Monday, December 14, 2009

the time has come

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

... this always struck me as such a profound and insightful absurdity ... much like my thoughts at times.

In my own world, the time has come to say goodbye for a has reached up and bit me hard and for the forseeable future, I know I won't have time to write (as has been more than obvious from the paucity of entries over the past few months).

I will pop in now and again and check in with everyone and hope to at some time in the future, start sharing again.

Be well.

Have a wonderful holiday.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

tongue in cheek...

I read some material lately that stirred things in me that I'll have to explore further ... but it also sparked a memory of Marlowe's Song: A Passionate Shepherd to his Love and Sir Walter Ralaigh's tongue-in-cheek reply... I'm attaching links to the ORIGINALS (which are well worth the read)- here is MY version of both!

Marlowe's Song: A Passionate Shepherd to his Love

Sir Walter Ralegh's Reply

Sadist's Song: A Passionate Sadist to his Sub

Come live with me, and be my sub;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And you will lie tied to the rocks,
Seeing the sadists flog their flocks
with whip and chain and vehement urgings
pushing subbies into musings.

And I will make thee beds of thorns and roses
And a thousand stingy posies;
A cap of pain, and a kirtle
Pulled so tight with ropes of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest leather
Which from my hands is soon shed;
Stud-lined slippers for the hurt,
With buckles of the sharpest quirt;

A belt of leather and steel buds,
With coral clamps and amber-studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my sub.

The swooning subbies shall dance and sing
For my delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my sub.

Selkie- The Sub's Reply

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every sadist's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy sub.

Time drives the want from heart to soul,
When rivers rage and subs grow cold;
And sea maidens are struck dumb;
by those who whine of tasks to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

The whips, thy wants, thy thorns and roses,
Thy paddles, tongue, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of leather and anal buds,
Thy coral clamps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy sub.

But could truth last and love still breed,
Had promises no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy sub.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

I remember ... and the fight continues... we will not stand down

  • Geneviève Bergeron (born 1968), civil engineering student
  • Hélène Colgan (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
  • Nathalie Croteau (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
  • Barbara Daigneault (born 1967), mechanical engineering student
  • Anne-Marie Edward (born 1968), chemical engineering student
  • Maud Haviernick (born 1960), materials engineering student
  • Maryse Laganière (born 1964), budget clerk in the École Polytechnique's finance department
  • Maryse Leclair (born 1966), materials engineering student
  • Anne-Marie Lemay (born 1967), mechanical engineering student
  • Sonia Pelletier (born 1961), mechanical engineering student
  • Michèle Richard (born 1968), materials engineering student
  • Annie St-Arneault (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
  • Annie Turcotte (born 1969), materials engineering student
  • Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz (born 1958), nursing student

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


Faith ..I’ve been musing on it (or the lack thereof) lately. Faith is such a fragile entity, a tender, mutable reality that once shattered, cuts deep.
Faith in a greater being, for instance, once provided what I thought was a bedrock impervious to the movement of earth and time; a solid, real belief that I held to me, warm and solid, in the nights of despair and anguish. Faith was my stalwart companion for a very long time, my right hand, the thing to which I turned not just in times of trouble but during those moments of joyous illumination, a reality that would underline the transcendence of spirit.

There is also faith in self – that vein of self-awareness and introspection that you believe gives you perspective and wisdom. In some ways, the erosion of faith in self is congruent with the loss of faith in that which lies beyond the corporeal reality of our endless days. For only by believing in self and our innate abilities to make reasoned judgments, can we find the courage to believe in something that lies beyond our physical grasp.

There is faith in others also. Faith in our partners (whatever the flavour), in our family, in those we believe care for us, want for us the best. Perhaps because that level of faith is so personal, it is something we can feel, touch, emote and internalize, the erosion of that faith is all the more painful.

Without faith, I find the days lack lustre and depth. There is a greyness to the movement through time that envelops and confuses and licks despair in moments of introspection and awareness.

In hindsight, I very much miss my days of faith; I yearn for the warm comfort, the steadfastness of my devotion, what I thought to be the immutability of my awareness. A world without faith lacks a dimension (at least in my eyes) that brings one beyond the pragmatism of simple existence into a realm that promises something beyond that which can be touched.

The question of course being, how does one regain the ability to believe?

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Queen Maeve

23 years ago today, a much younger me was lying on my bed, watching with an obsessive fascination the rise and fall of a small baby’s chest.

She was born at 2:30 that early Wednesday morning, a screaming, crimson faced 8.8 lbs bundle with flailing limbs and fury spitting from her scrunched, furious face, a shock of luxurient black hair and huge green eyes narrowed in rage.  As she lay there between my legs, thrashing legs and arms in outrage at being summarily pulled into this harsh, glaring, cold world, we watched bemused. The doctor stood there grinning and looking at me, said laughing, “THAT is the most pissed off newborn I have ever delivered!”

From start to finish, the entire experience had lasted a scant three hours and full of energy still, I was entranced… in awe at this new human being we had brought into the world.

I lasted around 7 hours at the hospital, then against their advice, bundled my solid little infant in her new snowsuit, called a cab and went home.  D. had left us around 5 a.m to head home, shower and go to work and didn’t drive at the time regardless; he wanted me to wait but I couldn’t stand the obsessive regimentation of the hospital.  When I was told to wash my breast with “as hot water as I could stand” before offering it to my child, my natural Irish pragmatism, said ENOUGH and off I went.

I didn’t know this day 23 years ago that the path I was taking had just diverged, that as Frost said, my steps turned to the “path less travelled”.

I was focused, somewhat obsessive, incredibly driven and had vision.  I had worked hard to reach the professional level I then enjoyed; head editor of a prestigious forecasting company, respected, incredibly well-paid and on the fast track.  The child was wanted but in my pre-birth mind, was to be fit in around the realities of a job I had spent so many hard years working towards.  I have worked since I was 13 – right through high school, putting myself through two degrees and with drive and ambition forging my way in a man’s world.

And then she arrived.

And my world tilted and the universe shook and life as I knew it irrevocably changed.

All those years of obsessive want became so much powdery dust, blown away in the clarity of her gaze, negligible in the suction of a small mouth on a turgid breast. 

And the ensuing weeks only increased my resolve, deepened my adoration and engendered in me a fierce, enraptured understanding that there was no going back.

And thus, as the scant 16 weeks of maternity leave drew to an end, I sat, grasping my child fiercely to be breast and tears in my eyes, said to D. “ I CAN’T go back! I CAN’T leave her!|”

And he, smiling gently, said “I know, I was wondering when you would figure that out”.

And that week I quit my job, found a night job typing for $50,000 less in salary and never looked back.

Happy Birthday Maeve, my beautiful, brave, fierce daughter.  You have added to my life immeasurably.

Objectification and the Power of ID

It’s no secret that I have some deep-seated and profound objections to being objectified.

Vesta , mouse  and JZ all bring up some concise and illuminating arguments for and against what mouse aptly describes as the “The power of I”.

What is Objectification?

Although not always the case, individuals who enjoy being objectified are often (usually) masochists as well and enjoy the pain caused by the commensurate humiliation which accompanies being objectified as an object – sexually or otherwise - and not as an individual. In essence, my view is that these participants find an emotional and physical excitement in being viewed only as a collection of body parts or non-sentient object and not as a multi-faceted unique human being.

