Tuesday, March 31, 2009

...and then there was truth

From a Tumblr I follow....


“A mathematical truth is timeless; it does not come into being when we discover it. Yet its discovery is a very real event…”

With this Schrödinger notes a Platonic problem: mathematical truths exist apart from us. That is, for example, before humans existed it was still true that “the square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides,” as the Pythagorean theorem states.

This would remain “true” even if the Earth were smashed into rocky mist by an asteroid or humanity annihilated by its own weaponry. It would be true were life never formed: triangular shapes would conform to it. Its truth as a descriptive theorem is not dependent on our minds, we would say.

Yet in the famous words of Richard Rorty:

“Truth cannot be out there—cannot exist independently of the human mind—because sentences cannot so exist, or be out there. The world is out there, but descriptions of the world are not. Only descriptions of the world can be true or false.”

Truth cannot exist without sentences, as truth is a word. It has certain unusual qualities (transitive qualities, symmetry, etc.), but that we call those elements of its syntax ‘mathematical’ or ‘logical’ doesn’t mean they’re not of human (and linguistic) origin. So it would seem that mathematical knowledge is merely a sort of description, right? It is a highly reliable and repeatable description that abstracts forms of the natural world to make them more universal, better for operations, but it remains descriptive. “Two” describes things; “parallel” describes things; “true” describes things.

But Will mentioned circles -perfect circles- and their relationship to the universe. Such circles do not exist: they cannot be said to be descriptive, then; yet laws involving circles are everywhere in effect in our universe. The explanation of such laws by mathematicians has the quality of discovery: we found them! Yet it seems rather that we’ve created them! Yet they exist without us, at least inasmuch as the universe operates according to the principles they establish!

Is this a contradiction? Can you resolve it (in 140 characters)? Are mathematical laws human descriptions or qualities of the universe?


24-7 in 3 recap

[To the tune of "Teenage Riot," "Sugar Kane," "Bull in the Heather," "Self Obsessed and Sexxee," "Kool Thing" - Sonic Youth; "Cherry Chapstick" - Yo La Tengo // on repeat and turned up real loud]

One of my memo tasks for this past week was to write a re-cap of the weekend in Switzerland. It's time to let that weekend rest. It's been buzzing in my mind to the point where I feel consumed by a bee hive between my ears and a high-speed electric beater in my belly.

It's very strange to know exactly what I want to do with my life for the next phase, but not knowing how to get there.

There is something blossoming inside me. I can feel it in the deepest pit of my belly and in my exploding heart. It's almost like leaning my face into the most beautiful flower ever seen, looking at this aching beauty, its perfect petals, its intricate pattern, its most sweet color. It's so beautiful it hurts to look at it. It's so perfect in its expression of naturalness and existence. It just is. It was made this way and it just is this way. It's terrifying in its perfection and overwhelming. So overwhelming I want to look away and cry. It burns my eyes and I want to weep at how such beauty is possible.

This turmoil, this growth, this spring bloom - I have to remember to enjoy it while I frenzy about and while I stretch to let all the air and sunlight in. It is always in the periods of confusion and lack of direction that I end up finding my way. So, I am watching it, feeling it, aching with it, rolling around giggling with it, beating it down, tenderly loving it, fearing it, drowning it, and appreciating it. There will be an end to this stage and I'll emerge better off and renewed for the next chapter. For now, I have to ride this out and remind myself that the journey is the destination.

"It was my first understanding of the difference between process and goal, my first awareness of the truth that the goal of life is in the living of it." - Henry Miller


I can't write every moment or every feeling from the weekend in Switzerland (aka "homestay"). There was just too much. From the butterflies in my belly the days preceding it, the doubt and fear, to the strange calm on the train that allowed me to do school work reading. From the deep drive to be and do the best, to the laughter over shared jokes. The calming of my mind while wrapped so tightly, to the torture of my body that now turns into Easter egg yellow. The constant swooning and the short bursts of fear. I just can't cover it all here, or in the re-cap I sent to Mr FD. There is just too much. I have changed entirely and I'm not sure what it will mean in the end. Only time will tell and hindsight will confirm.

Friday, 20th:

I traveled up, up, up into the mountains. I hadn't seen snow like this for two years. Piled high and melting as it does in the spring sun. I arrived at the station, waited a bit, and was greeted with a kiss on my right cheek. We went to a nearby cafe and smoked, drank a bit, and talked without formality or tension. The only buzzing was the clock counting down the 1.5 hours before we'd go to his apartment, and I would cross the "threshold" into 3 days of ..... well, at that point I had no idea what.

