Tuesday, March 31, 2009

My morning

3:30 a.m. up, let dogs out, start the bath, put on the kettle, start lunches

3:40 a.m. let in dogs, peanut butter 12-grain bagel and snacks declan, cream cheese and 12 grain bagel, kealin - cut up 4 different berries, make salmon sandwich on wholegrain high fibre bread for D., hearing noises, ignoring .... making tea, feeding 1, 2 then 3 cats (where's the 4th?)

3:50 a.m. walk out in hallway. hallway flooded, bathroom flooded, living room and dining room flooded - bath not overflowing. Finn has taken ball, rope and a cushion from the couch and proceeded to spend the last 20 minutes dunking them in the bath, playing, pulling them out and dragging them throughout the house, dunking them, pulling them out, dragging them ....

4:00 a.m. now finished mopping up floors; feed guinea pig and rabbit; let in 4th cat, feed, have what is left of bath; up and dress for work, get dogs and go for walk

4:25 a.m. back from walk, give dog cookies, put downstairs with declan, start coffee to go, into bathroom for makeup. NO makeup- HATE HATE HATE having teenage girls in house - wake up one teenage girl who vehemently (and deceitfully) denies any knowledge of said makeup. Cannot brush hair. Brushes gone along with makeup - obviously a gremlin in the house.

4:45 a.m. grab coffee, quick polish of boots, jump in car and head to work.

5:10 a.m. in work, put on makeup (thank god for few bits in gym bag), find 10-page essay to edit on Medieval England in inbox when open email from Daughter 1 (university) .... spend next hour editing 10 page essay on religious beliefs in Medieval England (she's BLOODY luck it wasn't busy right then!)

6:30 a.m. work pouring in ... email off essay ... start my real day.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Body Image

My tongue-in-cheek writings on my experience with my new trainer brought to the forefront some thoughts about body image.

As much as I joke about it, it’s sensitive issue with me. My own body image (even when younger) has never been particularly healthy and has only been exacerbated by the inevitable impact of aging.

I know I’m not alone.

In fact, how one views oneself often underlines the disparity between rational thought and what we actually internalize on an emotional level. Truth is indeed relative and depends far too much on the often skewed vision we end up seeing as “authentic” through the convoluted, complicated byways of our psyche.

Rationally, I am fully cognizant that when my headspace is positive, I can find some merit in at least some aspects of my physical being. But even then, I can usually (successfully) find even more features of which to be critical.

So many of us suffer from some level of dismorphic vision… an inability to truly judge our appearance, a tendency (almost obsessive) to focus on what we perceive as negative physical attributes to the exclusion of all else.

Even in my twisted reasoning and distorted vision, I find a certain bitter humour. I marvel at how rational and emotional thinking collide and repel each other – even as my sensible mind recognizes that I am not the revolting creature I perceive in my mind`s eye, I despair at the imperfections and lament the lack of perfection.

I yearn for the jut of bone and sweep of smooth flesh, for the corrugated jut of rib skimmed by firm skin and undisguised by softness. I flex my arm and hunger for sweep of muscle and sinew and the throbbing blue reality of veins under a thin membrane of pale skin. It is as if I cower within the confines of a body whose reality is as delicate as the touch of flesh on flesh.

As if somehow achieving a skeletal frame and fitting into a smaller size pant will somehow salve the wounds that lie suppurating beneath my skin.

Because ultimately how we view ourselves physically is often really a craving to see the reflection of loveliness shine back from another`s eyes. Each of our realities is in truth a mess of emotions, experiences, internalized truths and external influences, with a fillip of ego thrown in to push everything off-kilter.

And the unfortunate thing is that too many of us crave the reflection of beauty in eyes looking back at us and find in that – or in its lack – the internalization of our own self-image.

Without doubt, the essence of ego must reside within ourselves; if we are to truly find a measure of contentment in our own skin, constantly seeking approbation and validation from external forces is never going to provide the profundity of self-internalization required to heal and mend damaged self-worth.

Yet conversely, having someone YOU find worthy and wonderful, uncritically, fully and with a palpable certitude find loveliness in you, in your person and in your mind, in your complicated psyche and all too human foibles, can bolster and give you that first small piece of courage to find some form of internal self-validation.

Sadly, I think there are many of us out there that despite best efforts of loved ones, just cannot see through their eyes. Or worse, through repudiation, rejection and dismissal find validation of our already self-critical beliefs and in that rebuff, find a cruelly self-fulfilling truth that simply underlines our existing self-loathing.

I do know that taking a measure of control over our lives helps keep a tentative balance of equilibrium. For me, committing and following through with an exercise program is incredibly liberating; and gives me a sense of having some control over what often seems to be a chaotic universe.

And while I don’t think I have ever in my life been able to gaze at my body and find it beautiful – I can and have found comfort and delight in its strength, in its flexibility and in the extent to which I can push it and make it work the way a body is meant to work.

And sometimes, that had to be enough.

That and my rather sexy lower lip.

Friday, March 27, 2009

The Training

Sunlight spilled through the high windows, screened by privacy blinds which allowed light to illuminate the gleaming wooden floor. Instruments of torture stood about the room in a measured pattern and my heart beat frantically as I assessed first one and then another. Belts, rubber implements, bindings hung from hooks while the centre of the floor stood starkly bare.

He strode in then and I quailed at this entrance.

He encompassed the best of both his Italian and Irish heritage. His piercing blue eyes assessed me critically. Blue-black hair, shining like a mink’s pelt was brushed back from a broad forehead. Cheekbones were chiselled and sharp and the blue of his magnetic gaze was even more marked in the sun-kissed glow of his golden skin. Tall, with strong, broad shoulders, he was clad in a tee-shirt that clung to the rippled folds of his washboard abdomen, while his long, muscular legs, planted slightly apart, were barely covered by a lycra sensation of material that embraced every strong tendon.

I shivered, feeling frightened and slightly overwhelmed, cowed by the bold gaze and knowing in those young eyes.

He had already done a thorough examination of my entire body. Like some quiet brood mare, I had stood and allowed him to poke and prod and examine critically each and every aspect of my aging physique, feeling inadequate and ashamed of what I had to offer.

Then, curtly, he had sent me to the small room to get ready in the clothing he had ordered me to bring.

Now I stood, my mind casting frantically for a way out of this.

His blue intense gaze caught my eyes and bashful, I lowered mine quickly, heart hammering in my chest.

“Come here” he said sternly, and meekly, feeling small and insignificant despite my 5’8” stature, I slipped obediently over to him.

He motioned to me and mutely, I raised my shirt. Fastening a binding around my ribs, he took my wrist and encircled it deftly with a thick rubber cuff.

Then he told me.

In a low, masterful voice EXACTLY what he was going to do to me. In intimate detail and with a matter-of-factness that was chilling, he related chapter and verse of the torture to come.

“And you WILL do it,” he said, menace barely perceptible in the measured tone.

“No tapping out. No refusals. NO whining that you can’t go there. Understand”.

I felt my skin ripple as fear and yes, a terrible anticipation, gripped me. After all, I HAD asked for this. I HAD begged him. I had told him unequivocally and with passion, I would DO this.

“Yes, I understand” I mumbled, barely raising my voice... and with that, a cruel grin twisted the sensual mouth and the blue eyes hardened and without further preparation, without warning, he began.

It was brutal.

He pushed me, he pummelled and lashed me with words and example. He sneered when breathless, heart hammering, muscles aching, tendon and nerve on edge, I begged him to stop. With a masterful hand, with a sadistic fervour he pushed me beyond anywhere I had ever been before.

