"Anniversary" doesn't begin to express its importance

Nine years ago November 29, I went on a blind date, arranged by the woman who had been my Mentor as a BDSM practitioner. She had become quite the Mentor in the Ohio/Midwest community, and seemed to know everyone. She knew my life-transition had moved me to
Cincinnati and that there was this wonderful woman, Teresa, who lived near there, and that she had never been appreciated as she should have been as a lover.



We connected first via email and the phone, and set up this date November 29, 1998 at the Middletown, Ohio Olive Garden restaurant. It was the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend 1998. I met her and we began a conversation that never ended (I'm a talker, which was what our "broker"had warned her).



We became one. March 20, 1999 she became my collared submissive at a commuinity gathering at Black Rose. In February, 2000 she almost died. She had the evil immune to antibiotics bacterial infection MRSA, that has gained so much press coverage in the last 6 months, way before it was "Kewl." After 6 months off work (for her) and home based care (where I became skilled at adminisatering IV's and changing infected wound packings) she survived!!!!! I'd been told she had less than 10% probability of survival and we got through it.



In the midst of it the staff of the agency I directed, contacted me and said they had studied on line T's diagnoses, and they requested my calendar. They took over every appointment and responsibility they could to let me deal with t's illness. I've loved them all as people who have shared the mission of my agency, and who would go beyond what is expected of them to support a co-worker, even their boss.

The following year, having lived together for a couple of years, we married.

She saved my life during my transition from being a very invovled "super-dad" to a noncustodial parent due to the end of my first marriage. I discovered new self-worth and value to my life through her love and joyous approach to our lives.

She gave me the gift of her love for me. She gave me her companionship and tremendous friendship. She gives me those gifts everyday today.

She gave me another gift that is greater still. I recently was reading a discussion about polyamory that lead me to realize a new twist to defining polyamory. Polyamory is when a love partner treats his or her partner's new love as a joyous gift, and not as a threat to their relationship. When my love for swan evolved she accepted it, embraced it, and joined with swan as her sister in loving me. How she found the strength, maturity, empathy, and generosity of spirit to embrace sue's and my love and use it to make ours stronger, is a mystery that amazes and humbles me, and makes me more and more grateful every day.

This is so much more than the ninth anniversary of our meeting. It is in so many ways a new birthday for me. It is the birthday of my new life which has been the ultimate of my existance.

I love you teresa.........mores & mores.

Tom

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

Mojo?

Did you know that the slang word "mojo" originated in the deep south, and was first used to mean "a snapping turtle in a whiskey bottle?" Now, it has a wide range of meanings, but generally it implies a quality of personal charm, charisma, or energy -- especially if used to describe the more sexual aspects of a person or their sexual performance.

I was all set to take off on a post about "getting my mojo back..." taking a page from kaya's book, but I thought I better check out exactly what that might mean first. After all, "mojo" is not a word that my generation used much -- make that AT ALL, and as I thought about it, I wasn't entirely sure I had my slang-ology down.

Now, as it turns out, I am sort of taken with that "snapping turtle in a whiskey bottle" imagery, but that may have to wait for another post... Hold that thought.

No. I'm up to talking about spanking right now. Because I've been thinking about spanking. A lot. A lot more. All the time. Well OK. Maybe not all the time, but way more than I have been for a very long time, and not in the same sort of negative, live through it, because I promised, have to do it or lose my place, kind of way that I have been. I've been thinking about spanking in ways that make my insides twist and my gut churn and my pussy get hot. Yeah. Me. Hot. Wow!

And nobody is more surprised by that development than me. Because I have come to believe that those days were long gone. Vanished in the mists of another life and another time.

Except that just lately, there have been these sort of fleeting thoughts about paddles and the way it would feel if He would just bend me over or roll me over or flip me over or... Well, yeah... Paddles. And, sometimes, the thoughts aren't all that fleeting either. Sometimes there is yearning, longing, hunger. I remember. Being hungry.

And there have been months and months and months where the spankings have been something that I've endured, and something that He has measured carefully so as not to cross whatever boundary there was that neither of us could see or define or understand. So that hunger is a familiar, but long-absent and oh-so-welcome visitor in our lives.

