All I Want is Everything

I have recently come to the realization that I am an insufferable snob. Actually, I take that back. On some level, I think I've always known as much.
But last night, when I finally spoke to the guy from my last post after screening him all weekend, it pretty much solidified things for me. In a good way.
It was actually a surprisingly good conversation. I was in an especially candid mood, so when he once again brought up his desire to be owned by me, I put him on the spot about it. Nicely. I didn't say, "Why in the world would you want to be owned by someone who can barely stand you?" or anything like that. It was a tactful candor, and I was feeling pretty mellow. I asked him why he specifically wanted me to own him when he's mentioned to me before that several other Mistresses have actually expressed an interest in owning him.
This was a favorite trick of Tool's, too... telling me how in demand he was, but that he only wanted to serve me. I don't know if it was some juvenile "make you jealous" tactic or something like that; frankly, I never really paid much attention to it, and I took the same track with this guy. Unlike Tool, however, he's cute and young and it's more within the realm of possibility... if the challenge of a mouthy sub happened to be what someone was into.
"It seems like you keep coming back to this, and I'm just curious as to what it is about me specifically. Didn't you tell me there were a bunch of other Mistresses who wanted to collar you?"
While a bit vague, his response seemed legitimate. Something along the lines of how a lot of girls in the scene are flaky, and I'm the most genuine girl he's come across. "Plus, you're really cool."
It really kinda made me feel bad that the sentiment wasn't more mutual. "Well, thank you," I said, "I just wondered what your reasoning was behind it since we don't really share any of the same interests fetish-wise or anything, y'know? I wouldn't want someone to have to completely change everything about themselves, so I thought maybe you'd be better off with someone who shared more of the same interests as you was all. Compatibility's a big thing for me, and while it's flattering and all, I wouldn't really feel right asking someone to give up what they're into just to fit into some mold for me."
This wasn't really anything I'd ever thought too in-depth about before - in fact, it was all right off the cuff - but as I said it ... I realized it was something I actually really believed in. Maybe it's not especially "Domme-like" of me, and I certainly support the whole idea of taking someone's fetishes into account, but ultimately, it's my scene, my rules, and I control everything that happens. And I've found that I definitely get off on the power exchange of someone being willing to do something solely to please me (ie: a non-masochist taking pain as Nate did at Suspension or the day John finally caved on the whole forced-cum-feeding thing), but on the flip side ... I also really do believe in having at least some common ground as well. It just seems like setting yourself up for failure otherwise.
"Well, I just want to do whatever the girl's into. It's more about making you happy," he replied, "I mean, obviously we'd need to get to know each other better first."
"Right, of course," I agreed, "And as of right now, I wouldn't rule out having you as a video sub, but as far as anything else, I'm not sure you really understand what you're up against when you're saying you want to be owned by me."
"What do you mean?" That was all I needed; that simple question was the shotgun blast opening of the starting gates, and I was off.
"I'm pretty much the 'all I want is everything' girl," I began (no idea where that one came from, but I dug it anyway, so I went with it), "I want the total package. Respect, reliability ... all those things I listed for you the other day. And then some. I don't own anyone right now, and I'm completely okay with that because, bottom line, I'm not going to settle for anything less than everything, and I'm not going to lead someone on if they don't completely fit my definition of that."
And I could be wrong, but I think that little speech may have watered his respect gene a bit ... at least where I'm concerned.
Either way, it definitely pumped me up. I guess it's true that we learn something new every day, and those lessons are often found in the places where we least expect them. Less than a week ago, if anyone had told me I would inadvertently learn so much about myself over the course of a twenty minute phone conversation with this particular guy, of all people, I would have laughed in their faces. But then again, I suppose stranger things have happened.

"Strange Birds" and the Places We Go...

As I sat here shaking my head in amazement at a conversation that transpired earlier, I had this inexplicable compulsion to Google search a rhyme I probably haven't thought about in at least fifteen to twenty years. And oddly enough ... it summed up the circumstances quite aptly.