Sweat glistened on my trembling arms and thighs, while the green of my eyes was brilliant with unshed tears. My heartbeat sounded frantically in my ear while I allowed this man to push me further again.... to bring me to a place I had never achieved .... to soar beyond my wildest imaginings....

And when i thought I was going to break, his quiet voice, his commanding presence and focused energy pushed me further again.


Later, heart still hammering, trying to find a rhythm of calm, I stood in the small room and mopped the honest sweat of my forehead and leaned against the wall and found an exultant JOY in my achievement .... I had DONE it ... I had preserved and broken through the barrier ... and felt grateful to his masterful hand.


Removing the heart monitor I carefully wiped it with the sterilized strips provided, doing the same for the monitor on my wrist.

Quickly changing, I slipped back into the main gym where the trainer was torturing some other poor woman (bless him) and made an appointment for NEXT Friday.

Personal Training ROCKS.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Soapbox Thursday: DO NO HARM

Leo Tolstoy
What counts in making a happy marriage is not so much how
compatible you are, but how you deal with incompatibility.

Do no harm.

Some musings on musings if you like … engendered by various discussions lately (both my own and others) on kink, on whether we can suppress our tendency towards submission or domination, on exploring our sexuality and the impact, ultimately, on our lives and the lives of those with whom we are entwined.

The reality of course is that we do not live in a vacuum.

Each of us has threads and connections to others; to family, to friends, employers and even to acquaintances.

For many, those connections are a tapestry of colour and sensation and emotion, connections which entwine and at times choke, threads of caring, of responsibility, skeins of experience and pasts that can’t be undone, each of our realities encompassing and including a myriad of other souls, through choice and through necessity and through the realities of connections which cannot be severed.

People change and forget to tell each other.
~Lillian Hellman

For many, it seems that discovering their dominant or submissive nature was actually triggered through their explorations in our global village – or as I have often heard, they recognized those moments we all come to at different points in our lives, where we recognize what to that point had been a yearning had a NAME.

Many of you have vanilla partners, whose own inclinations do not - and will not EVER – incline them to the same desires which sent you yearning into the ether of perhaps to find the answers.

I felt it shelter to speak to you.
~Emily Dickinson
And the yearning becomes overwhelming and the searching begins. And connections occur. Some transient, ethereal and insubstantial… phantoms thought solid but when touched and embraced, are simply smoke and mirrors. Other connections creep into the hearts and souls of the participants and bonds are formed, links created from thought and emotion, mutual explorations and the deep satisfaction engendered by having a need met that you may not have known existed in your earlier lives, satisfied, massaged and fulfilled.

But what then your primary partner?

You know, the one who has not and never will experience that same yearning?

Where do they fit in to this new dynamic?

In many cases it seems to me, they don’t “fit” at all…. I see the same tired excuses given, the vilification and the contempt expressed as I’ve heard and read about when it comes to non-BDSM extracurricular affairs.

“Blaming” the partner as if they had expressly designed their psyches to thwart the need you’ve only newly discovered. Vilifying them for their “vanilla” wants and their reluctance to push or explore in the direction you now seek to embrace. Seeing in their lack of enthusiasm or outright repudiation of sexual kinkiness, a denial of your perceived wants.

In short, often the same people who ask for understanding and acceptance of their “needs” denigrate and deride a different kind of need not just in anyone, but in someone they profess to love.

This thankfully is not true of every relationship I see where a married individual takes on a dominant or submissive who may or may not ALSO be married.

In fact, I have been heartened recently by the number of people I am seeing out there that DO in fact not just “account’ for the non-participating partners, but cherish them, care for them and factor their possible reactions into any equation – including the potential impact of knowledge of the introduction of another factor in what to that point had been a two-person dynamic and/or the inclusion of a third into the emotional and sexual repertoire of the other person.

Those are people I can respect.

People who recognize that none of us chooses, at the core, who we are and that includes those who are not inclined to kink.

I didn’t choose to be submissive. No one sat me down at some point in the creation and being of the selkie and offered me a choice of inclination.

I didn’t have to guess which ‘stick’ was the dominant one and which the submissive, nor was I ever actually presented with the opportunity to switch sticks. Had I been given that opportunity, I think in view of my own perception of self, I would most likely have chosen not just the Dominant Stick but damn it, the KICK ass, get on your knees and WORSHIP ME Dominant Stick – because the reality is that being a “pushy broad” (as D. is wont to refer to me as) – I sort of find that concept delicious.

Problem is, I wasn’t asked.

And thrust into the Dominant Role in a relationship dynamic leaves me very unhappy. It leaves me anxious, dissatisfied and unfulfilled.

But when I had D. to submit to, I felt to the core of me - “right” - … I used to feel as if I had come home and for those moments, was finally open to the endless possibilities of what I am. It made me content. And I KNOW I was damn fortunate to be with someone with whom I could mesh my real world needs as well (which makes the lack of it now all the more poignant).

But, as I wander the web I see more and more justifications being articulated for choosing to scratch the need – which in itself I could tolerate – what outrages me, is do NOT denigrate your real life partner in the doing …

They didn’t get to choose their sticks either after all!

They are who they are – they love, they laugh, they feel, they anger, they just exist like the rest of us. But they do so without the yearning or the need for something beyond traditional roles.

Vanilla is a flavour after all and a delicious one at that.

Stop using the word “vanilla” as if the designation as such justifies cruelty, neglect or contempt.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind."Pooh!" he whispered.
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw.
"I just
wanted to be sure of you."
~A.A. Milne

What does encourage me, however, is that I am seeing individuals who do NOT practice deception or pretence. Who factor in the fragile needs of their real life partners and factor in the potential effects and possible impact of an extra-curricular (particularly a kink-oriented on) on their primary relationship.

Who practice HONOUR, DIGNITY and DECENCY …. and in so doing, prove themselves in the BDSM world (to my mind) to be the paragons that the rest of us should respect and emulate.

When all is said and done, at the end of days, if one can look back over the course of your life and say “I have done my best to DO the LEAST harm” then perhaps that is an epitaph to be proud of…


Just to clarify - I believe that people, their dynamics, their needs, desires and motivations are endlessly unique ... I believe that given the right mixture of personalities, relationships apart from the primary one (speaking in the context here of kink-related)- CAN and DO work for some dynamics.

It's about choice. It's about seeing what works. It's about taking responsibility.

It's about doing your best to NOT hurt your partner if she or he is unaware of your inclinations - and not using their DISinterest simply to scratch on itch.

I do not and will not condemn choices made by others; my own life experience continues to show me more and more that simplistic answers are just that - simplistic and in many ways trite.

Life is not perfect, but as I said above, just strive to DO NO HARM or at least, as little as can reaosnably be done in the context of your choices.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


How odd and quirky is the human mind; how convoluted and confused the human heart!

I see a vista, a labyrinth of half-truths and unvoiced laments. I see the tattered remnants of trust, worn and flapping wearily in the aftermath of betrayal.

My old friend rage snuffles by my side in its accustomed spot, nipping angst into the cloak of despair which embraces me in clinging folds. Like some demented capering demon, I vacillate between anger and despair and sorrow and a deep, abiding loneliness, with an occasional helping of clarity, of pristine understanding and a swift, fleeting recollection of quiet joy.

One thing I have to remind myself – often – is that it is all in the perspective.

That voices remain unheard and thoughts expressed float into the ether of clouded perception and are lost in a fog of missed opportunities is simply serendipity. That we read into obliviousness, intent and motivation, purpose and plan is simply our perception… our perspective.

