"It's only the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time. But me ... I just want to live the kind of life I'm going to remember, whether or not I write it down (Tallulah Brockman Bankhead)."
I'd have to second that emotion because I think I fall in the middle on that one. That vast, proverbial "gray area." I can still be sadistic even if I do occasionally feel the need to excavate my emotional navel lint. But I still can't help wondering if I'd be able to enjoy the former more if I spent a little less time on the latter. If I could just find the off switch for my brain. I'm doing a hardcore corporal shoot tomorrow and I definitely plan on earning my keep. I need to get out all this pent up ... whatever I've been going through lately. I don't really have an appropriate word for it.
I should document that I had some help in that department the other night at Suspension, and I owe my new friends Nate* and Birdie* (I'm calling her that 'cause she kinda reminded me of a hummingbird ... I'll elaborate on that later) a big thank you for that.
Nate and I met about a week ago at a workshop Scarlette taught for TES. (It was awesome, and I apologize to her if I at any point, in any way utilized it as my personal "Domme therapy." But either way, Maitresse Scarlette Stangata rocks pretty hardcore. Period, end of discussion.)
The next day, he fetlife "stalked" me and we exchanged numbers, started talking, and he wound up inviting me to meet up, grab dinner, and check out some fetish stores for a bit before the event. None of the stores we'd wanted to check out were open, but there was a cute little gay bookstore on the way, and it was immensely fun for me to waltz through the door and watch him squirm as I dragged him along behind me, informing me that, "If I get hit on, I'm gonna be really upset."
Anyway, true to form, I was shiny and bubbly and "on." It was nice to be around new people and have that brought out in me. While it has its downfalls, I actually kinda like how easily and quickly that trait of mine helps me forge connections with people when I so choose. And since I was in that mindset, his friend Birdie and I were able to hit it off pretty quickly, too. Birdie's a switch who's just starting to test out her Domme side, and she had brought a toybag so she could practice on Nate. When I suggested, "Let's double team him," she eagerly agreed.
I've played at a public event exactly once (not counting foot worship scenes). Brooke wasn't really into it (something about not wanting anyone else to steal her techniques ... as her "Mini Me," I was somewhat exempt from that rule), and I pretty much was just too self-conscious about being new and inexperienced to want anyone actually watching me do what I do at a public event. It wasn't until just before the holidays that I finally tested the waters in that department, sceneing with John when I took him to his first fetish event at Black Phoenix in Philly. We didn't really do too much for too long (Derek could tell I was still kinda psyching myself out a little), but it was fun. But thanks to Birdie, my second time around was even better.
Even though Birdie has even less experience than I do, she threw herself into our scene with Nate with such enthusiasm and such a complete lack of self conciousness, that I was able to finally stop overthinking and really just enjoy getting into it myself.
I've done corporal stuff, and I've done tease and denial type stuff, but I don't think I've ever actually blended them quite like I did that night. And it felt pretty fucking fantastic. I still need to work on my back swing, but I knew that already. And even though he had warned me about a tendency to hold back reactions to piss people off, as it turned out, Nate gave awesome feedback ... which made gradually deepening the rosy hue on his cute little butt just that much more enjoyable. And even though he's not really a pain slut, he took it like a champ, which was even better. Seriously, that fact alone made it good enough for me to not even mind how crowded it was, or that random people kept bumping into us or walking through my back swing ... and even the being watched part was actually kind of fun. I was just right there in the moment, into just doing what I do without worrying about dissecting my every move.
Birdie kept on disappearing, excitedly flitting from one person to the next socializing (hence my choice of alias), so I was the one to finally end the scene when I decided he'd taken enough. The whole thing was a really nice little buzz.
The only fly in the ointment is this: I really hate hate hate that little part of me that gets distracted from great experiences like that. That annoying little, wistful part that sometimes whispers, "That was awesome. And you should have been there to share it with me; I really wish you had been." I really kinda wish she'd just shut the fuck up and quit killing my buzz. Maybe next time I'll come prepared with a ballgag or something for her.
Granted, she's got a point. The whole business of wanting is shitty. Particularly when you can't help thinking that if the feeling were mutual, wouldn't it make sense that they'd actually want to be there sharing in it all, too? That then the wishing would thereby be rendered unnecessary, and that, since it's not, there's really no point?
I mean, Nate actually even asked me to keep him in mind if things didn't work out, which was really adorable. It would be beyond awesome if everything really was just that easy.
Of course, all wasn't lost or anything so melodramatic as all that. I still got an incredible experience out of the deal, and I'm really grateful for that. But I would love to find out how much I'd be capable of if I stopped allowing myself to be so distracted. Oh, well, there's always next time ...
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Growing Pains
I've had my share of growing pains during my little evolution. Thing is, I'm not the only one who feels 'em.
The first hardcore beating I ever delivered was actually born out of my growing pains in a way.
It started one late summer night at Paddles. Tool had been complaining that he felt I hadn't been spending enough time with him in exchange for the monthly rent money he had agreed to pay me, so I had told him he was welcome to join Derek and Rachel* (the girl Derek was seeing at the time), Alex, Sasha and me that night, letting him know in advance that I had already made plans to play with Harrison once there. I had also offered a few of the guys I had been talking to on CM the opportunity to come introduce themselves to me in person. Add to the mix that Alex and Sasha were both having problems with the respective men in their lives (this night was actually Sasha's last foray into fetish because her boyfriend didn't approve), and I was being pulled in about six different directions all night.
My day had gotten off to a bad start as it was; I had spent the afternoon having lunch and puppy play in a public park with one of those "energy vampires" Brooke had warned me about. I didn't even see it coming because he was a really sweet guy, so it took me by surprise that I felt so drained and shitty by the time I got home ... I kept taking breaks from getting ready for our Paddles evening to commission Derek for hugs so I would feel better.
Anyway, it was all downhill from there. In the car on the way there, I was telling Tool and the girls about my afternoon with the energy vampire in sheep's clothing when Tool's cell phone rang. Shushing me, he held up a hand and scrambled to answer the call. Ooh, bad fucking move, buddy.
I turned to Sasha, "As soon as he hangs up, pay attention."
We waited a good ten to fifteen minutes for him to wrap things up, his whiny, nasally voice and loud, nervous laughter grating on my last frayed nerve.
"Okay, I realize you might need to take work-related calls sometimes ..." I began.
"Oh, that was a personal call," he breezily interrupted me for the second time in the last half hour. The man's denseness really knew no bounds, and given my already bad mood, I pounced on this little nugget of information.
"Oh, was it? And you think it's perfectly acceptable and appropriate behavior for you to 'shush' me so you can answer a personal call?"
"I didn't shush you ..." he started to protest.
"And now you're arguing the point with me to boot!?" I exclaimed, holding up a hand as he began spewing more excuses, "Ohhh, no. I'm speaking now, and for once in your life, you're going to stop flapping your gums just to hear the sound of your own voice and listen. That is completely unacceptable! Now, what do you think would have been a respectful and appropriate response to your phone ringing when I'm in the middle of telling you something?"
"I ... don't know."
"Well, think," I snapped.
"I ... could have said 'Goddess, may I please answer my phone?"" he tried.