I took a deep breath at the doorway to his apartment. We didn't start right away, we didn't start heavily. He wanted to ease me into it. In thinking about the gravity of the activities and situation I was entering, I had built up fears of a cruel and torturous exchange. That I'd walk in, be stripped, and beaten right away. Of course, this is not logical and was proven to be just that: imaginary fears. Dominants - if they are not assholes or idiots - do not want to break their toys, but want to court them and seduce them into wanting more.

Me: "I truly hope you can help make me become the best sub that I can be."
Him: My principal plan for the weekend.

After talking and being informal we started in slowly.

Nakedness (with and without sound): I undressed and was naked. Not the kind of naked in the locker room of the gym. Not the kind of naked at a nude beach. Not the kind of naked with a lover. This was raw, plain, transparent, exposing nakedness. It was me, in front of him, for all the world that is in his eyes to see. And when he shut down the PC in the other room, it was completely silent, and my nakedness was even louder.

I wanted to please him with my body in its natural state and was worried he wouldn't find me attractive. I was nervous as hell and my body was tense. He gave me space to "sink into my skin." I was happy I practiced the positions the night before and that he didn’t find it necessary to tweak me much.

Positions - standard, exposition, kneel, on all fours, on all fours higher difficulty (on only elbows and knees).

Schoolgirl gets tied: Yum! I put on the white blouse and green, short skirt. I laid on the wooden floor face down and he tied my arms behind my back and my feet up to my ass.

The first test of trust was through all the emails and exchanges. The second, meeting him at the station - my intuition is expert and I follow her. The third, seeing eye-to-eye in the cafe and hearing my intuition scream "Go for it! Don't even wait the 1.5 hours! Go now! Ok, ok, enjoy the cafe time, but you get it. You've got my approval." The fourth example of trust was when my hands, tied behind my back, started to feel extra funny. Not just the tingling of rope bondage, but the dead weight, can't really lift them anymore feeling. I told him about this and he responded. My mind, where it had just 5 minutes earlier started to grin in the bobbing endorphins of rope on my body, had started to panic a bit for fear of my hands. He untied me and we realized that something was pinched... Well, he explained it all and understood this situation. I was less focused on the pinching or the elbow or the nerve or the veins or the whatever, and more focused on the awesome response I received to a moment of "too much."

Meeting all of my friends: It's a blessing to not have eyes in the back of one’s head to see one's ass. He welcomed me to the bedroom/playroom. I lay on my belly on the bed and one-by-one was introduced to some of my "friends": cane, bee sting (paddle), paddle, nasty motherfucker, bull, and “lola’s friend.” I loved hearing the sound of air moving around him and me, and the anticipation of weight, degree of impact, and spectrum of sensation. For some strange reason, while this all hurt very much and in different intensities of pain, I couldn't help but to giggle. It seems like one of my automatic reactions to this pain was to out-right laugh - and especially, when he caned me. No idea why, but I don't question this beauty. At the last round, I had to recall all their names and then choose one. I went with "bee sting" and had to choose a number. I thought of something like 6, but oh no, nothing below 10. So, we went with 10. And I had to count them out loud. I had such a high, such an incredible feeling, maybe a few tears, a lot of screams, and loved that I was a giggler.

Of course, after every intense activity he provided wonderful aftercare. I'm not going to write about every moment of this intimacy, but I was thoroughly grateful and relieved with the care he gave me. He's well practiced in ... what would one call the art of chakras? Well practiced in moving energy, channeling energy, and the like. So, a big part of aftercare - and some during care - was me, enveloped by his body, being cuddled, and his hands warming and moving me through my chakras. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes I needed to snuggle in closer. Blankets around me. Light caresses, strong holds. And then, good wine or champagne or fine whiskey or rum with smokes.

Saturday, 21st:

The pee experiment: Since I have a pee fetish, I was warned about being micro-managed in this area. I had to ask when I needed to go. And on Saturday, when I asked, he wanted to know how long I could hold it. Half hour? Good, go get me a glass of water and help yourself to one, too. Maybe four tall glasses of water later my belly was full and pooching out. He led me to the bathroom, into the shower, and squatting with my hands outside the shower stall on the bathroom floor (making me lean over and making it harder to get the pee out). Simultaneously, I had to poop. Ugh. To get the pee out, I'd have to push. To push would make me go poo. Mannnnn.... Since I couldn't pee, I had to drink more water. And then jump up and down. Back to the shower and if I couldn't pee, then he'd have to leave me to do both and I'd have to clean up. Ughhhhh! I started to cry. It was so much pressure and I didn't want to make a big ol' mess. He left me for a second and I was able to switch the levers in the Wizard of Oz control room in my brain. "Wait, wait, I can do it! I can pee!" [To a vanilla reader I'm sure this is so weird.] He came back in, praised me, and let me use the toilet alone.