For we stand looking into the room from an angle that is uniquely ours, vouchsafed to none but our gaze. We take a concrete reality and with the deft, creative fingers of our humanness, weave a tapestry of possibilities and intentions and prick our egos on the sharp needles of mindless illusions created from the rich, verdant landscape of our imaginations… our perspective.

Even the most garrulous of us lives largely in our own minds, creating vast epics full of “sound and fury”1 and inventing entire conversations never uttered, scenarios never played out. We move people like chess pieces around the board of our private justifications and create knowledge when the paucity of insight is unmistakable.. our perspective only.

The reality is that communication is an inexact, inefficient science and while we obediently bleat, again and again, communicate, communicate, communicate, grasping and internalizing the entirety of the human condition continues to elude even the most perceptive student of human nature.

It is both our blessing and our curse to remain enigmas to even those whom we profess to love, to retain mystery to the one to whom we promise full disclosure.

And in the end, to survive, to learn hope, we learn to hold on to the trailing remnants of understanding and wrap the gossamer strands of expectation around the shivering reality of our lives and find in the trembling strands, a measure of contentment …. or not.

1. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare's Macbeth, from Act 5, Scene 5:

Monday, March 23, 2009

fight breed-specific legislation....

If you are owner of a dog,
especially one that belongs to a 'dangerous breed',
and you also have a small child,
please take note of this warning.

Don't leave your dog unattended with the child
under any circumstances.
Only a little moment was enough for the following to happen.

See the photo below ....

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Soapbox Thursday: Rationality and Depression

Do many submissives suffer from depression ? At what point would you consider them mentally incompetent? What sort of man considers himself DOM to a medicated woman? The SSC mantra and philosopihies of Good DOM responsibility seem to be some sort of depressive magnet. How to sort the wheat from the chaff good people ?

Rationality and the stigma of depression.

The above excerpt is taken from a discussion in Fetlife (waves to the VanImp = read here ). The Imp gave me the initial head’s up and in few subsequent conversations, we both felt pretty strongly about the absurdity and insulting nature of the suppositions encompassed by that query.

Blanket statements made by socially inept, role playing individuals who have more hair than sense (and sometimes, not even that) are a particular irritant that I find difficult to ignore.

Granted, I find the patent absurdity of the online creative writers’ world sometimes mystifyingly amusing. I’m particularly chuffed at the individuals who present themselves as ‘experts’ (despite the reality that the closest they ever got to actually wielding a flogger is beating their laundry), and then proceed to rant about situations about which they have no insight and absolutely nothing valuable to offer.

One theme I have seen arise more than once is the belief concerning mental competence and rationality. In short, there is a widespread belief that suffering from depression or some other form of psychological or emotional imbalance somehow renders the individual incompetent and irrational and incapable of making balanced decisions respecting their lives.

I find this irritating in the extreme as this same mindset is prevalent in society generally.

While it is indisputable that some more extreme forms of chemical imbalance, left untreated and unmedicated, can render someone realistically incapable of making a balanced decision, MANY forms of depression (which most decidedly should be unlinked from other forms of psychological impairment) are simply mindsets that rational people deal with on an ongoing basis.

Perceptions can be wrong

I have also noted that often blanket statements are made (and I abhor blanket statements) that MANY submissives suffer from depression as if the act of submission (more so, if there is masochism involved) in itself renders a person’s rationality questionable.

I think there are a number of factors here.

First, I think people tend to be more candid (AHH, my own blanket statement!) on BDSM-related forums. In many cases, it is the first time they have feel comfortable admitting to what is considered by society generally to be a degenerate mindset. Thus, I think admitting to depression (whether using medications or not) is simply a baby step further.

My own perusal of many of those forums ALSO lead me to conclude that there is a certain “shock” factor that just cannot be resisted by some individuals.

Second, one of the most prevalent myths I think (and this is actually related to a further blog I’m in the process of writing engendered by one of Gillette’s musings – more to come on that later), is that the BDSM world is somehow becoming “mainstream”… that in fact mainstream society is more accepting, more open and more tolerant of what has been considered deviant behaviour (and I’m talking BDSM-related behaviour). Thus, there is a perception in what is ACTUALLY a rather incestuous community that in fact certain psychoses are more common and active in the general population therein than is the actual reality. Both perceptions I think are completely onerous.

Unfortunately but understandably, catch phrases tend to be bandied about as truths but are really not understood.

SCC .. According to Whom?

SSC for instance.

People lip that phrase repeatedly and with an air of competence and comprehension that defies the reality of the intent. For ultimately SSC is dependent ENTIRELY on the individuals involved! It can’t be quantified nor readily compartmentalized; it is simply too dependent on the individuals involved in a particular scene.

What is safe, sane and consensual for ME may be far from that for another person. I’ve been done this road before when talking about edge play. For instance, my own inclination for breath control is no doubt considered by many to be INsane …. while I in turn have viewed askance (but NOT critically) some of the practices of other far more masochistic/sadistic pairings. At its most simplistic…. “different strokes for different folks” (how weirdly apt, ‘strokes” LOL).

Unfortunately, because there are enough self-important individuals out there that believe they and they alone are competent to judge what is safe, what is sane and what is consensual that one is compelled to challenge their right to make those kind of judgements.

Society Judges

The unfortunate reality is that one of the most common and misconceived reasons for “judging” people lies in the individual assessment of mental competence.

And therein lies the rub.

For society generally continues to harbour unwarranted, unprofessional and misinformed perceptions of what is deemed “mental acuity”. People who either have admitted to suffering from some form of depression or who have in truth been “outed” continue to suffer the consequences of prejudicial opinions of the level of their rationality.

This is particularly onerous when engaged in BDSM activity.

For without fail, detractors start bleating about is that person (usually a submissive although not always) “rationally” able to “consent”.

Um. hello? Since when did google-wisdom become the standard of care for psychiatric evaluation?

I don’t dispute there probably are individuals out there that should be doing anything BUT practicing some of the more edgy activities in BDSM – but barring they have escaped from an institution or are certifiable (in a medical sense and have in fact BEEN certified to be clear), then they are entitled to do whatever (within the law) they are entitled to do. It is paternalistic and condescending to suggest otherwise. For any individual to set themselves up as judge and jury is to my mind, unwarranted, arrogant and ultimately egotistical to an extreme degree.

Not to talk about WRONG.

People suffering from various (and not always quantifiable) forms of depression or even from other psychological or physical impairments simply have conditions that to this day remain largely unexplored or truly understood.

Current research in fact has placed more and more credence that these are simply syndromes, conditions and psychosis that we have not yet been privy to understanding. Conditions that do not in any way impair or impact the ability of the individual to make rational and reasoned choices over their lives.

To return to the quotation which began this diatribe, the prejudice inherent in its presentation is so obvious and blatant that the statement barely warrants addressing. While “arrogant” and “egotistical” are not necessarily detrimental when applied to a dominant personality, they must be accompanied by a commensurate rationality and intelligence to balance.

Referring to “medicated woman” and using terms such as “depressive magnet” (and the breathtakingly ignorant “wheat from the chaff good people” - the inference being, unmistakably, that "depressive" people are the chaff) clearly indicates a level of prejudicial misconceptions and small minded thought that barely deserves addressing.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


I gaze at my reflection in the distorted mirror of the window, as if a room exists overhanging the square below and an alternate me treads wearily through the drudgery of days. Moisture, feathery wavering lines of pale tears, glide through the dark pulsing sky and sigh against the window and I close my eyes and imagine I feel the cool, tickling kiss against my heated skin.

