Mom Update

Well....been a loooong time since the last update. I am feeling a bit ragged these days. I work 4, 10 hour days and the other 3 days I am with my Mom for about 8-10 hours a day. My house looks like crap. I get laundry done...mine and Mom's....run the dishwasher, feed the cat and try to sleep. I got a script from the Dr. for Sonata, I was sleeping about 3 hours a night...I am up to 6 now.

Mom is better. She is usually wide awake. But some days she naps alot. Mostly on Fridays when I can get to her and spend time...she sleeps. The beauty salon ladies have never seen her eyes. She sleeps through the wash, trim, blow dryer and curling iron.

She is involved with PT/OT/Speech staff. There is a musical therapist that sees her every afternoon. They have upgraded her from the Geri Chair, to a reclining wheelchair and now she has a standard wheelchair that she can use her feet to move about.

She has not fallen/crawled/slid out of bed in about 4 nights. Before she was on the floor at least once every night. She can be in her room alone now with staff monitoring her from the hall. I think she likes this. Today she was reading a magazine in her recliner.

She walked to and from PT today with a walker. It is about 3 times the distance she has been walking. Then she made 2 other trips up and down the hallway outside of her room. She is getting stronger.

She is still fed via a feeding tube. But after trying to yank it out 3 times and having it replaced once, she now leaves it alone. She will hold it during feedings but no more yanking. She is eating smooth, soft food with the speech therapist. She sings, hums, and taps the beat of the music.

Speech still eludes her. And frustrates the Hell out of her. The more she improves the more frustration she has over this. We get some words easily...."yes, no, why, want, dammit" but she often says "wa wa wa" and we have to remind her to think first and speak more slowly....and that frustrates her even more. She sometimes writes for us. Some is legible, some is gibberish. Some is silly mish-mash of words that do not go together.

Saturday, we were walking the building and found a piano. She reads music and could play the piano. She played cords with her left hand Saturday. Several different ones. She played in the afternoon and again that evening when Tom & Sue visited.

Today, the OT staff called for us to bring her tennis shoes to her. More stability now that she is walking more. A good step.

Think that is the most recent news. A few weeks ago, I was worried that she would never be able to come home. Now I am thinking that in a few months she just might make it home...with supports. My niece is moving into Mom's house on Oct. 10th. She will be there to support Mom when she comes home.

Again, Thanks for all of your support.

T

Master Report

Master feels way better these days. He moves and walks and bends and has lots and lots more energy than He did back before the surgery. The loss of 121 pounds has unveiled a whole new Guy, and He is a handful!

There was a time, when weighing in at something over 300 pounds, He never moved if He didn't have to. That huge burden of weight made His knees ache and His back hurt. If He stood too long (more than just a few minutes), He would begin to sweat and feel just generally miserable. Stairs were a nearly impassable barrier, and we were forever on the hunt for handicap parking spaces so that we could reduce the need for Him to walk distances. In those days, I was pretty much on the run all the time, fetching and providing the various things that He wanted or needed to make life just a little bit easier.

Now, though -- He moves. Never even thinks about it. Just gets up and goes. He has stopped using the handicap parking privilege, and stairs (while still tough on His knees) are no longer a huge problem. We go to meetings and events and He is off visiting and hob-knobbing like the social butterfly that He is by nature. It is wonderful to see.

But, in His newfound enthusiasm for what He can do, He sometimes forgets that He has a slave, and there are times when He gets Himself into trouble... Last week, He decided that He would trim His own toenails. He hasn't done that for Himself in years... I've trimmed His toenails, filed the edges smooth, taken care of all of that business. I've never minded it at all, and I sort of like doing it. For me, it feels good to be able to provide such a simple and intimate service. But, He moves better, and they were getting a little long, so He took it upon Himself -- and He cut one too short. He didn't tell me about it when He did it.

And then that toe started to hurt. He mentioned it to me late in the week, and so, as we were cruising through our weekend schedule, I said, "...and I need to get Your toenails taken care of since they are hurting You." He was a little sheepish when He told me that He'd already done that, and that they were hurting BECAUSE of it.

There was a part of me that felt a bit crestfallen. That is MY JOB! But then He was so "little-boy" chagrined that I had to smile at Him. I love Him so, but I did give Him a very gentle lecture about not forgetting that He has a slave, and perhaps this ought to be a lesson about that... No response, but perhaps He'll call on me for that service from now on.

Oh yeah, and He got all crazy and decided to do a load of laundry on Wednesday while T and I were at work and He was here working at home. Honestly! Maybe we need a Master nanny?

swan

More Tales from the Classroom -- Smelly

There are 52 students in the sixth grade this year -- divided into two classes. Through the course of the school day, I see all of them for three class periods, and on three days a week, half of them have Spanish language instruction in my room.

They are all 11 and 12 years old, and many of them are the oldest child in their families. That oldest child thing is pertinent to this conversation. Let me explain...

During the 6th grade school year, puberty happens. My students will almost all make the transition from child to adolescent during this year. Even the youngest and least "mature" will be thrust forward, ready or not, as we move from month to month. It is just part of the way life goes in my world. It is one of the things that I know; one of the things I enjoy; one of the things that I anticipate; and one of the things that I work to manage and facilitate as the waves crash over my kiddos.

The first sign of the impending onslaught each year is the advent of "smelly classroom syndrome." As these young folks move into the early stages of puberty, their sweat glands begin to kick into overdrive, and they begin to exude a very distinct body odor. All at once. And, in a class where many of them are the oldest child in their families, parents are frequently caught off guard by the signs of the impending transition. Mommies and Daddies are generally not really ready for all of this when it gets going. Having one somewhat smelly pre-adolescent or tween in your house can be an occasionally odiferous experience. Having nearly 30 of them in a single room all day long is another thing altogether. Peeee-ewwww!

So, it is time. Each year, I know that I will need to address, as part of the health curriculum that I teach, the issue of personal hygiene in adolescence. Much as I have always wished that parents would just take care of this, I have come to understand that it just doesn't happen that way. So... it is time to speak of many things -- deodorant and showers and shampoo and toothpaste and changing your drawers and what to do about smelly feet. Things should be smelling better soon :-)

swan

What's What and Who's Who

There's a rumbling sort of discourse going on in our cyber-neighborhood. Kaya started it I think, although I believe she was responding to comments made originally on Fetlife. She followed it up with a second post, and then morningstar picked up the theme. The general drift is that the definition of "submissive" has to do with whether or not there exists at some level the capacity to stop or refuse a particular activity, especially through the use of a safe word. Does it count as submission, people are wondering, if there is never anything that pushes beyond what we want to do? My sense is that this is a conversational variant of the "twue submissive" wrangle. We seem to get wrapped up in this one on a regular basis -- asking ourselves and one another, "Who is real? Who is a pretender?"



I've watched this latest confab with some bemusement. I wonder that people find so much to say on this topic, and it never fails to amaze me that so much passionate feeling gets poured into these conversations that really seem most akin to a dog chasing its tail. I can't imagine that any one of us has ever managed to convince any other one of us that our way was "right" and their way was "wrong." Nevertheless, it never fails that this discussion elicits great outpourings of our most closely held beliefs about our own lives and the lives of those we know around this circle.



For my part, I honestly do not care. People will continue to do whatever it is that works for them, and in the absence of any sort of lifestyle labelling authority (LLA?) most will pick the designation that suits them. There are simply too many variations, and too many variables, for us to be able to assign meaning to words like submissve/slave (or Dominant/Master) in the definitive sense that attaches to more vanilla relationship words like husband and wife. In the vanilla domain, we all understand the rituals and legal mumbo-jumbo that confers the status of wife or husband, and we are all aware that the standing does not necessarily evaporate if one fails to perform in particular ways -- refusing to iron shirts, or to provide sexual gratification. There's no socially sanctioned way into our alternative kind of relationships, no specific and elaborate and prescribed rituals that we all recognize and understand.

When it comes to recognizing and formalizing relationships, we do it ourselves for ourselves in the kinky community; and so our relationships are defined by us rather than for us. As a consequence, anyone can grab any label they like and wear it around for all to see. If it really doesn't fit well, that might be apparent to those who look in from the outside, but that fact won't necessarily impact the perception of those who are "in it."

