What's in a Name?

I haven't always been "swan." Actually my swan moniker came about in response to a moment of lighthearted teasing that happened between Master, T, and I many years ago.

I don't remember the exact details anymore. It is probably sufficient that I'd been doing something around the house that required a degree of brute force and muscling. I'm a tall one, and capable of being fairly physically strong. I might have been moving furniture, or lifting something up onto a shelf, or repairing something around the house... Whatever it was, Master, upon hearing about my exploits, exclaimed, "That's my big, strong, German girl!"

Given that descriptor, I quipped that maybe I'd just change my name to "Ahhhnold."

T and I giggled at the joke, and at Master's obvious chagrin at the prospect. He thought for just a moment and then restated the situation:

"You are nothing like Arnold Schwarzenneger. You are my tall, beautiful swan." And so it is that I've remained "swan" ever since.

I was remembering my Ahhhnold incarnation yesterday as I worked to prepare the house for having the carpets cleaned today.

My condo has some issues related to a fire that occured in the building just a few weeks after we moved in here years ago. The condo that belongs to Master and T was close enough to the unit where the fire occured that they sustained significant smoke damage. Insurance paid to have their place completely cleaned -- ducts, carpets, upholstery, clothing -- the whole business. On the other hand, the adjustors insisted that there was no need for any of that in my place (one unit further from the fire, although in the same building). Over the years, it has become clear that that assessment was simply wrong. There is black soot at the edge of all my carpeting and a nasty, sooty black discharge from every heat vent. Finally, after battling the problem for over five years, we decided that there was no option but to have the ducts and carpets cleaned professionally. Today is the day. Which means that yesterday was spent moving EVERYTHING out of here to the garage so that the carpet cleaners can have a clear shot at the project. EVERYTHING! Chairs, benches, tables, exercise gear, electronics, the entertainment center -- it is all stacked in the garage, filling the space entirely. There is practically nothing left inside the house.

Clearly, the Ahhhnold side of me is still there, waiting to be called forth when the need arises. That isn't a bad thing after all.

swan

Taking a Chance on Hospitality

We live quiet lives, out of the view of people who might not understand our life. Inside our home, the three of us go about our day-to-day routines without much fanfare or fuss.



In the last few weeks, though, we've been gifted with a fair number of visitors to our home who are, like us, living alternative lives in one fashion or another. In each case, the original contact has been through and because of online connections, either here or through other cyber venues.



It interests me that, although many of us have been connecting on-line for years, the process of actually converting on-line contact to real-life, face-to-face relating is still something that we and others approach very carefully. Our offers of hospitality, have been met with openness, but also caution. We've brought people into our home with the promise of a meal and some social time- - simple hospitality without any burden of expectation beyond that. Really, dinner here is just that: people gathered around the big table to partake of good food, good conversation, and companionship.



When we tell people that we are interested in building friendships with others with whom we can be who we are without pretense, we really do mean just that. We tend to let guests set the pace for any discussion or exploration of the "kinky" side of things. We can happily sit and discuss politics, and family life, and work, and all the things that vanilla folks talk about -- for hours and hours and hours (as most of our guests have discovered).


What I think I'm coming to understand is that this coming together face-to-face is a voyage into unknown territory, and it feels risky -- to everyone concerned.

I'm not thinking about the safety risks, although those are definitely a factor. Talking to strangers is potentially a dangerous pastime. I think that when we choose to take online "acquaitanceships" and make them into real life connections, we take chances that are far more personal. We expose our lives and the intimate core of our lives. That can put us on the line emotionally.

I know that we work hard ahead of meeting new people. We worry and fuss and plan and do our best to "set the table" for a good first encounter. We go through these initial meetings working hard to balance. It isn't easy to know what is the "proper" way to move ahead with a potential new friend who is, like us, living an alternative lifestyle. We know, that when people have read out blog, they almost always know more about us than we know about them. We usually get through the evening, and then spend our time trying to figure out if it went well. We wonder if our guest felt comfortable and welcome. We wonder if we "passed the test" of expectations.

All of that wondering is interesting. It is an opportunity for us to consider and evaluate and appreciate what we are and what we offer as friends. Whatever the expectations that people bring into relating with us; whatever assumptions and expectations we might have for relating with others, what we find, over and over, is that it is good to be with other people, to share some hospitality and good conversation, to be in the company of people who can know us and accept us without judgement.

swan

And Now We Continue with Whichever Sport is Happening at this Time of Year

OK.
Enough of all that SEX stuff. Back to the way life really is.
I don't know how other people tell what time of year it is, but around here, there are really only two seasons: Baseball Season and Football Season. There is also one short interval each year which, appropriately, is known as "March Madness," during which the forecast would be for extended periods of basketball...