"You'll look up and down streets, look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, 'I don't choose to go there.'
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
You're too smart to go down any not-so-good street...
Out there things can happen and frequently do
To people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don't worry, don't stew.
Just go right along; you'll start happening too.
Oh, the places you’ll go ...
You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.
You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step, step with care and great tact
And remember that life's a great balancing act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left... (Dr. Seuss)"

Back story, I met a guy on a shoot awhile back for whom I don't think I'm even gonna bother making up an alias. Damn near everything about him rubbed me the wrong way from day one: he was pushy, mouthy, copped attitude at the drop of a hat, and even went so far as violating my personal space when the cameras weren't rolling. Not my cup of tea by any stretch of the imagination, and we didn't really even share any interests fetish-wise. Not to mention he seemed utterly clueless as to how his behavior came across; immediately following the personal space violation portion of the evening, he blithely informed me that he was looking for a Mistress to own him in a lifestyle capacity and that since he was pretty sure I was on his myspace friends list, he would message me there to discuss further.
Much as my knee jerk response wanted to brush him off completely when he did just that, I had gathered that he was a personal friend of the pro-Domme running the shoot... and in the interest of not blowing my chances for future shoots with her, I opted for the "care and tact" response to her "strange bird" friend and corresponded with him sporadically, being polite while keeping him at arm's length.
About a month or so ago when I was freshly unemployed and had just moved back in with the parents, he messaged me with a little proposition: what if he and I joined forces and advertised for shoots together? Since he already had an account on craigslist, he would do all the work; he had actually done this for a Mistress before and made her a lot of money. All I had to do was trek out to his place in Brooklyn so we could take some pictures, and if I wouldn't mind maybe doing some strap on training with him while we were at it so he could increase his repertoire and thereby get us more work because that was one of the areas that was holding him back personally, that would be just wonderful.
I agreed. The day began with aggravation thanks to his crap directions combined with the facts that I had never been to Brooklyn before and can't find my way out of a paper bag as it is. And as he was completely rude and unhelpful when I called him, I hung up on him and ended up calling my friend Patrick at work. Though swamped that day, Patrick got right on his computer so he could figure out where I was and help me navigate the subway system. Five minutes into this, I informed Patrick that it would be really great if he took a break from lawyering to come meet me for lunch so I could just ditch this guy without having wasted a trip to the city. Ever practical, once I had explained the details of the situation to him, Patrick talked me into going out there because, much as he would have liked to see me, this could potentially be beneficial for my career.
So I did. It wasn't so awful once I got there, though he was completely unprepared for the strap-on training. And by unprepared, I mean no harness, no gloves, no lube ... just a grimy looking dildo with some fuzz from the carpet stuck to it and a couple butt plugs. Suffice to say, the strap-on training didn't even happen. We just ended up taking our pictures and talking a little ... a talk that did cause my original contempt for him to wane ever so slightly. And he predicted that he would have work for us by the following week, so at least by the time I left that day, I didn't feel my time had been completely wasted.
When I followed up with him the next week, he told me he had a few leads but no confirmations. Then silence, but since I was a bit distracted by my John saga, I pretty much forgot about it. Today, after a couple one line myspace messages over the past week, the first of which I ignored because it contained only the word "Call" and a phone number, the second asking if I could call him to discuss a possible session, we reconnected. Below is a transcription of the lovely conversation. Some of it has been modified in the interest of coherence. An ellipsis (...) denotes moments in which I didn't feel the need to dignify certain comments with a response. There were several.
Me: Did you lose my number? For future reference, this is it so you don't have to resort to cryptic myspace messages.
Him: Lol, sorry, I got a new phone.
*Insert banal pleasantries here*
Me: Ok, so what's up with this session business?
Him: I have five clients set up for me but still never got to train. I put it out to all my Domme friends; the first Domme to train me gets the session.
Me: ...
Him: Let me know.
Me: Well, I really can't afford to just trek out to Brooklyn right now if it's not for actual work.
Him: Once I make my asshole into a pussy, it will be better.
Me: ...
Him: I think I can get you a shoot.
Me: Wow, really? And only a month and change later!
Him: Well, you never trained me, Goddess.
(Side note: Maybe part of it's my past with Tool, but I really hate when guys just use any old title they feel like. I didn't specifically pick Mistress Kay for my health.)
Me: Because you weren't prepared with any of the necessary equipment for me to do so, if memory serves, so don't even try giving me that crap.
Him: Understood, Queen.
Me: ...
(I seriously think he used every honorific but the one I've chosen for myself.)
Him: I am just a sissy slut... I want you to own me. You could even stay here when you need.
Me: I've had subs before who haven't followed through on their agreements with me, and that's not something I want or need again. If you seriously want me to consider you, prove to me that you're reliable.
Him: Like I said, you can stay here rent free and pimp me.
Me: Okay. But that's not what I want out of owning someone.
Him: What do you want, Queen?
Me: Well, to name a few things ... someone who's respectful at all times, someone who's a man of his word, and someone who can take pain for me or is at least willing to build up a tolerance. Frankly, you have a long way to go.
Him: I will do anything to be your sub, period.
Me: That's very nice to hear. Now why don't you take some time to figure out exactly how you plan to go about backing up those pretty words with your actions. Then we can talk.
Him: Did I tell you I started cross dressing?
Me: Nope. But can you explain what the appeal of that is for you? It's never really been my kink, and I've been trying to get a decent perspective on it from someone who's into it so I can understand it better.
Him: My goal is to be a cross dressing cum dumpster in film.