But, Saturday, I showed up ill. Not just kind of puny, but really ill. I woke up feeling like I had a bit of a cold. That was not an issue. We played just the same. But by afternoon, I was really feeling achy and crummy. Then He left to drag the accumulated trash to the dumpster, and I went to get a shower. I stood under the hot water and suddenly the world spun and turned gray and fuzzy. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, I went to the floor of the shower, and simply let myself lay limp on the floor rather than fall. T found me there, and the alarms were sounded. He went immediately from sadistic Master to concerned and worried lover and I was on my way to the urgent care center before I could muster a counter-argument. It turned out to be nothing very serious, probably some sort of virus, or perhaps a "hydration" issue, but whatever, I was clearly limp and pale and not up for much in the way of "play." Sunday was better but He was having none of it. By dinner time, I was to the point of "asking" for the spanking that I was longing for -- but, of course, we needed to visit Grandma and eat dinner and watch the Sunday night football game (Eagles at Patriots)...

Spanking does not happen when I am sick and it does NOT happen when there is football on TV. Nothing happens when there is football on TV! Get real! I tried to stay awake until the end of the game, but I never did see the last plays. I fell asleep still wishing for that spanking.

He was awake early. Stressing over the seemingly never-ending CRAP that is His working life these days. By 4:30, He was tired of lying awake and decided to get up and go organize His day. When He moved to get out of the bed, I woke up. We talked some, and I gradually came up out of the deep sleep I'd been in when He first moved. I rubbed His back and He became less and less inclined to leave. I finally worked up the courage to suggest that He might give me the spanking that we'd talked about the night before. He didn't need me to ask twice. All thoughts of organizing His day seemed to vanish. He did ask if I needed the rock, and I told Him it didn't matter. I really just wanted His hands on me. So, over the pillows I went and we were off.

He began with a hand spanking and then moved on to a strap. Then He began fussing -- looking for some of His Hanson Paddles. Clearly, He wasn't finding what He was wanting. I always find that situation difficult -- I never know whether to get up and offer to help Him find whatever He's looking for, or stay put and let Him deal with it. This time, I was in a mind space that felt "there," and I opted to just try and keep calm and stay right where I was. He eventually made some choice of paddles (there must be a couple dozen at least) and came back t0 me. I felt my mind "buck" at the start of the paddling, but then there was a flip over place and I shifted to a sense of the powerful burn of the strokes and suddenly the whole thing was on a different level.

And then He was done. Ready to fuck. Except He really wasn't. The nonsense with the paddles had stolen the magic hard on. It ain't all that easy, children. And I was knowing that we were up against the Monday morning clock thing. Talk about pressure! We didn't start all that smoothly or well. It took a couple of tries before we got the rhythm and pattern down and fell into sync with one another. And... then... we were there! Together, in perfect time with each other, sensing one another's rising energies, following the lead, one after the other, up and up -- until we hit the summit together. And not only the climax, but gushing and flooding and flowing with an absolute shattering orgasm... an event that has not happened once in the last two years.

What a way to start the work week... Makes waking up early a glad event. Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy!

swan

Unexplainable Neighbor Lady

This year's Thanksgiving Story generated some wonderful comments. I especially appreciated m:e's phrasing: "family of the heart" really does ring true for my life. I have very little linkage to the family that "bore" me, and really, only the ones that I bore into the world still have connection to me within the family that I set out to create as an "adult." So, this family that I have chosen, and that chooses me, really is the family that is real and present in my life. And, I still (at the age of 52) miss those ones that I grew up with. It is silly, but it is the simple truth.



But it is this question from maripose that I want to try to answer here:

I wonder if you might mind writing about how you do get into that calm space
to be the "unexplainable neighbor lady." I am in a very new poly triad and was
invited to the festivities at my couple's home. I came as a friend, but between
wondering if choosing against my current family was a mistake (I'm quite close
to them, but decided not to spend this holiday with them) and agonizing over not
being able to show the affection I felt for both people.... it was painful at
times. I thought I was joining my sort of new family for a holiday, and yet was
there as a friend only. How do you do it?

I think there are a lot of "levels" to this. There are a lot of hows and whys to the doing of this, and so it isn't all ONE thing.

Part of the answer to the question is that I'm not "new" at this, and so there are patterns and habits that can be called upon to help navigate this particular situation. We spend a very great deal of our lives "hiding in plain sight" -- pretending, for reasons of our own, to be friends or colleagues or neighbors, but not lovers and life partners. It does get easier to do with long and repeated practice. We have developed the tricks that help us negotiate various situations where we need to not touch one another with intimacy and familiarity. We know how to interact in public at a level that belies our deep, daily personal closeness. It is a skill -- one which we've practiced and gotten good at. It isn't a thing we particularly enjoy, but we've learned to do it with less stress than we used to experience.