There are, of course, different levels and types of objectification. In some arenas, individuals enjoy being used as actual “objects” – as in coffee tables, ottomans, etc. Releasing them from their “humanity” in essence frees them to enter a meditative state wherein they find a measure of peace.

But the objectification I will address in this blog concerns the creation of a “persona” – inevitably a limited, single-faceted creature with little will and simplistic needs.

Either form of objectification is ultimately limited in scope and duration because reality bites – the demands of time and space force one dimensional creations to take on colour and complexity simply because no one is capable of remaining (nor should they) in a singular mindset.

Unfortunately, serious objectification which is expected to be consistent and constant can be considered ‘edge” play in terms of the massive emotional impact it can have on the individual being objectified.

The Science of “I”

I paraphrase here, but in a nutshell, healthy human growth entails several phases. From birth to around three years old, a child needs to hear and experience, often just through gentle, supportive touch, encouragement, affirmation and support for simply being who he or she IS, their thinking noted and approved – i.e. just for “being” they are being enjoyed, encouraged and supported.

As they grow, children’ needs become more complex. Children, as they grow must learn affirmations for power, structure, separation, sexuality and identity – in essence, they are learning the strength of the “I”. For anyone who has been around children, some of the FIRST words most healthy kids express are ‘MINE”, ME” and “I WANT”. Those are crucial to a healthy development of esteem, strength and purpose.

The human internalization of “self” is, to my mind, a consistent and ongoing part of remaining healthy and contributes to the continued growth and understanding of the individual’s own needs. I also feel strongly that one can only enter into a strong relationship if your own ego is intact and healthy – at least a relationship that has a chance of standing the test of time and the inevitable stress with which every life is inundated to a greater or lesser extent.

Different Perspectives

Mis-use, to my mind, can have a profound and negative impact on any individual’s psyche, sense of self and esteem. Mouse points out her former dominant did exactly that – and rather than using objectification to elicit a sensual and piquant nuance to their relationship, used it as a tool to punish and to suppress her sense of identity.

From a rational perspective, I understand the emotional impact that some receive from being objectified – in one way, it is a form of freedom to have everything that individualizes you discounted, thus releasing you from responsibility for subsequent actions and freeing you from any moral constraints which might impede following a desired imperative.

I think Vesta’s experience to date internalizes much of that. She states “It is an opportunity to feel free and liberated; to live in harmony and at peace.” I don’t in any way wish to disparage or criticize Vesta’s choice and her decision to ostensibly “separate” parts of herself into distinct personalities – it works for her and thus more power to her!

But as is no doubt obvious, I don’t “get it”.

I think life experiences in many cases have a tremendous impact on how an individual internalizes and deals with objectification.

I think in my case, having worked in what was very much a “man’s world” for a good part of my professional life, I quickly learned the negative impacts of being “objectified” as a human being. My ability to write, my intelligence, my coping skills and work ethic were largely irrelevant in comparison to long legs, luxuriant hair and my gender. Being treated as a sexual object when your focus is simply on getting a good story or finding out salient facts about current issues hardly creates a fondness for being seen only in the context of my sexual identity.

On a more internal level, I have always been an introspective, complicated individual who in turn perceives other individuals as similarly multi-faceted. Acceptance and understanding of the myriad complicated and fascinating personality traits of every individual is both a necessity and from a human perspective, crucial to the ultimate comprehension and acceptance of each other’s personal quirks.

Male Perspective

Further, based on some responses I read and other reactions to various articles and blogs I’ve read about objectification, I admit I find it perplexing and frankly, disconcerting that so many self-styled dominants bleat their delight in it!

In one way, I understand it.

Taking the BDSM nuance out of objectification, the presentation of female as object remains a persistent and unfortunate reality both in the past and in the present. Of course I cannot help but surmise that the male ego remains so fragile that many simply cannot deal with the complexity of female psyches. Despite some gains towards equality of gender, the position of females remains inequitable– to a greater or lesser extent dependent on the culture.

When all is said and done, many males simply find the thought of a living, breathing “doll” simply too enchanting for words – after all, what demands does a one-dimensional creature make on a man, either emotionally, physically or spiritually? A “doll” doesn’t need to have her needs taken into consideration; she won’t evaluate or make judgments; nor will “dolls” question or challenge their “owner” in any way.

And, putting the BDSM context back in the equation, anyone who is familiar with the lifestyle ONLY online could not be faulted for thinking THIS lifestyle somehow encourages one-dimensional caricatures! Thank god, those whom I know in the lifestyle in real life are simply other “people” like anyone else – all with their own complicated, multi-faceted quirks! Because as D. has said about other practices we’ve read about here on the world wide web, reality would quickly dissipate the illusion.


I should, at this point, be clear that in the context of a “scene” I find objectification more “palatable” and even understandable. In the context of play it can offer a sensual edge to play. In that context, I do not in any way denigrate or perceive objectification as anything other than another nuance to a sexual relationship or a dynamic.

But I cannot help but wonder that objectification is something desired by many submissives or slaves when it has been my experience that so many struggle with a sense of self-esteem and self-worth. I guess I’m not sure how being objectified somehow reaffirms an individual’s worth.

In short, I think one would have to START (as with Vesta, for instance) with a healthy, strong ID, vigorous self-esteem and a strong, solid relationship before objectification can find a healthy place in the dynamic.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Canadian eh?



1. Vancouver : 1.5 million people and two bridges. You do the math.
2. Your $400,000 Vancouver home is just 5 hours from downtown.
3. You can throw a rock and hit three Starbucks locations.
4. There's always some sort of deforestation protest going on
5. Weed.


1. Big rock between you and B.C.
2. Ottawa who?
3. Tax is 5% instead of the approximately 200% it is for the rest of the country.
4. You can exploit almost any natural resource you can think of.
5. You live in the only province that could actually afford to be its own country..
6. The Americans below you are all in anti-government militia groups.


1. You never run out of wheat.
2. Your province is really easy to draw.
3. You can watch the dog run away from home for hours.
4. People will assume you live on a farm.


1. You wake up one morning to find that you suddenly have a beachfront property.
2. Hundreds of huge, horribly frigid lakes.
3. Nothing compares to a wicked Winnipeg winter.
4. You can be an Easterner or a Westerner depending on your mood.
5. You can pass the time watching trucks and barns float by.


1. You live in the centre of the universe.
2. Your $400,000 Toronto home is actually a dump.
3. You and you alone decide who will win the federal election.
4. The only province with hard-core American-style crime.


1. Racism is socially acceptable.
2. You can take bets with your friends on which English neighbour will move out next.
3. Other provinces basically bribe you to stay in Canada .
4. You can blame all your problems on the "Anglo A*#!%!"


1. One way or another, the government gets 98% of your income.
2... You're poor, but not as poor as the Newfies.
3. No one ever blames anything on New Brunswick .
4. Everybody has a grandfather who runs a lighthouse.


1. Everyone can play the fiddle. The ones who can't, think they can
2. You can pretend to have Scottish heritage as an excuse to get drunk and wear a kilt.
3. You are the only reason Anne Murray makes money.


1. Even though more people live on Vancouver Island , you still got the big, new bridge.
2. You can walk across the province in half an hour.
3. You can drive across the province in two minutes.
4. Everyone has been an extra on "Road to Avonlea."
5. This is where all those tiny, red potatoes come from.
6. You can confuse ships by turning your porch lights on and off at night.


