Icky Dream

My sleep is often troubled; fitful and filled with ugly dreams.

Last night, well actually early this morning, I dreamed myself into an unpleasant and ugly situation...

There was a party -- a dinner party.  It wasn't at our house; we'd been invited to another person's home.  The details are fuzzy, but my sense is that it was some sort of kinky gathering. 

I was in the kitchen -- alone.  Everyone else was in the dining room, separated from the kitchen by a swinging door.  For some reason, I was trying to warm a bowl of chicken noodle soup in the microwave.  Suddenly, someone was behind me, smacking me on the ass.  I just assumed that it was Tom, and I smiled to myself, but continued to watch the microwave and my soup.  Then, the butt-smacker began to rub against me -- humping on my back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't Tom. 

I whirled around, in a fury, to confront a beak nosed, man with a fringe of dark greasy hair around his shiny bald head.  His dark, glittering eyes were glazed and glassy.  He fumbled and pawed at me, trying to turn me back around.  I planted both palms on his chest and pushed him away, croaking out a strangled, "NO!"  In my dream, it felt as if my throat was constricted so that the sound wouldn't come out.  He stumbled but then puffed all up and lunged back at me with renewed determination -- as if he was somehow entitled.  This time, I managed to kick at him, and my "NO!" was much stronger.  I ran from the kitchen and found myself out on the front lawn of the house.  My attacker was right behind me, but I had room now to maneuver and fight -- and that is exactly what I did.  The "party" had emptied itself out onto the front porch, and the railing was lined with curious, excited people.  I didn't recognize a single friendly face.  I was completely, utterly, and profoundly alone...

And when I woke up, I was right in the middle of a full fledged knock-down, drag-out fight -- and I'd found my voice:  "Mother-fucker...cock-sucker...cum-wad...limp dick...asshole...dickhead...cunt-face..."  

"Maybe You Should Try Something Else For Awhile"

That's the advice left here by sin, when I determined that I had completely exhausted my capacity to keep writing here as I have for nearly 7 years.  It feels to me like that is a bit of wise guidance -- just let things be and go on to write something different...

It shouldn't be hard to do.  Things are different, so just go with the flow and write what is.  That will be different, by definition.  No need to get fancy or even fanciful.

Maybe I just need to start from the simplest of facts about NOW and go from there.

We keep assuring one another that we still have each other; that we are still together.  That is true.

He says that he doesn't feel dominant anymore, so there will be no more of our former Master/slave dynamic.

I guess that necessitates a shift in how people are labeled as I write here -- time for me to resume being Sue.

Probably, there will be very little, going forward for me to say about the practice of BDSM between us.  I don't expect that to play much of a role in our lives together.  Still, I may find things, in general, to say about BDSM and the community.  I hope I can do that without it feeling dishonest.

I'm not likely to write much anymore about polyamory.  I've discovered, through all of this that I have little interest in submerging myself in a plethora of "relationships."  It isn't for me.  I understand the concept.  I am just not interested.  And, yes, I do "get" the irony of my situation in light of that reality.

I still teach.  I still am the "mom" to two adults who were once my children.  I still read widely and follow politics.  I still dream dreams and think thoughts.  What rolls across the screen here in the future is not likely to be sexy and I doubt there'll be anymore butt pictures, but I need the place for the words to live.

Sue

Or Maybe it was Really a Dream

For awhile, I dreamed dreams featuring Cole, the cellist.  They followed very closely along the lines laid out by the first imaginary/dream-like encounter, and seemed to occur when I would fall asleep trying to get myself back into what I think of as the fantasy of him.  I am now convinced that the whole first part of the story was really a dream and not some sort of waking construct, although it surely seemed like the latter to me at the time.  As the days have passed, I've begun to believe that the very first appearance of Cole happened when I was actually asleep -- dreaming that I was awake and engaged in an elaborate fantasy.  That's a little convoluted, but I'm not going to put it out of the reach of my brain.

So...  I am thinking that my subsequent Cole dreams have been some kind of "lucid" dreaming, driven by my intent as I drift off to sleep.  A good Jungian analyst would insist that everyone that appears in our dreams is, in fact, US, and so I am finding my ongoing encounters with this itinerant cello player to be illustrative of my own interior state.

Cole and I seemed, for a good while, to be stuck in the same little funky Italian eatery where we went in the first elaborate fantasy.  It is a classic, with red and white checked oilcloth covered tables and flickering candles, and rough wood planked walls and floors.  Somehow, the place overlooks the Ohio River, and he and I spend hours talking and watching the boats go to and fro.  This in spite of the fact that, in my dream/fantasy, the place is somewhere near the school where I teach -- and that is nowhere close to the river.   Wherever the place might be, he and I sit right there, night after night in my dream, and talk and talk and talk.   I dreamed about Cole for a number of days, maybe a couple of weeks -- and then the dreamy cello playing mountain man packed his things in his nice, solid car -- and drove away.