I see behind me the harsh reality of fluorescent light and my silhouette wavers, insubstantial and tentative. Colours are muted and bleed one into another, the crispness of my life softened and smudged and edged into drifting smoke and eddies of illusion.
I sip my coffee and ponder the impenetrability of motivation.

I watch the alternate me and yearn for flesh to peel away. I crave the jut of bone, the sweep of flesh, smooth and void of bumps and substance. I want to see the layers of self slough away like the papery, crackling skins of an onion … one, two, three and the lessening, the shrinking and the going away of size and substance until the centre is reached and there is blessed nothing.

There was an episode of Buffy (Out of Sight, Out of Mind) where a girl called Marcie, ignored, unseen by her classmates or anyone else (including teachers) just fades …. disappears – her body that is …. she becomes a phantom, although still THERE… she still exists and has impact (in fact she is rather spiteful). But you watch as she slowly fades…. as one more slight, one more incident of being overlooked, one more snub and she gets more and more opaque…

Sometimes I feel like that … as if I am losing my hold on the three dimensional world we inhabit. Even my voice sometimes takes too much effort to project and I find it more comfortable to simply allow it to fade into silence, to strangle behind the constriction of words unsaid, of thoughts unformed.

I am still these days. Like the placid surface of a small pond, glassily calm, unmoved by wind or breath, I pull into myself more and more. I drag about me the tendrils of thought and want and tuck them carefully into the long sweep of flesh, away from touch and sense and embrace to my inner core any emotion that might disturb the pristine surface of my life.

Sometimes it is just more comfortable to be quiet.

Yet, yet … I used to be a creature of sensation, of movement and passion and hot desire.

So many thoughts tumbling and roiling in the caldron of my confused mind.

Lately, I have seen my thoughts in terms of equilibrium – a scale… and feathery light touches can disturb the balance and tumble me into the pits of despair and resignation.

Sensation…. craving, wanting, needing, internalizing sometimes obsesses me – yet like a disturbed child, I shy away from the solid reality of flesh on flesh. Yet I remember wanting touch so obsessively it become a type of madness, an overwhelming need to run my hands over his flesh and find in it, the tactile reassurance of the connection of heart and soul. My skin would ripple and concentric curves of feeling would explode within my body.

But then, I once thought once that our lives were our own, our destiny an uncharted wilderness to explore and discover. I thought once that patterns of our past, experiences honed in shame and ignorance were merely dead-end tributaries, meant to be abandoned with lessons learned and incorporated into the overall pattern of our journey. I believed once that we created the journey as we lived it – that ahead lay possibilities undreamed of and a hundred thousand possible endings.

I am not sure I believe now.

Or is it only me? A sad, silly creature, trapped in the tangled web of past experiences, destined to make the same mistakes over and over, unconscious promptings of failure pricking at the small undulations of hope and change that I yearn to find within the tangled skein of a life without purpose.

My lot was set in the meandering ravings of some insane universal cosmic force and as I gaze uncomprehending at the figure gazing at me, I find a certain ironic humour in my plight and find it in me to sigh at the inevitability of my own destruction.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Monday, March 16, 2009

Meet the gang ....

Commander Bun Bun and his Guina Pig Frappy - the Commandar was dumped outside a very busy KFC on a very busy street - neighbours found him and brought him to us!

Finn (15 months), Llyr (3 years) - my rescue pups

Regal Scully- Ruadhan's cat rescued from a high kill shelter 10 years ago.

Mulder 'aka' "gangsta cat" my baby, found by neighbours at 4 weeks old, handfed back to life and convinced I'm his mum.

KiKi ...rescued by eldest daughter, meant to be moved out WITH her.... lives on top of our fridge - she hated Maeve's bf ...actually she hates most people .... she is our feral fridge cat!

Schnitzel , humane society rescue, Kealin's prince

Canine Wisdom and Trust ....

I walk in the early morning embrace of dark and pull the night around my shoulders, comforting and familiar. I raise my eyes to the endless sky and sigh despair at the loss of dark, as stars ache and pulsate in frustrated angst in the bleached blue of polluted space, blanched pale in the spill of halogen fouled air, their dying light trapped and unmourned by earthbound eyes.

Turning onto a tree draped street, oasis of quiet and sweet night, I feel the pulse of the moon, hanging radiant in the midnight lair of universal truth, pulsating luminescent concentric light, palely loitering in this pre-dawn moment.

The dogs gambol, oblivious to the tug of their ancestral mistress, minds cluttered with simple joy of stretching muscle and hot breath of lair mate and oblivious to her siren call.

Finn runs free, her legs unfettered by the short human steps of her pack leader, her muzzle raised joyfully to the night air. Caught young and rescued from penury and abuse, she had time to learn the pack way, to learn complete trust and in so doing, true freedom. She runs ahead then pauses, fettered by an invisible bond to my heart and soul, checking and waiting until the aura of our needs meet and meld and reassured, she races again.

Llyr is fettered and hung about with a long umbilical cord of distrust. Beloved but still to learn the pack way, mind and heart clouded by three years of abuse, of short rope and cold and wet and the yearning, wanting, need of looking in from the outside. He has made strides, our Llyr, but still has a long path to take to trust and hope and conviction, to learning leader and internalizing the truth of being cherished and adored and looked after.

And I understand my beautiful boy even while my heart aches.

For one of the most crucial elements in any relationship, to my mind, is trust. Without trust, how can someone put themselves, totally and completely, nothing held back, into another's control?

Trust is a fragile entity, deceiving in that when given with a whole heart, it is incredibly strong, an apparently unbreakable steel band reaching from the heart and soul of one to another.

How utterly sad thus, when one feels they are reaching and connecting to the other's soul and are in fact only touching the surface - fleeting emotions masked as sincerity. Because trust is fragile, easily broken and difficult to mend.

For many, the need to belong is a driving force of their individuality – a conundrum in its own way.

I feel many are caught up in a terrible cycle of joy, giving of trust and crushing disappointment as their honestly given belief is used and then crushed. Compelled by nature to feel unfulfilled without that special bond, a terrible cycle of hope, joy and crushing disappointment plays out again and again.

Trust (or lack thereof) is probably the most pivotal issue in any relationship. It can define, enhance, sublimate and transcend so many other emotions.

Conversely, a lack of trust can sound the death knell for any dynamic. For not trusting is far more detrimental and destructive than almost any other element in the give and take of any life.

I feel the tug as my doubting one tests the limits of his trust and call gently to him, tethering him with tenderness and reassurance. He comes to me then, good boy, smiling up with his silly grin and I reward his trust with caress and gentle word.

The part of me that hearkens to dark lair and blazing fire and the advent of night and terror of the dark denizens that rule its endless hours, feels with an atavistic sixth sense the coming of the light. For though the night wheels above me with abandon, though the moon throbs in a velvet blue sky and the stars cry out soundlessly their death knell, I feel beyond the arching horizon the symphony of life and light and the coming of the dawn.

We turn the corner and with soft hands, I release my boy to join his littermate for a moment of true freedom ... hearkening back to their wolfish roots they stretch their necks and swiftly fly through the waning night, tongues lolling, muscles flexing and for a moment, in their minds they follow the wild hunt through the forest of the night, and in their minds, the hot sweet scent of prey entices and lends wings to their swift feet...

I stand and watch and my heart leaps at their abandon and I yearn for the same sense of freedom; a freedom unfettered, untethered but safe. Embraced and beloved, allowed to fly but content and secure in the knowledge that you are cherished and loved, as finbar put it so aptly...