"That certainly would have been a preferable plan to the gross display of disrespect you just forced us to witness."
"I'm sorry, Goddess."
"We've been over this," I told him, "your being 'sorry' is worthless to me. Don't be 'sorry,' be better." I had recently picked that line up from Derek and had been using it quite liberally.
"Yes, Goddess."
We drove the rest of the way to Paddles in silence ... not that anything improved once we got there. The place was packed (I forget what the event was), and no one was really playing, which kind of defeated the purpose as far as I was concerned since I couldn't really come up with a better training method for Sasha. Only one of my CM guys had showed up, which was just as well, really, since I wasn't in the mood to even have him and Tool trailing me like the Pied Piper, let alone anyone else. I chatted a bit with CM guy, but focused most of my attention on Sasha and Alex (Derek and Rachel were long gone at this point, exploring the club while he led her around in her lingerie). We finally found what looked like the set up for a scene, but there was nowhere to sit, so Tool volunteered his services as a chair while CM guy turned himself into a footstool.
They picked a ridiculous spot left and center across from the bar where people were tripping over us, and as it turned out, human furniture was not my thing at all, so after a few minutes, I announced as much, throwing in a catty comment about how if I had wanted a vibrating massage chair, I could have purchased a far more comfortable one for good measure. Of course, Tool immediately went into a snit over that one, but thankfully, Harrison chose that moment to enter. I launched myself at him (well, as much as I could "launch" in stiletto thigh high boots, anyway) in one of those classic "never been so happy to see anyone in my life" bear hugs, but he kind of killed the moment when, by way of greeting, he said, "Hey, my friend who has a huge trampling fetish is here if you want to play with him."
"Why? I don't know him," I retorted way more shortly than he deserved.
He held up his hands, "Okay, just thought I'd ask."
"I'm having a bad night," I explained, softening just as quickly, "I really am glad to see you."
Then when we made our way over to the couch so he could try to fix my smile with some of his fabulous foot worship, Tool and CM guy followed, planting themselves at my feet on either side of him, both successfully making Harrison incredibly uncomfortable and catapulting my aggravation to heights I hadn't even known existed in one fell swoop.
CM guy got the hint first, making his way over to the bar, and after what seemed like ages, Tool finally followed suit. But the damage had been done, and my bitchy disposition (regardless whether I was directing it at him or not) was apparently reminding Harrison of his ex-girlfriend in a really bad way, compounding the fact that he had recently been struggling with depression. Once he confided as much to me, we finished off the foot worship with me snuggling his face into my cleavage, stroking his hair, and asking him to call me when he felt up to talking (which he did a few days later, so I must not have been that awful ... well, to him anyway).
Tool was sitting by himself at a table when we finished, so I made my way over and sat down across from him.
"I hope you'll play with me like that one day," he said.
Not really thinking, I replied, "Well, we can certainly play, but it won't be quite like that ... Harrison is a bit more age appropriate for me."
All hell broke loose then. I still can't decide whether I would have actually preferred it had he lain down on the floor, kicking and screaming. In any event, it simply blew his mind that I had stated the patently obvious fact that he was old enough to be my father. And furthermore, while he claimed the foot worship scene had been beautiful, he also deemed it, "Too obnoxious for me or the other guy to sit there in service anymore."
"So I'm obnoxious now, am I?" Really, he was making finding fault with his behavior entirely too easy, "Because, I don't recall asking either of you to join us. However, I do recall telling you when I invited you here that I had already made plans to play with Harrison this evening."
"Well, I didn't realize it would be like that," he pouted.
"Where are my friends?" I spat, rising, "I'm sick to death of talking in circles with you."
Alex was in the car, pseudo napping and wallowing in her boy problems. I chatted with CM guy for a bit, acknowledging the chaotic vibe of the evening, explaining about my bad day, and encouraging him to call me for a second meeting where things would hopefully be less hectic. Then I found Sasha, and we watched a few more scenes before deciding to call it a night. After wishing Harrison a good night, we headed outside where Tool was talking to Derek and Rachel by the car ... complaining about me, I shortly learned via a text from Alex, informing me of the disruption of her nap courtesy of his whining and obnoxious laugh. Of course, when confronted, he denied this, too.
"Are you accusing Mistress Alexandra of lying now, on top of your tantrum?" I asked incredulously, "Apologize to her, and then I don't want to hear another word out of you the rest of the way home." Once he complied, I added, "Thank you for driving and for paying our cover, but the rest of your behavior this evening was deplorable."
A few days later, Derek volunteered to mediate a discussion between Tool and me (and a cane), in hopes of helping me to reign him in. True to form, Tool spent the first half of the discussion mouthing off until I slapped him across the face, wondering why I hadn't done so ages ago. Since Derek had spent our planning frequently employing the quote, "The beatings will continue until morale improves," it wasn't long before the discussion escalated to me turning to Tool. "So, I don't give you enough attention? Well, that's all going to change tonight. Tonight you're going to get the attention you've earned. Tonight you're going to be my little pain slut."
And, while Alex and Derek watched (Derek narrating a play by play to his friend Libby* over the phone and informing me that Libby's suggestion was "harder"), I made use of every toy in both Derek's and my toy bags, several clothespins, and the knife sharpener from the kitchen (which, as luck would have it, doubled quite nicely as a surprisingly mean little paddle). There was no warm up, no safe word, and I had what I referred to as "flogger's elbow" for a few days afterwards. I beat the shit out of him with everything I could get my hands on and flicked the clothespins 'til he doubled over. And the whole time, I mockingly demanded, "Is this enough attention for you, my little attention piggy? Do you feel like you're getting your money's worth now? Maybe now you'll learn to show me some respect and realize that I'm not your little puppet Mistress!"
"I never thought that, Goddess," he whimpered, "I just want to please you. I'm sorry I didn't realize your power before."
"Which is code for you didn't take me seriously before," I corrected. Oh, please. Like he was really going to win with me? "Sit up!" I barked as he rolled in pain on the floor after a particularly savage flick to one of the clothespins on his nipples, "I thought you said you wanted to please me? Well, this pleases me."
Behind me, Alex let out a snort, as I emphasized my statement by giving the clothespin another good, hard flick.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel much better," I announced cheerfully when I finally showed him out later on that night. As the door closed behind him, I at last allowed myself to join Alex in her cackling.
"Now that gives a whole new definition to the word 'owned!'" she declared.
Hurting Tool was, hands down, the best possible medicine for releasing all my pent up frustration. I did feel worlds better. And I had learned from a few mistakes that I didn't plan on making again. All in all, it was a win-win for me; since he was the most irritating individual I had ever encountered, I really didn't feel any kind of remorse over my lesson's expense to him. The important part, just as I had said to him that night, was that I felt better.
I don't really deal with things that way anymore. Up until recently, I've been making a more concentrated effort to keep my growing pains to myself a little more.
Putting them in print here has been really cathartic for me.
But the other day ... once again, I stopped being the only one who was feeling the effects of my growing pains. And hurting John hasn't been nearly as satisfying as beating the shit out of Tool was. Wait, let me rephrase that: hurting someone I actually care about isn't even remotely satisfying. In fact, it kinda sucks.