Some of us, seeing the naked emperor status of some in the lifestyle, simply shrug and wander on. Others though, seem compelled to point out the obvious, and then work to make sure that everyone conforms to whatever their personal vision might be. I think it is a very natural outgrowth of our all too human urge to judge and rank one another. I've spoken before about our compulsive drive to establish where each of us is in the "pecking order."

I'm no different than anyone else in this regard. I've got a lifetime supply of personal judgement criteria that I apply to just about everyone that comes into view in my world.

I judge people that I don't know a thing about, and I do it from some unexamined level of mental functioning that feels almost instinctive:

• Adult with a screeching child in the checkout line at the store = someone who needs a good parenting class or two or three or...
• Giant SUV driving down the highway with a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker = some conservative, asshat that I want nothing to do with
• Cute and blonde and young = bimbo, chach, twat
• Loud, foul mouthed adolescent in a public place = clearly badly parented
• Stay at home mommy driving the family mini-van = spoiled, high-society, trophy wife who never had to make it on her own

Yup. I've got a whole list of those kind of mental slots for all the perfect strangers in my world. And if I know something about you, it might get even more brutal. Woe to those parents whose children I teach. By this time of the year, I know more about them than they would likely be comfortable with, and I have most of them sorted out into the "good ones" and the "bad ones."

I judge bloggers too. There are the few that I keep up with, read regularly, enjoy and really feel a connection to. Others are occasional reads IF something they write happens to catch my interest. Some I never, ever look at. If it isn't written pretty well; if the grammar or the spelling is horrible; if the things I read there seem too far fetched to be credible in any reasonable real world that I can conceive of -- I won't invest the time.

It is just the way I am (and I bet I'm not the only one). I'm thinking that I am far too old to change my ways at this point in my life. If I get to know you, and I think you are what you say you are -- submissive, slave, masochist, whatever, then I'll read what you write from that perspective. If you set off the alarms in my head that clue me that you are likely a poseur, I'll walk off and never look back. I won't mourn the loss. I won't ponder what the issue was. I won't spend time trying to justify my decision. It will just be over with and I'll move on. Life is too short and there is only so much energy. I try to invest my time and personal capital with some kind of wisdom.

So, call yourself whatever it is that you think makes sense. I can weigh and balance what I read. I won't point fingers and I won't try to rile everyone up, but I also won't waste my time with those who are not genuine, careful, considered, thoughtful, and insightful.

swan

Breaking All the Rules Again

We knew, or perhaps more correctly, we hoped and dreamed that this day would come. As of yesterday -- just short of six months post-surgery, Master weighs less than I do (applause here). He may lose as much as 31 more pounds before He figures He is really "done." While I continue to lose weight, that is progressing way more slowly for me, and I'll likely not ever reach the low that He will hit.




I worried about this in the beginning -- just a little bit.




There are serious social imperatives about relative size in relationships. The unspoken rules say that men ought to be taller than their female partners; preferably by several inches, and that tends to correlate with a corresponding social dictum that the man ought to outweigh the woman.




We learn the rules very early. Check out any junior high school social and take note of those couples who are actually dancing. The surest path to feminine adolescent wall-flowerhood is to spring up to a towering height at an early age. All those not quite grown young fellows will avoid the tall, gawky girl like the plague.

Culture is the water in which we all swim, and our culture gives us the message about what is and is not "right" about size differentials in male-female relating. Understanding that comes very early to some of us -- I was taller than my 5th grade teacher, and taller than ALL the boys I knew until well into high school. It was a lonely passage. In an almost ironic sense, those tortured years as the too tall girl in every class were a sort of foreshadowing ... I am taller than Master by nearly 3 inches. We break the social mold. There too.



Now, we'll be outside the norms for relative weights as well. I will likely outweight Him for the rest of our days. We don't look like a couple to the vast majority of people we meet, and if we did appear that way, I imagine we'd cause heads to turn just because of the apparent difference in our sizes.




Much as we tend to associate size with power in our culture, it has never been part of the relationship between the two of us. Within the context of our power exchange, the issue of size has never been one we paid any attention to. He is Master. I am slave. We don't measure that in inches or centimeters. I doubt very seriously that we'll measure it in pounds either. I've quipped once or twice, as we've gone through these months, that He's going to end up being the cute, little, miniature Dominant. He just shrugs that off. Once I even quipped that I'll be big enough to knock Him down and sit on Him. That one got me a look that has kept me from repeating it again.


So. We've reached another milestone. It is perhaps more of a curiosity than anything else. We are who we are with and for one another. I worried in the beginning; worried that He'd shrink and not want a great big tall gal like me. I know it was silly. I knew it then. Sometimes my mind is a wayward critter. He still looks at me and lights up. He still puts a hand in the middle of my back and I am completely His. It was never about His ability to physically overpower me ... Well, almost never; there was that one episode back in the early days of my journey with topamax...



He owns me no matter His size. I am His no matter my size.



swan

Looong Time

In her comment on the last post, doubleknot wrote --

"One of the most complicated things about sharing my drives and desires with Him, is that once I do that, I lose control of them. They only really "belong" to me as long as they stay in my head. The minute He gets hold of them, they become His"

I shared this with my M and he said, "Right! I like that!"

It rings as true as if I wrote it myself, Swan.

He asked who wrote that, and I told him about your blog. He said, "She's got it figured out."

I said, "She's been doing it a looong time"

He said, "It shows. It gives me hope"

lol!

Master and I had a good laugh over that looong time bit. We know we're positively ancient. Sometimes it feels like the "lifestyle community" has moved on into some sort of realm that we just don't recognize -- leaving our poor old, creaky bones in their dust...

That "ancient" status brings with it a lot of experience though. It means that we've got years under us and between us. It means that our lifestyle choices are grounded in years and years of LIFE experience. I don't know if years equate to wisdom, but there are times when I look around and see drama and angst and know that there is something to be said for the slightly calmer waters of these elder years.

Too, in some ways, this part of life is less complex just in general. We are not actively parenting anyone anymore. We are shepherding older parents, and that isn't a piece of cake, but we are not caught between parents and children these days. No need for us to wait until the kids go to sleep, go stay at a friend's, or head off to camp. We can play in the living room if we like and there's not a problem.

So... I know there are some "little old ladies" who might have taken exception to the implications of doubleknot's comment. I don't have an issue with it. I think she meant it to be positive and admiring and respectful, and I'm flattered and gratified. I am increasingly aware of the inevitable aging of my body, but my heart and mind and spirit feel younger than they did when I was slogging through my 30's. I am most happy to be a kinky old lady.

swan

Fantasy vs. Reality

I couldn't write last week.

Last weekend was "difficult." He and I seemed out of sync with one another all weekend, and there was no play. We made love a couple of times, but I just felt disconnected -- and somehow cheated. I never really notice how much I rely on and count on our weekend time, until something happens to disrupt it. Without that time to reconnect and simply BE together, I end up feeling like I am getting by on starvation rations. I know it makes no sense. I know it isn't a big thing in the overall course of life. I know that there'll be time when the weekend comes around again. I know it all, and I still struggle. It is the oddest emotional ride...

So when yesterday morning came around and He indicated that He wanted to head out to the couch for a session OTK, I was glad. I felt like it went well, and I felt like I was "into" it physically and emotionally, and the lovemaking afterwards was good. Somehow, though, after it was all over with, I didn't find myself in that "soft" place that is the norm after a good session. I didn't have that "gathered in," and "given over" feeling that I associate with a good beating. There was a lingering and annoying sense of disconnect that I just couldn't shake. It left me feeling angry and irritated for a good part of the day. Nothing big... just a weird, unsettled place.

It subsided as the day went on, and by the time we got ready to go out for our walk, late last night, I was happy enough and glad to be able to walk and talk with Him.

This morning, when we first woke up, He seemed disinterested in a repeat, and when He headed off to the bathroom, I figured we were not going to play, and so I switched on the television to see what the Sunday morning talking heads were up to -- something I almost never do. The television and the remote control are His domain, and unless I'm here alone, it just doesn't occur to me to turn the one-eyed-monster on most of the time. He was a little surprised. And I wandered around and folded some laundry all sort of fussed and agitated.