So, unburdened, fearless,
you sail the airand conquer the blue,
in the tug and pull of this Thanksgiving sky,
in the promise that you are tied and bound
by a Master’s hand that
will hold you tethered
so you can fly.

(Tethered, f-cynr)

And sighing, call them to my side, my broken wings trailing bedraggled on the ground, the trailing rope of my binding frayed and snapped like the broken trust whose sharp, serrated edges snapped my belief.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Soapbox Thursday: Men are NOT hard done by...

Pull up soapbox, brushes it off, then steps up. Clears throat.

OK, so I’ve been doing a bit of surfing (bad selkies surf when work is not busy) and am seeing a trend (again) – rants from female submissives about how HARD their men have it… that FEMINISM has created a situation where they (the women) are forced into the workforce, where the “natural order” – men as big, strong protectors (their words, NOT mine), women as soft, gentle, caretakers and homemakers, no longer have the option to fulfill their “natural” roles.


First, agreed that the stay at home mum/wife is getting scarcer and scarcer out there. But blaming FEMINISM for it? Umm, first, I KNOW there are lots of families out there that have both partners working just to put food on the table. But while I’m out on a limb making assumptions here, I believe that a lot of the ones I see whining about the ‘upset’ in the ‘natural order’ are working… why? Because big BAD feminists decided they had to?

Guess the two cars in the driveway aren’t the reason… or the kids’ swimming/dancing/acting/sports activities … and it wouldn’t be the fact that you feel you NEED and DESERVE 4000 square feet of house? Or the big screen TV? or how about the twice yearly family vacations?

Get the picture?

These are CHOICES people are making.

Our consumerist society dictates individual needs more and more. Cellphones? MUST have? High speed internet – that is a NECESSITY not a desire. Corporate America (speaking generically, big business generally) has successfully convinced a couple of generations now that material goods are not luxuries but necessities, that people are “entitled” to the big house, the big car, the most up-to-date electronics. Coupled with a trend in society GENERALLY that has created generations of individuals who feel they are entitled to go into debt to satisfy their DESIRES (not their needs), that to ‘deprive’ oneself is somehow going to cause emotional and spiritual damage, and welcome to the Great Depression, circa 2009.

And this all somehow the FEMINIST movements fault?

Let’s look at REALITIES HERE.

  • The feminist movement has ACTUALLY fought long and hard to ensure that women who go out to work get some level of decent wage – commensurate with their experience and their efforts and NOT based on the fact they have a vagina.
  • The feminist movement has (is) working hard to ensure that women – even part-timers (and woman make up most of this segment of the workforce) – are entitled to some form of benefits – you know, ‘frivolous things like dental and health care, vacation time, sick leave.
  • The feminist movement has grasped the reality that more than half the female population working are the PRIMARY supporters of their family and as such, deserves the SAME level of respect, wage and benefits as a man.
  • The feminist movement has and continues to fight for EQUAL pay for work of EQUAL value – because they figured out a while ago, that being given a smaller pay package and less benefits simply by virtue of being FEMALE is not FAIR?? Not when you’re working the same number of hours at a job that requires a similar level of expertise and education.
  • The feminist movement had fought valiantly to give women a CHOICE. To swim in the corporate boardrooms, or to stay at home, to have children or to not have children .. to pursue a higher education or not, if working because you don’t choose to, then I would bet money that it is because of “desires” for consumer goods not because you MUST. And if it is necessity for basics that drives the need to work, then that is not the doing of feminists but a society that puts little value on women’s efforts and the children who are going to come after us.

I do not and never have seen men as dominant simply because they have a penis dangling between their legs. I do not see all women as submissive simply by virtue of possessing a vagina.

The “traditional” role being bleated as the Shangri-la of relationship nirvana is, in my opinion, largely a myth perpetuated by saccharine television programs and magazines bent on selling an image.

The reality is that other than through a short period in the 50s and 60s, women have ALWAYS had to work to support their families. The Victorian era ultimately created and perpetuated the myth of the delicate woman and the manly protector who cherished and took care of them. Oh wait, that was ONLY for a very small group of women… the richer ones…. yeah, oh yeah, just remembered, the VAST majority of women were working 16 hours days in factories, their babies at their feet, toiling dusk to dawn on farms, begging on the streets….Medieval times? no days off, you know .. maids, peasants, farmworkers, fodder for the mills …

Oh, yeah and during the two world wars … women somehow managed to take care of hearth and home AND work in the bomb factories, pick up the slack as the men went to war, cope very well with juggling the myriad tasks needed to run society ….

Of course once the men returned, jobs were needed and women were THEN convinced to go back to their “natural” roles.

  • Feminism means that your daughters have more than a fighting chance of having a decent life.
  • Feminism means that they don’t get sold off for prostitution at 6 or 7 years of age (as in Thailand).
  • Feminism means that they have the same value under the law as your sons (ostensibly- the reality is slightly different but the intent is nonetheless clear). (Unlike in India, Pakistan, most of the Middle East, Asia and most of the Africas).
  • Feminism means your daughters are as entitled to an education as your sons – NOT the case in most of the world.
  • Feminism means your daughter is entitled to make her own choices and get married- or not – to her choice of partner.
  • Feminism means your daughter is entitled to her sexuality and not subject to be mutilated as in many countries (to wit, Somalia one of the worst offenders)
  • Feminism means that YOU have more of a chance of getting a decent wage for your hard work.

Feminism means if you CHOOSE, you and your partner CAN decide on lifestyle which suits you – including the ostensible “traditional” ones … and you can live it mainstream (keeping the kinkier aspects private) –

I’m not knocking people choosing to live as alpha male, submissive female. I made choices myself – including giving up a career I worked my ass off to excel in to accommodate my kids and many MANY years of a D/s dynamic – but I don’t for one moment ascribe those CHOICES to d. having a penis and me NOT.

Climbs down of soapbox, puts away until next week.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Breath Control

Heat against my back, smooth skin sliding against its pale freckled expanse and the hot heavy feel of him against the firm cheeks of my ass, probing and moist and making me catch my breath.

His arm around me, muscles flexing, hand cupping, squeezing, pulling the soft flesh, pinching until looking down, I see the imprint of his fingers on the pale skin, blushing pink then crimson. blooming flowers of hurt.

Neck arched, his breath warm against the pale blue vein pulsing beneath alabaster skin, I shiver in anticipation and wiggle back against him, mutely begging.

His hand goes down, trailing fingers along long thigh then digs into the soft meat of the inner softness and I mewl and pull my leg up and he slips in, hot, hard, filling and probing and taking, thrusting want into warm capitulation.

He hums against the curve of my neck and his hands slide along my body, reading its shivering need with gossamer touches that flame lust into yearning skin.

He is in me and I am around him and the pressure is intense and the stretching, pushing want sparks a heavy aching craving and I shudder in the prison of his demanding embrace and my fingers cling to the muscular forearm and my hips move against him, captive in their need.

I close my green gaze and the world becomes the heated, humid reality of our bodies, moving rhythmically and dancing the dance of want and lust and I sigh capitulation as his teeth fasten in my shoulder and I feel the pressure of their need to sink deep into muscle and sinew…and I sink deep into the space of quiet.

Fingertips caress the throbbing column of my neck where my breath comes short and hot, tender blue vein throbbing life into the staccato beat of heart, thrusting blood and oxygen through the heated caldron of my yearning breast. Soft, soft, his fingers touch, explore, as if blind they seek the texture, measure and feel of a much beloved prey.

They encircle, gentle tender pads kissing promise into the arched vulnerability, and his hips thrust against me and distracted, I moan to the eddying miasma of smoky lust permeating the close air of the room.

