In a New Place

Master does not engage in Punishment casually. Correction that is intended to bring my service into closer alignment withHis wishes happens whenever He feels something needs to be adjusted, and is often gentle and nurturing, but punishment for serious infractions is another matter altogether. It is a rare event, and when it occurs, it is intended to make a major change and leave a lasting impression.

This time was no exception. The attitudinal change He evoked was immediate and definitive. The impression was certainly lasting. I am ALMOST healed. The bruising that was left disspated farily quickly. Whip marks cut deep... The whole event sent me deep, emotionally. Not into darkness, but into quiet and still places, where I drew close to Him in ways I have not done for a very long time. I've found myself pulled back into His orbit again, steadied in the force of His energy. I have found a sense, once again, of who I am... a sense that has felt very dilute for a very long time.

It is difficult to slave when you lose your center -- when you are consumed by an elemental and unexplainable fear that simply will not go away. For many, many months, I've done all the nominally "right" things, and withheld the essential core of my being. I've "submitted," but with reluctance and without any true joy. The sheer delight in being His has been gone; there's been no "lightness" to this for me. When two people know each other as we do, that cannot be hidden. He has accepted what I've given, and been disappointed and saddened.

I don't think that the punishment was, in itself, the turning point; although perhaps the storm that precipitated it might have been part of that. Perhaps I needed to simply come to the peak of my own personal crisis of faith and be willing to lay all that ugliness and self-doubt and anger and bitterness at His feet, and in His lap (even the parts of it that were aimed at Him -- rightly or wrongly), in order to let it go enough to move on. Whatever, I am quieter in my mind, and lighter in my heart. The "issues" that have plagued me are NOT resolved, although "The Wizard" is working on it. I am a little bit hopeful, maybe...

In the meantime, there is this -- I went to Him yesterday, for the first time in a very long time, and asked (in a tiny, scared, little, bitty voice) if He might have just a few minutes in His very busy schedule for a bit of spanking... DEEP BREATH... It is always a risk to ask this sort of thing of Him. There is no controlling the outcome from that moment on. No asking for a "nice" spanking. No backing out. No changing my mind.

He was, I think, thrilled to oblige me. At least, my ass, feels as if that must have been the case. He went after it all with great enthusiasm, and I was able to ask for the things that help me cope in the beginning of a session: my collar, some restraints, the "fluffy" throw that gives me something to hold on to... It seemed He worked a lot with the 5-fingered tawse. That can be intense, but at least it is leather and not wood or lexan. I managed, after a bit to breathe some, and catch the rhythm, and at some point, I think I slipped into a good space and flew for a bit -- to a place where I haven't been in an awfully long time.

After that, I'm not entirely sure... Clearly, from what I can see, today, there was more... Even more than that, I feel good about that knowledge...

swan

What's the Answer?

We've settled into a sort of pattern these days. It comes from agreeing, tacitly, to not look too closely at the "THING" that continues to lurk in the corner that we try not to acknowledge. Our pattern, therefore is that we "play" sort of, and then, because that always works to get Master turned on, we fuck.

And that is a good thing. Sometimes, it is even a playful sort of thing. I'll not embarass Him by sharing all the secrets about how exactly that occurs or the delightful and joyful ways that He expresses the pleasure that He finds in that. It does give me a good deal of happiness, though to know that I am able to make Him so happy.

So, I was surprised, the other day, when He asked me, "you really don't get anything out of this, do you?" The question just caught me off guard, and I honestly didn't know what to say...

It's got to be obvious that I'm not achieving orgasm. Can we not get into THAT discussion? Please.
It isn't terrible. Not painful. I'm not disliking the activity, itself.
I'm glad that it is good for Him.
I wish something else were happening.
I'm trying not to be too hung up on that, one way or the other. Trying not to let the "not" part of that be an issue in the equation here, because there's nothing He or I can do about it...
I'm sad and disappointed and wistful, but life goes on. Right?

Not sure any of that was the "right" answer. Truthful, but maybe not the right way to respond. Sigh. Damn!

We'll go to the Sex Doctor again next week. He'll have his blood work back, and I guess maybe there'll be suggestions about what we do next. What the steps are to take to begin moving forward here. I feel like Dorothy, having watched the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion all get their goodies from the Wizard of Oz... I'm pretty sure there's nothing in that bag of tricks for me... It's going to take way more than a hot air balloon to "get me back to Kansas..."