Because ... I was walking around with a fantasy that was rattling in my head, and driving a need that I simply couldn't shake. I was imagining a caning. Thinking about caning. Wishing for a caning. All hot and bothered about the whole idea of caning.

I just hate when that happens. It makes me just crazy. And I know how I am; once that sort of thing gets started, it lodges in my brain and won't leave me alone.

So, finally, when He was clearly deciding that I wasn't "in the mood," and was about to get up and get dressed and head off to the "rest of the day," I said, "I guess I'll just go make the breakfast ... unless, of course, You are in the mood to cane someone?"

His eyes lit up and He grinned. He was clearly amazed, but definitely in the mood. Surprise, surprise! He wandered around gathering up implements, and I began to see that my simple little caning fantasy was going to blow up into a giant, multi-implement event.

One of the most complicated things about sharing my drives and desires with Him, is that once I do that, I lose control of them. They only really "belong" to me as long as they stay in my head. The minute He gets hold of them, they become His, and the shape of that almost never matches what I had in my mind's eye. It doesn't feel right to me to attempt to script them so tightly that He ends up "dancing my tune." I doubt, in any event, that He'd willingly do that anyway, and if He did, I think I'd find that disturbing -- one of those places where we smack right into the paradox that is consensual power exchange.

So, He directed me to the end of the couch, and I got myself all organized and in position. He decided that He'd take some pictures, and I told Him that I thought that this particular set of pictures has been played to death. "How many times," I asked Him, "do You think people are going to want to see that same old view?"

He was undeterred. "They don't seem to get tired of seeing it," He told me as He snapped away with the digital camera.

I told Him that I thought that it was a little like the view from the backside of Mt. Rushmore, and that made Him laugh. He declared that it was likely if the view at Rushmore was like this, then the visitor numbers would increase dramatically. Yeah.

Then He got down to business. He started stroking my back and but and legs with the bunny fur paddle, and I was working to get my head into the idea that this was going to involve something way more than the caning that I'd fantasized. Then, He got down to it in earnest, whack my backside with the hard leather side of that paddle. It lands with a flat slap but doesn't give, and the sting is sharp. It wasn't very many strokes before I was rocked out of my happy fantasy into the reality, and realized the mistake I'd made.

I tried to tell Him that I was just wrong, should never have started this, and couldn't do it. No dice.

"You can do it. You will do it. Get back down."

I got back down. Mad. Furious. Livid. My mind was chattering a thousand words a minute about the unfairness of it all, and how He didn't care, and how if only He were on the end of all the evil straps and paddles, this would all be different, and on, and on, and on...

It is one of the more perverse and frustrating features of my particular flavor of masochism. I can go from all soft and pleading and needy to angry and defeated and inconsolable -- in less time than it takes to say, "OK, can we just think about this for a second?" And that is where I spent this morning's session. Lost in the dark morass of self-pity and the sure certainty that it doesn't matter how I feel because He clearly doesn't care! And so, I missed out on enjoying my caning. Blech!

None of that is fair. Not to Him and not to me. I know it is silly even as I fall into it. That internal monologue keeps me from being able to find the place where I can actually go with the sensations and find the energy that makes it all good. It is a towering kind of self-sabotage, and I hate it even as I do it to myself.

Luckily -- or not (depending on your point of view) -- once we get started, it isn't my decision. He took me all the way through, exactly as He chose to do. We finished. He took that "after the fact" picture that He likes so much, and we wandered off to make love. I was feeling defeated and deflated and disappointed that it hadn't been what I'd wished it would be. The feeling lingered for a few hours. It dissipated very slowly. Eventually, though, I found my emotional "feet" and the day seemed to brighten up (in spite of the gray and rainy skies outside), and I felt better and better. When I noticed that, it almost made me giggle -- there it is finally: the post-beating softness that I'd been missing all week. Tah dah!

And so, tonight, we're tucked in warm and safe on a rainy night. The week will start again tomorrow, and it promises to be intense. But we'll be fine. The connection has been re-established.

swan

You Might Be a Wannabe

It seems that the occasional encounter with the proverbial Horney Net Geek is just part of the way life goes if you are in the lifestyle and out here where people can find you. I have some profiles at a couple of sites... solely so that I can go there to chat now and then. ALL of my profiles are very simple and succinct: "I am slave to Raheretic. We live in a 24/7 polyamorous triad household. I am looking for friends." But... the usual HNG cannot read. I am convinced. So this latest one popped up on my IM screen with a hello, and then went right to "You may address me as, Sir." LOL! He's gotta be kidding -- right? No. He's the "master" for me. So, I thanked him politely and explained that I already have a Master, and am not looking for a new one. Not especially bright, my HNG said that was OK -- he wanted to share me. Blech! I explained that, in that case, he would properly be conversing with Master and not with me. He asked "why?" and I zapped him off my screen. Sometimes there is just no reason to spend time with these idiots.



So, for all of you who are plagued by these characters (and I imagine that I am old enough that I have way less trouble with them than many do)... here's a collection of jokes I found at Ambosio's site. They aren't my original material, but they are public domain, and I think they speak to the condition of the BDSM Wannabe (enjoy) -- swan:



If you ever use the phrase "A real sub wouldn't have a problem doing that"... you might be a Wannabe
If you think the word "submissive" means the same thing as "easy"... you might be a Wannabe
If you think leading your sub around by a leash in the supermarket is appropriate entertainment for everyone... you might be a Wannabe
If you think it's perfectly acceptable to address all submissives as "slut"... you might be a Wannabe
If you think SSC stands for "See Submissives Cower"...you might be a Wannabe
If your vanity plate reads "MSTR-2-U"... you might be a Wannabe
If you enter a chat room and command all the subs to call you Sir... you might be a Wannabe
If you're trying to book a flight to GOR... you might be a Wannabe
If you think all subs put out on the first date... you might be a Wannabe
If you think the only purpose for nipple piercing is to have a place to hang your car keys... you might be a Wannabe
If you think the GOR novels are based in fact... you might be a Wannabe
If you can't understand why a sub refuses to meet you for the first time alone at your place... you might be a Wannabe
If you think limits are nothing you need to consider seriously... you might be a Wannabe
If you think safewords are for sissies... you might be a Wannabe
If you think placing a "Sir" or "Master" in front of your nick name automatically makes you a Dom... you might be a Wannabe
If you think R/L is just like cyber... you might be a Wannabe
If you think using lube for fisting or anal play is too kind... you might be a Wannabe (or a really mean sadist)
If you have to constantly refer to the owner's manual to use your toys... you might be a Wannabe
If you think Dom's can't show their feelings and need to be cold and aloof... you might be a Wannabe
If you have any reason to fear ATF Agents could confiscate your toys... you might be a Wannabe
If you think the KGB Interrogation Manual is the definitive "how to" book for BDSM... you might be a Wannabe.
If you think sterile needles for play piercing are too expensive to only use once... you might be a Wannabe
If household items don't inspire you (wooden spoons, clothespins, etc.)... you might be a Wannabe
If you think electricity play consists of plug in socket/exposed wires touching sub... you might be a Wannabe
If you think a bullwhip is the best choice for a warm up tool... you might be a Wannabe

More Tales from the Schoolroom: Epilogue

Today swan learned that one of her three big bad boys who hugged her Friday afternoon when she popped back in after her day away at the professional in-service was diagnosed today with H1N1 flu. No good deed ever goes unpunished:)

Life is truly stranger than fiction. I think I'll go wash my hands a hundred times now:)

All the best,

Tom

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

More Tales From The School Room: Master's Version

This piece started as a comment on swan's previous post, "More Tales from the Schoolroom," and it became so long, as it evolved, that I decided it needed to become a fully-fledged post. What follows is the "comment" that grew to be a post:)

In order to get the impact of this, you need the context. This particular class has been the scourge of the school. Each year as they have progressed through the school, (small parochial school with little ingress or egress of students in a pretty stable community, so there is significant continuity of the students in the class throughout their elementary years) the teachers who have had them have had one of their "worst years ever." These are kids who have supposedly incorrigible behaviors towards each other, and their adults. "They are resistant to learning" is how they are billed. They are tough and just bad. They are "gang like." They have parents who are supposedly incompetent in their parenting and unsupportive of school.
The three boys who broke out of line and hugged her are the largest, toughest, "baddest", coolest guys who happen to be African American (not a relevant factor other than in understanding how contrary this behavior is to culturally normative behavior for their ages and peers) guys who would likely be headed for significantly troubled adolescences. swan's work in recognizing and validating their self-concepts, reinforcing that they are good, rewarding their sort of being the "dirty dozen" or "black sheep squadron" who can out perform everyone else, and in loving them by rewarding them, making learning fun, and responding to serious out of line behavior with the ruthlessness of an avenging angel, is transforming them. No, I don't mean she disciplines them for not filling out the headings on their papers correctly, or not putting their lunch tickets in the lunch ticket pouch in an orderly fashion...such as her predecessors chose to go to war with them over. She is particularly emphasizing behaviors which are cruel to other students, and working with them to understand what is meant by behavior that is "civilized" and "compassionate." She has a zero tolerance policy for bullying among her class whether in school or out. I wonder that her Catholic, Christian colleagues haven't bothered to teach those lessons, and here the rank heathen lurking clandestinely among them, is noting that until those lessons are learned, she can try to teach them to solve algebra equations until she and they are blue in the face and it won't matter.

