Mirrors

It is interesting to spend time with someone who is not part of our day to day existence seeing our world.  Just having morningstar here, in our home, interacting with us as we go about our usual routines -- gives us an opprotunity to see ourselves though her eyes.  It is eye opening.

She and I had an interesting conversation this morning.  It revolved around the flogging frame. 

We set it up yesterday, in the afternoon, and played with the floggers, quirts and switch rod -- first me, and then her.  When we were done, He said to me, "why don't we leave it set up for awhile?  She'll be here for awhile and we'll be playing again..."  So it is that the flogging frame remains, sitting conspicuously, in the living room.  All of the floggers are hanging on the rack, and all of the other toys he had out yesterday afternoon are arrayed across the top of it.  We are simply wandering around it, peering through it to see the television, walking carefully so that we don't trip over it in the middle of the night.

This morning, morningstar wanted to know if it didn't give me some sort of pause; bother me somehow, to have it all just sitting there in plain sight?

I sort of blinked at that.  Took a deep breath and contemplated for just a bit.  Because, it had never occured to me...
The flogging frame lives in my world, cleverly disguised as a coffee table.  Even as we live with it from day to day, regarding it as "just a coffee table," I am always aware of exactly what lies hidden below the surface.  After all, I designed the thing.  Caused it to be built.  To my exact specifications. 

As for all those toys, lying around on the toy rack, they don't bother me, or particularly excite me.  I hardly notice them.  Really.  They are part of my world.  They hang in a rack on the wall in the bedroom.  They occupy hooks on the bedroom door.  Some of them hang on the wall as if they were works of art. 

Although we have to deliberately work to set up the flogging frame, we almost never engage in very deliberate, scripted, planned "scenes."  We play when the mood strikes Him.  We play when there is time and energy.  He might wander off into the bedroom, looking for all the world as if He is hunting for some innocuous this or that ... and return with an armful of implements, all ready to spank.  He doesn't generally feel the need for bondage furniture or restraints or the like. He's happy to pull me over His knee, of dump me over the end of the couch, or push me down over the side of the bed.  Nothing fancy. 

Noticing all of that stuff is a little like noticing the air.  It just is; part of the life we live together.