No Fairy

All my life, I've listened to stories of fairies and sometimes good witches, who would come into the lives of humans and wave their wands, or weave their spells, and bestow some gift or magic fix. I remember, as a child, an old illustrated anthology of fairy tales that I read and reread. I studied the gently colored illustrations, searching out the details that would somehow reveal the secrets of the elusive magic...

Sleeping Beauty had her fairy-bestowed blessings on the day of her birth. Cinderella had her fairy godmother to assure her entree to the ball. Even Dorothy in the land of Oz had Glinda the Good Witch to ease her way in the face of the forces of evil.

I've gotta tell you, I'd give plenty for just one halfway competent fairy on the job just now. Just one little winged sprite with a wand who could wave some magic spell into being and make the fix happen that would ease the path that lies ahead of me and us. Because, frankly, I am frustrated and terribly impatient with the progress (or more accurately lack of progress) being made on the sexual function/dysfunction front.

I know that there is great hope and great promise in working with this urologist/women's sexual health specialist. I know that I should be excited and thrilled with Master's having found him for me. I know that I need to simply calm down and be patient with the process for all of this. I know that it is going to take some very delicate and complex balancing and adjusting and probably intense "science."

But I'm not feeling patient.

Last weekend was difficult. At the outset especially. I wanted our new "stuff" to work miracles, and of course, it didn't. That frustrated me and made me angry. I want this fixed, and at some deep, wordless, illogical, totally needy level, I want Master to fix it.

That He does not have the magic, fairy wand that will make that happen "bends" me in ways that I know are completely unreasonable. And knowing that I am being unreasonable is not helping me to feel anymore reasonable.

I have to wait this out. I will.

But still....

swan

Letting My Hair Down:)

I've avoided putting images of me on the Web, feeling concerned about publicizing my visage and being identified in my vanilla life. I've decided that I look different enough with my hair down from my usual pony-tailed presentation to the world, that I bet no one who knows me in my professional life (who would likely never be here anyway), would identify me. So I thought I'd put this up.

Today I found on the Web a picture of my erstwhile poly paramour from last fall. She has devolved or evolved, as your perception might vary, having left her career and her husband and home, to travel North America with a poly biker family, or some such, it seems. Seeing her pic on her Blog was a surprise in light of her previous paranoia regarding her private identity. I once posted her first name on our Blog and she became insane with angst thinking no one in the universe shared her (extremely common) first name. I can only assume that her recent unemployment has made her willing to surface in the community.

Sue has taught me some about Native American spirituality. Western Native American lore ubiquitously includes the tradition of "Hungry Ghosts." Hungry Ghosts are broken people who live off the energy of others. They are broken due to horrible abuses in their childhoods. They are unable to create any energy of their own. My love last fall was one of these. She took from me all she could until nothing remained, and then left as suddenly as she'd arrived. It appears that in the interim she's abandoned her husband, and moved on to others who can provide her a "fix" as long as they can suffice. Hungry Ghosts live in the form of human beings until they finally have no more energy to vampirize. Then they "die" and finally find peace. I wish all her future hosts peace, and that her peace, once she runs out of energy to exploit, is profound and, above all, permanent.

This is me as I appear in "the scene." It is remarkably different than my everyday appearance.

We've had the greatest weekend and I feel refreshed and reenergized totally for the first time since the Hungry Ghost had at me last fall. I pray for her latest victims an early release and a quick rejuvenation.

All the best:)

Tom

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

Guily as Charged

MasterABD commented as follows on the last post --

"If you are aware you own nothing including the Sir to whom the greeting was intended, then you should also realize being it is not your computer, the person on the other end of yahoo is going to be thinking "hey yahoo is password protected". As such there is no reason to assume it would be anyone except the intended recipient. Perhaps turning yahoo off would be the answer.

By the way, what makes her a BIMBO? It would seem a bit of jealousy is in place!"

Sometimes comments come along that are just comments. Sometimes comments come along that generate further comment. Sometimes comments come along that trigger whole streams of thought -- that are more complex than can be easily or simply addressed in the comment format. This is one of those.

I'll begin with the end of this comment, that perhaps there may be some jealousy at play here.

I am.

Jealousy is not, as many tend to assume, a failing or a character flaw. It is an emotion that arises to a greater or lesser degree in a given situation for each individual. It may also be evoked by different stimuli. There are those who believe that those of us who practice polyamory do not deal with jealousy as an emotional reaction. That is not the case. We simply learn to approach it openly and with honesty.

Further, I understand fully that I am in the care of one of the very best, brightest, most talented, most gifted Dominant men around. I am jealous of His time, His energy, His health, and His emotional well-being. He is generous and giving to a fault. Not only does He give of Himself within the lifestyle, He does this in His professional life as well. Many, many people depend on Him for their very survival. His willingness to give, to extend Himself, to expend His time, talent, and energy for others is amazing, admirable, awe-inspiring -- but not always wise from a perspective of self-care. He can, by times, be almost innocent in His willingness to trust. So, I am jealous. I am also protective.