Meanwhile, I find myself with late night fantasies that I cling to for some small bit of release -- faint and fleeting. Generally, it is an indulgence that I find myself engaging in at 3AM when the world is dark and still. The story in my head is quite definitely D/s and SM; quite surely about He and I, but one that I am afraid to think about too clearly, to even share out loud, because I am so wimpy these days that I know I'd never make it through what He'd do with my dark longings...

So, we go on. He spanks as He will. I hurt and fuck whenever. Life continues to swirl us along.

We have this day together. More than we once imagined we would be given.

swan

Real?

When my children were small, one of the favorite bedtime stories was The Velveteen Rabbit. I can't even begin to guess how many hours I spent with little ones curled in my lap, and at my side reading the story of how the toy made the journey to becoming real...

Sometimes, as we tear through our days, scrambling to make all the pieces fit, and keep it all together, we lose track of how "real" our life together is. We get so caught up in the things we do to keep our life secure and safe and viable, that we sometimes come to believe that we are what the world would tell us -- "not real." Because that is the message that quite often comes to a family that is "alternative," and other than the norm that is thrust on us all. Especially in the environment that is so pervasive right now, it is easy to only hear the message that tells families that aren't "cookie cutter" styled to match up with what the conservative, fundamentalists would tell us is the "right way" to do it.

So, it was a real joy, this last weekend, to visit with friends who also live as a poly family. They came and visited and brought their whole clan. They arrived at our doorsteps -- grownups and kiddos; came right in, and settled right in, and were as right with us as could possibly be. The whole bunch of us all went back and forth just like we always do. Everyone found whoever they were comfortable to talk with as they were comfortable... Chatter and laughter was everywhere, as were people of all ages and sizes. And when the whole gang gathered at the great big dinner table, it was as natural as could be. What a gift! For all of us to be together and to know that we were each and all real and right.

No fairies came to visit. No special magic. Just people loving and caring for each other. And it was REAL.

swan

Happy Anniversary, you Habbis-Dabble!

Well, who would have thunk it? We have made it thru' another year. Was it just 5 years ago, last night, that you looked at me.... in the moonlight....and pruny from being in the pool too long. I had just ripped your swimming trunks off .... ONE MORE TIME!!! And you said, "Wanna get married on Saturday?" Now mind you, Saturday was less than 48 hours away. I laughed and brushed him off. We had been engaged for awhile and not in any huge rush to the alter in our 40's/50's. He explained that there was a judge who was marrying people for free at the UC Law Library that Saturday. All we had to do was show up with a license and she would do the deed. We laughed over it and continued to float under the stars.

The following day, I get to work and about 10am my co-worker/manager says "So, you going to get married tomorrow?" I about fell out of my chair! It is just the 2 of us in a small office. I KNOW she hasn't had time to talk to Tom, but where did she get this? And she says she heard the story on the news coming to work on the radio and thought of us. What a cool idea. And I told her about the previous night at the pool. And I got to thinking..... She handed me the phone and said..."Call Tom." So I did. I said, "So, wanna get married tomorrow?" It was dead silent on the phone. HE has been worried that I would be missing out on the "big" wedding, even though I kept saying I didn't want to blow the cash. So he started making the calls to see if this was even "do-able", and VERY long story-short, it was. He went to downtown to get a copy of his D-I-V-O-R-C-E and then as a wedding gift my co-worker let me leave early ..with pay... so we could get to the other end of our county to get our license before they closed. We had a camera and had the sheriff at the metal detector take our picture with our license, since he was the only one still around when we got there. Then we rushed home to get ourselves ready for a wedding. I made a bouquet with 2 dozen white roses from Costco and lots of white ribbon from Michaels and had a bout. made for Tom at the local Krogers. I bought a sugar-free cake, berries, and champagne at Krogers for after the ceremony. And I made a "bucket-o-bait".

You see, I was serious about that bit about not being in any rush. I always told Tom that some Saturday morning I would get a wild burr and wake up and say "grab a hat". He would say " can't I get a shower?" And I would reply, "Nope...we're getting married." And I would drag him down to the river to the local Justice-of-the-Peace/Bait Salesman who would drag out the "little woman", Erleen, in her pink foam rollers and mu-mu, singing "Can I get a Witnessss...". He would say "You do? You Do? Y'all Done!" Then he would have each of us spit in our palms, spin around twice and shake hands and we would be married. And as a parting wedding gift we would get a bucket-o-bait.

And I made a bucket-o-bait for Tom as a wedding gift. I took sugar-free chocolate cookies and made "dirt" and sugar-free gummy worms and put them in a white take-out bucket. VOILA!