The silver lining there is that it was nice to find out he actually cared. 'Cause I really wasn't sure either way before. Communication on the subject has been limited to text messages, but for once, I really feel like I'm finally being completely straightforward and putting it all out there, saying exactly what I mean, and trying my best not to leave anything out. Well, I think we both are, really. He's got a bit of a problem with vagueness himself, but he's been a lot more expressive in this instance. And part of me is really pleased with what seems like an extremely healthy development.
As for the other half? She really wants to be lying in bed with a certain little boy's head nestled into that nook between her breasts and collarbone, fingers in his hair, brushing her lips in the occasional kiss across his forehead ... just 'cause that's the best aftercare idea she can come up with in the aftermath of this particular brand of hurting.
The first hardcore beating I ever delivered was actually born out of my growing pains in a way.
It started one late summer night at Paddles. Tool had been complaining that he felt I hadn't been spending enough time with him in exchange for the monthly rent money he had agreed to pay me, so I had told him he was welcome to join Derek and Rachel* (the girl Derek was seeing at the time), Alex, Sasha and me that night, letting him know in advance that I had already made plans to play with Harrison once there. I had also offered a few of the guys I had been talking to on CM the opportunity to come introduce themselves to me in person. Add to the mix that Alex and Sasha were both having problems with the respective men in their lives (this night was actually Sasha's last foray into fetish because her boyfriend didn't approve), and I was being pulled in about six different directions all night.
My day had gotten off to a bad start as it was; I had spent the afternoon having lunch and puppy play in a public park with one of those "energy vampires" Brooke had warned me about. I didn't even see it coming because he was a really sweet guy, so it took me by surprise that I felt so drained and shitty by the time I got home ... I kept taking breaks from getting ready for our Paddles evening to commission Derek for hugs so I would feel better.
Anyway, it was all downhill from there. In the car on the way there, I was telling Tool and the girls about my afternoon with the energy vampire in sheep's clothing when Tool's cell phone rang. Shushing me, he held up a hand and scrambled to answer the call. Ooh, bad fucking move, buddy.
I turned to Sasha, "As soon as he hangs up, pay attention."
We waited a good ten to fifteen minutes for him to wrap things up, his whiny, nasally voice and loud, nervous laughter grating on my last frayed nerve.
"Okay, I realize you might need to take work-related calls sometimes ..." I began.
"Oh, that was a personal call," he breezily interrupted me for the second time in the last half hour. The man's denseness really knew no bounds, and given my already bad mood, I pounced on this little nugget of information.
"Oh, was it? And you think it's perfectly acceptable and appropriate behavior for you to 'shush' me so you can answer a personal call?"
"I didn't shush you ..." he started to protest.
"And now you're arguing the point with me to boot!?" I exclaimed, holding up a hand as he began spewing more excuses, "Ohhh, no. I'm speaking now, and for once in your life, you're going to stop flapping your gums just to hear the sound of your own voice and listen. That is completely unacceptable! Now, what do you think would have been a respectful and appropriate response to your phone ringing when I'm in the middle of telling you something?"
"I ... don't know."
"Well, think," I snapped.
"I ... could have said 'Goddess, may I please answer my phone?"" he tried.
"That certainly would have been a preferable plan to the gross display of disrespect you just forced us to witness."
"I'm sorry, Goddess."
"We've been over this," I told him, "your being 'sorry' is worthless to me. Don't be 'sorry,' be better." I had recently picked that line up from Derek and had been using it quite liberally.
"Yes, Goddess."
We drove the rest of the way to Paddles in silence ... not that anything improved once we got there. The place was packed (I forget what the event was), and no one was really playing, which kind of defeated the purpose as far as I was concerned since I couldn't really come up with a better training method for Sasha. Only one of my CM guys had showed up, which was just as well, really, since I wasn't in the mood to even have him and Tool trailing me like the Pied Piper, let alone anyone else. I chatted a bit with CM guy, but focused most of my attention on Sasha and Alex (Derek and Rachel were long gone at this point, exploring the club while he led her around in her lingerie). We finally found what looked like the set up for a scene, but there was nowhere to sit, so Tool volunteered his services as a chair while CM guy turned himself into a footstool.
They picked a ridiculous spot left and center across from the bar where people were tripping over us, and as it turned out, human furniture was not my thing at all, so after a few minutes, I announced as much, throwing in a catty comment about how if I had wanted a vibrating massage chair, I could have purchased a far more comfortable one for good measure. Of course, Tool immediately went into a snit over that one, but thankfully, Harrison chose that moment to enter. I launched myself at him (well, as much as I could "launch" in stiletto thigh high boots, anyway) in one of those classic "never been so happy to see anyone in my life" bear hugs, but he kind of killed the moment when, by way of greeting, he said, "Hey, my friend who has a huge trampling fetish is here if you want to play with him."
"Why? I don't know him," I retorted way more shortly than he deserved.
He held up his hands, "Okay, just thought I'd ask."
"I'm having a bad night," I explained, softening just as quickly, "I really am glad to see you."
Then when we made our way over to the couch so he could try to fix my smile with some of his fabulous foot worship, Tool and CM guy followed, planting themselves at my feet on either side of him, both successfully making Harrison incredibly uncomfortable and catapulting my aggravation to heights I hadn't even known existed in one fell swoop.
CM guy got the hint first, making his way over to the bar, and after what seemed like ages, Tool finally followed suit. But the damage had been done, and my bitchy disposition (regardless whether I was directing it at him or not) was apparently reminding Harrison of his ex-girlfriend in a really bad way, compounding the fact that he had recently been struggling with depression. Once he confided as much to me, we finished off the foot worship with me snuggling his face into my cleavage, stroking his hair, and asking him to call me when he felt up to talking (which he did a few days later, so I must not have been that awful ... well, to him anyway).
Tool was sitting by himself at a table when we finished, so I made my way over and sat down across from him.
"I hope you'll play with me like that one day," he said.
Not really thinking, I replied, "Well, we can certainly play, but it won't be quite like that ... Harrison is a bit more age appropriate for me."
All hell broke loose then. I still can't decide whether I would have actually preferred it had he lain down on the floor, kicking and screaming. In any event, it simply blew his mind that I had stated the patently obvious fact that he was old enough to be my father. And furthermore, while he claimed the foot worship scene had been beautiful, he also deemed it, "Too obnoxious for me or the other guy to sit there in service anymore."
"So I'm obnoxious now, am I?" Really, he was making finding fault with his behavior entirely too easy, "Because, I don't recall asking either of you to join us. However, I do recall telling you when I invited you here that I had already made plans to play with Harrison this evening."
"Well, I didn't realize it would be like that," he pouted.
"Where are my friends?" I spat, rising, "I'm sick to death of talking in circles with you."
Alex was in the car, pseudo napping and wallowing in her boy problems. I chatted with CM guy for a bit, acknowledging the chaotic vibe of the evening, explaining about my bad day, and encouraging him to call me for a second meeting where things would hopefully be less hectic. Then I found Sasha, and we watched a few more scenes before deciding to call it a night. After wishing Harrison a good night, we headed outside where Tool was talking to Derek and Rachel by the car ... complaining about me, I shortly learned via a text from Alex, informing me of the disruption of her nap courtesy of his whining and obnoxious laugh. Of course, when confronted, he denied this, too.