At another level, doing the "unexplainable neighbor lady" routine requires me to visibly relinquish the "place" which I normally occupy within the family in order not to upset the order that allows us to go on living our lives in relative peace. We understand, between us, that while there might not be any actual costs in some circumstances for me to be identified as what I am, there are intangible costs that aren't worth the ruckus it would create. Me showing up overtly as "the other wife" would just upset Grandpa, and wouldn't really gain anything tangible. I could get all bent out of shape over that on philosophical grounds -- after all, He proudly shows off the other things that belong to Him, so why not me, but really what's the point? It doesn't gain me anything and it would just cause pain. That seems like a simple decision. So part of the process is about making logical decisions about cost and benefit like a grown up.

Then, of course, there is some part of this that is really grounded in feeling sure and secure. I'm here. I've been here for a good long while now. I'm not going anywhere. Neither is anyone else. We're pretty settled. That makes it easier, I think, to just kind of go with the flow. The other benefit that comes out of that is that, while I'm "unexplainable," I've been around long enough that I'm sort of a fixture. I may not be easy to explain, but I'm sort of becoming expected. Even by the kids and the ex-wife and the Grandparents. So. Less of an issue all the time. No clearcut label to be applied. Still no explanation for my presence, but less discomfort, too.

I also think, I've gotten better about knowing that it is coming, and preparing myself for what it takes to do it. I know where the emotional landmines are for me -- the baggage that is part of my history, and the stuff that is attached to my place in our lifestyle. I notice my annual grief about the loss (sixteen years ago) of my brother, Gregg. I take note of the place where I can still get wound up over how crazy my mother makes me -- even though I don't have contact with her. I try to get in touch with my grown kids because I really do miss them as the holidays approach. Just like we lay in supplies, and clean the place up, and plan menus, and iron the giant linen table cloth, and do all the other preparatory work, I tend to find some time ahead of the actual event to curl into His arms and His presence and just get the reassurance that I need that (whatever the world sees and thinks) I am as "real" as can be to Him. I know and understand that it is a silly bit of nonsense, but hearing it and having it affirmed helps me get it setttled in my own head -- and then I can just go on with it.

And then -- I launch full speed ahead into the business of making it happen. T cooks and I cook and we work our butts off to pull it all off. There isn't time to get wrapped up in your own self-absorbed bullshit when you are focused on pulling off the family gathering. When everyone gathers around the table, all I can think about is whether it is all there -- the rolls, the dressing, the cranberry sauce, the champagne, the butter turkey, the green bean casserole, the sweet potatoes... Is it all there and is it all ok? Focus, focus, focus! and then it is over and they are all gone home, and we take a deep breath, and I wonder if it was all alright.

That's how I do it.

swan

A Poly Survey?

Recently, there was a request to participate in a research survey about jealousy in polyamorous relationships. It came across one of the lists that we take part in and is being conducted by a woman who is in the final year of a graduate program. We tend to try to "help" with these kinds of efforts just because there is such a dearth of reliable information available about the lifestyle.

So, I followed her link and clicked my way through her survey questions, fussing and fuming more and more the further I went -- because she clearly had a picture of what polyamory is all about when she set up her survey, and her questions were entirely reflective of her assumptions, and completely not applicable to the way our lives work.

The survey was all full of vocabulary like "primary partner" and "secondary partner," and then posited all kinds of provocative situations in which the "secondary" would be treated in ways which might seem to be more favorable than the treatment given to the "primary." Good grief! Is the question about whether there is a greater potential for jealousy to occur within poly relationships, or simply whether it is possible, given grievously bad behavior on the part of one member of a poly relationship dynamic, to create jealous responses in other partners? Duh! Talk about bias!

There was no potential to discuss a dynamic in which partners were essentially on equal footing and the relationship structured to (at least most of the time) meet the needs of all the partners. It was, simply, a "poly" survey written by someone who was obviously imagining the whole business from a monogamous frame of reference.

I really wonder about the sort of "data" the person will gather with that research instrument, and what kinds of conclusions she will draw. I wonder if she has done any preliminary research that might give her some sort of perspective about the lifestyle so that she could better understand the ways in which those of us who live poly lives do this. It isn't hard. A simple Internet search sent me off to this pretty good, easily accessible article. Sheesh! There is really no excuse at all to just assume that everyone who is poly does the "primary" / "secondary" thing. That is just ignorant.