At that point, since my dinner was ready, I decided that my goal was to eat it in peace and stop talking to him for the evening ... particularly since I had lost count of how many non-answers to specific questions we were up to at that point. So I did. Seriously though ... what the fuck?

Exhale

There was something very wrong with this picture, but I think I'm starting to set it right. Or at least starting to achieve perspective. Or... maybe this is just the calm before the storm. I'm not completely sure I've turned off the heat on some plots I had simmering on the back burner, and I'm not in the mood to check right now. The point, the part that matters is, just as suddenly as everything fell to shit ... it somehow seems to be back in place.
I've been known to complain that no one ever seems to let me walk away and leave them behind. I found the following passage in the draft of a letter I wrote in my journal four years ago:
You fought for my friendship almost a year ago, at 3 am in my driveway on Thanksgiving Eve: "Come on, don't de-friend me." I was so furious with you that night, demanding to know why it was so fucking important to you that I not walk away. And you didn't have a reason beyond "It just is." You became another person on that epic list of people who wouldn't or couldn't just let me walk, who grabbed at my ankles, pulling me back.
And even the people who do let me walk away for awhile seem to pop out of the woodwork at incredibly inopportune moments. Y'know ... right when I've finished cleaning up the mess they left me in and am just about done thinking about it.
Sometimes though ... those returns are blessings.
As predicted, Matt has come back into the picture, albeit very peripherally. While he still hasn't grown a pair in the being true to himself department, I missed his sunshine, and his timing couldn't have been better.
I've also been presented with the opportunity for the return of my controlled black and white, via a shot and sake bomb fueled love confession from the ex last Saturday. I have every intention of making her prove it just like anyone else, but even in the cool, clear, sober light of day almost a week later, she still hasn't backed down, and if nothing else, she also still hasn't lost the ability she's always seemed to have as far as somehow managing to instantly make me feel less empty, so I'm definitely not about to discount that.
I heard from Trey, too, who I'd thought had vanished from the scene.
Basically though, I am now officially acknowledging the fact that I have more productive things to think about than who said or thinks what and why people behave in the fucked up and despicable ways they do. And as interesting and oddly comforting as I found one mutual acquaintance's allegation that she believed the artist formerly known as "my little boy," (now fondly referred to as "scumbag" in the increasingly rare instances I feel the need to reference him) might potentially be a dangerous sociopath, there are far more useful things to expend my energy on than doing Google searches on sociopathic traits, which was my last pet project before I woke up one morning and just suddenly had that sweet sensation of, "Nah, fuck it." And I'm certainly not complaining, but ... is it really possible to heal this quickly? I don't completely trust this, and I'm waiting for the catch.
In the meantime, I've been easing my way into bottoming, too ... whether it winds up being for catharsis or just for my own personal growth. Magnum and I did a little knife play the other day, and while I still really don't believe there's a submissive bone in my body ... I could easily become a slutty knife bottom. I think I'm just a sucker for sensation.
And today, after being nice and productive and going on a job interview, I got a phone call invite to go to a BDSM lesbian Mafia party (not the technical term, but I forget what it's actually called) with an absolutely adorable little Filipino subbie girl who's become a recent and welcome addition to my circle of friends. She's taking normal people length healing time as far as recovering from her last relationship, so I'm not shooting for more than friendship at the moment, but adventures with the BDSM Lesbian Mafia should definitely make for one delicious story either way.
So, all these random, unrelated updates to say: I'm still alive. I quoted a song lyric in those old journal posts: "A stronger girl would shake this off in flight and never give it more than a frowning hour." From how I've been feeling lately, it really seems like somewhere along the way, I may have actually managed become that girl. Which is a pretty awesome thought.