Coolness trickling down, licking shivering into the trembling of my hips and swollen warmth as he pulls away and I cry, inarticulate, needy and his fingers tighten as his hips swing meaning and he surges into the clinging swollen folds of me and my breath catches in my throat.

He hums demand against the slope of shoulder, glistening in the muted light of the window which spills diffused light along the writhing flesh of our lust and I feel his fingers tighten.

I swallow, convulsively and feel the pressure of his need against the air which trickles through my labouring lungs. His fingers bind my neck in a circle of promise and a hint of threat that makes my hips buck hard against him and the soft moistness swell up and over the throbbing muscle of him.

I feel the thud of his heart pounding need against my back, strong, vibrant sounds that sink through the delicate skin and through muscle and sinew to capture the staccato of my own heart as it thuds harshly in the prison of my chest and his fingers tighten and the breath constricts in a convulsive swallow of hope.

His breath is harsh against my ears, in and out, in and out and I feel the circle of his love press possibility into my throat and my eyes unfocus and I concentrate on the in and out, in and out of his breath (faster now) as his hips thrust want into the needing, clinging folds and sounds are muted and I drift …
The tempo increases and I feel the hot, hard ache deep in my belly , insubstantial, drifting, my focus on the harsh sound of my own breath, loud now in my ears and I feel the trembling want in me and the possibility as he growls demand along the vulnerable aching curve of my mortality and dimly, I’m aware that my chest is aching as my lungs sear and pump panic that is diffused by the part of me that accepts …

and his fingers tighten and I feel him, hot and liquid, flame within me and my hips push weakly back and my mind explodes in a searing conflagration of his demands that pump ownership into the softness of my capitulation and his fingers tremble slightly then steady as he exerts iron control and a small, slim, whisper of air slips from between his careful grasp as he allows life to claim egress and he groans into the throbbing vein of my existence and then his fingers lighten and then fall away ….

and in the muted light of the room, the marks of almost flare crimson and then his soft lips caress the reminders of his need and his tongue licks comfort and I gasp and my chest labours as I pull air into the mute agony of lungs and feel him, liquid and moist, between my thighs and feel content and as my breath softens and quietens, and my lungs calm, I nestle into him, soft smooth skin against my back, enveloped and cherished in his heat, soreness as I swallow, quietly in the muted room skittering flame along my throat.


Moments … seconds in time, blink, change, gone, blink, and the reverberations echo, concentric circles of impact radiating out into the blankness of time yet to come. Silence … one thinks of silence between the waves of motion and eddies of want and desire, conscious, unconscious, needful and obsessed. But change is quiet only if your ears are tightly shut against the realities of the battering against your spirit and mind.

I think change is loud. I think it screams and writhes and mumbles and yells but because it is such an intrinsic part of our daily existence, we have learned to tune it out.

Change is, in essence, “white noise”.

Static and life, are after all, mutually exclusive – for even when still, the body itself is constantly in action, lungs breathing, heart beating, the flow if blood through veins, the snapping of synapses in the brain …. QUIET - complete and utter stillness, means of course, death.

Whether embraced or not… looked for or denied, change will happen. It happens in the minute aging of our bodies, the slow release of collagen, the siren call of gravity, the almost imperceptible delay in synapse and reaction … it occurs in how we view the world, in the undulating ever-changing reality of our relationships with friends, family and lovers.

We are, by definition, mutable beings. Whether we choose to or not, change happens to all of us.

Each of us makes our own choice as to how we deal with. There are those who close their eyes tight, who block their ears and cover their mouths and like the three monkeys, Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil …

Once upon a time, this proverb (popularly ascribed to Japanese origin). admonished people to avoid gossip, avoid nosiness… today the popular interpretation is used to describe people who turn a wilful blind eye to things they should deal with.

and thus while one may deny change, while an individual can pretend it is not occurring, the reality of its impact and effect on our lives cannot be either ignored or denied.

We age. Jobs metamorphose, sometimes into responsibilities and demands we don’t recognize. Children grow. And because we are living, mutable beings, our inner motivations, our inner desires and the often insubstantial , unnameable motivations that consciously or unconsciously drive us to make the choices, the decisions, to take the paths and start on the journeys we choose are constantly in flux … constantly moving.

Intangible, ethereal and often tentative, like infants learning to walk, each of us at some point steps forward onto uncertain ground…. ground we’re not sure is firm, ground which reflects back the will-o-wisp of perhaps and maybe and might be.

And sometimes, it takes every ounce of strength, every modicum of desire, and ultimately, faith that we will survive to take that step.
And in the end, it comes down to the reality that change WILL happen and the only comfort we have is that we can CHOOSE the direction in which to step. Whether religious or not, each of ultimately makes the leap to faith … sometimes daily and sometimes knowing that the path ahead is obscure with no guarantees that it leads to a future with hope.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Recoil - Breath Control

LOVE this ...

Just "stuff"

  • I really really really HATE the whole time change thing. I get up at 3:30 a.m. regardless; this morning with the "spring ahead" it is (despite what my clock says), 2:30 in the friggin morning - or should I say MIDDLE of the night ... I hadn't changed my car clock SO at 4:45 a.m. this dark "morning", I am barrelling down the DVP to work - I do not LIKE green eggs and ham ....

  • my children informed me last week that my lower back tattoo (see here) is called a "Tramp Stamp" . nice. sighs.

  • my back yard is like the moors .... a quagmire of sticky, filthy mud .... which now means that I spend roughly every 35 seconds washing the floors as the bloody dogs track muddy pawprints in and out .... as the weather has been relatively balmy (if bloody wet) they feel compelled to constantly come in and out.

  • Dog No. 2 - Llyr has officialy had his "good shepherd" award retracted... having only recently earned it. Helping himself to the balance of a prime rib of beef of the kitchen counter while we were eating in the dining room does NOT a good shepherd make ...

  • I love reading blogs. But people truly need to break their thoughts up into paragraphs ... one long, never-ending stream of words is confusing and hard to track and usually results in me NOT reading ... no matter how captivating the thoughts.

  • I truly need to find the time to update my reading list; I tend to 'do the rounds' but my list has not been updated in a while which is inconsiderable of me - I will get to it, I promise! sometime soon....

  • a welcome to all the cool new people I've been noting on here - looking forward to getting to know you!

  • I'm seeing a new "trendy" thing going around ... a question the blogger person who is supposed to answer - does anyone REALLY have any questions for me?? Truth? I can't imagine but if you do, fire away via here or an email ....not anticpating any and not promising anything if there ARE but hey, why NOT jump on the bandwagon?

  • I yearn for my garden ... but have massive amounts of work to do. After d. put up the fence to keep the bad shepherds IN and not running the roads and scaring the neighbours, everything was pulled up, pulled down or trampled on - so a COMPLETELY new garden is in the offing ...

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Kink...wherefore art thou -Part the Second

Read Part 1 here

For ultimately, I think what creates a sense of shame in us, is a perception that what we are doing would somehow be judged “wrong” or “perverted” or “twisted” by the society in which we all exist – on a macro level. On a micro level, a perception that a practice for which we yearn is seen by someone we adore as off-putting or disgusting is a sure-fire way to kill the desire.

I believe that the level of abhorrence created is a direct result of our own upbringings, the influences and effects of our real life experiences. In short, we feel shame because we have been taught, usually from an early age, to believe that to do what we are doing is wrong. That it somehow betrays a spurious and what I believe to be, a false sense of decency that it is somehow against the rules of a god created by MEN.