"Are you accusing Mistress Alexandra of lying now, on top of your tantrum?" I asked incredulously, "Apologize to her, and then I don't want to hear another word out of you the rest of the way home." Once he complied, I added, "Thank you for driving and for paying our cover, but the rest of your behavior this evening was deplorable."
A few days later, Derek volunteered to mediate a discussion between Tool and me (and a cane), in hopes of helping me to reign him in. True to form, Tool spent the first half of the discussion mouthing off until I slapped him across the face, wondering why I hadn't done so ages ago. Since Derek had spent our planning frequently employing the quote, "The beatings will continue until morale improves," it wasn't long before the discussion escalated to me turning to Tool. "So, I don't give you enough attention? Well, that's all going to change tonight. Tonight you're going to get the attention you've earned. Tonight you're going to be my little pain slut."
And, while Alex and Derek watched (Derek narrating a play by play to his friend Libby* over the phone and informing me that Libby's suggestion was "harder"), I made use of every toy in both Derek's and my toy bags, several clothespins, and the knife sharpener from the kitchen (which, as luck would have it, doubled quite nicely as a surprisingly mean little paddle). There was no warm up, no safe word, and I had what I referred to as "flogger's elbow" for a few days afterwards. I beat the shit out of him with everything I could get my hands on and flicked the clothespins 'til he doubled over. And the whole time, I mockingly demanded, "Is this enough attention for you, my little attention piggy? Do you feel like you're getting your money's worth now? Maybe now you'll learn to show me some respect and realize that I'm not your little puppet Mistress!"
"I never thought that, Goddess," he whimpered, "I just want to please you. I'm sorry I didn't realize your power before."
"Which is code for you didn't take me seriously before," I corrected. Oh, please. Like he was really going to win with me? "Sit up!" I barked as he rolled in pain on the floor after a particularly savage flick to one of the clothespins on his nipples, "I thought you said you wanted to please me? Well, this pleases me."
Behind me, Alex let out a snort, as I emphasized my statement by giving the clothespin another good, hard flick.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel much better," I announced cheerfully when I finally showed him out later on that night. As the door closed behind him, I at last allowed myself to join Alex in her cackling.
"Now that gives a whole new definition to the word 'owned!'" she declared.
Hurting Tool was, hands down, the best possible medicine for releasing all my pent up frustration. I did feel worlds better. And I had learned from a few mistakes that I didn't plan on making again. All in all, it was a win-win for me; since he was the most irritating individual I had ever encountered, I really didn't feel any kind of remorse over my lesson's expense to him. The important part, just as I had said to him that night, was that I felt better.
I don't really deal with things that way anymore. Up until recently, I've been making a more concentrated effort to keep my growing pains to myself a little more.
Putting them in print here has been really cathartic for me.
But the other day ... once again, I stopped being the only one who was feeling the effects of my growing pains. And hurting John hasn't been nearly as satisfying as beating the shit out of Tool was. Wait, let me rephrase that: hurting someone I actually care about isn't even remotely satisfying. In fact, it kinda sucks.
The silver lining there is that it was nice to find out he actually cared. 'Cause I really wasn't sure either way before. Communication on the subject has been limited to text messages, but for once, I really feel like I'm finally being completely straightforward and putting it all out there, saying exactly what I mean, and trying my best not to leave anything out. Well, I think we both are, really. He's got a bit of a problem with vagueness himself, but he's been a lot more expressive in this instance. And part of me is really pleased with what seems like an extremely healthy development.
As for the other half? She really wants to be lying in bed with a certain little boy's head nestled into that nook between her breasts and collarbone, fingers in his hair, brushing her lips in the occasional kiss across his forehead ... just 'cause that's the best aftercare idea she can come up with in the aftermath of this particular brand of hurting.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
"Kisses are for Lovers"
"Trying to keep you off balance ... is just the evil version of sweeping you off your feet. (Thomas Rayfiel)"
I just read that line over breakfast this morning and it kind of smacked me in the face.
I really need to learn all the different faces of topping from the bottom and control manipulation. According to Derek, it comes in about eighty five thousand different forms, from the obvious (Tool trying to change my name or presenting all the things that catered to his own fantasies to me as the hard and fast rules for what BDSM was and wasn't about, banking on my lack of experience to keep me from questioning it) to the more subtle (a slave or submissive who is obedient but takes their sweet time carrying out a task). Or, in the same vein ... one who's prone to things like sporadic contact and dropping off the face of the planet periodically. And that quote just might perfectly sum up why I've been putting up with it.
Brooke was dating two guys when I apprenticed to her. Ben* was sweet and reliable and openly adored her, sending her daily "thinking of you" text messages which inspired snorts of disgust and which she frequently read aloud in a mocking, singsong voice. Brendon* was elusive and distant and inspired such behaviors in Brooke as dialing his number and listening to it ring and go to voicemail twenty eight times in a row ... for the specific purpose of allowing him to find the twenty eight missed calls from her - all made within two minutes of each other - in his call log.
Brendon was the reason I saw her break and give her vulnerability permission to emerge for a brief moment. Granted, it took her under five minutes to pull it together, but before that, I got the works: first, a text sent from their private dinner for two about how he was barely even talking to her and the admission that "I'm so hurt right now," then the screaming, crying phone call on her drive home, and finally, the seat next to her on the edge of her bed when she got there, stroking her hair and catching her tears with my fingertips ... until she caught herself in the role reversal because "(she was) supposed to be the one taking care of (me)." When I left L.A., I reminded her, "Plenty of people pay good money to worship you ... so don't spend too much of your time settling for anything less anywhere else." Which I thought was incredibly sweet and insightful and adorable of me at the time, but like so many other things ... it's easier said than done.
Case in point? I'm new, I'm young, and (while, obviously, I have my insecurities just like everyone else) most would say genetics have been kind to me. I have no shortage of attention from submissive males, and the simple act of checking my email is a daily exercise in equal parts of ego boost and annoyance.
So, naturally, I decide to make my play for the one who goes disappearing on alternate Tuesdays.
And it sucks, 'cause after last weekend he was doing really well, too. I was even prepared to cut him some slack because he was starting a new job that entailed a six day work week, but even with that, he was still keeping in pretty regular contact ... even if it was just to text me to say good morning before work. It was all looking really promising, and it made me happy because it also looked like just maybe he really did want to prove to me that he could be mine. But now, he's back to his old charming habits and has gone M.I.A. Yet again. And that little game? Has gotten really fucking tiresome. And twenty eight missed calls all within two minutes of each other is kinda not my style.
My last correspondence with him was a very polite text message last night (sent after he had ignored two or three previous text messages between Sunday night and Monday), informing him that if there's any way he can get out of work next Sunday, Derek is planning a bondage party. John's a huge bondage slut, and I still need to learn how to handle rope properly. Usually I just stick with restraints (conveniently hooked to the headboard of his bed), and I don't really even do that as often as he'd probably like, both because we do a lot of breath play and also because I like the feel of his hands on my hips. Anyway, the text also contained the postscript that this would be the last text message I would be sending his way unless or until he decided to become responsive again. I've been a bitch about that in the past, but this time, I was sweet as cherry pie. Now, one of two things is going to happen: either I'll get a text or email apology from him within the next few days, likely something along the lines of, "work's been kicking my ass, and I've been passing out as soon as I get home," or that text message will be the last time I interact with him in any way, shape, or form. Because seriously? Fuck this noise.