Yesterday was a baseball day. We had free tickets to a Cincinnati Reds game. The seats were wonderful -- luxurious due to a certain business perk that Master was given, and so we sat in air conditioned comfort, ate and drank to our hearts' content, and watched (be still my heart) our Reds beat the daylights out of the San Diego Padres.

I know that many of our readers are not obsessively oriented to sports. I also am aware that many of those who read here are from other parts of the world, where perhaps, our American pastimes are not as well known or understood. So, for those of you who find the whole baseball/football frenzy a little puzzling, here's a funny bit done by George Carlin (who I hope is having a grand time wherever it is that he may be)...

swan

Hands Up!

kaya gave me the idea for this one, and she's way better than me at fisting herself, and at taking pictures of the deed. I am just a total klutz with the digital camera, and not being able to see what you are pointing the thing at is even tougher. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there are pictures of my "parts" at the end of all of this. You have been warned. There's plenty of time to turn back now, or maybe you would prefer the scenery here...

Still.

There's been no fisting in my life for probably three years. That is entirely my fault. I've been entirely, utterly, unreasonably terrified at the whole prospect since my surgery -- imagining the bit of what is left of my "girly parts" as disconnected, unsupported, drastically shortened, and vulnerable to some sort of catastrophic breakthrough at the top end. So, everytime we've approached this (and I used to absolutely love fisting) I've panicked, and He's stopped rather than take a chance on traumatizing me.

There was a time when I was pretty adventurous, but I've grown steadily more timid and more withdrawn sexually in the last years. I want to reverse that trend, and I understand that the responsibility for doing that is on my shoulders.

This little trick really works for me from the standpoint of helping to allay my fears about the potential disastrous consequences of fisting. My hand and my fingers are right there exploring the unknown of my revamped plumbing. I am learning the geography of things, so the unknown won't perhaps loom so menacingly in my imagination.

I wasn't entirely successful this time. Along with the challenges of the fisting itself, there are all the issues of the contortions required -- my aging muscles and joints aren't all that excited about imitating a pretzel these days. No wild, rolicking orgasms either, and I do remember that used to be part of the deal. Perhaps it is a little like tickling yourself? Or maybe it is just that I didn't really get the whole fist in. Still, it is a start. My grandmother would have said, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." So, I'm off and "venturing." Grandma would be proud (maybe).

At any rate, I'm thinking that kaya's got a great idea here. Maybe we ought to form a "hands up" club.

swan

Submission

I've had several conversations in the last month (or maybe a little more) that have pivoted on the notion of submission and what it might be or not be. The recurring theme has been that submission as a personality attribute leaves a person prone to acting in ways that make others happy while leaving her unhappy, resentful, and unfulfilled. This is the common perception of how submission works, but it is entirely contrary to my experience. The vast majority of submissives that I know are people of integrity, determination, and strength who find their joy in living out this essential part of who they really are.

Submissives, if they are healthy, are not doormats to be trampled upon by everyone in the world. They are people who are inherently aware of who they are and to whom they belong. The submissives that I know best submit inside their relationships, and make it clear what their boundaries are elsewhere. I don't know any "voiceless" submissives. They have intellects and ideas, and they find ways to express that within their dynamics. Further, that expression is generally appreciated, and often even required by those who hold their power within relationship.

The whole set of discussions has had me thinking about the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale, The Princess and the Pea. It is a story that we all know, but I think there are parts to it that speak to the nature of submission. Here's one version of the story:

There was once a prince, and he wanted a princess, but then she must be a real Princess. He travelled right around the world to find one, but there was always something wrong. There were plenty of princesses, but whether they were real princesses he had great difficulty in discovering; there was always something which was not quite right about them. So at last he had come home again, and he was very sad because he wanted a real princess so badly.
One evening there was a terrible storm; it thundered and lightninged and the rain poured down in torrents; indeed it was a fearful night.
In the middle of the storm somebody knocked at the town gate, and the old King himself went to open it.
It was a princess who stood outside, but she was in a terrible state from the rain and the storm. The water streamed out of her hair and her clothes; it ran in at the top of her shoes and out at the heel, but she said that she was a real princess.
'Well we shall soon see if that is true,' thought the old Queen, but she said nothing. She went into the bedroom, took all the bed clothes off and laid a pea on the bedstead: then she took twenty mattresses and piled them on top of the pea, and then twenty feather beds on top of the mattresses. This was where the princess was to sleep that night. In the morning they asked her how she slept.
'Oh terribly bad!' said the princess. 'I have hardly closed my eyes the whole night! Heaven knows what was in the bed. I seemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and my whole body is black and blue this morning. It is terrible!'
They saw at once that she must be a real princess when she had felt the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. Nobody but a real princess could have such a delicate skin.
So the prince took her to be his wife, for now he was sure that he had found a real princess, and the pea was put into the Museum, where it may still be seen if no one has stolen it.
Now this is a true story.