These bad boys (who are learning she has a special love for "bad boys," as have I:) have found an adult who cares enough to emphasize what matters, who will accept nothing less than their liking themselves, and being good to each other, who will keep them safe, and who insists they learn, and who tells them why they must learn to be happy and successful (and better yet to confound their detractors:) Too, she has become someone who they don't want to disappoint or displease, mostly because they sincerely like her, but somewhat too because she has demonstrated that she will make their life a living hell if they insist on violating some of her most sacrosanct rules. (Be nice and life is the best ever, be bad and ....well, you just don't want to think about how that will be:) I don't know if many of these kids have ever had that relationship with an adult before.

I know I am rambling inanely, but I am just so outrageously proud of her.

Oh yeah too, the school psychologist came in to observe some of the kids on IEP's to see how their school year is starting out. She knows all these kids because, over the years, all of them have been referred to her numerous times because they are so "troubled." She left the observation shaking her head incredulously at the orderly class room, with students participating constructively, without rancor or disruption. swan learned later that the psychologist went to the principal and suggested that all the young teachers be required to spend periods of time observing and being mentored by her:) Thank god she has no degree in education as her colleagues have. I am beginning to think that perhaps college education combining mining engineering, economics, and business administration is the optimum teacher preparation regimen.

OK I'll shut up now, but I know she will never tell you how really wonderful this is, and how astounding it is for these three in particular to be coming to her to hug her and lead the class in a group hug.

I feel like I'm living through "To Sir With Love." (Recognizing I may well be the only one old enough to remember that movie.)

I am so thrilled and proud to have swan in my life, to love her and to be honored to be loved by her. Who she is and her achievements as an educator swell me with pride.
Not bad for people who have no integrity and live their lives taking the "low road" as we have been told recently by our DD guru friends.

Swan You Are, Of Course, Mine All Ways and Always,

Tom

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

More Tales from the Schoolroom

I am enrolled in a professional development course that will take me out of my classroom one Friday a month throughout this school year. So, once a month, my students will be in the hands of a substitute. I have enough control issues, that the prospect of leaving my children in the hands of a stranger is very unsettling. However, I have the good luck to have access to a very good substitute -- an older man with a very imposing presence and a sincere love for the work of teaching. His name is Tony, and he is reliable and not one to take any nonsense from students who might decide that the presence of a substitute presents them with an "opportunity." I always leave plenty of work, and I do my best to make sure that Tony has an easy time of it. I also always give my kids notice when the day is approaching and I assure them that I know they will do everything they can to make the day go well.

Friday was the first of these days. My class ran from 8:30-2:40. Generally, when these classes are finished, I stop by school on my way home to pick up any last minute paperwork, and make sure that my room is properly closed down for the weekend. I arrived at school just a few minutes before dismissal. When I went upstairs to my classroom, they were lined up in the hallway, waiting for the word to leave. When they saw me coming, the whole group cheered and broke into applause amid shouts of "Ms. D is here!" I smiled and waved and began to wend my way through the group, chatting and hearing their stories about the day as I went. Then, from near the back, 3 of my more cynical and potentially difficult boys broke from the line and headed toward me with the most amazing, big, beaming smiles. When they reached me, they grabbed me and hugged me! I was a little stunned -- 6th grade boys do not generally hug their teachers. Soon, with the example of the "too cool for school guys," the whole gang was crowded aroung me in a giant group hug. It was quite the event.

I think they are all just adorable. To make things even better, when I did finally get lose and get to my classroom, Tony was there; all smiles. He had a wonderful day. They were polite and helpful. He was able to help them with their math work, and he had the opportunity to teach them about the dichotomous key lesson that I left. Seems that it was a good time for everyone. I am so glad.

swan

Goodness

There has been a lot of cyber-noise in the last few days about truth and honesty and trust. Many of us have engaged in intense discourse about how those things relate to each other, and how we experience that relatedness in our own lives.


There has come to be a side-bar discussion woven around all of that and focusing on the notion of the "good" dominant. It has been suggested that, in some quarters, there are partners who are "good," while in other places the "goodness" of the dominant is suspect. Frankly, there's a smugness and self-congratulatory tone to much of that commentary, but that is not what I am interested in discussing here.


I think that we too often bandy the ideas of "good" and "bad" around casually without really considering what it is we mean. Too, more often than not, our thinking is shaped by religious training and remains in the child-like state reflective of when we first encountered the ideas. That seems to be the case with the current line of thinking: honesty is "good," so absolute honesty is "absolutely good," and anything that falls short of that ideal is, by definition, "bad" or maybe even "absolutely bad." I just don't think that sort of dichotomous thinking takes us very far, and given the fallibility of humans, I'm not sure it is even a very useful formulation.
There's some heavy duty philosophical theory about "good" and "goodness," but I am after trying to winnow this down to something that is reasonable, and maybe even useful... Note: I am going to discuss the terms "good" and "bad" in the character and behavior sense -- not in the sense of experienced, qualified, and accomplished (or not).



As long as I have engaged in alternative choices regarding my lifestyle and sexuality, the "good" vs. "bad" theme has repeated over and over. It is a female and submissive debate. We regularly assure ourselves and others that we have a "good dominant." Or, if we want to come off as the edgy sort, we may declare with a fair dose of bravado, that we have a "bad dominant." I imagine that is mostly indicative of the fact that, for those of us who put large bits of our personal power into the hands of those dominant people, watching them and analyzing them and trying to understand what makes them tick become our all-consuming pastimes.


The "good dominant" is most often portrayed as that "knight in shining armor" sort of strong protector who makes his woman feel like a princess. Women who insist on this paragon paradigm will tend to point to character traits like kindness and responsibility and honesty and gentleness and generosity and... Yeah. Dudley Doright of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.** Ask a woman who claims to have one of these guys in her life and she will tell you that her man respects her and values her and cherishes her. Being in a relationship with the quintessential "good dominant" reportedly takes a woman into some kind of ecstatic spiritual journey leading to the ultimate experience of self-realization and self-actualization. As evidence of his goodness is the fact that he would never, ever do or say or ask for anything that might cause her true discomfort -- emotionally, physically, or spiritually. And so, obviously, if one is hooked up with the opposite number to Dudley Doright (would that be Snidely Whiplash?) then that fellow must be the "bad dominant." A "bad dominant," or so the implication goes, must be a person of low character -- no ethics, no integrity, no human feeling, no heart, and no soul. If a woman gets into a relationship with one of these guys, then she is going to end up abused, de-valued, broken, lost, ruined, and less than human.

Now, I think that drawing that duality as starkly as that is just silly. To posit that there are people who live their lives at the poles of character is pretty far fetched (the occasional Mother Teresa not withstanding). Far and away, the vast majority of us live somewhere in the middle range -- burdened with flaws and graced with glorious gifts as well. We come as human creatures -- homo sapiens. Ironic isn't it? In the midst of all this recent dust up, I'd sure wonder about that "wise man" designation.