I was wandering through Borders yesterday and flipped through a paperback in the erotica section with the storyline of an escort who gets picked up by a dominant woman who awakens the escort's submissive desires. I didn't feel especially compelled to buy it (all those sex scenes are too extra cheese for my taste), but one excerpt stood out. In it, the submissive is bound, the Domme leans in close, and right when she thinks she's about to kiss her, she pulls away and tells her, "Kisses are for lovers." I have every intention of stealing that one now: "Kisses are for lovers ... and as far as I can tell, the only thing you really seem to have any interest in being to me is my part time guinea pig." And then I'd really love to hear how exactly he'd go about trying to tell me I'm wrong. Yeah, as fantasies go, that one's kind of boring. But know what? Plenty of people are begging me to show them the slightest attention on a daily basis. So why would I settle for anything less anywhere else?
My saving grace is my excellent willpower. I do this in vanilla relationships, too. This New Year's Eve was when I decided I was done with all the back and forth, on again off again nonsense with my last girlfriend once and for all. We still talk, but she hasn't been able to suck me back in since ... and not for lack of trying on her part. And it was actually just a few days after that when I first blurred the lines between play and more for myself with John. I'd been inching my way there since I ended up at his house around four AM on New Year's Day (that was the first time I ever bit his bottom lip ... a pretty regular occurrence these days, but up until that point, I had still been all about keeping everything separate ... well, with the exception of utilizing his warm body for spooning purposes, anyway). And a night or two later, curled up on the bed in our now-familiar position, I asked him, apropos of nothing, what he wanted.
"I want to learn how many different laughs you have," he told me.
If not necessarily the sweetest thing I'd ever heard, that one was definitely well within the top ten. And the most appropriate thing I could come up with by way of response was to turn and kiss him full on the mouth ... our first kiss. But when he requested another one before I left the next day, I told him no and didn't relent for a good couple weeks before letting it happen again.
"Is this fucking with your head?" I asked him the second time around, "'Cause I can hear the argument now: 'If you don't want to be a kinky girlfriend, then why do you act like one?'"
Of course, he assured me it was fine, that he was taking everything at face value: "Did you notice how after I asked that one time and you said no, I never tried to initiate anything? Everything is completely up to you."
Well, if that's the case, then I guess it's "up to me" to decide that kisses are for lovers and that since, quite obviously, he isn't mine, there will be no more. Maybe I should have simplified things even further for him: "proving it" equals being there. And, no, I am not actually naive enough to imagine that that would have made the slightest difference.
I just read that line over breakfast this morning and it kind of smacked me in the face.
I really need to learn all the different faces of topping from the bottom and control manipulation. According to Derek, it comes in about eighty five thousand different forms, from the obvious (Tool trying to change my name or presenting all the things that catered to his own fantasies to me as the hard and fast rules for what BDSM was and wasn't about, banking on my lack of experience to keep me from questioning it) to the more subtle (a slave or submissive who is obedient but takes their sweet time carrying out a task). Or, in the same vein ... one who's prone to things like sporadic contact and dropping off the face of the planet periodically. And that quote just might perfectly sum up why I've been putting up with it.
Brooke was dating two guys when I apprenticed to her. Ben* was sweet and reliable and openly adored her, sending her daily "thinking of you" text messages which inspired snorts of disgust and which she frequently read aloud in a mocking, singsong voice. Brendon* was elusive and distant and inspired such behaviors in Brooke as dialing his number and listening to it ring and go to voicemail twenty eight times in a row ... for the specific purpose of allowing him to find the twenty eight missed calls from her - all made within two minutes of each other - in his call log.
Brendon was the reason I saw her break and give her vulnerability permission to emerge for a brief moment. Granted, it took her under five minutes to pull it together, but before that, I got the works: first, a text sent from their private dinner for two about how he was barely even talking to her and the admission that "I'm so hurt right now," then the screaming, crying phone call on her drive home, and finally, the seat next to her on the edge of her bed when she got there, stroking her hair and catching her tears with my fingertips ... until she caught herself in the role reversal because "(she was) supposed to be the one taking care of (me)." When I left L.A., I reminded her, "Plenty of people pay good money to worship you ... so don't spend too much of your time settling for anything less anywhere else." Which I thought was incredibly sweet and insightful and adorable of me at the time, but like so many other things ... it's easier said than done.
Case in point? I'm new, I'm young, and (while, obviously, I have my insecurities just like everyone else) most would say genetics have been kind to me. I have no shortage of attention from submissive males, and the simple act of checking my email is a daily exercise in equal parts of ego boost and annoyance.
So, naturally, I decide to make my play for the one who goes disappearing on alternate Tuesdays.
And it sucks, 'cause after last weekend he was doing really well, too. I was even prepared to cut him some slack because he was starting a new job that entailed a six day work week, but even with that, he was still keeping in pretty regular contact ... even if it was just to text me to say good morning before work. It was all looking really promising, and it made me happy because it also looked like just maybe he really did want to prove to me that he could be mine. But now, he's back to his old charming habits and has gone M.I.A. Yet again. And that little game? Has gotten really fucking tiresome. And twenty eight missed calls all within two minutes of each other is kinda not my style.
My last correspondence with him was a very polite text message last night (sent after he had ignored two or three previous text messages between Sunday night and Monday), informing him that if there's any way he can get out of work next Sunday, Derek is planning a bondage party. John's a huge bondage slut, and I still need to learn how to handle rope properly. Usually I just stick with restraints (conveniently hooked to the headboard of his bed), and I don't really even do that as often as he'd probably like, both because we do a lot of breath play and also because I like the feel of his hands on my hips. Anyway, the text also contained the postscript that this would be the last text message I would be sending his way unless or until he decided to become responsive again. I've been a bitch about that in the past, but this time, I was sweet as cherry pie. Now, one of two things is going to happen: either I'll get a text or email apology from him within the next few days, likely something along the lines of, "work's been kicking my ass, and I've been passing out as soon as I get home," or that text message will be the last time I interact with him in any way, shape, or form. Because seriously? Fuck this noise.
I was wandering through Borders yesterday and flipped through a paperback in the erotica section with the storyline of an escort who gets picked up by a dominant woman who awakens the escort's submissive desires. I didn't feel especially compelled to buy it (all those sex scenes are too extra cheese for my taste), but one excerpt stood out. In it, the submissive is bound, the Domme leans in close, and right when she thinks she's about to kiss her, she pulls away and tells her, "Kisses are for lovers." I have every intention of stealing that one now: "Kisses are for lovers ... and as far as I can tell, the only thing you really seem to have any interest in being to me is my part time guinea pig." And then I'd really love to hear how exactly he'd go about trying to tell me I'm wrong. Yeah, as fantasies go, that one's kind of boring. But know what? Plenty of people are begging me to show them the slightest attention on a daily basis. So why would I settle for anything less anywhere else?