Soooooo on an EXTREMELY hot, very humid day in June... the 16th, to be precise.... I became Mrs. Tom. The wedding was short. We were the first ones there. Which in itself was the miracle of the day, because our Tom will be late to his funeral. But one of the best things about the wedding was the people afterwards. You see, Tom and I were there alone. We took no one with us. But it was like everyone who was in the building was family. Everyone congratulated us. Strangers hugged us and shooked our hands. We heard stories about other people's weddings many years past. And then, there was the behemoth of a man standing outside with a cigarette in each hand, smoking like it was his last hour, who was simply thrilled that Tom looked happy because then it just COULDN'T be TOO horrible, could it?

So, my habbis-dabble, my bee-bee, my darling man. My savior, the love of my life, the keeper of my heart. Here's to another year. Since each is better that the last, I cannot imagine what our 50th is going to be like!

Mores & Mores!
T

A Long Year -- Past

In a comment on the post on "Punishment," kaya asked if the whole week long process leading up to the "explosion" had met the goals that both of us had for it. I admit, I was a little taken off guard by the question. Honestly, in terms of the relationship, I'm not sure that having goals falls into my realm. If pleasing Him is a goal, then yes, but if somehow moving and changing things is what is meant by "goals," then that isn't the way things work. The direction of things really isn't mine to determine.

The question has had me thinking though, because something is definitely different as a result of that week, and the dramatic and decisive ending to it. We are definitely in a better place together, and I am in a far better space than I've been in for a very long time. So, I'm trying to figure out what exactly happened, because I've been at this way too long to be seduced by the "spanking fixes everything" theory.

I do believe that, although submissives and slaves may not actually have relationship "goals," as such, we most certainly have relationship "needs." Something about the "fix" that was prescribed in this case answered to a need that, as I ponder, feels like it has been waiting for a long time...

It feels, to me like I've been "in a different space" with our relationship for at least a year. It's not anyone's fault really. That sense in me has come about as the convergence of circumstances have carried all of us along on currents we simply could not control:

Always, at this time of the year, as the school year comes to a close, I go through a distinctive series of transitions. There are very few careers like teaching. The work is unique in many, many ways. Surely, one of those is the dichotomy of the time that teaching brings to life -- for almost ten months of each year, I am consumed by the work I do. Seven days a week, I teach. For most of the week days, and for a good part of the weekends I am "at work," whatever my physical location, some part of my thinking and my energy is engaged in and dedicated to the work of BEING teacher. Too, in the doing of that work, I am significantly in control, in charge, and the dominant force in my world. Although it is my nature and style to be gentle, respectful, and somewhat seductive in my approach to gaining my students' cooperation in my classes, there is no question about who is the controller in my classroom. Unlike other work environments, inside the typical classroom, the teacher is the sole adult presence. It is (as far as adult company is concerned) largely solitary work.

Then, the school year ends, suddenly one day each June, and I am plunged back into my "not teaching" life for a couple of months. The transition is always "interesting." It was interesting before I came to call myself "slave," and it is sometimes even more notable now.

I carry in memory a time when my son, talking with his then high school age buddies who were commenting on how cool it must be to have parents who were teachers, told them, "OH YEAH! They get three months off, and the other nine months, they have NO life!" I work really hard to make sure that my teaching doesn't take so much of me that I have "no life," but I also know that in order to do that work, I must give a very great deal of my "life" to it, and I know that I am given great latitude during the school year in support of that work. It is precisely because Master and T support me and value the work I do that it is possible for me to continue in doing the work that I love so.

However, at some level, it takes me out of "slave space" to a degree, as the year progresses. It is very difficult to maintain the level of control that is required to manage a busy and active classroom environment for so many hours each day, month after month -- and then remember to relinquish all the control at the threshold of the household each evening and every weekend. When so many lives and hearts and minds lie in one's hands each day, to put that aside is a tricky balance that I do not always successfully maintain as the year progresses and the limits are loosened...

So, school ends, and summer begins. A transition to different routines, different patterns, different time, and different boundaries and expectations. It always creates for me a bit of personal, emotional whiplash. It is both a time of joyful anticipation, but also a time of struggle as I give up the freedom and breadth of my "professional world, and settle into a much more narrowly focused, much more intimate, closely bound and "other" directed life for the summer.

