to the Wise Man. Hearing the message, the Wise Man looked at the messenger and congratulated him on the wealth of information and wisdom those in his village possessed. He told him, "There is this village right up the road from you that desperately needs your help. The poor fools know nothing. I will not be coming to your village. You do not need me, but rather you need to go help your poor neighbors." And some think there is no sense of humor in Islam:)

We share our experiences, our lives, and our love here. I hope we are living wisely for each other. We've made our share of mistakes, and we'll likely make more as we move forward. If there is something here that you find of value, you are welcome to it. If we write something that causes our readers to ask questions about what it is that we do, we endeavor to answer those. We do not purport to be EXPERTS. We are not soliciting people to ask us for advice nor will we be establishing a "write Raheretic, swan, and sly for advice" link on our Blog. I think those who do that are demonstrating a tremendous arrogance and condescension to those whom they would "help."

Please TC, and anyone else here, come to read about our lives if you are so inclined, come to share your reactions and opinions, but do not come here looking for "expert" input about your life.

All the best,

Tom

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

Say It Isn't So

In her comment on Master's mentoring post, Selkie asked if we really had identified our practice with DD as she'd always associated Domestic Discipline "with the fanatical christian sects."

I'd say that the sense of unease that Selkie expresses as she reads us claiming that "Domestic Discipline" label is understandable. Far from it's roots as a particular expression of the spanking subculture; in which spanking is used for discipline with limited or no overt sexual connotation, DD seems to have become a political and cultural ghetto where the residents adamantly defend the boundaries against encroachment from those who don't "measure up."

When we speak to the inclusion of domestic discipline within the overarching context of our BDSM dynamic, we mean what we say. There is a portion of our dynamic that is purely disciplinary; that is intended to create household order; that acknowledges the potential that an otherwise capable and dependable adult person could find some value in relating to another adult around the concept of corporal punishment as a disciplinary tool. For example, very early in the relationship between Master and T, dd was the tool they used to facilitate and promote Master's efforts to stop smoking. T assumed the role of disciplinarian, even as she remained His submissive, and together, they worked out a plan that moved Him closer and closer to an eventual complete cessation of a life-long smoking addiction.

People come into BDSM in a variety of ways, and domestic discipline is, for many, a sort of gateway. That was the case for me. I'd tried for years and years to get my husband (a nice-enough fellow who just saw it all as "sick" and "perverted") to spank me and control me. It was never his thing. Eventually, with the appearance of our very first personal computer, I searched the Internet for "spanking," and came across two sites that changed my life: Vicki Blue's Domestic Discipline, and Robin Wittle's Fondly and Firmly. I, personally, have very little regard for either source of information, and I am inclined to feel the same way about the successor cyber "guru" site -- Taken in Hand. Both of the early sites were dedicated to the theory and practice of domestic discipline. At the Vicki Blue site, the practice of dd was described like this:

"In this household, the loving husband/boyfriend provides firm, consistent authority. He appreciates and encourages the intelligence and accomplishments of his partner while setting up loving boundaries. There is no question that those boundaries will be enforced. How they are enforced depends on his partner. For some, a look is all it takes. For others, the loss of privileges is more effective. Ocassionally a spanking is needed to get the point across and bring her back in line.
In this household the intelligent, accomplished wife/girlfriend provides love and nurturing support and companionship while observing the authority of her partner. She understands that her actions have consequences and accepts her partner's role and guide as mentor, protector and disciplinarian. This is easy for her because she understands that he loves her and cherishes her above all others and that he will only correct her for her benefit.
We aren't talking about BSDM here. We aren't talking about Master/Slave relationships. We aren't talking about humiliation and degradation."

Robin Wittle (who these days writes under the pseudonym, Mr. Fondman) put it like this:

...sometimes, there can be aspects of a woman's thinking and behavior which might be called "womanly devils" or "imps". This condition can afflict even the finest, most wonderful women. Rather than ignore such problems, many women and men agree that discipline and spanking can be the best approach to avoiding the corrosive behavior which would otherwise result...