1. If Quebec separates, you will float off to sea.
2. If you do something stupid, you have a built-in excuse.
3. The workday is about two hours long.
4. It is socially acceptable to wear your hip waders to your wedding.

Let's face it: Canadians are a rare breed.

The Official Canadian Temperature Conversion Chart

50° Fahrenheit / (10° C)
Californians shiver uncontrollably.
Canadians plant gardens.

35° Fahrenheit / (1.6° C)
Italian Cars won't start
Canadians drive with the windows down

32° Fahrenheit / (0° C)
American water freezes
Canadian water gets thicker.

0° Fahrenheit/ (-17.9° C)
New York City landlords finally turn on the heat.
Canadians have the last cookout of the season.

-60° Fahrenheit / (-51° C)
Santa Claus abandons the North Pole.
Canadian Girl Guides sell cookies door-to-door.

-109.9° Fahrenheit /(-78.5° C)
Carbon dioxide freezes makes dry ice.
Canadians pull down their earflaps.

-173° Fahrenheit / (-114° C)
Ethyl alcohol freezes.
Canadians get frustrated when they can't thaw the keg

-459.67° Fahrenheit / (-273.15° C)
Absolute zero; all atomic motion stops.
Canadians start saying "cold, eh?"

-500° Fahrenheit / (-295° C)
Hell freezes over.
The Toronto Maple Leafs win the Stanley Cup

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

It's only two minutes ...

Remembrance Day always leave me feeling unsettled and emotional. Remembrance Day in Toronto makes me even more so – for the simple reality of our mosaic which incorporates the most diverse group of cultures, colour and backgrounds of anywhere in the world means the solemnity and respect which I’ve always accorded this most important date is often given short shrift.. leaving me resentful and angry.

Rationally, I realize that it is difficult to empathize with the profound gratefulness and respect that most Canadians hold for those who have served in Canada’s name. I have to remind myself that the intensity with which most Canadians greet our military’s efforts in countries which do not enjoy the same freedom and rights that we do here is not always understood.

Perhaps more than ever today, however, we MUST teach our citizens to remember with respect, with gratefulness, with pride and with sorrow, those who have died not just in the big Wars which are receding now into the mists of history, but all the ones since.

Probably more than at any time in my tenure here in this wonderful country, do I internalize and understand the true nature of the sacrifices being made by young men and women, who in the name of decency, who in the belief that every individual in the world deserves certain rights and freedoms serve now, right this MINUTE in a country far away from home, in a culture foreign to their upbringing, in a place where danger is around every corner.. they LIVE the dream of freedom and put their lives on the line in its name.

Children the same age as MY children are giving up their lives, their youth and living with courage, dignity and respect a reality so many of us simply take for granted.

As someone who has experienced many times over the past few years, the solemn, respectful greeting of our dead as they travel the Highway of Heroes, this war in Afghanistan has given a face to what used to be an ideal that while respected, was removed from my own experience.

I have watched the hearses pass under the bridges which are crowded with the everyday citizens, as well as the fireman, the police, the veterans, many wearing red… flags snapping in the breeze, the silence profound as homage is paid to the boy or the girl in the coffin within.

I see their faces in the papers and read their stories and mourn the loss of futures barely realized.

So, on this day, at 11 a.m., PLEASE stop whatever you are doing. Stand proud, give with your silence and thoughts the respect, the thanks, the homage that these young warriers have earned.

And to put a face on the reality of the soldier’s lives – thank you Buffalo (Vietnam vet), thank you Derek (still in the military, decorated twice for bravery in the Bosnian war), profound, grateful thanks to each and every one of the brave individuals in our military.

You do us proud.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009


The fallibility of the human beast is both inevitable and incontrovertible; and each of us, at some point (and usually on a regular basis) is guilty of creating out of human flesh, a shining paragon, imbuing them with infinite wisdom, commensurate insight and an incandescent ability to comprehend and deal with all of life’s vicissitudes... and then, when the gloss begins to dull, when the gold becomes tarnished and is shown to be fake, when the solidity of person becomes suspect, we destroy them.

I think most of us yearn to harbour at some point, an implacable belief in someone, in their ability to cope and in their comprehension and grasp of elemental issues and problems which leave you flailing.

The reality of course is that each and every one of us are fallible human beings.

Each of us harbours moments of insight and fillips of wisdom but in large part, we all fumble through this life and through a combination of luck, blind faith and ignorance make our halting way through crisis and joys equally.

The unfairness of creating in another frail human spirit delusions of godhead, grandiose abilities to predict and unrealistic abilities to soothe, comprehend and “fix” is ultimately so unfair yet so human.

My father was my first (but not my last) clay god. Adored, cosseted, imbued with mystery bolstered by his emotional remoteness, his physical (in our early years) distance (first five years in Canada while my sister and I and our mother were in Ireland – then travelled extensively all week for the first many years in Canada and in other countries), our mother was a god-maker. In our early days, we drank in her accolades to his intelligence, his wisdom, his abilities and talents.

And I was my “daddy’s girl”- his feisty, flame haired, hot tempered passionate child who ignored his physical discomfort with affection and countered it with the enthusiastic affection taught by a mother (for while by nature, loving, he had been brought up since 2 in an almost isolated state in boarding school – he was in his own way, Ebenezer Scrooge without the meanness) and whose enthusiasm and adoration was a balm to a man who in the end cherished his family above all else.

My disillusionment was protracted and gradual; an erosion of faith, a breaking of trust, an awareness of self that allowed me to see things (I thought) from a perspective which showed me what I then perceived as “truth”. Over the years, I learned the difference between intelligence and “business smarts”, between self-knowledge and a refusal to face realities and ultimately, how wilfully blind an individual could be – and where I once saw strength I saw weakness and where I saw resolve, I found excuses.

But I also learned that TRUTH is not cast in stone; TRUTH was the WAY THINGS WERE without the patina of pretence nor the distortions of perspective (or so I thought then). It was only maturity and experience that showed me there is no TRUTH – only your perception of it – perceptions based on your knowledge, experience and insight AT THAT MOMENT. A new twist, a nugget of new insight, a smidgen of another’s reality and all could change.

What is it in the human spirit that demands perfection in another when the lack of same is so apparent in ourselves?

Is it a reaching for the stars? That implacable, confusing, awe-inspiring human spirit that keeps seeking a flawless individual to worship? Our history is riddled with the human need to find something beyond themselves, a spirit, a need, a being who transcends our human fragilities and in so doing, somehow promises redemption.

Perhaps more than many other lifestyles, many of those in D/s or particularly, M/s power exchanges tend to romanticize and mythecize their respective roles. Of course, the end result is that the rich, three-dimensional tapestry of human emotion and personality is then reduced to a two-dimensional canvas with neither life nor movement.

Unfortunately, for those who insist on creating caricatures out of the intricacy of the human beast, there is also the inevitability of disillusionment – not the possibility but the inevitability. For each of us carries with us the seeds of our own destruction; we have embedded in our very humanity the realities of our own fallacies and our inability to see clearly our own intransigence.

Yet we rail and cry foul when our heroes tumble from the pedestals onto which we pushed them. We are outraged when beliefs created in our own fervid imaginations fall to dust and are swept away on the breath of betrayal.

But in the end, it is our own fault.

For wanting to believe.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009


I think most of us consistently and pragmatically underestimate the power of smell. 