So, how might we describe goodness in some functional and understandable fashion? There's a lot of high powered philosophical theory to address the whole question, but I am just not feeling it. I found this quote by Benjamin Disraeli, and I like where it takes my thinking on the subject:



“The greatest good you can do for another is not just to share your riches, but to reveal to him his own”


In my own life, that description of "goodness" works for me. Any of us, dominant, submissive, or just plain old, garden-variety vanilla type could find our way to being good if we simply came to life with this intent -- sharing whatever gifts we have, and helping all those with whom we come in contact to share theirs as well. That is, in the end, what being His has done for me. In His sight, and under His care and guidance, I've grown and learned and become the best I have ever been. His love, His dominance have revealed me to myself. Truly, that is enough for me, and I hope for Him.

** I apologize to my Canadian friends if our cartoon character, Dudley Doright, is somehow not a comfortable or politically correct reference. I really don't want to offend anyone.

swan

Mom Update

Yesterday was an emotionally stressful day for me. Tom and I went to North Dayton to meet with an elder-care Attorney to discuss setting up Guardianship for Mom. I spent the last week gathering every piece of paper, documentation, begging bankers & financial planners for statements and copying everything for the Attorney. We learned there is more to this than we expected. I will become Guardian of Mom, the person and I will become Guardian of Mom's Estate. We discussed way to protect her assets if/when it is time to file for Medicaid (she cannot keep her home, if she goes on Medicaid and there are many rules of what she can and cannot have purchased with her assets). The attorney was great. He was thorough, he was considerate, and I think impressed that I was as organized as I was. And a HUGE help was having Tom there to ask the right things and his knowledge of the disability field and the ins and outs of Guardians caring for the disabled. Tom held my hand the entire, emotionally draining day. I am sooooo damned lucky!

We left there and visited Mom at the hospital. She has been in hospital for 7 days since moving from the nursing home to have her Peg-Tube replaced for the 3rd time. We had her taken to a different hospital and they have done wonders for her physically and, I believe, emotionally. She is not as aggressively hostile. She seems more relaxed and understands more. There was one time that she wadded her sheet and handed it to me. I asked her what was I supposed to do with it, and with an imperial wave, shrug and guttural vocalization, we clearly understood that she didn't CARE what I did with it, she didn't want it anymore. BIG STEP! While we were at the hospital, one of the nursing/rehab facilities came to visit. I spent about 5 hours of my workday on Thursday researching local rehab facilities. Checking ratings, evaluations, health reports, staffing, location....you name it, I had the statistics. I narrowed it down to 3 in the southern part of Dayton. This way, my brother who lives nearest Mom can get to her in about 12 minutes. I can get to any of these locations within 30 minutes. This makes her close enough that I can get to her after my 10 hour work day and not feel fried the next day. The administrator of the facility asked us if we had time to visit the facility today and we MADE time. After visiting Mom, we headed south to explore what we hoped would be her new housing.

We liked. We liked everything we saw and heard and DIDN'T smell. You know, some facilities when you walk in are a odiferous combination of antiseptic and urine. Not so here. A cheerful lobby with an Internet cafe (Not that Mom would use that even when she was her normal self!), LOTs of staff mingling and working with residents, a good OT room that was in use, a good PT room that was in use, we saw the rooms, we met staff, we got our questions answered and I left with a sense of calm and relief. This place will care for my Mom better than I am able to at this point. That is HUGE for me. I need to know that I will not get twice daily calls of concern from the facility about behavior that worries them and they do not address. I want to be part of the process, but if she is taking her gown off in the hall, dammit, DO SOMETHING other than call me 42 miles away!

Driving home, I was exhausted. I didn't realize how much I have been dreading the day. Worried that I would not be able to care for Mom and her assets. Worried that I would not be "worthy" in the courts eyes, worried that I would lose her assets and she would have nothing left if she gets well enough to come home. I learned that I am strong enough and worthy to take care of my Mom. That I have a fantastic partner who will support me in whatever I do and will pick up the reins when I am having a rotten day. That we found someplace safe and clean and caring for my Mom to live and rehab.

I guess I was not the only exhausted person in the car ride back to Cincy. Tom slept the entire trip and he seldom does that. Guess we both worked hard. We were exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion....a job well done.

T

Done With the Bi-PAP

In January of 2006, I posted this introduction to the brand new bi-PAP machine that Master had just been prescribed to treat His fairly serious case of sleep apnea. At the time, we both believed that the machine was a C-PAP (continuous positive air pressure). We didn't figure out that it was properly called a bi-PAP (not continuous pressure but alternating between two pressure settings) until just about a year ago. Whatever it ended up being called, our daily lives have been bracketed, morning and night, by the reality of that machine: take it down and clean it in the morning, fill it up and set it back up each night. We have arranged our sleeping area to accomodate it. We have dragged it on every trip away from home.



Every single night since January 18, 2006, the machine has roared away through the night. We have come to simply encompass the noise it makes, and sleep despite the ruckus. It blows freezing cold air. The mask becomes maladjusted and He wrestles and struggles with it. The hose that feeds the air to the mask wraps around Him -- around us. We've survived it all.



Wednesday night, that all came to an end -- one that we never ever imagined we would see. As of now, Master has lost enough weight (115 pounds) that His sleep apnea is resolved and the machine is no longer needed. So, it was that, as we went to bed last night, there was no roaring machine; no howling gale of freezing cold air; no straps to adjust; and no tube to negotiate. We curled up together and just went to sleep like people.



I'll admit that I stayed very close, and woke up frequently to watch and be sure that He was OK. But it does seem that it all went just fine, and we are one step further along this healing path that has taken us from deadly overweight, to increasingly robust good health. One more milestone: no more bi-PAP!



Hooray!



swan

Special Note To Our Readers

I have just removed the last two posts from our Blog. I have been advised that I should do so and that I should discuss those posts with no one, either here or privately, while matters take their course. I am going to strictly adhere to that advice.

If you read these posts last night or today, you will likely surmise what this connotes. If you are one of those who commented on those posts, you cannot imagine how much we appreciate your support.

If you have not read these posts, don't worry and feel free to go on with the rest of our Blog. Believe me you didn't miss much:)

Thank you for reading with us here and for sharing your support, energy, lives, and ideas with us.

All the best,

Tom

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

Ohhhhhh -- I Don't Know What I Want!

Yesterday was a terrible day.

I was a grouch. Almost from the beginning to end. Almost.

I wanted. Something. Something that I was not getting. And I was not gracious about it.

We rolled out of bed early (for a weekend/holiday morning), and got busy getting ready to walk. Have I mentioned that this walking thing is getting to be an OBSESSION? We are walking 5.12 miles every single day -- or just about every single day. It has to pour rain or there have to be plagues of locusts or maybe the firstborn sons of all the Egyptians have to die for us to not strap on the shoes and hit the road. Really. I wanted ... something. And walking was not it.

And then I hauled all the trash to the dumpsters. Not "it."

Folded laundry. Not "it."

Changed the cat box. Not "it."

Cleaned up all the spots on the carpet where the cat puked. Not "it."

Did the dishes and straightened the kitchen. Not "it."

Went through the closet and made sure that all the now "too big trousers" were appropriately bagged up and ready to go to the Goodwill. Not "it."

I graded papers and finished planning for the school week. I recorded all those grades. I wrote my weekly parent memo, and after inputing all the parent email addresses, I got that sent out. I updated my teacher website. And that was all good stuff, but still not it.

I kept thinking that I wanted a spanking. And I kept wondering if there might eventually be some time for us, for that... he'd promised lots of spanking over the long weekend, but life is so busy, and there just never seems to be the kind of time we hope for. The day went on and on and on, and IT just didn't happen.

Finally, we got to bedtime. By then, I was figuring IT was just not going to happen. Whatever IT was.

And when I get to that point -- figuring that there is always time for everything else, then I start to figure that it is really just because I am too ____________________ (fill in the blank), and He really just doesn't want me anymore. I get pitiful... after all, it sucks to want more than you are wanted. Really.

One of the benefits to all this healthy living, though, is that He comes to bed sober. Unimpaired. Entirely able to do whatever might come into His mind. And that was the way it went down last night. Of course.

I'd spun myself into the darkest dismal depths, and all of the sudden, He wants to turn me up over a pillow and go after me with the anniversary paddle. And I can hear Him back there talking to Himself, and saying, "This is going to be so good tonight."