My saving grace is my excellent willpower. I do this in vanilla relationships, too. This New Year's Eve was when I decided I was done with all the back and forth, on again off again nonsense with my last girlfriend once and for all. We still talk, but she hasn't been able to suck me back in since ... and not for lack of trying on her part. And it was actually just a few days after that when I first blurred the lines between play and more for myself with John. I'd been inching my way there since I ended up at his house around four AM on New Year's Day (that was the first time I ever bit his bottom lip ... a pretty regular occurrence these days, but up until that point, I had still been all about keeping everything separate ... well, with the exception of utilizing his warm body for spooning purposes, anyway). And a night or two later, curled up on the bed in our now-familiar position, I asked him, apropos of nothing, what he wanted.
"I want to learn how many different laughs you have," he told me.
If not necessarily the sweetest thing I'd ever heard, that one was definitely well within the top ten. And the most appropriate thing I could come up with by way of response was to turn and kiss him full on the mouth ... our first kiss. But when he requested another one before I left the next day, I told him no and didn't relent for a good couple weeks before letting it happen again.
"Is this fucking with your head?" I asked him the second time around, "'Cause I can hear the argument now: 'If you don't want to be a kinky girlfriend, then why do you act like one?'"
Of course, he assured me it was fine, that he was taking everything at face value: "Did you notice how after I asked that one time and you said no, I never tried to initiate anything? Everything is completely up to you."
Well, if that's the case, then I guess it's "up to me" to decide that kisses are for lovers and that since, quite obviously, he isn't mine, there will be no more. Maybe I should have simplified things even further for him: "proving it" equals being there. And, no, I am not actually naive enough to imagine that that would have made the slightest difference.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Mistress Addicts Anonymous?
Ok, so I'm feeling a little guilty over the shameless exploitation that's about to ensue, but this is a personal first and I'm really not quite sure what to make of it.
During one of John's flaky periods, I had an opportunity for a shoot ... but the woman who was running it wanted me to bring my own sub so I would be working with someone I was already comfortable with. By this point, a fair amount of guys on CM had stumbled across some of my other clips and contacted me asking for an opportunity to shoot with me. I had spoken to Trey* on the phone, and he had seemed sweet and normal (if ever so slightly cocky and shallow, but judging by his photo attachments, Mother Nature had blessed him with a reason for this), so I contacted him to see if he might be interested.
Trey was married, but assured me that his wife (unlike Matt's poor, oblivious girlfriend) knew about his "extracurricular activities," and readily agreed to help me out as long as I could give him a ballpark figure of when he'd be back ... perhaps I should have thought to ask beforehand exactly how much she knew. Anyway, once I talked him through a minor case of cold feet about appearing unmasked (after which he texted me thanking me for explaining things and apologizing for "being a pussy.." his word choice, not mine, though it did make me smile), we were set.
I had him meet me at a nearby Starbucks (apparently my venue of choice for attached submissives) an hour before the shoot so he could be "comfortable and at ease with me." I didn't see any reason to mention that this was as much for my own benefit as for his ... might as well maintain my control from the start, right? Upon arriving, I was pleased to discover both that the pictures hadn't lied and also that - contrary to some of my intial impressions - he did, in fact, have slightly more depth to him than your average puddle.
Though the shoot itself didn't exactly fit my idea of "FemDom" (the storyline was more porn-ish: guy walks in on his girlfriend cheating on him with another girl, then the two girls humiliate him, trample him, and smother him with their breasts and asses), we had a lot of fun. Suffice it to say, I didn't really achieve full-on topspace at any point, but now ... I can't even begin to imagine what the aftermath might have been if I had.
Trey and I have texted and emailed a bit since the shoot. I heard from him the other day, just your average check in, during which he told me he would be going away on vacation, and that he missed me. I told him we would figure out a time to see each other when he got back.
Fast forward to last night. I'm at home, minding my own business when I receive a text message from Trey telling me how gorgeous I am and reiterating how much he misses me. Since it also contained the line, "You're so hard to not forget," I responded much as I would have to anyone else in those circumstances: "Aw, are you drunk right now, little boy?"
Figuring I'd throw him a bone, I also asked when he would be back from vacation because I wanted someone to accompany me to a class next week.
Trey responded that he was just "buzzed enough to grow the balls to text (me)," and went on that no one had ever made him so nervous and that I was "such a fantasy." Unfortunately, he wouldn't be back until late evening the day after the class, which I told him was a shame.
The response to that was something along the lines of, "Yes, it is a shame, but please find another way to use me because I'm addicted to You and want to do all kinds of disgusting, humiliating things for You."
Well, I actually had no idea what to say to that. So I waited until this morning and simply asked how his hangover was, another classic response of mine after a bout of drunk texting.
Trey said he was recovering nicely and thanked me for asking.
Of course, then I just had to feel things out a little more. I started by casually mentioning that he was the first sub to have ever drunk texted me. (Okay, so John and I may have texted back and forth a time or two when one or both of us has been out drinking, but not like that.)
Then he apologized and said he was embarrassed.
I told him it was fine, and not to be embarrassed because it had made me smile. Which - despite my being completely caught off guard in the moment - was true.
And now?
Well, as I began typing this, Trey and I were still texting back and forth about the dirty, degrading things he'd be willing to do for me. All because I mentioned maybe using him for more hardcore shoots next time if he thought he could handle it, and when I got the response, "For You? Fuck yes. I'm open to more nasty stuff, too," of course, I had to press the issue even more and ask for examples.
To be honest, I'm not really sure why all this caught me off guard as much as it did. I certainly get enough messages from randoms containing worse; I once had a fifty something year old guy write me an unsolicited seventeen page long erotic story about his new life as Mistress Kay's sissy panty boy ... and while the more explicit sexual descriptions made me throw up in my mouth a little, for the most part, I just found it amusing. With Trey, I actually want to play with him again, and hell, just as two people with pulses, if he wasn't married, I'd tap that.
But when I said "prove it," the other day? This was kinda not quite what I had in mind.
Hey, then again, maybe Trey read that post and this whole thing was just a manipulation on his part because he wanted to be in my blog, too? Then I wouldn't have to feel quite so bad about the whole shameless exploitation thing. Oh, whatever. I can dream.
During one of John's flaky periods, I had an opportunity for a shoot ... but the woman who was running it wanted me to bring my own sub so I would be working with someone I was already comfortable with. By this point, a fair amount of guys on CM had stumbled across some of my other clips and contacted me asking for an opportunity to shoot with me. I had spoken to Trey* on the phone, and he had seemed sweet and normal (if ever so slightly cocky and shallow, but judging by his photo attachments, Mother Nature had blessed him with a reason for this), so I contacted him to see if he might be interested.
Trey was married, but assured me that his wife (unlike Matt's poor, oblivious girlfriend) knew about his "extracurricular activities," and readily agreed to help me out as long as I could give him a ballpark figure of when he'd be back ... perhaps I should have thought to ask beforehand exactly how much she knew. Anyway, once I talked him through a minor case of cold feet about appearing unmasked (after which he texted me thanking me for explaining things and apologizing for "being a pussy.." his word choice, not mine, though it did make me smile), we were set.