Protocol: Not only did I have to ask to use the bathroom, but by the end of "homestay" I asked for drinks and food and my smoking was controlled by his decision. I said thank you after any demonstration of his goodwill toward me. And when I'd forget, he'd remind me. I loved this so much more than I ever thought I would. I'm a pretty fucking independent person - raised to be so through traveling and military life, cursed to be so through my own nature. But I found myself realizing that I wanted more than anything to give this to him. Trust him enough that I knew I could stop thinking about myself, and instead, demonstrate my appreciation of his status by deferring to his judgment.

Meals: Our first meal and he cooked this incredible mash-up of lovely smelling food. I juiced the oranges and cleaned up the rope and toys and stirred the mash-up while he showered. I got a big dog bowl to eat out of. My arms behind my back, my nose covered in sauces, my tongue stretching to reach the crevice of the bowl. For the last bits he let me use my hands. I forgot to say thank you and was poignantly and properly reminded on my hands and knees with cane swats, repeating "thank you" over and over.

From "Insert: Dreaming" March 8: I asked my parents why they spanked me (since it's such a taboo for parents to do now). They both said there was no other way of getting my attention. Explaining or talking sternly to me wasn't enough for a punishment when I did bad things. Grounding didn't really affect me (as a kid - as a teen it had greater consequence) since I could sit in my room and play with my imagination. Scolding didn't do it. Threatening to hit me with a wooden spoon didn't do it. Sitting in the corner didn't do it. But spanking always always got my attention, they said.

We left the apartment once the whole weekend. He wanted to pick up some hooks and screws for the playroom and before we left his apartment for the big world, I got a super sweet treat of a kind of "chastity rope tie" around my belly and cunnie. I've never worn bondage under my clothes. I basically wore what I had on to meet him on Friday: wool tights, fluffy wool skirt and a sweater. The rope fit just fine underneath. Walking was a fun feeling. I was definitely conscious of being with him and didn't forget what the purpose of my "homestay" was. I loved the secret we had from all these other people.

Doggie play: I kneeled on the bed, facing the wall, eyes closed. He put a big, rubber, spiky bone into my mouth and tied it around my head. I closed my arms together, with my hands touching my shoulders, and he wrapped bondage tape around my arms and elbows. I closed my hands and he wrapped bondage tape around them. Bondage tape binding my thighs to my calves and tape around my feet. I was slowly converted into a pink and red doggie. Collared and leashed and taken to the hallway on my bare knees and covered elbows. With a few foot prods, I was told to hurry through the apartment. Oh my god what fun and what a challenge! The competitive nature in me came out and in my mind I was in a race. But with my legs immobile I had to scurry using these muscles I hadn't felt in a while. And scurrying turned to "oh my god this hurts my fucking knees, what's the best way to maneuver quickly?" When I made it back to the playroom, I got a rest on the bed and he took the bone gag out. Then, he sat in a chair and we played fetch. Me, scurrying across the floor for the bone and bringing it back to him. Tiring! Exhausting! And totally fucking brilliant. I loved this beyond belief. I've always loved getting rugburn on my knees after a good fucking on carpet. I've always been a bit of a tomboy. I'm always slightly competitive and love exercise. And, I've always wanted to try being a doggie. My god! What fun! ... The knees are healing still, lovely scabs.

Purple tits, metal saddle, and crying: My breasts were bound tightly. They throbbed and felt like they were pressurized with little chunks of glass – it freaked me out. I got a cloth gag in my mouth and tapped around my head, and was blindfolded. My tits were aching so much. When he caned them it was almost a relief. I tried to communicate this - more caning! more caning! But couldn't. He put me on this metal horse and I tried to stay on my tiptoes. But my tits. My god! They were screaming in my mind and I just couldn't take it any longer and had to come out. I cried and cried and cried. It was a huge breaking point. And again, he proved I could trust him. He let me out, let me cry, and comforted me.

Little girl with socks and Hello Kitty undies. I try to make an omelet without oil (red wine, onions, tomatoes, garlic; eggs; fresh coriander).

Him: "It's okay if it's not perfect. Everyone knows that when little girls are the kitchen it's an experiment." It becomes scrambled eggs. I get to eat with my hands. He says he wants to buy me a little baby bowl and small spoon for eating like this next time. I swoon - again in a million times.