It is easy, within the lifestyle to believe in the "evil, predatory, sadistic Top." It is harder to imagine that there are also, "evil, predatory, masochistic, bottoms." They exist however. This lesson was learned here within the last year, and it was devastating.

It may be, that in time, the BIMBO may get what she is so desperately fishing for -- the opportunity to meet "Sir." If that happens, I'll play whatever role is designated for me in the event. AND I will watch carefully, because she has already demonstrated a lack of basic good judgement and sensitivity. She has proceded with no awareness of the territory into which she has entered. She lacks vision of anyone but herself. Perhaps she is simply without imagination. Or perhaps she is something more insidious... He will play. I will protect.

So. I am watchful. For those without any sense of manners; without grace; without breeding; without class; without appropriate boundaries. I defend the edges. I do not own, but I do patrol the borders. It does not take wealth to behave with integrity. It does not take great education to learn the common courtesies. It is not difficult to understand that one who claims the title of "Master" might at least introduce oneself before presuming to judge or correct. To do less than this is simply Appallingly Bad Deportment.

swan

Swan Nest

A cursory bit of Googling will get you the bare facts:

Female swans will aggressively defend their nests from any threat. Swan wings have a very hard front edge that can be used to hit predators. If the predator is killed, the swan will not eat it.

Information that may be of interest to the person who keeps popping up on Yahoo Messenger on the home computer everytime I sit down to do my school work. That sappy "Hello, Sir," greeting is going to get the predatory, wannabe submissive person "not eaten."

I understand that it isn't "my" computer. I know that I don't OWN anything including the Sir to whom the greeting is ostensibly being directed. I'm perfectly clear about my place and my status, but that does not change the simple fact that there is the simple matter of courtesy involved here. If this BIMBO doesn't have the common good sense and pure decency to ascertain who might be sitting in front of the computer she's sending her fishing messages to, then she deserves whatever might happen to her.

Walking blindly into a swan's nest is just plain stupid. This one qualifies. Grrrrrrrrr.

swan

There's Hope

Yesterday afternoon I had an appointment with a specialist at The Women's Sexual Health Foundation . Finally -- someone who offers hope!

The appointment was so much different than what I have encountered up until now as I have struggled with the aftermath impacts of the hysterectomy. This doctor is not a gynecologist, but specializes in sexual functioning issues for women. He was very affirming that I am not alone in the situation that I find myself in. He was both pleased and quite reinforcing of the fact that Master was there with me for the appointment, and assured us both that the fact that we were clearly working on the issues together was a great plus in this battle. He gathered a great deal of data, and gave us some initial things to try while he gets results back of lab tests, etc. In a month, we will most likely begin making adjustments to the hormones. As I have come to suspect, the prescription that I've been given is not probably the "best" approach to this problem. There are very few gynecologists that specialize in this area, and even fewer FDA approved solutions. It seems that most of what will be available to treat me will be "off label," not-approved, and quite possibly not paid for by insurance. That said, it felt good to finally have someone offer understanding, knowledge, and hope.

swan

I Don't Recommend It

Pay attention, boys and girls. I am going to do my grumpy old lady bit... You have been warned, so if you don't want to listen to it, just click off right now.

There are people who read what we write about our lives, and get the impression, for whatever reason, that we recommend "poly" as a lifestyle. It just isn't the case.

Living in a fulltime, committed, poly relationship is challenging, and while we make it work, and find it tremendously satisfying and fulfilling for the three of us, I don't recommend it to folks -- and I'm not sure Master or T do either.

First, some definitions: I am not a subscriber to the theory that "poly" means that it is OK to fuck everything that moves and takes your fancy as long as you tell your partners about it. I don't care that you scraped together the cash to buy "The Ethical Slut." I don't even care that you actually read it. That isn't it. It also isn't about who is or is not straight, gay, or bi. Likewise, the geometry of the relational descriptors does not particularly interest me ("quad", "tri-", "V", "web", etc.). Neither does the geography of the sleeping arrangements. All of that is the stuff of the mouth breathers, and the "outside-looking-in" monogamous world that still defines relationships like Noah did: two by two by two...

There are all kinds of working poly relationships out there. They aren't all (or sometimes even mostly) about sex. They are about how people live together -- caring for and with each other. That takes many different forms depending on the situation. Working poly relationships can form with people that live in the same home, as we all do. Or in any of a variety of other living configurations. Some do it with children in the home. Others do it with great extended tapestries of relationships that look like aunts and cousins and who knows whatall. What is germane is how adults come to care for each other at tremendously intimate levels.

With the growing awareness of the IDEA of poly, some have come to use the notion to support what I think is more truthfully described as "polyfuckery." That's OK with me. Maybe even a good thing at a certain point in one's life -- run and play and cavort like healthy young animals. No harm and no foul. Don't promise anybody anything and don't expect anything from anyone. Play safe but play. Get that part of life out of the way.