Blood Beneath the Domme Armor

I have an entire paragraph in all my online profiles geared at male Doms. It goes something along the lines of: "I'm open to friendship if you approach me with respect and as an equal. I'm not into the 'you just haven't been topped by the right man yet' line of thinking, and frankly, that's a presumptuous and rude way for anyone to approach anyone else anyway ... been there, tried that; I don't switch. If you're looking for a Domme to play with your female subbie while you watch, you're barking up the wrong tree. And I already have a daddy... he's married to mom." So, yes ... I'm ever so slightly leery of male Doms. But ... I also know a few who are pretty great. I was reminded just how great last night.
It's no secret that I've been hurting lately, and you know what? Fuck it. I'm not apologizing for that, and I'm not hiding it. Especially since the responsible party has been making a point of twisting the knife by ever so subtly and gradually broadcasting my apparent expendability in public forums where he knows I'll see it ... because apparently just hurting me and using me and wasting my time as exquisitely as he did wasn't quite enough. And I don't really think I'm dragging anyone's name through the mud here either ... only a couple people are privy to the gory details; I'm simply answering honestly when concerned parties ask me how I am. And for me, that's a sign of growth and progress. Back when I was about fifteen, I worked in a grocery store. And I remember this one day when I was hurting, kinda like now, and just standing at my register crying, this older lady customer started prying to find out what was wrong, and I damn near took her head off, like, "Who the hell are you and how is this your business?" Needless to say, she was more than a little taken aback. After last night, I'm really glad I didn't feel compelled to react to my Dom friends in a similar fashion.
The first check-in came from Damien Saint; we have several friends in common but only met a few weeks ago, so we don't really know each other that well yet, but I really like what I do know of him and his girl Salome so far. It was just a quick little message on fet, "Hey, saw you changed your status. Hope everything's ok." I wrote back, keeping it vague, "I'm hurting, but I'll be ok. Thanks for asking." He encouraged me to come out to a munch last night which he and a bunch of our mutual friends were planning to attend. So I did. I figured it was better than sitting home on the verge of tears ... even though that verge kinda stayed with me throughout the course of the evening, and whenever I wasn't involved in a conversation about something else, I wondered whether this had really been the best plan.
There was apparently a play party after the munch, which I'm not sure anyone knew about 'til we got there, but then, I never really check my email updates for those things either. I drove over with another Dom friend, Magnum. I think I've known him for just under a year now, but up 'til last night, we'd never really talked about anything real and gritty. As it turns out, he's a counselor in his vanilla life, so I figured he knew what he was talking about. More on that later.
So we walk into this lifestyle home and upstairs to their attic dungeon. My friend Kitty* who's an awesome hardcore bottom (recently renamed a "middle" in our group since she's a wealth of knowledge and helps people out with their scenes all the time) was sitting on a couch. She's one of those supersweet, comforting, snuggly types, so I lay down with my head in her lap and just kinda started thinking out loud while she stroked my hair, verbalizing bits and pieces of the ridiculous fucking blender that's been passing for my brain lately.
And maybe it was just partly appreciation because of how sweetly, unexpectedly there for me these guys had been, but for a second there, I had another little breakthrough. Another new Dom friend Leo* has been asking to suspend me for awhile, which I've considered as long as I can stay clothed. We kinda haven't really gotten past going in circles with him trying to talk me out of that condition. Anyway, I remembered a story from Scarlette's TES class about how she'd once let a friend of hers top her when she'd been bottling things up emotionally, and as part of my thinking out loud, I said something like, "Maybe I should get one of you guys to smack me around a little so I have an excuse to cry all this out." No sooner were the words out of my mouth when a hand grabbed my wrist, and I looked up to lock eyes with a random, creepy old dude I'd never seen before in my life. "Well, you I don't know from a hole in the wall," I quickly rebuffed him, "I meant one of my guys."