In short, to explore the wonderful capabilities of the physical bodies we enjoy is somehow perverted, twisted and in the strictest sense, betrays what is perceived to be a higher spiritual realm of being.

And this is particularly and unfortunately very true when it comes to the expression of any sexuality; throw a bit of kink into the mix and the swish it around with religious mores, societal-imposed strictures and good old-fashioned prejudices and sometimes it’s amazing anyone can enjoy any kind of sexuality!

I credit my good Irish Catholic parents for being pretty amazing people in that I managed to avoid most of that! Unfortunately, very few people have been as fortunate.

Any strictures in hindsight that I placed on the fulsome and perfect delight and enjoyment of my sexuality were in most cases, incorporated by me because of some perception (real or imagined) that what I was proposing to enjoy was `wrong` - such reaction garnered through the reactions engendered by the proposal or exploration of that act.

In other words, hyper sensitive as I am to reactions and empathetic to a frightening degree to those for whom I care, even the perception that they find my needs repulsive in any way is enough for me to grasp that desire and crush it, put it away deep in the far realms of my soul. Wounded, I will strike it from any possibility of being brought into being again and feel in the secreting away of a whispered need, mortified and ashamed.

This, when all is said and done, is probably what MOST of us ultimately fear most? To be rejected for who we are; to be denied because the essence of what we seek is in eyes of the one we love, somehow wrong, perverted or disgusting.

And yet, I understand that each of us is to a greater or lesser extent, victims of our past.

Even if we KNOW that the one whose approbation we crave would probably like it, we perhaps cannot escape the strictures of early lessons and feel, in the deep, hidden part of our psyche, that while rationally we understand our loved one not only embraces that part of us but fulsomely ENJOYS it, that secret part of our id rails that they don’t REALLY feel that way ... that to open ourselves like this will engender disgust, repudiation and denial.

And that can be quite soul-destroying. And often is the reason many of us seek to avoid even the possibility of such denial and repudiation by refusing ourselves even the possibility of that exploration.

Which I find so utterly sad. Because in a perfect world, of course, those we love would accept us and even revel with us in the enjoyments and realities of what provides such sublime pleasure.

Submissives in particular I think are prone to crave the dominant “telling” them to feel this, do that, experience this – in a way suspending the responsibility for pursuing a desired action. It is fairly clearly a way of avoiding responsibility – for while the enjoyment garnered from what is perceived as a “forbidden” act is considerable and at times, overwhelming, it’s not fair really to put the entire responsibility onto the shoulders of the other person. At one and the same time, dominants often accept and even relish the responsibility as it gives them further license to enjoy their full measure of control.

The bottom line is I think it crucial that every single individual look deep within themselves, honestly and clearly, and find the impetus that drives the level of sexuality and spiritual fulfillment they seek. Embrace it, enjoy it and work hard at jettisoning any sense of shame or self-loathing engendered by honest emotions and the needs of your body. Be open and honest with your partner and see if opening the window allows the light to pour in....

Kink...wherefore art thou? Part the First

Kink wherefore art thou?

Perusing some of my good reads lately, I noticed a number of writers talking about the dichotomy they feel in allowing themselves the luxury of enjoying their kink. I’m not going to embarrass anyone by linking as admitting to a secret shame is not something I would betray (even if it is in a public blog).

But it got me musing...

Somehow, along the convoluted skein of life experience, I missed the knot where it said I was supposed to be ashamed of my sexuality.

In the scheme of thing (or at least in the context of the times and the environment in which I grew up), I wasn’t particularly promiscuous- in fact, probably the opposite. I was fortunate to have (despite some brutal self esteem issues about looks and abilities); enough sense of self to not feel compelled to fall prey to the self-serving interests of adolescent boys.

Yet it wasn’t a matter of not having a sense of sexuality nor feeling urges; the opposite in fact. For as long as I can remember I was aware and enjoyed the pleasures of my body. In hindsight, meditation for selkie has always involved a complete surrender to the immediate “now” of the body; from stretching my legs out when racing as a child, to the hot slick feel of sweat and swish of tire when I cycle, to the sweet deliciousness of my hand between my legs in my bed....

Even before puberty, I remember pleasuring myself, finding myself entranced and delighted by what my wandering, curious mind and clever fingers could induce.

And when I discovered what it could REALLY do, I was hooked.

And didn’t feel in the least embarrassed or hung up or conflicted, nope, not even a little.

And this was way back when I believed in the guy in the sky; but the way I reasoned, is he GAVE me this body? Right? With all the bits that when touched this way, and pulled that way, and rubbed here... well, just WORKED ... so where’s the sin??

And when I made the decision to widen the scope of possibilities with D., I still didn’t feel any guilt or regret... nope, not even a smidgen. I know that was partially because the time chosen was on my terms and not through coercion, guilt-induced capitulation or a need for affirmation.

And my delight in my body just increased exponentially as how the two of us connected simply exploded into 30+ years of explosive sexuality (with a few hiatus and false starts with other explorations in my earlier years after D.’s initial introduction).

Again, in hindsight, from the beginning, there was a certain flavour of kink involved; not named or labelled, but very much there, that in my innocence I saw simply as a deliciousness of emotion and thought and feeling and perception engendered, simply and fully, because that is what happened between two such as we and in all honesty, I had very little experience against which to measure my explorations!

Once embraced, I accepted my sexuality and its exploration with an exuberant, no-holds-barred delight that was (he later told me) a shock.... a delightful, eagerly accepted, indulged and enjoyed one, but a shock nonetheless.

And then, years later, we recognized and labelled our dynamic, and in doing so, opened ourselves to the exploration of so much more, and in the discovery found a level of sensation and an intensity of awareness that soared into the realm of spirituality.

It’s sometimes difficult to see a situation in which one is involved, with a measure of rationality and without the intrusion of conscious and unconscious prejudice, so with that in mind, these are my perceptions (and mine only) of the way in which one does or does not embrace the full spectrum of your sexuality.

I know that I had absolutely no brakes on when it came to exploring the limits of sensation with him. There was, of course, first and foremost, an intrinsic (and I thought unbreakable) trust; I knew he would never go beyond what he thought my body, mind and spirit could tolerate (and in fact, sometimes not as far as I would like, my yearnings, when induced and in freefall, were probably not entirely best left to my discretion as all sense would sometimes escape as I sought nirvana).

And truth be told, I have had a voracious delight in pushing the level of sensation experienced beyond the point of no return. When one doesn’t see the harm in exploring the limits of mind and body, then there is no need to limit oneself if the trust is there and the safety guaranteed.

It is my nature I have learned, that to focus on the immediate, I need grounding; grounding achieved through physical means... from the simplicity of yoga to the focus engendered by his hand on my bottom, the sting of falls against my back, the sharp, sweet nip of clamps or his fingers around my neck and the achingly erotic constriction of breath....

Only then, brought to the edge, focused on the immediate and the now, have I been truly able to soar, to let go of the stresses and worries of an anxious nature, to in short, release my will completely and inexorably into another’s hands, his hands.

And the reality that sometimes it took pain to bring me there fazed me not in the least. I never once felt odd or twisted or disgusting. In fact, I gloried in the sensations and found it entrancing that we had been so clever to find this path to full sexual expression.

But part of being a submissive is often having a hyper awareness of the other’s level of arousal, his peak of excitement, what engenders for him the commensurate level of delight and in so doing, in those moments of knowledge, I found some measure of the shame, the secret embarrassment spoken of by some of my blogging friends.

part two to follow

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Faith - or not

If God is a fly on the wall, Nanny, hand me the flyswatter. (Gaby Brimmer)

When I was a child, I had a concrete vision of the soul. In the way of children, envisioning the insubstantial, unproven and questionable reality of what in essence is the core of every human being (or so we were taught) necessitated a vision of what that looked like.