If you are of the opinion that a "true" submissive gets taken advantage of, never gets what she wants, and makes others happy at her own expense, then you are likely to not see the parallel between the Princess in the fairy tale and submission. Still, I'll insist that there are distinct features to this well-known story that point to the traits of a self-aware sort of submission.

To begin with, this is no faint-hearted, timid soul. She arrives in the middle of a terrific storm -- the quintessential dark and stormy night. All alone, soaked, and disheveled, she comes looking for a place to finally rest and find safety and refuge. In spite of everything that she has endured in making her journey, she declares who she is -- a real princess.

We already know how really rare this particular sort of person is. Remember the prince had traveled the world looking for "a real princess," and not found a single one -- lots of wannabes, but no genuine articles. The real deal isn't a commodity to be taken lightly, but something precious and valuable to be treasured.

The real princess, spends the night in the bed prepared for her by the Queen, and it is a miserable and difficult trial. She is left sleepless and bruised by the ordeal, but she completes it precisely as it was set out. She is both tender and strong.

When asked how she slept, the princess is entirely forthcoming and honest in her response: "I slept terribly badly. It felt as if there were something hard and jagged in the bed. No matter how I turned and shifted I could not find comfort. I am left black and blue this morning." There's no effort to blame, but also no effort to hide the realities either.

In the end, the princess comes to belong to her prince. The relationship that meets the needs of both partners is created, and everyone "lives happily ever after."

Life, of course, is not a fairy tale, and there is seldom a "happily ever after," but our stories can tell us a very great deal about who we really are. I think it is way too easy to fall into common misconceptions about the nature of submssion. Doing that means that we end up denying our truths, and failing in pursuing our own deep happiness. If we elect to enact a power dynamic within our relationships that does not acknowledge and affirm our truth, our strength, our grace, our vulnerability, and our tenderness, then we doom those relationships to failure and misery.

swan

More Cane Tales

"We" broke the cane.

Yup. THE CANE. The very same cane that we hunted all over for, paid a pretty sum for, and then lost and drove 2-1/2 hours to retrieve. THAT cane.

It happened about a week and a half ago. I never really saw what happened. It was all behind me... But the tip of our wonderful cane broke off right in the middle of all the action, shortening it by about an inch.

Bad.

The only good thing about it all was that we bought the cane from Adam and Gillian's. What that means is that their really fine product was warranted for a full year. We sent an email explaining the circumstances, and received directions to send the broken cane back for a replacement. We shipped it off last Friday, and today the replacement arrived.

So, we are back in business, and really glad that we did business with such a great vendor.

swan

Walking

All of our doctors sing the same song these days:


"You have to lose weight... "


Master's cardio guy insists that he doesn't know anyone who is 70 that weighs what He does. As for me, I've put on more than just a little poundage in the last couple of years -- to the point that I can't get into my "cute" clothes anymore; to the point that all of a sudden, there is medical concern about my cholesterol numbers.

"Two miles a day -- five times a week," is the prescription of the cardiologist, and he is backed by the sleep specialist, and the internal medicine folks, and on and on.


So, we've begun to walk together again. Like we did when I first arrived; and like we were doing in the year before His knee gave out and He had to go through the replacement. It is a challenge. Neither of us are in the best of shape. Cincinnati in the summer can be devilishly hot. Time seems to be always at a premium. All of those are arrayed against us.



But we've begun the process. We try to get going early in the morning, before the heat grows too intense and before He has to leave for work. We aren't anywhere close to doing two miles yet (even though we used to do six before), but our one mile walks are getting easier and we are moving more quickly each day. I remember how this goes. We'll get better each day, and soon we'll have the two miles a day thing down.



I enjoy it, actually. When we walk, we talk. We're together. We get out and see our community; wave to neighbors; pet their dogs. It is pleasant and relaxing, and it buoys my mood. The longer-term payoffs are mostly still on the horizon -- but we're walking toward them. It is just a matter of time.



swan