And I just came unglued. All the day's pent-up longing and frustration welled up, and I suddenly was overwhelmed with wanting. Wanting what I wanted.

I know it isn't supposed to go that way. I know it is supposed to be about what He wants. I know that what He wants is supposed to be what I want. But, last night -- I just wanted what I wanted. I'm not proud of it, but it is the fact.

That was not a blistering with the anniversary paddle.

All I wanted, when it came down to it was to feel like He loved me as a woman. I didn't want to be hurt. I wanted to be taken to the place where it felt good and sexy and orgasmic, and I wanted it so badly that all I could do was cry and sob and beg. Pitiful.

That's when the amazing Man that is Master, gave me the gift of an evening of plain old, garden-variety, sort of vanilla sex play. He pulled me in close, held me tight, and teased and tantalized until I finally hit the peak and fell over the other side.

He very patiently worked His way through to an aroused state (even though that vanilla thing doesn't do it for Him) and let me love Him.

And we curled up and went to sleep together.

It wasn't the way that "everybody" says it is supposed to be. It wasn't the way that I expect it to be. I doubt that it would go that way one time in a hundred. Last night though, for me, it was exactly what I needed. It left me quiet and grateful and able to let go of the fussiness of the day.

swan

Truth -- For Me

Chloe wrote a thought provoking post about the interplay within her relationship between truth, honesty and trust. I shared there some of what I've been thinking about those subjects, but it seems to me that we very often simply accede to truisms about how foundational honesty is in our power based relationships. I've been right there, nodding along with pretty much everyone else at the conventional wisdom that insists that honesty is essential; that openess and absolute truth telling is the only way to make this work; that failure to be entirely honest and truthful is an assault on the requisite trust -- and so damaging to the entire construct of our relatedness. I am not sure that I believe that is the final and immovable end of the discussion.


I feel like I've experienced a significant shift in my feelings about this subject in the context of my own relationship. So, by definition, what I have to say about it applies to me, and perhaps not to anyone else.


For whatever reason, in the last few weeks (or perhaps longer) I have felt myself arriving at a sort of internal calm with regard to the idea that He might not necessarily tell me everything, or share all of what I would once have called "the truth." That has been a point of struggle for us for a very long time. I've insisted that, if He sought out other spanking relationships without my full knowledge and consent, it was pure and simple dishonesty and gave me the "right" to react with righteous anger and indignation. For His part, I think that He has felt that there was no particular "requirement" for Him to tell me anything except what He chose to divulge, and I believe He has felt that sharing details with me has often created more trouble than good. Nothing of any significance has changed within our dynamic with regard to all of that. What has seemed to change is that I am feeling, more and more, as if I just simply do not care. There is no anger or resignation to that for me; I just don't feel like His seeking out "other" spanking relationships has anything at all to do with me or with us. I am finding myself choosing to not follow the white rabbit of fear and insecurity into the thickets of my mind. I've long believed that "trust" is a choice and an active movement, and that feels manifest in my thinking and acting these days.

He tells me that He loves me, and I believe that is true.

He tells me that I am His always and all ways, and I believe that is true.

He tells me that He is not interested in additional love relationships; that He is entirely happy with what we have and are together, and I believe that is true.

He holds my life in His hands. I'd be a fool to allow that to be the case if I did not have complete and entire trust in His loyalty, integrity, and good faith. I gave the control over to Him, and I have come to understand that His control encompasses the potential that He may choose to regulate what information I become privy to. It doesn't matter. I feel safe with Him.


He knows me better than anyone on the planet. He knows my strengths and my weaknesses. He knows my capacities and my limitations. He knows what I can do, and what I cannot do. He'll tell me what is important for me to know. He'll protect me if He feels that is appropriate. He'll shelter our love from unnecessary storminess.

I know some are inclined to say that "truth is truth," but it really isn't that simple. Philosophically, linguistically, experientially, there is wide debate and discussion about what exactly is truth. Truth involves both the qualities of faithfulness, fidelity, loyalty, sincerity, veracity, and that of agreement with fact or reality.

In my world, inside of our dynamic, His word defines the fact and the reality. I live my life completely within the boundaries defined by His word and His vision. That is my truth.

What that means, right now, is that if He determines that the girlies who pop up in His world from time to time looking to get their butts beat don't really matter -- then they don't matter. It means that, if I need to know about them, He'll make sure that happens. It means that He can and should and will determine what (if any) relationship will happen between them and me. That seems fine to me. I don't need the drama, the angst, the emotional upheaval. I'm perfectly happy to be able to focus on Him and on us -- to enjoy the new happy, healthy, wonderful life we've begun to construct for ourselves; to serve and to love and to submit; to revel in His ownership and the peace and joy that gives me.

The conventional wisdom is that if I live my life knowing that I am perhaps not given the "whole" truth, then I must be worried, anxious, defended, and on uncertain footing in my relationship. That's a culturally defined view of things, and I understand that it is valid for many. It just isn't the way it has actually worked out for me and for us. I don't have an explanation for how that transformational understanding came about. I only know it has and that being moored safely in these emotionally calm waters feels right and good.

swan

Heretic Rant

I've always been intrigued by Blog rants. I don't believe I've ever written one, so this is a first. This Blog and the body of work that we've (admittedly mostly swan) created here and on our predecessor Blog has just been hugely and totally misrepresented by a commenter on another Blog in our circle of correspondence, and I want to correct those entirely false statements about what we write here.

It was stated that we are "proponents of polygamy and M/s." This is an utter falsehood. Firstly polygamy is a serious federal felony in the United States. Were we to practice polygamy we would be subject to decades of imprisonment. Considering the dominance of our government by Christianity, other mainline religions, and general conservative intolerance that is so prevalent in our country in recent years, freedom of speech aside, were one to be proponent of polygamy, that would likely gain you legal sanction. We have never described ourselves as polygamous, nor are we polygamous, and we most certainly are not proponents of polygamy. The person who stated this, who has seemed to read here for some time, apparently has no understanding of what she has read.

We are polyamorous, but we are absolutely not proponents of polyamory. We believe very strongly that everyone should be able to lead self-determined lives and develop whatever family structures they choose (obviously within the purview of civil law). We do not promote our lifestyle as superior, sacred, holy, right, or in anyway superior to being single, monogamous, gay, straight, bi or any other permutation of adults coming together in committed relationship. We do not either set ourselves up as guru's or solicit people to ask us for advice about their love lives.

As for our being "proponents of M/s." This also is entirely false. It is true that two of the three of us (swan and I) are involved in a consensual M/s power exchange. We in no way suggest anyone else should engage in M/s, nor have we.

I would like to challenge someone to cite examples of our promoting either polygamy or M/s here ,or even for that matter, polyamory.

We share our experiences, we share our feelings about many aspects of our lives, we are not proponents nor will we be, as long as I have control of this family.

The implication too was communicated by inference, that we in some fashion denigrate domestic discipline (DD) as a lifestyle, or that we somehow argue that D/s or M/s is superior to DD. I have routinely on this Blog, and in many other Internet fora, described our lifestyle as bDDsm, connoting the practice of domestic discipline within the context of a BDSM lifestyle. While I recognize that this may be a unique take on DD, compared to the way many define it (imagine that -- this family being unique), I feel no compulsion to define my life and that of my family by anyone else's lexicon. For us to in someway say that DD is inferior would be for us to denigrate our own lifestyle. We are not self-effacing.

We do not put our lifestyle forward as superior to anyone else's. We are not seeking to become gurus or proselytize. Were we to be treated as such by someone we would end that co-dependent relationship immediately. We are not so insecure as to need to offer an advice line for co-dependent folks to turn to with their life questions, in order to feel superior to others or OK about ourselves. We do not tell others how to lead their lives. We do not purport that our choices and opinions are somehow sacred or are in anyway representative of "facts." We are most certinly not attempting to have people turn to us for advice in how to live their lives, AND WE MOST CERTAINLY ARE NOT AND NEVER HAVE BEEN PROPONENTS OF POLYGAMY AND M/s! Describing us as being like those who are prostelitizing their lifestyle and setting themselves up as experts (based upon laughably short experience with their lifestyle besides) is insulting.