Now, like Selkie, there were (and are) huge chunks of that foolishness that set my feminist nerves to jangling; but I was a desperate and deprived woman with a powerful orientation to spanking and power-exchange. So, I put my screaming inner feminist into a metaphorical straight jacket and a ball gag, and stuffed her into a metaphorical closet. Armed with these "oh so wise" bits of information, I was able to convince my very unimaginative and vanilla spouse to try spanking. After all, it was about keeping order in the household and creating harmony. Perfectly nice people could spank like this...and besides, there was nothing to be done -- I was possessed of "demons and imps." I honestly didn't care that it was utter nonsense, if it got me what I was craving, then I was willing to go along.

The thing that I think makes it hard for most people to look at our dynamic and see the domestic discipline part of it is that, inside of our bDDSm dynamic, the dd actually works. There are expectations for the way each of us behave, and since we are mature and responsible and intelligent adults who love and care for one another, we all work really hard at living up to those expectations. The need for "punishment" to be administered for infractions of the rules is practically non-existent. Once everyone understands what is expected, the need to spank for disciplinary reasons can and does go entirely away, AND, since Master and I both have orientations toward spanking, we spank because we do -- it doesn't fall into the disciplinary realm more than very, very occasionally.

The thing about most domestic discipline centered dynamics is that the action centers around rules that are supposed to be imposed by and enforced by the HOH (head of household -- a sort of stuffed shirt designation that must have been lifted from the IRS tax code). If the rules don't get followed appropriately, then the HOH is supposed to extract the agreed upon penalty (almost always a spanking). If, for whatever reason, the wife (because it is almost always the wife who suggests, and even insists on this whole set up) breaks one of the rules, and the HOH doesn't spank her like he is supposed to, then he is guilty of a lack of consistency. If, as is the case except in the most egregiously manipulative cases, there is no "real" reason to spank, then the HOH is supposed to administer regular and carefully nuanced "maintenance" spankings. The whole, carefully phrased, precariously balanced construct serves (usually) to keep the nominally "bottom" partner firmly in control while the nominally, "top" partner works really hard to establish and maintain a dynamic that meets her needs; run exactly as she envisions it; and is administered in precisely the way she imagines it is supposed to be. The control almost never leaves the hands of the woman who initiates the whole dynamic. Selkie, you are right in this regard -- DD, practiced like that, would never fly in our household.

Now, it is true, as Selkie points out that there have come to be a plethora of practitioners of something that purports to be domestic discipline under the guise of religiously based or scipturally based justifications. In most cases, this sort of thing is espoused by fundamentalist believers of whatever persuasion: Christian, Jew, Muslim... I don't participate in the myth-driven hysteria that fuels these religions, and so I cannot speak to the thinking or philosophy that drives their particular flavor of DD. I will say that many of these folks adhere to a belief in women as property that is entirely non-consensual, imposed by an outside force, and non-negotiable. As such, I do not believe that this sort of practice can be compared, from an ethical standpoint, to the varieties of BDSM that do pivot, at some very basic level, on consent of the participants. Too, in almost every variety of "faith-based" domestic discipline practice, there is the primary assumption that the practice is for discipline only and should contain no hint of eroticism. Great effort and energy is expended to encourage people to practice in ways that eliminate any scintilla of sexual excitement or hedonistic pleasure from the act of spanking. Craziness! When adult partners engage in the intense intimacy of spanking, there WILL be erotic heat generated. To deny it is simply dishonest -- and patently foolish.

So. Yes. We do practice a form of power-exchange that has some of its roots in the precepts of domestic discipline. We do that in the same context as we practice all the rest of the things we do that might be identified as BDSM. We don't distinguish, saying: "this is one thing, and that is another." We expect each adult in our family to behave as an adult, and we trust one another to be able to know what that looks like. We each have chosen this path to actualize our sexual and erotic connectedness with one another and we do not experience it as shameful, degrading, or humiliating. We do it with intent. We attempt to do it with integrity. There are elements of our relating that are extreme and very serious while others are quite light-hearted and great fun. We don't parse it out into all the various subsets. Perhaps it is simply that we've been doing it for a good long while, but it feels pretty seamless to me.

swan