I had him meet me at a nearby Starbucks (apparently my venue of choice for attached submissives) an hour before the shoot so he could be "comfortable and at ease with me." I didn't see any reason to mention that this was as much for my own benefit as for his ... might as well maintain my control from the start, right? Upon arriving, I was pleased to discover both that the pictures hadn't lied and also that - contrary to some of my intial impressions - he did, in fact, have slightly more depth to him than your average puddle.
Though the shoot itself didn't exactly fit my idea of "FemDom" (the storyline was more porn-ish: guy walks in on his girlfriend cheating on him with another girl, then the two girls humiliate him, trample him, and smother him with their breasts and asses), we had a lot of fun. Suffice it to say, I didn't really achieve full-on topspace at any point, but now ... I can't even begin to imagine what the aftermath might have been if I had.
Trey and I have texted and emailed a bit since the shoot. I heard from him the other day, just your average check in, during which he told me he would be going away on vacation, and that he missed me. I told him we would figure out a time to see each other when he got back.
Fast forward to last night. I'm at home, minding my own business when I receive a text message from Trey telling me how gorgeous I am and reiterating how much he misses me. Since it also contained the line, "You're so hard to not forget," I responded much as I would have to anyone else in those circumstances: "Aw, are you drunk right now, little boy?"
Figuring I'd throw him a bone, I also asked when he would be back from vacation because I wanted someone to accompany me to a class next week.
Trey responded that he was just "buzzed enough to grow the balls to text (me)," and went on that no one had ever made him so nervous and that I was "such a fantasy." Unfortunately, he wouldn't be back until late evening the day after the class, which I told him was a shame.
The response to that was something along the lines of, "Yes, it is a shame, but please find another way to use me because I'm addicted to You and want to do all kinds of disgusting, humiliating things for You."
Well, I actually had no idea what to say to that. So I waited until this morning and simply asked how his hangover was, another classic response of mine after a bout of drunk texting.
Trey said he was recovering nicely and thanked me for asking.
Of course, then I just had to feel things out a little more. I started by casually mentioning that he was the first sub to have ever drunk texted me. (Okay, so John and I may have texted back and forth a time or two when one or both of us has been out drinking, but not like that.)
Then he apologized and said he was embarrassed.
I told him it was fine, and not to be embarrassed because it had made me smile. Which - despite my being completely caught off guard in the moment - was true.
And now?
Well, as I began typing this, Trey and I were still texting back and forth about the dirty, degrading things he'd be willing to do for me. All because I mentioned maybe using him for more hardcore shoots next time if he thought he could handle it, and when I got the response, "For You? Fuck yes. I'm open to more nasty stuff, too," of course, I had to press the issue even more and ask for examples.
To be honest, I'm not really sure why all this caught me off guard as much as it did. I certainly get enough messages from randoms containing worse; I once had a fifty something year old guy write me an unsolicited seventeen page long erotic story about his new life as Mistress Kay's sissy panty boy ... and while the more explicit sexual descriptions made me throw up in my mouth a little, for the most part, I just found it amusing. With Trey, I actually want to play with him again, and hell, just as two people with pulses, if he wasn't married, I'd tap that.
But when I said "prove it," the other day? This was kinda not quite what I had in mind.
Hey, then again, maybe Trey read that post and this whole thing was just a manipulation on his part because he wanted to be in my blog, too? Then I wouldn't have to feel quite so bad about the whole shameless exploitation thing. Oh, whatever. I can dream.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Proof
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting one Maitresse Scarlette Stangata (a fiery and fascinating lifestyle Mistress) through our mutual friend Patrick.* I can tell you she's fascinating just by the single meeting because I've also checked out her blog since then ... I'd link to it, but it's an invite-only deal, so you'll have to take my word for it as I take my moment to gloat about how I'm a member of the cool kids' club and you're not.
Anyway, meeting her and reading her blog were another main factor that both got me thinking more about what I wanted as far as the whole lifestyle aspect of things and also answered a lot of questions that that particular thought process had raised for me as far as how to balance everything ... because a part of me really does still have my guard up. Then again - Brooke's training as far as not showing weakness in front of submissives notwithstanding - I'm pretty much notorious for my guardedness ... kinda goes hand in hand with that whole being famous for dysfunctional relationships thing I have going on.
But reading Scarlette's blog helped me realize that the balance is possible. While the undeniable dynamic force that she is comes across in every word, whenever she talks about "her boy," there's also this sweetness and vulnerability that comes through and kinda calls to mind that famous movie moment where Julia Roberts tells Hugh Grant, "I'm still just a girl standing in front of a boy." And I'm okay with the fact that I'm drawing that analogy, because even if I do know the line, I don't actually remember what the movie is ... so I am, thereby, still a tough little Domme.
Point being, I got to take comfort in the thought that it is, in fact, possible to command a room, bring grown men to their knees, and still allow for your own humanity to come through without it being weakness. I certainly felt anything but weak the times I curled up in bed with John when the rest of my world was swirling chaotically around me ... if anything, it made me stronger because I was able to breathe easier and get through it.
I'm still working on being one hundred percent comfy with all that though.
I drove out and saw my little boy this weekend for the first time in a couple weeks. By the time I was about fifteen to twenty minutes away, I was in the best mood. Soon after I had walked through the door, we were on the bed making out like a couple high school kids, me raking my nails over his chest and back, holding him by the throat, and throwing in the occasional bite to that sensitive spot where collarbone and shoulder meet for good measure.
"I missed you," he told me after a few minutes of this.
"Mmm.. you'd fucking better have," I replied, catching his lower lip between my teeth.
But underneath all that flippant bravado ... I was still just a girl. And a cynical girl, at that. I had gone back and forth on exactly how many of my latest "secrets" I wanted him to know before I went out there, telling him he should check out this very blog, then taking it back and saying to wait.
See, I wasn't sure whether or not his reading it would result in his getting weird, breaking plans, and doing that whole dropping off the face of the planet thing he does so well for the billionth time. And that would've sucked. So now that I was there, I needed to pull back, just snuggle, and beat around the bush a little bit (okay ... a lot) before I was about to entertain any notions of setting the truth out in straightforward black and white. And getting a few drinks in me first couldn't hurt either. So we went out with two of his good friends. It was nice to finally meet them. And ever notice how everything's somehow less intimidating after you've spiked your bloodstream like a prom night punch bowl? Yes, confessions intimidate me ... my own confessions, anyway. Shut up.
And even then, it was still like pulling teeth to get it out of me. I've really got to give John credit for his patience in that department, even though it was pretty self-explanatory where I was going with it. Before we left the house, I casually mentioned that I had recently figured out what I wanted as far as the whole lifestyle aspect of things. Naturally, he inquired as to what that was ... and I helpfully informed him that, "It's in the blog I wouldn't let you read."
Halfway through my second glass of wine while his friends were involved in an animated banter over some inside joke or another, I leaned over and elaborated, "I want this ... with some modifications." Still no prying; he let me take my sweet time on things. I don't really know if he did that because he gets me or if it was just another aspect of this silent, stoic, internalizing thing he sometimes does, but it worked either way.
In the dark back in his room later that night, I pulled back for a moment, "This isn't what I went to L.A. for," I told him, "And this isn't why you emailed me. Remember? You emailed me volunteering to be my guinea pig."