For me, the soul was a small, somewhat spherical object- around the size of an apricot. A soft, aged ivory (for the shining, blinding purity of pure white was destined only for god and for the odd saint), it would feel warm and real in your hands (had you been able to hold it), full of gentle undulating hills and valleys with a tender, soft texture, a unique tapestry of the individual to whom it belonged, unlike anyone else’s and as exclusive to one person as fingerprints.

Sinning would darken the surface of the soul, a creeping, gray cloud of proof of your fall from grace…. the severity of the sin dictating the level of darkness and size of the area to which it spread. Confession of course would result in the magnificent, sweeping cleansing of your soul, the darkness obliterated in honest regret and sorrow at your transgressions. I was always grateful (then) to be Catholic and to have that incalculable opportunity of erasing all wrongdoing.

Somewhere along my path the past few years, I lost my soul.

I remember feeling it slipping, the slight sharp pain as the tendons and muscles keeping it snug within my chest began to loosen, snapping in the sharp wind of disbelief, shredding as doubts scissored revelation into tattered fragments of thought and belief slowly bloated and decomposed in the cloying heat of betrayal.

The hole which it left in my chest, though outwardly not apparent, has turned out to be an insidious, creeping rot leading to the ultimate destruction (and only lately am I wondering, re-creation) of who and what I am.

I sometimes feel insubstantial as mist, and see eddies of personality, of creativity, of individuality drifting away on the soft breeze of change, their moorings lost in the undulating, changing sea of lost beliefs. Sometimes, I feel as if I exist only as a reflection in someone else’s eyes – a one dimensional cut-out, to be moved and placed and dressed at another’s whim.

I feel removed from who I once thought I was – it as if I have already experienced death and like the recollections of those who have died and come back, see myself outside the corporeal reality of this body. Or conversely, it is as if I look behind me and wonder who that person WAS? She is a stranger to me, that silly woman, with her obdurate insistence on believing not just in god but in people in her life – this despite the overwhelming multitude of reasons NOT to.

I think that when you lose faith, there is a seismic eruption in the way in which you perceive the world.

One of the hardest lessons from this loss of faith was the necessity of redefining what I thought were the absolutes of memory. Because apparently, the way I remembered things was not the way the realities occurred, but were coloured by my naivety and trust, at the time offered up with a patina of credulousness.

Woven in the undulating reality of my aghast comprehension is a dark, sticky thread of rage, smaller than the skein of loss, less substantial than the thread of hopelessness but nonetheless insidious and concrete. Rage erupting from the knowledge that the leaching away of hope and belief is an inevitable consequence of a barrage of unpalatable truths and the revelation of lies, shot accurately and unerringly in the very spots where they will sustain the most damage.

You see, the problem with “absolutes” and the “leap of faith” (although technically, Søren Kierkegaard to whom this phrase is attributed, said leap to faith) is that when somehow you lose the capacity to make that leap, then there is a sudden awareness that the ground itself on which you stand is insubstantial and quaking beneath your feet.

Losing my ability to believe in an absolute like god was simply one facet of a complete and utter comprehension that my entire viewpoint was skewed and the interpretation of my world was at best, slanted, and at worst, incalculably tainted.

One thing it does is make one humble!

I’m always in awe of those who continue, despite perhaps, good and solid reasons NOT to, continue to believe.

In god, yes, but also that their futures hold hope and possibility. I salute those of you who continue to BELIEVE despite the imprecations of fate and events in lives that leave weaker individuals like myself yelling at the heavens and foreswearing faith ever again.

You’re damn impressive.

And in the meantime, if you happen to come across this little wizened grey object and you’re not entirely sure what the hell it is, just kick it over here, k?

and just because I think this little girl is the cutest little thing on the EARTH and one thing I do continue to have faith in is babies, enjoy this little video!

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Submission - Conclusion (Stand up and be counted)

Read Part ONE here Read Part TWO here Read Part THREE here

I am aware that many couples are open to the submissive and/or dominant seeking a dynamic outside the primary partnership to satisfy the need to submit or to dominate that they are not experiencing in their primary relationship.

I am also aware that many individuals choose to do so without the tacit or conscious permission of the primary partner.

That is a choice the individual makes. Not one I personally choose but certainly not one I am prepared to judge anyone on either! The one thing I do know is that I cannot speak to anyone’s life but my own; I don’t walk in another’s shoes, I do not deal with their stressors or the day to day realities of their life.

The one thing I have learned in my half century plus of life is that there are no absolutes. I have also been granted the wisdom to understand that extenuating circumstances DO occur... that individuals make choices they are not always thrilled about but make based on choosing the best alternatives to untenable situations.

In short, I cannot live someone`s else`s life; I cannot judge someone else`s choices because each of us must follow our own moral compass, based on the unique circumstances in each of our lives.

So, to be clear, while I believe good, moral people sometimes make choices that potentially could harm others, I believe they do so in full acceptance of their responsibilities, taking full ownership of their choices and being open and honest about their course of action. I can respect that.

However, I also believe that there are many individuals out there, particularly in Cyberia who make a choice to seek a Master or submissive (online and/or offline) as a justification for fulfilling what is ultimately, a sexual desire.

They just dress it up by saying it is a “need” their primary partner is not meeting. “My wife doesn’t understand me”. “My husband doesn’t respond to my emotional needs”. Not really all that different from the excuses that have been used for decades to justify indiscretions. They use the word `vanilla` in a derogatory and dismissive manner.

I bring this up because in the context of this discussion, I believe it important. It is in some ways what launched these thoughts.

Because to justify what you know is a betrayal of someone in your life who you purport to love and respect is something I believe should be undertaken with full understanding of your motives, in full acceptance of your responsibilities and in FULL comprehension of the “why” you are doing it.

I comprehend completely that each us must weigh our personal needs, our desires and our `wants` and as mature adults, make decisions based on our understanding of what we feel we must have in our lives.

All I feel is that be honest about it. TAKE responsibility and don`t pretend that you are being `forced` by your very nature to make choices you would otherwise avoid! Because these are CHOICES we are making, NOT physiologically-induced imperatives against which we cannot fight.

Just accept responsibility

Anyone reading me for any length of time will quickly learn one of my triggers is people refusing to take responsibility.

Meeting your DESIRE to submit, your CRAVING to dominate is NOT the same as a physiological need to eat, to breathe the air or illuminate ... those are things over which we have no control, that in order to live, we must fulfill.

Each of us makes conscious decision every single day of our lives. To do so is simply being human. But those choices are made without coercion.

I don’t deny there are not repercussions to denying something that intrinsically and consciously satisfies a need in our minds and hearts – and yes, I DO believe that the intensity of submission (and consequent profundity of domination) create a state of bliss that is hard (if not impossible) to achieve otherwise, but there are ALWAYS consequences....

If one is prepared to live with those consequences, and conscience and heart are comfortable with your decision, then your life will be balanced in its own way.

Because ultimately life is all about balancing consequences.

So to get back to the question? Can one “put away submission in a little box?”

Yes, one can. It will ache with a desperate intensity that sometimes feels overwhelming. It is an amputation that creates a constant and profound sense of loss. But when the alternative means an ache and loss of another and even more devastating kind, then yes, you can suppress it.

Because when all is said and done, life is ALL about choices. Just be prepared to deal with the consequences if your choices come back to haunt you.