Save the hard, serious, determined, focused, hang on for dear life, I'm going to love you no matter what, relationship building work of coupling or poly or whatever for afterwards. It's not that there's no romance left for the "adult" years. Plenty to go around. Not that there's no spark, no juice, no life left to live. There is that, but there's a settledness that comes with a few years that simply isn't there when you are younger. Sorry. It's the fact. I was there once. Now I have children who are there. Stages.

But there's a time for everything. I'm old enough. I know this. I can still appreciate the sweet young things that come back through my world a few years after they leave the 8th grade. Grown to almost manhood -- all buff and cocky and strutting: a thing of beauty is a joy forever. Delectable to be sure, but I know enough to know they aren't ready to do anything with in terms of serious life work. Toys. Pure and simple. So says an old enough old woman.

So where am I heading with all of this? I don't recommend poly relating in young adulthood. Actually, I don't recommend marriage or any other serious kind of partnering in young adulthood. Make friends. Try lots of things. Lots of people. Stay open. Recognize that there are way more people who talk about wanting poly than actually do it. Understand that the number of successful poly relationships is miniscule compared to the number of failed attempts. Look around at the statistics that point to the astronomical difficulty of making plain old, garden variety "couple-style" relating go, and then calculate the much more intense levels of difficulty associated with multiples. Go slowly. Not just in the poly-cliched sense of going more slowly than the slowest one, but in the sense of going slowly enough to really know your own insides; your own wants and needs. Figure out what it is that you bring to the table in a relationship (any relationship), and then maybe you can be a worthy partner in building a sturdy and healthy partnership with another sturdy and healthy human or two or more.

I am pretty seriously convinced that this fashion that I see developing of chalking up "poly" relationships like notches on a belt -- of poly "counting coup," is some sort of modern alternative lifestyle status thing that is both sad and harmful. We've gone from a good, affirming push to assert that our sexuality and our identities were deserving of a place right out there alongside all the rest of the so-called "normal" folks in the world, to a kind of locker room scoring system that is decidedly not good or affirming of anyone.

And I don't think that, now that it has begun to go "mainstream" that there is nearly enough good, sound, sensible help out there for people trying to figure out how to do it in any sort of practical terms. We walk around spouting crap like, "Go slow," and "Communicate, communicate, communicate," while folks are smashing on the rocks all around us. The reality is that there is only so far that a set of people can go slow. At some point, you have to take the leap, and leaping is never SLOW! It does no good at all to tell people to "communicate" unless we can guide them in the how's and why's and what's of that communication. The ugly truth is that when someone is in LUST, they are unlikely to go slow, and most probably unwilling to communicate very much unless that communication is leading them directly to where they want to go anyway. We need experts who can guide in REAL and practical ways. What's out there is of very little use -- especially in so far as it makes it all sound simple, happy, easy, and carefree. Horsefeathers!

I don't recommend poly to anyone. I am always bemused by people that tell me they are looking for poly partners or poly relationships. Poly is hard. Damned hard. But then, I think relationships are damned hard. I think people are tricky and unreliable and undependable and unpredictable. Staying in relationship is the most demanding thing a person can set themselves to doing. Not for the faint of heart. Not for sissies or wimps. Not for the self-centered, the self-serving, the whiney, the demanding. Not for children or adolescents or probably even youn adults. Grow up. Get over yourself. Then, if you are still nuts enough to think you want to try this kind of stuff, if you think you can find one or two or even more competent, decent, stout-hearted grown ups, have a go at it -- but don't say I didn't warn you.

How's that for grumpy?

swan

I Asked for It...

We got off to sort of a rough start on Saturday morning. Let's face it -- I am not "easy" these days.

So, we'd begun well enough with a lusty fuck -- which isn't our usual "menu," but here lately, when things come up, we figure we better jump on it. Not to put too fine a point on it... I was only too happy to oblige, and did my thing; glad for the success of my efforts.

Then things went south, as He patted my belly, clicked the TV on, and padded off to pee... Dismissed...

I tried not to cry, but felt pretty let down. So, I got up, went on out to the kitchen and started the coffee, and began unloading the dishwasher. So much for fantasies of some sort of long, slow, luxurious scene... Ahhh well...

He called out from the bedroom that He loved me, and I guess He heard my muttering, because it didn't take long for me to get the command: "Get back in here."

Major fussiness... Not a good place to begin from. I eventually got it out -- giving Him a sense of how let down and how hurt I felt. How dismissed I'd been made to feel in that instant. How much I needed Him. The prescription of course -- a spanking.

I managed to talk my way into being allowed to keep my jammie bottoms on. I cannot even tell you how rare that is. Never, ever happens. Except this once. Spanked and paddled through my pajamas until there was not agony, but pleasant warmth and connectedness again.

And then, as He held me, and rocked me, and crooned to me, I asked for it. "Could we please try the viper?" Whispered. Because the viper is a strap that bites. Because I haven't asked for anything in play for a very long time. Because I haven't WANTED anything in play for a very long time...

He was surprised, but only too happy to oblige me. This time without the pajamas, at my instigation. I wanted the leather's bite on my skin.

It was good.

swan