Muttering something about how, well, if I was gonna be picky about it ... he ambled off.
As it turned out, after that little display, I didn't end up bottoming to anyone that night. Instead, I turned to a sweet guy a few years older than me who'd been sitting across from me at the restaurant and had told me his story while I picked at his cheese fries, explaining that he was experienced but had just moved back from Georgia and didn't know anyone in the local scene and was looking for "someone who'll show me around and someone who'll hit me."
"Hey, Jay,* come over here a minute and talk about your limits with me."
Yes, I'm blunt, and I put them on the spot. It's fun for me. I watched him trip over his tongue for a minute or two, then asked, "Well, would stripping down and having me spank you a little in front of a room full of people you just met be a limit?"
"I wouldn't rule it out," he said. I think he might've blushed a little, too.
After a mini group discussion, we decided I'd start out with the form of catharsis I already knew and see if it helped. Then, if I didn't feel better, my guys were more than happy to lend a hand ... or a few well-placed lashes.
Topping Jay was a great quick fix. I felt like I maybe should have been a little more attentive as far as aftercare, and I don't know if it's technically "ok" to play with someone when you're as stuck in your own head as I was that night, but he was really sweet and didn't seem to mind ... actually, he seemed to have quite enjoyed himself.
But for no apparent reason, once I was done I decided that, for my next trick, I would wake up a napping Magnum by jumping on his lap and straddling him.
From that point until he dropped me off at my car, I basically got the free therapy session of my life. I remember a girl I knew from when I was more active in the GLBTQ community once trying to pick me up by analyzing what I was feeling about a recent breakup with the line, "I read your poems in your myspace blogs so I know you." I guess it was a clever concept in theory, but at the time I was once bitten, twice shy and more than a little bitter, so I just laughed and responded pretty condescendingly, "Oh, really now? Well, enlighten me then. Explain me to me." Surprisingly, she actually does still talk to me once in a blue moon when we run into each other.
Anyway, last night, Magnum actually managed to do just that. He pretty perfectly explained me to me. How what I'm feeling right now is normal because I had originally intended to keep everything black and white with dating vanilla girls and keeping my D/s play completely separate and nonsexual, and now everything is a gray area. I didn't even have to mention to him how notorious my burning, fiery, passionate hatred of that gray area has always been. The other thing he said that really hit home was that, as dominants, we don't like to be vulnerable. "Trust me, I get how much you just want to put your Domme armor right back on and zip it up, but you're bleeding underneath right now." Which meant that basically, I need to give myself time and just deal. And of course, I fucking hate that part. He did kinda give me a loophole on that though: "You can still go out and play and smack the shit out of someone tomorrow. Take it out on the subs. They don't need to know why."
So today, I'm bleeding through the cracks in my armor. I've cried it out a little bit, done some scream therapy. Alternating between sobbing and rage is lovely. But I'll only do it in five minute increments for some reason. I'm really wondering if I shouldn't just try and complete the catharsis at this point by going back to that original notion of having one of them top me, just so I can really feel everything and hopefully just get it all out of my system. I'm toying with the idea, but it would be a pretty huge deal for me, and a completely different experience and dynamic from the one time in my life I had Derek do it, so I'm on the fence still.
The most fucked up part of all of this is that I have so many more people in my corner right now than I've probably ever had at any one time in my life. Most of whom I haven't even asked; they've just offered their assistance, whether it be in the form of arms, ears, shoulders, laps, advice ... or yes, even a bare ass beneath my paddle. But even though I know I can essentially turn anywhere for support ... I also feel - on some weird level that I haven't completely been able to wrap my brain around yet - more alone than I ever have before. I've been trying to make sense of that one all night, but I still haven't really come up with much.

F.I.N.E.