Tom

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

Ooooooh! What Pretty Panties!

He used to have a thing about "breaking in" any new clothes that I got. Breaking in is Master-speak for paddling the daylights out of me IN whichever item is being "broken in." I've always had mixed feelings about His insistence on this particular custom. On the one hand, it is a painful experience for me, and my reluctant masochism tends to shy away from things that I know are just going to hurt like the Dickens. On the other hand, "breaking in" always feels like the M/s version of the vanilla guy's affirmation: "Gosh, Honey! You look great in that dress!" I'm enough of a screwy masochist to get an emotional charge out of the whole business.

But life has been difficult in the last few months. We've been far more focused on issues of health than on SM play. It isn't that we've given it up altogether, but things have definitely dropped off as our energies have been directed elsewhere.

So... I've acquired a fair number of new "things" that have not been properly broken in. It has bothered me some, but I've told myself that it was not a big deal -- especially compared with everything else we are coping with these days.

And then there was Wednesday. I'd worn a cute little turquoise colored, sleeveless, summer dress that T found for me last weekend. When I got home from school, He was already here. We sat and chatted; shared news from the day; talked about this and that, and had a snack. Eventually, He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with one of the clear red acrylic paddles. With a wicked grin on His face, He took me by the hand and declared that it was time to break in my new dress.

I was a little surprised, but recovered pretty quickly and got myself in position over His lap. He began fairly gently, paddling with rapid fire strokes all over my butt (clad in my pretty new dress). After a bit, as I was beginning to squirm just a bit, He pulled the hem of the dress up, and I heard Him exclaim: "Ooooooh! What pretty panties!"

It made me giggle (in spite of my precarious position). It isn't like He'd never seen them before. It isn't like they are anything special -- just some Fruit of the Loom, cotton hipster-style panties, in a soft colored pastel print. I don't spend big bucks on lingerie. Panties cover my ass, and He most often wants me bear-assed naked for spankings, so...

But, He oooohed and ahhhhed and carried on as if I was sporting something luscious from Victoria's Secret. I don't know -- maybe those pedestrian undies take on some magic power when they are displayed on an upturned ass?

Anyway, He paddled away on the "pretty panties," and then pulled up the legs on each side so He could paddle the bare skin underneath. I squealed and squirmed and panted and gasped my way along, and ended up all curled up in His arms. It is good to be back on familiar turf.

swan

3 Minutes

During the school week, I set two alarm clocks. The first is set to go off at 5:30 AM. I can turn it off with a remote control without ever leaving the bed. It is my "snuggle" alarm. It gives me a chance, early in the morning to be sure I get a few precious moments tucked in against His chest and wrapped in His arms. Fifteen minutes later, at 5:45 AM, a second clock radio alarm goes off and the day begins. I have to get both of us set up with breakfast and lunches and be out the door somewhere between 6:45 and 6:50. Almost always, what we do in that fifteen minute interval is simply wrap up in one another and sleep.

This morning, however, was an entirely different story...

The first alarm sounded and I turned it off as usual. I turned back in and tucked into my normal spot under His chin. He began to hump on my leg -- still sort of asleep but clearly working His way around to a full on raging morning hard on. It is not unusual for Him to do that humping thing on me, especially early in the morning. Very early on, I learned that it most often goes better for Him if I lie still and let Him arrange me in whatever position works best for Him. After my hysterectomy (almost four years ago), my sexual responsiveness declined to a point where I eventually stopped expecting anything much from sex. I'm happy to engage with Him sexually, but it just very seldom happens that I get aroused. This morning, however, there was that very rare, almost magical moment when I realized that I was wanting to fuck even as He was clearly wishing that could happen.

So forsaking my usual passive "teddy bear" mode, I said, "We better hurry and do something about that -- quick..."

He replied that he didn't think that He was going to be all that "quick," but maybe we could try if I wanted to. Right. Yes, Sir.

So, I hopped on and went right after it :-) It was exactly, 5:45 (I looked). It was dark as pitch, and I wasn't entirely awake yet. It was easy to simply close my eyes and get lost in the rhythm; watch the colors behind my lids; follow the misty morning threads wherever they led -- and ride Him to His own orgasm just as my own body swept over the edge and launched into its own rocking orgasm. He grinned and giggled, and I was just stunned and thrilled.

It was 5:48. Exactly. Tee Hee! And to think that my wonderful Master once suffered from "retarded ejaculation." Goodness, how life has changed.

swan

Tales from the School Room

This is the second week of the school year. I have met all my students and mostly, I've learned all their names. I have one set of identical twin boys that are still giving me fits in that department, but I am determined to figure out who is who before too much longer.

Other than that one small glitch, I am feeling as postitive about this school year as I have ever felt. I am having so much fun. This group of students seem open and eager and interesting and I am excited about the work that we will all do together this year.

That fact belies the awful stories that were circulated about this group of young people last year. Their 5th grade teachers battled with them all year last year. They struggled to maintain some sort of order in their classrooms. They were continually embroiled in various forms of bullying behavior. They found the parents to be difficult, unresponsive, and not supportive. Mostly, from my vantage point, they simply yelled and found fault with these children every single day, all day, for a whole year. This is a class of 52 children, all of them aged 11, who have already told me (after only six days) that they are "bad."

That is just heartbreaking. It is moreso because, so far I have not found them to be "bad" at all. I have had to intervene in a few behavior "mistakes." A few have chosen to talk while I'm talking. One has tried to get away with making trips to the boys' bathroom every class period. I had one young lady who told another child to "shut up!" There are the usual handful who are accustomed to taking their own sweet time, and are struggling with the expetation that they arrive in class on time. There is not one of those behaviors that is out of the ordinary, difficult to address, or indicative of a "bad" kid -- much less than a "bad" class.

I've been focused on being "civilized." They've heard me say it enough now that they are beginning to say to each other, "that wasn't very civilized." It causes me to smile when I hear them. They seem awfully cute and awfully susceptible to being cared for and respected.

I tend to do most of my grading over the weekend, and it is my habit to return graded papers on Monday. I put the work into kids' "mailboxes," and they retrieve it from there and then take the packets home to parents. The first time I do that is usually a little chaotic as it is a system that is markedly different from what students experience with other teachers. So, this week, as they were collecting their papers and looking them all over; as I was explaining how the grades are marked and what it all means; as they were reading through the first installment of my weekly parent memo -- one of the boys tracked me down so that he could talk to me one on one.

He brought me his stack of graded work (all of it neatly and correctly done), and stood beside me with his papers and a very serious face. He said, "Last year I had a lot of trouble and I wasn't very successful, and I just wanted to check and see if these papers really say what I think they say?"

"Well, J," I told him, "I don't know about last year, but if your plan is to be successful this year, it looks to me like you are off to a great start." His face lit up with a brilliant smile, he nodded, and strolled off to get back to work. I just wanted to hug him.

Then again, this morning, I was standing talking with a group while they were getting ready to go to physical education. One of them looked at me and with a deadly serious voice asked, "Do you like us, Ms. D?"

I looked at him and smiled and said, "Of course I like you! What teacher wouldn't love to have such a great group of charming and delightful students?"

They all gave me that sideways eye that tells me that they are wondering if I am giving them a line of bull, but then sort of straightened up and looked me in the eye. One of them said, "Last year we were bad, but this year we are way more mature."

I simply nodded and smiled and agreed with that assessment: "That must be it." They headed off to class with a notiecable bounce in their steps.

Just another day in paradise.

swan

What is it That You Guys Do?

Selkie asked a couple of interesting questions in a comment on the "Sunday Spanking" post:

1) I note it is Swan who gets the spanking, Was or is T ever used the same way?
2) Further, is it only spankings that you guys are into?

They are simple direct questions, asked with sincerity (and no hint of rudeness, even though Selkie worried about that). They merit an answer. Were we not glad to share, this would be an odd medium for us to be using to express ourselves. We are always glad to answer sincere questions.