As I walked the dogs this morning I breathed deep the crisp air and pulled it deep within my lungs, breathing coolness into the warmth of lung and blood coursing through cool skin, then breathing need into the Halloween air in a sigh of vapour and feeling the whisper of snow rustle along my skin, tickling my nostrils with the promise of the coming winter.

I smell earth, rich, loamy, dampness underneath the crackle of leaves beneath my boot, with the hint of frost clinging to the leather sole and crackling in the morning dark.  Earth smells dark and rich and fecund, for the dying leaves nestle into the embrace of soil and sigh their goodness into its deep environs.  The cool air tastes of mint and frost upon my tongue and coats my throat with a whisper of tomorrow’s inevitability and smells like peppermint in the early gloam of morning.

The warm, living reality of dog drifts on the crispness of autumn want and envelops me in its sweet furred simplicity.  Dogs smell of warmth and need and smooth muscle and coarse fur which coats the back of your nose and slides along your skin like home.

The moon hangs low in the sky, a pulsing silver orb spilling silver light through the drifting dream of trees shedding their summer mantles, trunks crisping grey in the dark of the early morning, breathing cold into the gloaming darkness.

I gaze up into the clarity of sky and night and watch the stars twinkle distantly in frosty grandeur, so removed from the summer nights which envelope and cocoon in heat the damp, salt of our bodies.  Summer holds us close; the earth and sky surround and enfold and smells dance on breezes in a kaleidoscope of colour and song.  Autumn is more subtle; to my mind, more enticing in its cool richness and aroma of dreaming sleep to come.

My mind flickers and dances over the reality of smells which engender thought and emotion and remembrances with a clarity which seems to fold time in on itself and bring you into the moment. 

I walk into the house and the smell of crisp recoils from the warmth of wall and floor and the whispering, conjoined realities of home.  Lavender and vanilla swirl and breathe welcome while the dogs’ fur breathes cool still and underneath, the canine reality of bone and sinew barks for precedence over the twitching whispering chuckles of the radiators.

The scent of him in the closeness of our room when I pull back the quilt and as if blind, run my fingers along his sleep damp body. The warmth of his skin breathes rich into my nose as my fingers read skin and soft waking muscle. 

I nuzzle my mouth between his thighs into the warmth of his groin and close my eyes (although in the darkness of the room, dark whispers smell to me) and breathe deep the aroma of his sleeping body.  A sheen of clean, astringent sweat, and the earthy, moistness of the pale tender skin and then I run my lips along the stirring length, sipping want into its burgeoning need.

My nostrils flare and I smell the swelling taste of him, the sharper, mouth puckering deliciousness and his odour slides down my throat and permeates the close air of the closed chamber and I want to roll and coat myself in the familiar yet ever new pheromones and feel my breasts tighten and an ache between my thighs.

In the darkness my eyes are blind and the febrile touch of finger and the smell of our realities mesh and meld and paint the room rich and scarlet.

What smells bring memories alive to you?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Tuesday Tirade ...

Life can be so damn irritating at times; and there are moments when I just want to grab my dogs and run far far away to a cabin by the sea.

I’m still feeling rather overwhelmed at the moment; work is incredibly stressful right now due to a massive workload being handled by a MUCH reduced staff with the same expectations and egos tantrumming when there simply aren’t enough hours in a day to get the work done in a timeframe they consider “equitable”.

Home is just as crazy as I am starting to have the Christmas stress building with no time, not enough money and my own stupid insistence on creating ‘perfection’. Keeping a house clean (which is rather an obsession of mine) when said house has 5 to 7 people PLUS at any given time, 3 dogs, 4 cats, a guinea pig and a rabbit and said cleaning has to be juggled between 50 hour work weeks, volunteer time (which I have already cut back on and categorically refuse to cut back any further), dealing with kids’ schoolwork (yeah, even though they are in university), “commuting” to and from Montreal to deal with my mother and my incredibly irritating sister, and then emotional angst which finds its slippery, insidious way on a regular basis through the reality that is my life and I am ONE crankypants individual these days!

So there I am – up at 3:15 am, emptying the dishwasher, putting on laundry, making lunches, walking dogs ... all before 4:45 a.m. .. then a 10 hour workday where I don't get a chance to breath and THEN getting home at 6, preparing a healthy dinner and feeding people at 7 or later ... then more laundry, more cleaning, walking dogs again.... edit a few essays, make a few fruitcakes, sort out some papers ....and falling into bed at 11 or so and sleeping a few hours until the clarion call of 3:15 coaxes me out of a restless sleep yet again...

I resent the hell out of the fact that there is no such thing as “my time” – you know, that TIME where I get to kick back, perhaps enjoy some of the things I enjoy doing – like blogging or WRITING damn it. It just doesn’t exist.... just like my ‘space’ in my home which doesn’t exist.
And I am well aware that when in this moody, wilful, irritated and unreasonable state of mind, I probably should NOT write as issues which as a rule aggravate me past the “irritation” quotient and morph into rant mode.

But of course, as I AM a wilful, irritating and oftentimes, unreasonable individual, I’m going to anyway.
First, there are those who no doubt BECAUSE of said wilfulness, coupled with a rather noticeable lack of “sweetness” together with a rather glaring lack of nobility as probably the anthethsis of “submissive”. Which brings me to my rant. Why is that that submissive women are so often depicted as these saintly, self-sacrificing, WUSSES all the time??

I should simply take a deep breath and calm down as it is –and I KNOW this – such a web phenomenon .. this creation of a “perfect” submissive creature with her sweet personality, eagerness to adhere to her dominant’s every thought, word and deed, her constant yearning for control and management, her willingness to suspend her own beliefs, inner convictions and urges to the “greater” wisdom and ultimate firm hand of her dominant.


Why in the world should submissive women be pigeonholed into a narrow interpretation of personality and “acceptable” traits?

We are not cardboard cut-outs, created out of whole cloth to fit a mould formed by the adolescent fantasies of online would-be dominants.

Submission, when all is said and done, is simply one facet of the complicated psyches of an individual who carries with them all the intricacies, quirkiness and individuality of ANY human being. Because I have chosen in the past to submit to someone whom I admire, respect and love does not mean that magically, all those “undesirable” selkie traits like my wilfulness, stubbornness, temper and tendency to be controlling (GASP, yeah, truly!) and inescapable propensity to make snap judgments and react emotionally are suddenly GONE.

Nope. Sorry boys, still me here!

And during the many years when I lived in a dynamic which very much encompassed the D/s ideal, I was still a wilful bitch- quite a lot truth be told! I’m intense and emotional and quick-tempered ... but damn it, I was a pretty damn GOOD submissive with all of that!

Thank god that I lived a real life dynamic .. because if I were dipping my toe in BDSM waters for the first time by perusing the internet alone, I might very well have never recognized the reality of my innate submissiveness nor felt I in any way or form fit the “mould”.

Because the popular concept of the delicate, noble, subservient and retiring submissive is about as far from this pugnacious, determined, opinionated redhead as can be...

And I am NOT bashing anyone’s own concept of a dynamic which turns their crank; just pointing out that however you cut the cloth, pushing, squeezing and forcing people into predetermined shapes with the commensurate “traits” will ultimately be self-defeating and in the end, nix the possibility of living a rich, multi-faceted, rewarding dynamic which encompasses, embraces and accepts the reality of each individual.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Small Timeout ....