Maybe I'm just feeling tender. Having had the bad experience that I had with the crappy therapist from hell just a few weeks back, I don't feel especially patient with this sort of thing. There needs to be better information and understanding of this life choice. It is a GOOD thing to be doing the kind of research that this woman proposes to do, but there is no value at all in doing it badly. Research that perpetuates stupid stereotypes and ignorance is not going to help anyone.

Grrrrrrr...

swan

And That was Thanksgiving

The dishes are all washed and the leftovers are all packed up and bundled away into the refrigerators. Once again, we've managed to gather the odds and ends of the "family" together in our home and produce the feast that commemorates the thanksgiving holiday.

This year, we had Grandpa, and both the kids, the boyfriend who has been around long enough now that we're starting to feel like he belongs to us all, and the ex-wife (mother of the kids). It was a smaller gathering than we've had in some years. Notably absent from our table -- grandma who can no longer leave the alzheimer's unit at the nursing home to join in our celebrations, the other grandma (mother of the ex-wife) who is and has been "terminally" ill with cancer for well over a year, and the former very long term girlfriend of the boy-chick who had become a seemingly permanent fixture at our table.

T and I did our usual two kitchen close-order drill, producing a meal that includes more food than thirty people could put away at one meal, much less the eight who were actually gathered around the table this afternoon. From appetizers to desserts, it was a culinary triumph, and nobody went away hungry. We had great fun together, regaled, for the most part by stories of the recent successful birth of the very first batch of baby seahorses in the household of Master's daughter. The process of getting seahorses pregnant and then through the business of birthing the little devils is simply ridiculous -- and hearing her go through the whole long story, especially after a bit of champagne, was sufficient to get us all howling.

We finished our meal, had our dessert, and then a contingent of us went to visit Grandma at the home. Armed with dessert and hot tea, we ventured forth into the chilly evening and spent a pleasant hour or so chatting with her. She was happy and sociable, and the conversation was entirely bizarre but pleasant. As we prepared to leave, she grabbed my hand and asked me if I liked to swear. She assured me that there were no people there that knew how to swear, but that she was very good at it, and that if I enjoyed swearing, I should come back sometime, and she and I could swear together -- after all, it is good for headaches. Oh my. I assured her that I would, indeed, return another time, and we could swear if she felt like it.

It was, all in all, a good day. There are things about this whole holiday business that I find terribly difficult. I always confront the memory of my brother's death on the evening before Thanksgiving. I tend to notice the estrangement from my family as the holidays begin to gear up and other folks start nestling into their extended connections. I find the distance from my adult children is hard at this time of the year, even though I barely notice it for the other ten or eleven months. I have to talk to myself in very specific ways to get into the calm space that allows me to don the camouflage of "unexplainable nice neighbor lady," for these family gatherings. Add all of that to the fact that Thanksgiving comes right on the heels of three long, intense days of parent / teacher conferences at school, and I approach this day with a sense of feeling shaky and stressed. When we come to this point -- on the other side -- it always feels like I've cleared a huge hurdle and can simply breathe a sigh of relief.

I hope your day was good. I hope you found joy in those who you shared your day with.

swan

Learning

We are finding our way. Slowly. Together.

One of the hurdles for me and for us, in the last couple of years, has been figuring out how I could ask for what I wanted and needed sexually, and in terms of our SM play -- without feeling like I was "topping from the bottom," or putting Him in the position of "Service Top." As my sensitivities, responses, needs, and capacities changed, I really needed to be able to show Him what was good / not good for me, and tell Him what I wanted and needed. Unfortunately, there were impossible "standards" and expectations that I had built up in my head and in my imaginings that left me feeling like doing that would betray everything I'd said I was when I committed to be His slave. It was a ridiculous dilemma -- I couldn't change the "rules," and I couldn't live up to them either.

AND all of that was my doing. I was the one that was setting all of that up in my own mind. He was, I think, desperate to know what to do to re-establish some footing for the two of us that would make it possible for us to reconnect and move forward. The information that I couldn't and wouldn't share kept us stuck for an awfully long time.

I've begun to find my voice, and to trust that speaking to Him of my needs and wants can work to our mutual benefit -- that giving voice to my needs and longings is not necessarily a "wresting of control" away from Him, but is really giving Him the information that He needs to steer us in the direction that works for us both. I've remembered (how could I have ever forgotten) that just because I mention a thing that I might want or like doesn't obligate Him to do it for me -- that the choosing remains entirely His. The result -- we are rediscovering that our play and our power exchange is not merely about M/s, about obedience, about SM... it is also about joy and delight and eroticism and connection and wonder and contentment.