My t and I were initially bonded in an intense D/s relationship wrapped in a lot of SM play very much centered on spanking and flogging. In 2000 I almost lost her. She developed diverticulitis. Not an uncommon condition, and not usually extremely serious -- her case was straight from hell. Her diverticulae ruptured and she developed peritonitis. Her peritoneal abscess was finally identified as MRSA (methicillin-resistant stapholococcus aureus) the, then pretty new, and much more rare than today, antibiotic resistant bacterial infection. She was horribly ill for six months, which period involved several hospitalizations, stretches in ICU (during which time I was told that there was really not much prospect for her survival), a colostomy, and eventually a colostomy reversal. I moved into her hospital and performed her direct care myself and learned to dress and pack her open abdominal wounds and administer her IV antibiotics at home in between hospitalizations. We came through it (miraculously) together and intact except for one aspect of us.

T experienced pain that was horrid beyond belief. There was pain that was beyond any pain control they could provide. They gave her morphine and Demerol to the point that they feared respiratory arrest were they to administer more, and still she was shrieking hysterically in agony.

T's orientation to intense stimuli...to pain....was transformed dramatically. She cannot handle spanking and likely never will again. The unfortunate reality is that, although I am the love of her life and although I love her totally in return -- I am completely immersed in a sensual/erotic orientation that centers on pain in general, but on spanking and other forms of corporal disciplinary spanking like behaviors specifically. That long illness was the advent of the "stunt butts" and likely some of what made our foray into polyamory with swan opportunistic. It is of course far more about who swan is and our great love...but too if she had had no spanking orientation it is likely our love would not have evolved.

T is my wife, my love, and my collared service submissive. She also is an excellent and highly skilled Top should the occasion for that to arise. In that mode we jokingly call her Mistress Trixie. In general though she has shown no desire to Top other men and I have lost the little bit of switch orientation I passed through some years ago (to the regret of both t and swan).

This was a hell of a long way to say, "No -- t is not spanked."

As for your other question: are we into more than "only" spanking? As limited as some might find it spanking, paddling, flogging, caning, single tail whipping, cropping, quirting, strapping, switching etc. are pretty much the extent of our chosen "play." The largest current variant in all of that is that My intrigue with single tail whipping grows more and more -- much to poor swan's ever increasing horror.

It is not that this is as far as our BDSM play has evolved; not because we just don't know any more than this. We have done waxing, needling, bondage (and by the way we very much enjoy bondage/restraint as an adjunct to spanking), and have attended seminars on piss play, and face slapping, and kicking and punching, and cupping (have actually tried that), and fire play (have tried that too), and tickling, and gyne-torture, and CBT (both t and swan have done some CBT....to my unending terror:) and we are not taken with them. Wax play bored us to tears. swan and I think bondage for bondage sake is about as interesting as watching paint dry. t is more taken with shibari-style bondage than we are. We have friends who are way into some or many/all of these and many other diverse BDSM practices. We enjoy their orientations, and appreciate excellence in BDSM practice in all its forms. Many of these are just not fulfilling for us.

Until her hysterectomy, swan and I were heavily involved in intense and frequent vaginal fisting play. It was a form of sexual intimacy that thrilled us both. She has never been able to accommodate that again. My t has a tilted uterus, and she has always been unable to accommodate that sort of insertion.

My initials cut into swan's back are testament to our ritual cutting practice. That level of cutting is serious for us. We are not into the sort of cutting play that results in barely broken skin or skin irritation that is gone in a few hours to weeks, but permanent scarring as a form of body modification that will irrevocably last a lifetime, and may well inscribe one's soul for eternity(that's about as woo woo as I get:) I am trained in cutting techniques, and we have the capacity to engage in that at any time in terms of the necessary tools, but I am more cautious about the risks considering our age.

I have a huge kinife fetish and have likely spent $10,000.00 on my knife collectioon over the past decade. I love using knives for sensual play and just about always include that in the spankings I deliver.

We have no tack bras. Blow guns and darts in the ass while novel aren't "us."

Please note we truly do honor the kink of everyone, appreciate them, and study their skilled practice. There is no judgement here....no condescension, only the description of what stimulates and fulfills us.

So I guess, yes, we are "only" into spanking.

LOL! I guess I could have just said: 1. No, and 2. yes.

Thank you for being interested enough to ask, selkie, and I want to assure you that you never have been rude to Me or to my family.

All the best,

Tom

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

Want and Wanting

Ingrid Bergman once said, "Success is getting what you want; happiness is wanting what you get." There's a note of resignation to that sentiment. It isn't all that far from the life philosophy that I remember adopting as a child of 10. In those bleak years, I remember that I came to believe that the best way to be happy was to not want what I could not have. Ingrid would have been impressed...


Today, I live the life that I chose for myself -- the life I once dreamed of. I love, and am loved. I belong to a bright, strong, confident man who honors me with His ownership. Certainly, by Ingrid's definition, I have made a success in terms of my relationship. It is exactly what I wanted -- exactly what I craved from the time I was very young. If getting what you want is "success," then my life epitomizes that.


The issue of happiness is more complicated. To want what you get seems to me to be a tall order, at least as a steady state. In general, I do want what I get. I want His control. I want His oversight of my life, my choices, my well-being, my thinking, my behavior. His "sadist" meets my "masochist," and that match is a powerful and almost intoxicating source of energy and delight for both of us. Most of the time.


I am not, however, simple or easy. I have enormous drives to seize control wherever that is possible. When I sense an opening, I will manipulate and wheedle and play every card in my hand in order to come out as the "winner." That compulsion can be wickedly destructive inside of an intimate relationship, and I am lucky that He is completely unaffected by those moves. He is who He is, and He wants what He wants. He requires and demands my submission; my compliance, and there is simply no room to wiggle. That fact creates great security and emotional comfort for me, but it also chafes -- because I have never lost the part of my being that really does want Him to do what I want Him to do.


I get frustrated when I sense that He is going right on with whatever is on His agenda -- no matter what I might "want" or think I "need." That sort of thing pisses the hell out of me. It isn't fair! Can you see my pouty face?


If being happy is equivalent to wanting what you get, then I am sometimes not even a little bit happy. Sometimes I get way more than I bargained for. Sometimes I do not get anything that is even remotely what I want ... except that it IS (in some upside down fashion) exactly what I want, and I DO end up feeling fulfilled and contented and sometimes even goofy with the happiness that brings me. What a contrary mix of feelings and wants I am...


I swear I am not crazy, and certainly not schizophrenic. I have a pretty well integrated sense of myself, and I am really not all that easily knocked off kilter. I know that I am not the only one who lives inside of the paradox that is masochistic submission. It sets me up for the cognitive dilemma that IF He chooses to use me in the ways that I think I want, I may feel sensuously pleasured, but I am often left with a lingering sense of deprivation. The masochist does not respond to that pleasuring sort of play. For me, the way into a place of satisfaction and contentment is almost always through an enormous and often bleak internal battle and struggle for control -- and I have to lose that battle fair and square. I have to be taken through sensations and emotions that I'd consciously prefer to avoid. I have to be driven through rage and despair and resentment and hopelessness to the point of complete submission, and for that to happen I have to choose to remain in the one place where every instinct screams I should not be.


I can't imagine how it is that He tolerates the fierceness of the emotions that He brings up in me. It is perhaps, that sadism provides some sort of protective armor off of which all the emotional spears simply bounce and fall harmlessly away. Or maybe He just knows me so well that He understands what He is seeing in the moment -- knows that the external raging is the artifact of an internal battle that isn't about Him at all.


It is a primal sort of relating. Nothing delicate or genteel. He commands and I bend, but even as I choose the practice of submission, the voices in my head are seldom quiet, polite, or sweet. I can rain down silent curses, even as I give Him the required "Sir." I can wrap myself in bitterness and refuse to give up that last shred of control that would allow my mind and body to follow the path to soaring ecstasy in the pain He unleashes. I can be my own worst enemy sometimes.

Sometimes. I want. And often -- I do not want. All at the same time. Sometimes. I would refuse what cannot be refused, and if it were allowed, I'd miss out on the whole experience. Because I am sometimes not brave enough or strong enough to go there on my own. He guides. He cajoles. He insists. He commands. He has taken my power, and He uses it for the benefit of us both.

The weekend was not entirely happy for me. I do wonder what drives the unpredictable storms of my nature. This week though, the pouty face seems a distant memory. I am centered and secure and sure of my own self. It is the melding of success and happiness that comes from getting what you want by not being given what you think you want.


swan