How pitiful is that?

I've often been accused of "living too much in my head," and the fact that I cannot dream a dream in which Cole and I cannot get up from the red and white checkered table, and get it on seems to point directly to my headiness -- because the man seems to me to be eminently fuck-able.

Dossie Easton, author of the well known book on polyamory, "The Ethical Slut," would be able to give me a host of reasons why it would be healthy and good and freeing for me to at least be able to dream a poly "thing" with this guy.  Clearly my brain can conceive of the eroticism of such a connection...  I guess I would fail the slut test.  I liked Cole.  I thought Cole was attractive and sexy and interesting.  But I made no moves to initiate anything with him beyond talking -- and he made no moves on me (but then remember those Jungian types would insist that he is me).

So, what does Cole mean?  What purpose is served by Cole surfacing out of the inner workings of my brain?  Is that whole business only about releasing some of the pent-up sexual tension of these last months?  Is Cole and his lovely cello just an elaborate fabrication of my sex-starved psyche?  Is that funky little eatery my dream version of Disney World vacation?

I really do think that is the reality.  I've created an interesting little playground for my silly brain -- a place to go find a bit of amusement and relaxation from the daily stresses and strains.  I've been to Disney World.  It is a fun place; interesting and full of things to do that are completely different than the day to day realities that most regular folks deal with.  I spent a great week there with my family years ago, and we loved the place.  But, when the week was done?  I was glad to head home to the life that was mine; the life that was real.  I feel the same way about Cole -- it was an interesting diversion, but I am really not interested in the fantasy of a Cole.  I am, perhaps more than ever, invested in and committed to the life that is real.

swan

Family

Here, because I just love this one, is a picture of my son, my grandson, and the three of us.  My dear daughter-in-law is behind the camera...  swan

Almost Home!

I had a wonderful visit with Sue's son's family. We went to Boulder and the Pearl St outdoor mall. Ate at the Buff in Boulder..... a Mexican restaurant in Denver, who's name escapes me...... and The Fort, outside of Denver near Red Rocks.

But the bestest part of all was watching Sue with Zander. She was delighted with each breath, sound, movement, hug, kiss, and giggle. He looks at her and just breaks into huge grins. He is more comfortable with Tom this visit and even gave me a few hugs, kisses and fist-bumps.

My family just called and they are doing a dinner break in Terra Haute Indiana. They are about 180 miles from home and I CANNOT WAIT! Even though I just left them yesterday morning, I miss not being together. The cats have missed them. It will be good to have them home tonight.

T

Oh Wow!

We left home on Tuesday morning, for an almost impromptu trip to Denver and a late summer visit to Xander and his parents.  This was a trip we were pretty sure we wouldn't be able to make, but Master's shoulder has progressed so well and so easily that the idea of a trip to Denver blossomed in His mind just a few weeks ago.

He and I made the drive, over two long days, in my new little Hyundai Accent -- and it turns out to be a great road trip car.  We've gotten pretty good at driving long distances; carrying our own food, and making sure that we have plenty to drink along the way.  We know, for this trip, where to stay and where to stop for a "real" meal.  We know which rest areas are "nice" and which are less than spectacular.  We do pretty well for the first 1000 miles, and then there are those last 200 when we both seem to hit a wall.  That last bit is a real slog.

T didn't have enough time off to make the drive with us, so she is boarding a plane this afternoon, and we will be fetching her from the airport at about 5 this evening.  She'll spend a couple of days with us here, and then we'll put her back on a plane on Sunday morning -- and begin the drive back east.  That works.

Xander has grown so much.  He is very tall for a two year old.  He exclaims, "Oh Wow!" and "Neat" at each new thing.  He gives the greatest hugs, and sloppy baby kisses.  He runs everywhere -- no more wobbly monkey walking for him!  And his laugh is enchanting!  He chortles with an almost phonetic "ha ha ha ha," and it is simply delightful.  He is much more interactive with Master this visit; apparently deciding that it is "safe" to play with Him.  It is just such fun to see him and talk with him and be close to his growing self. 

When we get back home, I'll have just one day to wash up the laundry and sweep out the dust and get ready to plunge back into the school year.  I am torn -- looking forward to a new start and new, fresh kids to love and teach and laugh with... but reluctant to cut short the healing time of this summer with Master.  These long, slow, warm and humid days have been a balm for us, and it feels like we may be coming into an easier time with each other.  I think that is true and real, and I am sad that we'll lose the time we've been given.  And, yes, I do know that sooner or later, He and I have to learn to live well inside of the lives that we have -- and that includes my teaching work.  Mixed feelings seem to just be the thing that life is built from.

swan