"I'm still your guinea pig," he told me.
"But you've already fulfilled your obligations in that department," I murmured, "And now I want more out of you. So ..." I finally asked him, "How far will you go for me, little boy?"
"That's up to you," he replied.
I shook my head. "That's not an answer." And I repeated my original question: "How far will you go for me?"
"All the way, Mistress Kay," was his answer this time around.
After we had both paused to giggle at the unintentional rhyme, I replied, "I guess we'll see about that, then, won't we?" Then I told him I wanted him to be three things: reliable, accessible ... and mine. The last of these was delivered as a purred prelude to a kiss, and in the morning when I asked him if he remembered his three things, he repeated the first two back and claimed he hadn't quite caught the third.
Given his response in the moment (did I mention that I really dig how intense his reactions to me are when I get sensual?), I'm not entirely sure whether that was actually the case or if he just wanted to hear me say it again.
At first, I told him it didn't really matter because as long as he pulled off the first two, the third would follow. But then I relented and murmured it into his ear in between bites to his neck and nipples.
"Okay. I'll be yours," he said.
"Not just like that, you won't," I told him, "Prove it; you're not mine just because you say you are ... you'll have to show me."
I take that track a lot. I've been fed too many beautiful lines of bullshit in my couple decades and change on the planet. I can't do anything with easy, pretty words; I want them backed up by deed. My one exception to the "never say never and never say always" rule is that I will most likely always ask for proof.
Of course, John pointed out that he was still here, and wasn't that proof? "I'm not going anywhere," he told me, "I'm content. I don't want or need anything else." Which was nice to hear. Certainly a promising start ... but now? Keep on showing me. Prove it. And don't stop or slack.
So, hopefully I wasn't too vague for him, what with all that beating around the bush I did.
We'll see what happens ...
Anyway, meeting her and reading her blog were another main factor that both got me thinking more about what I wanted as far as the whole lifestyle aspect of things and also answered a lot of questions that that particular thought process had raised for me as far as how to balance everything ... because a part of me really does still have my guard up. Then again - Brooke's training as far as not showing weakness in front of submissives notwithstanding - I'm pretty much notorious for my guardedness ... kinda goes hand in hand with that whole being famous for dysfunctional relationships thing I have going on.
But reading Scarlette's blog helped me realize that the balance is possible. While the undeniable dynamic force that she is comes across in every word, whenever she talks about "her boy," there's also this sweetness and vulnerability that comes through and kinda calls to mind that famous movie moment where Julia Roberts tells Hugh Grant, "I'm still just a girl standing in front of a boy." And I'm okay with the fact that I'm drawing that analogy, because even if I do know the line, I don't actually remember what the movie is ... so I am, thereby, still a tough little Domme.
Point being, I got to take comfort in the thought that it is, in fact, possible to command a room, bring grown men to their knees, and still allow for your own humanity to come through without it being weakness. I certainly felt anything but weak the times I curled up in bed with John when the rest of my world was swirling chaotically around me ... if anything, it made me stronger because I was able to breathe easier and get through it.
I'm still working on being one hundred percent comfy with all that though.
I drove out and saw my little boy this weekend for the first time in a couple weeks. By the time I was about fifteen to twenty minutes away, I was in the best mood. Soon after I had walked through the door, we were on the bed making out like a couple high school kids, me raking my nails over his chest and back, holding him by the throat, and throwing in the occasional bite to that sensitive spot where collarbone and shoulder meet for good measure.
"I missed you," he told me after a few minutes of this.
"Mmm.. you'd fucking better have," I replied, catching his lower lip between my teeth.
But underneath all that flippant bravado ... I was still just a girl. And a cynical girl, at that. I had gone back and forth on exactly how many of my latest "secrets" I wanted him to know before I went out there, telling him he should check out this very blog, then taking it back and saying to wait.
See, I wasn't sure whether or not his reading it would result in his getting weird, breaking plans, and doing that whole dropping off the face of the planet thing he does so well for the billionth time. And that would've sucked. So now that I was there, I needed to pull back, just snuggle, and beat around the bush a little bit (okay ... a lot) before I was about to entertain any notions of setting the truth out in straightforward black and white. And getting a few drinks in me first couldn't hurt either. So we went out with two of his good friends. It was nice to finally meet them. And ever notice how everything's somehow less intimidating after you've spiked your bloodstream like a prom night punch bowl? Yes, confessions intimidate me ... my own confessions, anyway. Shut up.
And even then, it was still like pulling teeth to get it out of me. I've really got to give John credit for his patience in that department, even though it was pretty self-explanatory where I was going with it. Before we left the house, I casually mentioned that I had recently figured out what I wanted as far as the whole lifestyle aspect of things. Naturally, he inquired as to what that was ... and I helpfully informed him that, "It's in the blog I wouldn't let you read."
Halfway through my second glass of wine while his friends were involved in an animated banter over some inside joke or another, I leaned over and elaborated, "I want this ... with some modifications." Still no prying; he let me take my sweet time on things. I don't really know if he did that because he gets me or if it was just another aspect of this silent, stoic, internalizing thing he sometimes does, but it worked either way.
In the dark back in his room later that night, I pulled back for a moment, "This isn't what I went to L.A. for," I told him, "And this isn't why you emailed me. Remember? You emailed me volunteering to be my guinea pig."
"I'm still your guinea pig," he told me.
"But you've already fulfilled your obligations in that department," I murmured, "And now I want more out of you. So ..." I finally asked him, "How far will you go for me, little boy?"
"That's up to you," he replied.
I shook my head. "That's not an answer." And I repeated my original question: "How far will you go for me?"
"All the way, Mistress Kay," was his answer this time around.
After we had both paused to giggle at the unintentional rhyme, I replied, "I guess we'll see about that, then, won't we?" Then I told him I wanted him to be three things: reliable, accessible ... and mine. The last of these was delivered as a purred prelude to a kiss, and in the morning when I asked him if he remembered his three things, he repeated the first two back and claimed he hadn't quite caught the third.
Given his response in the moment (did I mention that I really dig how intense his reactions to me are when I get sensual?), I'm not entirely sure whether that was actually the case or if he just wanted to hear me say it again.
At first, I told him it didn't really matter because as long as he pulled off the first two, the third would follow. But then I relented and murmured it into his ear in between bites to his neck and nipples.
"Okay. I'll be yours," he said.
"Not just like that, you won't," I told him, "Prove it; you're not mine just because you say you are ... you'll have to show me."
I take that track a lot. I've been fed too many beautiful lines of bullshit in my couple decades and change on the planet. I can't do anything with easy, pretty words; I want them backed up by deed. My one exception to the "never say never and never say always" rule is that I will most likely always ask for proof.
Of course, John pointed out that he was still here, and wasn't that proof? "I'm not going anywhere," he told me, "I'm content. I don't want or need anything else." Which was nice to hear. Certainly a promising start ... but now? Keep on showing me. Prove it. And don't stop or slack.
So, hopefully I wasn't too vague for him, what with all that beating around the bush I did.
We'll see what happens ...
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Three Portraits of My Personal "One in a Million's" Amidst the Dime a Dozen
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Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Boring, Requisite Introduction
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