That is how it happened that last weekend I spent Saturday night sleeping in wrist cuffs. Not intensely restrained, but only gently and subtly so. I'd murmured, quietly, as we were falling asleep, that if we were going to spank in the morning I would like it if I could be restrained -- please, Sir? He pulled me close and assured me that, of course, that would be fine. Then He asked me if I needed to have the restraints to sleep in. I hadn't even thought about that -- we never do that. My mind whirled in a dozen different directions at once, and all I could do was burrow deeper into the warmth and security of His chest. He heard and understood the catch in my breathing, and chose to put the cuffs on me. With complete seriousness, He explained to me what He expected --

"I'm putting these on you and I don't want you to take them off, but you understand that IF there were an emergency there is absolutely nothing that would keep you from being able to get out of these cuffs."

"Yes, Sir," I replied. We have to be so careful, and so aware of our own mortality these days.

By the time the morning arrived, I was feeling ready to bring up another request. One of the things that I'd been struggling with was the pervasive feeling that our SM play was all pain and no pleasure. I'd come to feel that most of the time it was a matter of "living through it," hoping to get out the other side well enough that He wouldn't be "disappointed" in me. Most of the time, I end up feeling that sessions begin fast and move along at a speed that leaves me behind right from the start. Metaphorically, the train pulls out and leaves me on the platform. I don't ever "get on the train," and I never, ever arrive at the "destination."

I've kept telling myself that a "good" slave wouldn't care about any of that -- a "good" slave would be happy that the Master was getting something out of it all. It has seemed clear that He was getting plenty out of things the way they were, and I was definitely not getting "happy" as things went along, so by definition, I was a CRAPPY slave.

Still, I was ready to risk asking for something different last weekend -- just one shot at something that might change things enough to let me "get on the train."

Some of you might remember my "rock collection." I've got a small but well loved collection of phallic rocks. I am absolutely sure I am not the first woman to own these "fellows." I cannot imagine that there has ever been a red-blooded female that would have stumbled upon these lovelies that didn't pick them up and cherish them for exactly the same reason that I did and do...

So, last Sunday, I asked if, before things got going, it would be OK if I put one of the rocks in my pussy. I told Him that I thought it might help me feel like the whole thing was "sexier" and give me a way to work with the sensations in a different place. For just a second, I think He was surprised, and a little taken aback. I was afraid He'd be grossed out or something, but He was glad to let me try it, and so soon I was happily cradling a phallic stone deep inside me, and presented for His pleasure.

He just couldn't resist the urge to play with the darned thing, and I was soon panting and gasping. By the time the spanking began, I was more than ready to get on the train. He went after me with enthusiasm -- strap and paddle and cane, and I was right there. Things that would have left me in tears simply took me higher and higher, and when it was done, I was entirely exhausted and sated and fully sure that I was indeed -- His.

swan

Sucks to get old

I haven't been around here lately. I have been busy. I peek in occasionally, read, make sure everyone is "playing nice" and leave. I have modified my work schedule and am now on 4 10 hour shifts so I can have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off. I usually spend my Friday doing the bulk of the family shopping for the week, some laundry, the day's dinner, and visiting Tom's Mom.

If you have been around for awhile, you are aware of the fact that Tom's Mom has Alzheimer's. Some days are "OK" and some days are, well, pretty miserable. Today was a crappy day for Mom. She fell out of bed. You see, she doesn't remember that she cannot walk anymore. When you talk to her, she will tell you she spent her day cooking, or moving, or working in the garden. But, alas, she has done none of those things. She spends her days in a locked ward, where we have to enter a code to gain entrance to her world. A world she doesn't know, she never remembers she has a room there, little alone which room is hers. She is cold all the time and frequently bundled in another resident's sweater. Because she doesn't know who's clothing is who's, so it must all be hers.

Today I found her in bed. After an x-ray, verifying that all bones were where they belonged and not broken. She is sad. And tired. Yesterday she told Tom's Dad that she wanted to die. And I would think that if it were me, and in the brief moments of clarity, I would feel the same. Words are hard for her, some days. And in times like that, she and I just sit and hold hands. She calls me her friend, a nice lady. And in these moments she knows I love her and wish her well.

I wish I could make her future brighter, easier, and warmer. I wish I could take away the pain and the forgetfulness and bring back the feisty little old lady who didn't particularly care for me, when I first met her son. But I can't.

So, for now, I will hold her hands to keep her warm. Be her friend, a nice lady. And listen to the stories about all the dead relatives who visited her just this afternoon. It is the best I can do. It is the LEAST I can do.

T