I'm absoultely SWAMPED at work - beyond all - we are so short-staffed and overwhelmed with work PLUS major things to do at home! Trying to winterize house, clean up garden, kid-related stuff and at least three trips to Montreal to see my mum in the next 6 to 7 weeks .... so taking a time-out.

Will catch up with everyone soon when I catch my breath!

still treading water ... will catch up when I get a moment- in the interim, was going to rework the last post but don't have the time, so am leaving it the way it was.

Monday, October 12, 2009

why would you choose to be with someone who doesn't

encourage you and want you to be all who you are???

Some time ago, Terri, at her blog Honor Yourself posed this question and sent me into a veritable storm of thought and musings (quoted with her permission).  Her entire discussion is WELL worth the read and I urge you to go there and learn.  Truth be told, I actually wrote a passionate diatribe about this very thing, then decided in the end that I wasn’t comfortable posting it.

However, both Sir J mouse and  JZ  have all approached this same question from similar but slightly different perspectives quite recently.

What resonates most with Sir J’s musings are his comments:
And inside the box of this relationship, when you look in the mirror at yourself, what do you see? How do you look? Do you look good . . . or no? Do you feel good? Does this relationship enhance your well-being? Does this relationship offer you opportunities to enhance the well-being of another? Does this relationship encourage you to become your Highest Self? How would you like for this relationship to stay the same? How would you like for this relationship to change? Are there steps you need to take to change who you are in this relationship?

Mouse’s words also had import to me:
Of course, our relationship "box" isn't really a box, to me it's an old house built long ago.  The foundation is solid, and the bones of the house are in great shape.  It has magnificent flow.  Yes, it creaks and sometimes groans, it expands and contracts with the weather.   It must be maintained.

Now JZ’s comments, while not directed towards the exact same subject so aptly covered by Sir J and mouse still address the same basic concept.  In her case, she realized that being with someone who did not accept ALL the complicated, myriad aspects of self was not worth the price.

Why do so many people not value themselves?

How does one assess self-worth?

WHY would someone stay in a relationship with an individual who neither supports nor encourages you and in fact does not wish you to be everything you CAN be?

So I sit here wondering WHY is it so difficult for so many of us to figure out something so utterly true? 

Youth is wasted on the young” (Geroge Bernard Shaw)

Not that I truly believe that but certainly while there are sometimes wise youth, I think experience if accompanied by commensurate insight and a willingness to change brings with it its own rewards.  One of them is the wisdom to grasp to your heart, to feel to your soul, the truth of those words.

are you living your life as you?

or are you living your life as your partner's perception of you?

The past several years have revealed some hard truths to me; truths which undermined the very foundation of my trust, beliefs and heartfelt convictions.  Truths which forced me to reconsider memories I thought real and instead learned were delusion. 

And the lessons were harsh.

I learned my faith was illusionary, insubstantial and unable to be sustained in the glaring light of reality, the veil parted and the light implacable.  I was taught I could not rely on my very recollections and memories, that they were flawed and delusional.  I learned that trust, once broken, is incredibly difficult to regain and that what I perceived to be my strengths were in truth fundamental weaknesses in character.

I learned I was a fool.

I internalized the total stupidity of my own perceptions and was disgusted and appalled at my wilful ignorance.

But together with the crumbling of the foundations of self, came insight, hard won, painful and real.  Insight into my own willingness to sustain fabrication and coat unpalatable reality with a patina of romance.   I was also given the insight to weigh the cost of my misplaced beliefs and see, at least partially, the price of such lack of perception.

And when all was said and done, the pain was hardly just mine and mine alone. 

When you pull apart the roots of two entwined plants, both suffer, both falter, both must fight to regain strength and health and beauty.

For every action there is a reaction ….

Only recently, have I been able to see beyond the chaos of my own emotions and internalize the absolute truth that I do not exist in a vacuum.  The very act of inflicting pain engenders an agony of heart and mind that rivalled the extent of my own confusion and despair. 

And, when I look at the question again – I see clearly that my own disfunctions, insecurities and wilfulness had their part in perhaps pushing another individual to live your life as your partner's perception of you?

Et tu, Brutus? Indeed.

Because the reality is that when one survives tsnami, then your life priorities, your knowledge of self and perceptions of your reality are irrevocably changed. And though we demonize change a lot and make it negative, it can also be positive (though truth be told, it is neither good nor bad, it just IS).

I am a stronger person today.

I am a more self-aware person today.

My ego, which I thought utterly fragile, has somehow survived, battered, bruised and scarred, but still me (I think - truth be told sometimes I find myself perplexed at this new me, unrecognizable as she is in some ways). 

And my will is slowly re-establishing its determination and strength to move forward, to mend the broken parts of me and forge new, stronger ties and to foster a deeper understanding of what I need in life to make me content.

Some goals are long-term and will require a great deal of work, others, more short-term and simpler are straightforward and there are even a few that I feel  have already been mastered to a greater or lesser degree.

The truth is that the future remains opaque; my path obscured, but I have mustered the strength to keep forging ahead, to place one foot in front of another and just keep moving … and in that sense that is a huge victory as a year ago, I was mired in a despair so overwhelming I questioned my ability to survive.

Today I find a measure of peace (at times).

Today I find a measure of understanding (at time).

Today I know I will see tomorrow.

Today I am sadder.

Today, I find it more difficult to find joy.

Today, I’m trying to figure out who “me” is.

The reality is that no matter the type of dynamic, every single one of us should periodically step outside our current realities and try our best to look, with an unbiased eye (or as close as we can to being removed from the emotion of the situation) at the reality of our lives.  We need to pragmatically figure out what is working for us, what is not. We need to honestly admit to ourselves the positives of the dynamic and the inevitable negatives and then weigh one against the other.

If the balance is weighted towards the negative side of the equation, THEN we need to look inside and figure out why we are allowing ourselves to maintain a status quo that in the end, provides very little positive spiritual energy to our lives.

Insights granted me at a sometimes painful cost are nonetheless illuminating.  I realized that my quietly social nature has been very much suppressed – to a degree that horrified me when I saw the extent of my withdrawal from human interaction.  I realized too that my writing, always an integral, crucial part of who I am can no longer be a bargaining chip; it is and will remain something that is as important to me as breathing and I will never again allow pressure – whether overt or subtle - to dissuade me from practicing my passion.

More esoteric insights were also granted me; for instance, I learned to recognize how susceptible I am at creating demons when sometimes there are none.  I learned I am far too sensitive and prone to create drama when none is intended.

And I learned too how MY actions, whether deliberate or careless, provoking or ignorant, have in turn THEIR impact on those close to me – and that as I expect others to take responsibility, so too must I stand up and accept the role I have had in causing agony of mind.

In the end, self-awareness is crucial to a balanced life.  A continuing and honest appraisal of our personal goals, needs and wants should and must be a part of maintaining a healthy mind and spirit.  The fallibility of human nature is inarguable; but so too is our capacity to seek wisdom and balance and to gain illumination and 
self-awareness is infinite and in its own way, inspiring.

Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.  (Marie Curie)

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Orgasm Control and "Coming on Command" OH MY....

I’m always fascinated by the intricacies of people’s lives and the motivations, checks and balances that individuals use to make sense of their existence. One of the things I work actively at is to suspend critical thinking and try to understand and internalize everyone’s right to live their lives as they see fit, to accept with equanimity practices I might find curious, perplexing, even, in my personal view, pointless!