We've all heard the saying, "Rules are made to be broken." If that's true, then it would stand to reason that if I made the rules in the first place, they should, easily and without consequence, be subject to change at my slightest whim. One would think, anyway. But ... one would be wrong.
Alex was the first person I told when I broke my own rule (okay, or technically my own Brooke-inspired rule) and slept with John. Her reaction? "Welcome to hell, and please enjoy your stay." I took that with a grain of salt as classic Alex "the world is a terrible place and everyone in it sucks," negativity - she's a bit prone to that - and assured her that everything would be fine. Ha! Famous fucking last words. Unless you're going by my old friend Riley's* interpretation that "fine" is merely an acronym for "fucked up, insane, neurotic, and emotional."
I hadn't spoken to Riley in about four years, but he's on my mind today because according to yesterday's paper, he got blown up in Iraq this past Thursday. Fucking surreal. I had actually just been talking about him to Scarlette that afternoon ... in the context that he was kinda the reason I wound up doing my first "forced"-bi, even though I wasn't really aware that that was what I was doing at the time. I knew him during kind of a crazy experimental period in my life that I don't exactly look back on as my finest hour, but that boy was a truly beautiful soul and one of those people who just oozed charisma from every pore. It looked like he had found happiness before his tragic end, too, married for five months to a girl who was not the one who had given him boundless heartache when I knew him (little miss "I'm not a slut, I'm just a free spirit") and I was glad to see that at least ... he deserved it.
So let's go with that. Everything is Riley fine these days.
Nate gets another shout out for sitting on the phone with me 'til three AM and witnessing an extremely excessive display of humanity. Seriously, he's so sweet I just want to take a bite out of him ... and I plan to, just as soon as I fix my smile. In my opinion, he deserves a hell of a lot better than what he's been getting these days, too. Karma needs to return from its unannounced recent vacation.
In other news, I kinda want to adopt Scarlette as my BDSM big sister. The hanging out with her portion of yesterday was awesome. I love how she's got even less patience for John's bullshit than I do, even though I'm the one who's feeling its wonderful effects: "All's fair in love and war," and yeah, there are plenty of clever ways I could retaliate. But what it all boils down to is that, first off, I was certainly never under any ridiculous delusions that I was "in love" ... trust me, it ain't that easy. And secondly? Well ... I sure as shit don't want to be at war.
Tool, Matt, and John have all written an essay for me entitled, "What service means to me." I had come across John's when I was moving and stuck it in my wallet, so I let Scarlette read it yesterday. It was a really good essay, one that began with the line he had given me when I mentioned it to him over the phone (yes, once upon a time, he actually used to pick up a phone): "Ooh, can I try and just answer the question without writing the essay? Service is about making you smile." And sure, that was cute and all, but want to hear a couple things that don't make me smile? Meaningless daily flattery from random strangers paired with complete disregard from someone I actually care about. Or bullshit double standards where that aforementioned someone, by all appearances, seems to spend whatever little free time he has available utilizing the worldwide web to whore himself to every girl in the tri-state area ... and then gets all bent with me for doing a fucking play scene with someone else. Because in light of those two previously cited behaviors ... it should have occurred to me that you did, in fact, actually give a shit? Um ... my mistake. When he chose to make me aware of his displeasure, I had just finished a shoot with a pro-Domme who - while she's a lot of fun to work with - I've never exactly pictured as the warm, fuzzy, intuitive, compassionate sort ... but even she took one look at me when I got his messages and her immediate response was, "Oh my god, what's wrong?" I gave her the cliff notes version (or actually more like the little blurb on the inside of the bookjacket), leaving out names and identifying characteristics. "Um ... aren't play partners supposed to be fun?" she asked when I had finished. Ha. Excellent point.
Scarlette's advice was that I should use everything he said in his essay against him. At first, I thought the only problem with that idea was that the essay in question had been addressed to "Mistress Kay," and that now he sees me as just me. Which was cool in theory. Being able to be real with someone is good; being in "Mistress mode" twenty-four-seven is a little exhausting. But that begs the question: Why isn't "real me" deserving of the same respect as "Mistress Kay?" 'Cause, correct me if I'm wrong, but ... I'm actually pretty sure she is.
It's funny how the night I met Harrison, he specifically requested that I be "just me," and then right when I've been starting to do that, right when I'm about to get over that whole viewing my humanity as weakness that undermines my dominance thing ... this is the result.
Luckily, I generally manage to do a decent job of finding distractions for myself to help take my mind off these types of situations. But the part where I always seem to find a necessity to go looking for those distractions in the first place? I could really do without.