Last summer, however, that shift did not happen in quite the usual way. Almost immediately, as the school year ended, we were gearing up for Master's impending knee replacement surgery. The preparations for that, in terms of our home, our hearts, and our entire intellectual, emotional, and spiritual lives, consumed all of the energy and attention from just about the last minute of the school year until the instant they wheeled Him into the operating room.

There simply was no time to give myself over into His care and protection as would normally have happened in the summertime most years. So I stayed "in charge" to a degree.

Then, He came home from the hospital, and I assumed the role of nurse, and chief physical therapist, and pharmacy technician, and all around step-and-fetch-it. Still, it was me "in charge." I kept track of how often the ice packs were changed, when the medications were administered, how many repetitions of each exercise we needed to get through (and how many times), when the pressure socks were put on and taken off, when the dressings were changed, when the nurses, PT's, etc. were supposed to come... I was seriously "in control" and on top of all the many details.

About halfway through all of that, I got the phone call from my principal telling me that there had been allegations from parents that I'd been "inappropriate" and not teaching effectively. So, began one of the most difficult and challenging years of my almost 15 years of teaching. I spent a good part of my summer contemplating my choices regarding my career, and trying to get my head around what to do when/if I returned to my classroom in the fall. It was painful and agonizing, and frightening.

And still, Master was in the midst of His own very intense and difficult and challenging and time consuming recovery process.

The fall came, school started, the knee continued to heal, we went on as we had been -- watchful and careful and serious... There were more issues: work and family, mostly.

Then my own health issues began to become increasingly more serious. Then His. Then T's.

Then the word came down that the school would close at the end of the year.

We went on. Day by day. The bills. The laundry. The family. The cars. The meals. The work. Life.

Sometimes we spanked. As often as we were able, we made love.

He kept me as close as He was able. I am sure of this. M/s takes work, just as any other kind of relationship dynamic does. When one takes on the care of another person, and this is the committment that a Master makes to a slave, it is a trememdous responsibility. It requires great energy, and great attention, and great effort. Even the most committed of Master's has only so much energy to give. There are limits to what a single human can do. The edges have been within sight for us in the last year.

As long as I've been part of the lifestyle, I've "listened in" on conversations among submissives about what they would do if their Dominants/Masters were not able to physically "do it" anymore. We haven't really been in that position in this passage, but we've struggled. It has been uphill a lot of the way. Not always easy or smooth. We've done it together. It has meant we've had to be patient with each other, and with ourselves. In ways we might never have anticipated in the beginning.

I have tried to be good. I have tried to be strong and brave and patient and calm. Sometimes I have actually been all those things. At other times, I have been terrified.

So, when I think about what feels different to me, having come through this last week, I feel that the summer has finally comel; that the sense of being pulled in close and held tight that I have been missing through all this last year -- has been fulfilled. I am no longer "in charge," and not "in control" of anything. When I lay down at night, and curl into His embrace, it is with the certain sure knowledge that He has me securely and surely anchored in a place where I can relax and settle. I breathe, and feel the muscles that have held so rigid for so long, begin to soften.

Perhaps, that is what He means when He says I feel like His swan when He holds me.

swan

A thing of beauty is a joy forever...

Alright. I'm not that much of a tennis fan.

And this has nothing at all to do with BDSM or any of the rest of what this Blog is about normally.

And, I'm old enough to have given birth to this youngster when I was almost too old to have given birth to this youngster.

And, I know I'm being treated for sexual dysfunction, up to and INCLUDING occasional issues with desire.

I'll grant you all of that.

BUT, as we gathered around our (admittedly late) Sunday morning breakfast table, and watched the last bit of the men's final match at the French Open Tennis Tournament, yesterday, I've got to tell you that the temperature rose significantly. It was surely not Himself who was causing the heat wave...

Is this not the most delightful man-cub? As my dear sister-heart puts it, this one is just dirty enough to play with. Indeed, indeed. I'm pretty sure, If he followed me home, I'd be begging to keep him.

There. For all of you who were wishing for something to replace the spider picture. Hope that does it for you.

swan

Punished

The week of prescribed paddlings ended, explosively. All the paddlings delivered as promised. When the time came for the last one, I was bitter, resentful, enraged, hurt. My anger boiled over and I exploded. Broke all the rules. Raged and stormed and flailed.

He simply held me and let the storm expend itself. When I was done and exhausted, the penalty was extracted in full. That there were antecedents for the outburst is not important. That the penalty has been paid is.

The marks and bruises will fade in time. The week is finished. I am calmer. We will go on.

swan