The critical, pragmatic selkie however, DOES find it difficult – almost impossible – to suspend belief in certain instances or with respect to certain claims I just cannot find credible or actions for which I simply don’t see a point ... other than to say “I made her do it”.

One of the sticking points for me centers on the many discussion I see (usually in a D/s or M/s context) about orgasm control and ‘coming on command’.

Bottom line, I CANNOT, no matter how open-minded I try to be, no matter how credulous I try to pretend to believe (a) in the efficacy of “orgasm control” (on many levels to be discussed), and (b) that ‘coming on command’ is possible.

There, I’m not going to wrap it up in placatory language or obfuscate it with adjectives.

I don’t understand the need for “orgasm control” and bottom line, I do NOT believe that ‘coming on command’ is possible – I just don’t.

1) Orgasm control

First, let’s talk about female orgasms.

MY reality - based on science and yeah, personal knowledge – is that women’s orgasms are at best a complicated process.

Just a quick look at readily available material:
  •  According to a 1999 survey, around 43 per cent of women in the US have some sort of problem with their sex lives (Journal of the American Medical Association, vol 281, page 537).
  •   recent Redbook survey shows that 52% of women regularly fake orgasms
  •  Most women need about 20 minutes of clitoral or G-spot stimulation to hit the jackpot. But an estimated 24 to 37 percent of women can't climax (and smoking, drinking, emotional disorders, medications, and menopause can make things worse). The Science of Orgasm (Johns Hopkins University Press),
  •  According to the first genetic study of the female orgasm, up to 45 per cent of the variation in women’s ability to have them could be down to genes.
  •  The Hite Report found that a whopping 70% of women reported not being able to archive orgasm through just in/out vaginal sex.

Now the reality is that I have only ever read about “orgasm control” online – any real time friends I have tend to find it as perplexing as me. Again, I reiterate, I don’t knock it, I just don’t get it.

However, Vesta does a great job of discussing the “logic” of it which I can grasp to a limited extent but which ultimately I still don’t understand. Denying an orgasm? When in MOST cases, the majority of women generally grapple with the REALITY of orgasming period? Not getting that part (and yeah, will probably get inundated with people assuring me they can orgasm 30 times a day; and yes, I believe there are women like that but still assert that they are the MINORITY – and science bears me out).

The whole orgasm control thing escapes me – and I admit readily that is a personal opinion and preference only. Obviously I have no objection if it turns your crank, as they say – different strokes for different folks!

Another point which swan mentions in Wednesday's blog – is that as tenuous as orgasms can be for any woman, for aging women it can prove even more of a challenge. Menopause, medical issues, life stressors, time crunches and responsibilities are all factors which negatively and inexorably impact a woman’s ability to orgasm (which requires, when all is said and done, a mental ability to ‘let go’, something many women AND service-oriented submissive women who live to please, have trouble with).

Further, delaying an orgasm by coaxing someone almost to a peak, then back down again and again, while it CAN be a very effective form of sexual interplay (and not to be confused with creating rules around when and where one can have an orgasm) can backfire - badly. It can, as D. points out, derail the focus most of us need to reach the top. JZ in her comments to Vesta’s blog cited above, also wisely points out that repeated and prolonged denial can ultimately negatively impact a woman’s natural ability to relax enough to orgasm. This I know to be true as I experienced it personally.

But, the physical realities aside, I just don’t “get” what orgasm denial is supposed to accomplish. Perhaps it is because I am, at heart, a pragmatist, and a time-crunched one at that. It astonishes me that individuals have the TIME to indulge in such extended “play” with no appreciable purpose that I can ascertain other than to deny what I would think one would want to ENCOURAGE.

Of course, I concede that for some individuals, dominant or submissive, orgasm control is an important part of their overall dynamic. I just don’t understand why a dominant would feel the need to exert that kind of control over something that ultimately proves so little. Orgasm control as a power tool also leaves me cold from the perspective of a practical, service-oriented submissive, I don’t really see its purpose. Oral worship of HIM I get, directives regarding practicalities to do with his comfort I understand, but controlling my sexuality because you “can”? Not sure what that accomplishes.

2) Coming on command

This seems such a popular subject out here on the net. I think it gives the illusion of such total control and dominance that the concept is in itself deliciously irresistible to both dominants and submissives alike. I believe implicitly that many feel it provides the ultimate proof of dominance and even for the submissive, inexorably underlines the extent of her submissiveness (i.e. her mind is so much HIS – because I’ve YET to hear about a female dominant MAKING a male submissive “come on command” – without any kind of physical stimulation!).

Bottom line? I think its bullshit. I do NOT believe it can be done.

I’m a bit of a reader and have read voraciously on many subjects, human sexuality included. The science of sexuality is a multi-billion dollar business – sex sells. Science continues to search (so far with only limited success) for answers to the capriciousness of female sexuality. I do NOT think for one second that IF ‘coming on command’ could be empirically proven that the scientific community would not have JUMPED on this and done copious studies and have streams of evidence proving the veracity of this ability.

Further, I would conjecture that a form of psychological manipulation is implicit in the practice; and as very few dominants out there have pursued degrees in psychiatry or psychology, I hardly believe that most have the necessary tools to create what is in essence, an incredibly difficult manipulation of the human mind.

Reconditioning is an incredibly difficult thing to accomplish. The human psyche is complicated and tenacious and if it were simplistic to change bodily and mental functions then none of us would have any bad habits – which simply is not true.

D. engaged in an interesting discussion on Fet (if anyone wants the link, let me know)- where basically he made what I consider some extremely salient points. At one point, he addresses one dominant’s assertion that it can be done through behavioural conditioning:

I understand your pavlovian argument, of behavioral shaping for the desired response, but i see it as infinitely difficult, because of all of the variables,( social, emotional and physical,) to achieve, it may be possible. if it was simple and easy i would think that the information would be made readily available for a price. someone would have written a book and made an instructional video.

it is difficult enough to train and help someone to alter their cognitive behaviours, ie. treating those who smoke, over eat, suffer from anxiety, fears, compulsions, phobias, and anger management problems etc.. it takes hours and hour of therapy, years of work and in a lot of cases, medication, before the desire behavior is firmly imprinted, and a lot of times the therapy is never completely successful.


 Further on, he brings out one of my most compelling points, which is:

in the light of absolutely no empirical evidence. with the fact that there is not one of the foremost institutes that study human sexuality, that has done, or even given the topic of orgasm on command without any prior physical stimulation, any credence, let alone seriously looked at the phenomenon, that a search for any article in the scientific community has come up short. i have been unable to find even any reputable BDSM authors that have dealt with the subject. (my emphasis)

I’ve had this argument before, of course. On my very brief sojourn on Fetlife I remember getting into an argument there and still giggle at the dominant who claims to make his submissive orgasm by pulling her finger LOL… because the IMMATURE selkie can only laugh and think of what “pulling the finger” meant when I was a kid – and it wasn’t an orgasm!

 Again, almost exclusively, the whole subject of “coming on command’ seems to me to be one of those internet myths, which is remarkably handy in view of the fact that empirical evidence is never actually provided.

I even concede that certain individuals may have convinced themselves either that they can order and make their submissive or slave come or conversely, that a submissive or slave is so eager to please that she thinks or gives the impression that she can accede. I think it naive if one thinks that not a possibility! It is the nature of submissives and slaves to please, to want to make their dominant proud.

The bottom line is that ancedotal exmaples simply don't and won't convince me.  I hold firm to my belief that until emperical evidence is proferred, it is a fun fantasy and nothing more.

Further, the BAD selkie can’t help thinking that it sure lets the dominant out of ensuring sexual pleasure is experienced by the submissive … no work involved in saying a few words. In that sense, this touches on another belief of mine – which is people generally tend to exaggerate the amount –and quality –of sexual interplay in which they indulge. But that is a rant for another blog...

Monday, October 5, 2009

This and that ...

  • You GO girl.... Toronto dominatrix challenges the Courts .... "The 49-year-old Toronto grandmother, along with prostitutes Valerie Scott, 51, and Amy Lebovitch, 30, is asking Ontario's Superior Court of Justice to invalidate Criminal Code provisions that serve as Canada's policy response to the world's oldest profession."
  • Scuse me for NOT having one bit of sympathy for this damn predator ... and on top of that he tries to inflict guilt on victims for coming forward and doesn't have the guts to kill himself but makes some poor train driver do it for him.  Good riddance to at least one predator.
  • WTF?? REVERSING on the 401?  Have seen it countless times; in fact my very FIRST time driving on the 401 I had to institute some evasive action to avoid hitting an friggin idiot who missed his exit and was REVERSING on a highway where the avearge speed was 130 km ... the real victim in this is the poor truck driver - who while fortunate enough not to be badly hurt, nonetheless is no doubt traumitized that his truck hit and killed someone (through no fault of his own)
  • Yes, you should have to pay.  There seems to be a tendency in Canada to accept everyone; we are becoming a joke among the world's exploiters who come here for our healthy care, dump their elderly high-cost family members and shout we MUST pay for it all - it's time new policies were enacted. If there was a true commitment to this nation, an acceptance of our culture and our viewpoints, then fine, but there is NOT. 
  • Censorship raises its ugly head ... yet again

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Coming "out"

A blog I read recently spoke of the perceived dilemma of maintaining protocols and formalities when out in the world.  In short, basically in terms of using certain pejoratives, the individuals would in effect be indicating that their lifestyle choice was far from mainstream.

I’m not ashamed of what I am nor of the dynamic that I once enjoyed.  Had someone confronted me directly, I would most likely have admitted to my choices; certainly my blog isn’t hidden, nor is my picture (which is up to date) and my nic, “selkie” is well known among close friends and family. 

Having said that, D. and I NEVER made it obvious in our home, in our careers nor in out friendships which were out of the realm of kink.  Not due to shame or embarrassment but quite simply, out of respect for others.

My kink is my kink.

But kink can be powerfully affecting to individuals unfamiliar with the intricacies of the various dynamics.  It can have an unreasonably powerful impact on those who don’t understand the underlying motivations and rewards and can be extremely off-putting to the uninitiated when exposed to some of the more esoteric practices.

Obviously, none of us live in a vacuum.  Influences abound which mould and affect all of us and each of us carries with us innate prejudices, decided opinions and concepts of how we perceive life and humanity in general.  With the sheer volume of dross out there in cyber space, for instance, every lifestyle choice, esoteric concepts and practices are easily accessible to the curious who wish to satisfy prurient interests without actually exposing themselves.

I think especially those who practice lifestyle related practices predominantly online lose sight of the realities which would meet its actualities in real time.  The other anomaly of course are those who assert online that they are “out” in real life but don’t even provide a real photograph!

Most of us work fulltime these days – women and men.  To be taken seriously, to engender respect and the development of professional work relationships requires confidence, determination and strength. Yeah, even for submissives (female and male). 

The REALITY of our human experience is that we are judged on our appearance. We are judged on our demeanour. We are judged in how we present ourselves and how we conduct ourselves.  And yes, we ARE judged on our lifestyle choices.

Is this so odd? Do we not tell our children that people will judge them on how they look? act? present themselves? Do we not draw our OWN conclusions when we meet people based on those self-same markers - which - before a friendship is developed, is ALL we have on which to base an opinion?

Any woman or man who comes "out" to people lacking the basic understanding and commensurate knowledge of the spectrum of a D/s or M/s relationship (one which includes respect, caring and encouragement of intelligence, ability and skills), would most definitely court almost certain disrespect and immediate disdain from individuals who would walk away with a very skewed perception of the worth of someone they thought about in very different terms before the insight.

I am the first to “stand up and be counted” when it comes to defending an ideal, acknowledging the right to personal beliefs and fighting for personal freedoms.

But I also live in the real world.

Apart from the professional arena; I admit I have strong views (big surprise!) on the more obvious practices and powerful protocols used on a personal level when children are involved.  Certainly, when it comes to children, very few people do NOT have decided views on upbringing.

For me, however, introducing a lifestyle to children that carries with it such obvious preferences and powerful protocols is wrong.  AS wrong as exposing them (in my opinion) to any kind of influence which will unduly influence and prejudice them – from fanatical religious views (of any flavour) to prejudices against race, colour or gender.

Females already face an uneven playing field (albeit, a better turf than when I was young).  Having my girls and my boy indoctrinated into believing that women are “naturally” subservient and men “naturally” dominant is repugnant (or for that matter, vice versa).  I want them to choose their own paths; as much as possible I want to bring them up with open minds, unmarred by my own known preferences.

Finally, the intimacy engendered by a working D/s (or M/s) relationship is also precious and to me, personal.  Even before embracing the lifestyle, I was intensely private when it came to my relationship.  I was never one for necking in public, hanging over my significant other, or even for ‘cutsey’ nicknames and billing and cooing at each other. 

I saw no reason to adopt a different attitude once we became D/s.

Frankly, flaunting it to a degree that makes it offensive to mainstream society is more about a cry for attention than a true commitment to, and pride, in your relationship.  I know there are those who bleat that ‘they are not ashamed’ and go around with obvious collars, fawning attitudes, arrogance and adopt extreme attitudes and clothing choices, but to me, they are poseurs who like teenagers are trying to shock, and ultimately, crave attention.

Is your dynamic any less influential because you are discrete?

Are you any less a submissive/slave, dominant/Master because you recognize realities?

Or, rather, are you in fact truly engaged in a real relationship which carries with it the commensurate responsibilities owed by each member of society to function within the confines of generally accepted norms?

Further, there are many and varied ways to underline and enhance a dynamic without being offensive, outrageous or forcing non-participants to become voyeurs.  Intimacy carries with it, its own language, its own signs and signals.  None of which need to be shared with the general public – kinky or not.

How we present ourselves to a society which initially judges based on appearance and demeanour largely determines to what level and degree we are accepted and how seriously we are taken.  But apart from the need to preserve dignity and maintain decorum (and rightly so) in a professional environment, I also find it offensive to believe that it is acceptable to force our choices on each those who neither understand, desire or require an intimate glimpse into what is essentially a private choice. 

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Monday, September 28, 2009

See me, Feel me...

I step into a night which breathes and gallops want into the pale skin of my reality. Restless, anxious with that intangible, nerve-tingling, itching edge that ripples thought into skin and sends electric shocks to limbs that can’t relax; in my shoulder I feel the ache of unresolved want. The dogs snuffle and pull at the ties which bind their energy into sedation but the wind growls in my ear and licks need into my eyes which search a sky of roiling, twitching cloud and dark and feel on the periphery of soul the mumbling earth beneath my feet.

I unsnap the leashes and stretch my legs and feel the wind sweep me in its damp, triumphant want and pull me soaring through the night with my breath streaming into the smoke of mist and mingling with the roar of its passage. The sound of my steps are lost as the earth moves and the line between this reality and the truth as I once knew it stretches thin, shimmering in the Halloween night until the curtain of deception sighs defeat and I hurtle into the moment.

Swift through the night I flee, the shadows of the hounds with crimson eyes beside me, stretching limbs made of molten fire and need matching the fleetness of a strength forgotten. My soul stretches and pulses beneath the fragile flesh of my prison and yearns outward into the magic of this early morning storm and I open wide and allow all the words trapped beneath my throat to roar into the sky and be absorbed into the triumphant wind which embraces and buffets my desperation.

Because talking is so damn hard.

Communication is touted, revered, recommended, bleated as the panacea for all ills. But truly it is far easier to mouth the words as if they were a magic spell that restores confidence, instils understanding and begets a eureka moment than really internalize them.

The human beast when all is said and done has a genius for misinterpretation that despite the best communicator, can cause endless confusion and misunderstandings.

I think the term “communicate” is often mouthed with no true understanding of what that means. And to me, communications is so much more than sounds emitted from throats grown weary of hoping. Touch is perhaps one of the most powerful communication tools but to my mind, the single most powerful instrument is hearing.

And again, such is the complexity of the human paradox that even hearing can be problematic.

It is as if each of us carries inside us the constant hum of white noise, electrical impulses that create static and interrupt the flow of thought and speech. The baggage that weighs each of our unique personalities is incontrovertible and implacable; and can, will, usually DOES cause misunderstanding and confusion as the “white noise” of our own complexities twist the words that are being directed our way. None of us is inviolate when it comes to the human reality of fractured understanding.

JZ, Sir J , and many others have talked about the whole dynamic of listening, learning and communicating and touched on something I also believe true; submissives in particular are not the best at communicating their needs generally.

For in one sense, voicing a “want”, a “need” in a submissive mind seems like a ‘demand’, an anathema to the submissive personality – no matter how outwardly bold and brash that individual seems. Many of us too are unfair in our voiceless, whispering need to be “read”, interpreted and understood – all without providing the much maligned dominant one iota of a clue as to what we yearn for.

But ultimately, any relationship – no matter its designation or “name” – involves two people, both of whom must “listen” and truly HEAR and both of whom must at least make the attempt to communicate.

But as I said earlier, communication is not all about words. Bodies speak volumes and eyes can provide insight and comprehension. A cliché in one sense, that eyes speak but nonetheless to those who see with thought and caring, they are indeed windows to the soul.

Physical reactions, intangible but apparent and often decided, speak to those who choose to hear. Touch can be a powerful tool for communication. Which of us would deny that we can sense those sometimes almost imperceptible but unmistakable reactions of skin and muscle when certain demands are made, sexual, service-oriented or otherwise. Fingers which trace heat along skin can sense a denial or a welcome. Solid, real bodily realities provide rich fodder to those who care to understand.

For those who lack the courage or the will to say the words sometimes, the unspoken needs to be read.

I do not deny the need for classic “communication”; the simple imparting in straightforward words wishes, needs, confusions, irritations or questions. But when all is said and done, we are creatures of muscle and tendon, blood and skin and need and to truly “communicate” we must understand the need to use all our senses to impart the realities of words.

For words can be twisted and misinterpreted, frozen in voices unable to emit their need, tangled in confusion and fear and in the end, simply “sound” which can be so easily lost in the cacophony of our own thoughts….

The night cries out to me as my dogs and I race the roar of its demand and are swept into the maelstrom of elemental need. Over the humming, grumbling roar I hear the words echo clear then fade and then tangle in the swirling confusion of the storm and breathe deep the ozone-rich truth of its implacable pursuit and succomb.

THE WHO - See Me, Feel Me - Listening to You (1975)

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Rage, rage at the dying of the light


You will come driving
skeletal and stark, sockets
empty of eyes but full
of blaze and vision, and you
will rattle your bones bereft
of flesh, draped in
tatters and shatter

you will come driving
blurring the road and swallowing
my refuge and fodder. your ravenous
speed compressing my time
to moments without breath to gasp
the words I desperately need to shout,
but your driving frenzy will blow
away any sound of disclosure I utter.

you will come driving,
laughing the sharp edges of your
murk and zeal, you in your rush
for the finish, will rattle
my sanctum, and torment my fall,
with your handfuls of nothing
and mouthful of dark..

you will come driving
from the tumult to the halt,
from the flaccid to the fleeting,
your hingeless jaw laughing,
your fiery breath strumming
the air and bubbling the clouds
into a gulping dirge.

you will come driving
speeding, but leisurely stretching
your time to the limit, with
sulphur and sandalwood
and allure and aversion
you will laugh your demoniacal
laugh we use to share, and the
emptiness that were your
eyes, will sparkle at me
with glee, as I get in too
ride with you
when you come driving.

I find myself focused lately on death.  No, not my own (as other than my somewhat unbalanced obsession with ensuring if I did die everything would be taken care of, I’m don’t brood about my morality to any great extent), but the certainty and the final reality of it. The no more chances, no more possibilities horror of it. 

“compressing my time
to moments without breath to gasp
the words I desperately need to shout,”

says finbar in his morbid but powerful ode to the Pale Rider.

How true!  What a reminder to each of us to carpe diem (seize the moment), to internalize that life is ultimately fleeting and each moment precious in its uniqueness and in its ability to impart emotion, experience, comprehension and thought.  For we don’t know when the “bell will toll” for us.

Will we, when that moment comes – unexpected, shocking and unseen in its inevitability, will we regret those words left unsaid? Will we in those final moments feel our hearts contract as we wail the lack of a last chance to speak?  Will be think in those endless final moments of the things we did not do? The steps we avoided? The paths ignored and rejected through fear or trepidation or a simple unwillingness to upset the relentlessly even tenor of lives half lived?

It has been a year of death for me.  Two good neighbours, one perhaps less shocking than the other (for while his 70 years was not that long, my other dear neighbour’s 33 was an abomination); my precious, beloved, much missed friend Mel – taken so unexpectedly and even now, I find myself reaching for the phone to arrange a time to meet .... and now my cousin Jim, my tragic, sad, unhappy cousin Jim... my mind keeps going over and over his mindset.  I keep wondering if some small change, a phone call, a neighbour dropping by, a chance-met encounter, something might have stayed his hand.... given him the strength to meet another day.

“Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage rage at the dying of the light.”

Thomas’ words haunt me and fill my heart with a hot, rich comprehension for I too rage against the dying of the light. I do not accept death’s claims with equanimity nor a calm heart. I fight and rail against his inevitable victory and descry the frailness of our human state.

I do not understand, you see, where we go. 

Once upon a time there was a god and I thought a place beyond but that myth is no longer mine to hold as a comfort on those cold, dark nights when the sky wheels around me in its endless expanse of deep endless space and I look up and all I see in the glittering fabric of my world are the dying screams of stars.

And as I mourn bitterly the death of a good man, I mourn too the closing of a door I thought open, the loss of a part of my youth and the final tenuous hold on a land I hold dear, whose green fields and sweet air have too long simply been a fading memory, now destined to become muted and dusty and faded until the final tendrils of remembered thought dissipate and are lost.