He sits on the couch, I sit on the floor between his legs and get a special pacifier. He touches my body and warms it. Energy flows through me and shoots out my cunnie like sunrays -- or at least, that's how it feels. Tenderness.

I do all the dishes, clean up, and I write a brief explanation of the multiple personalities of Lola (ie, Adam, etc).

I'm not allowed to smoke cigarettes for a couple of hours.

Breath play: tied to a small stool, neck slightly choked with rope, hands behind my back, feet behind me around the stool. He reminds me about my curiousness about the photo on his FetLife of the hooded girl with tube coming out. I channel, I center, I prepare, I am calm. My eyes closed. He puts a plastic bag over my head and reaches between my legs with a vibrator. Intermittently holding the bag tightly where I'm gasping air between erotic huffs.

Then, I'm allowed to get out of the bondage. I sit still and a long tube is inserted into my mouth. I ease into breathing through it and he puts a light clothespin on my nose to practice breathing through my mouth only. I am blindfolded with bondage tape, untied, hands on knees, and wrapped in full hood bondage tape. He picks me off the stool, spins me, pulls me backward so I fall into his arms, spins me again, pushes me gently and then really hard so I fall backwards - onto the bed. There is saliva caught in my mouth and I'm not sure how to get it out, I panick a bit and then calm. He plugs the end of the tube and I can't breathe, then he lets it open again. Then, a breathing exercise where he breaths into the tube and I inhale. Back and forth. Practice giving up control of my breathing to him. It's exhillerating. When I come down I feel high and want to do it again.

[Break, aftercare]

I am in the bedroom, tied spread-eagle to the bed. With the amount of scare-talk and pain discussion, I imagine hours of caning my inner thighs, belly, and breasts. Instead, he removes my Hello Kitty undies and uses them as a mouth gag and I am told to keep my eyes closed. He clamps my pussy lips and slaps my open cunnie. He steps out to let me enjoy the sensations and comes back in, when he asks how I'm doing, I want to convey I'm awake and alert, and instinctually open my eyes. I am reminded not to do this and get the cane to my inner thighs (showing lovely train track bruises still now). The clamps come off and I feel something wet being inserted into my cunnie hole. I saw it the first day I was in the flat - ginger! A figging!

Going off from the writing about "Adam," and the insatiable cunnie hunger, she is filled. And it burns like my whole cunt is on fire. I feel like I'm in a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel. Or, a kinky version of "Like Water for Chocolate." My cunnie is exploding fire balls and will burn alive like a pyre momentarily. It hurts. I'm afraid. It stings. I cry so hard. And moan and groan. My head starts to sway side-to-side like I'm saying no, and I'm thinking this exactly. It's soothing. My head turning side-to-side. Some other movement to express the anguish. A new pacifier, he says. He starts talking about the empty sex I've been having, the Charlie Brown Christmas Song plays in my head, I know it's been empty and longing, I've been trying to fulfill things that aren't possible in these dates. I sob. I sob and sob. Letting go of all the sadness and pent up frustration. I don't want boring, vanilla sex anymore. He tells me I should stop having sad sex. He has no idea how much I want to do so. How much I want to fulfill myself and who I am supposed to be. How I love having sex, but want it with some kick. How I've been craving this kind of release. .... Or, maybe he does know this. Maybe he knows much better than I do. At the end, he puts the vibrator to my clit and I cum and cum and cum and even squirt a little. [The last time I squirted was by myself. The last time I squirted with someone was soooo many years ago.]

After, he holds me for a very, very long time. He had promised me a movie night and I bundle in the blanket and we go to the living room. He pulls down his movie screen and we watch Asoka, a Bollywood fim, and drink and smoke. He goes to the bedroom to work on his back and falls asleep. I fall asleep during the film, wrapped in a blanket, curled up on the floor. I miss the end of the film but he wakes me up and invites me back to the bed with him. And then he reminds me of how I want to experience 24-7, what it is, and how I'm at his bequest. While I might be sleepy, we had a long nap earlier, and he now wants me in the sexiest outfit I brought without too much effort. He wants me to roll a joint and bend over, and make porn for him. He wants a hand job while we have a deeper discussion about what's going on this weekend and what could happen further down the line. He tells me there are some things we should discuss and the direction of going deeper and further. I bring up the most relevant things that seem to impede the possibility of a deeper, longer term experience together: my need for solitude, relative freedom, career, etc. And then we talk more honestly than I could have expected. We call an invisible truce on things we omitted from each other, and we forgive. I am surprised and elated at our disclosures. It makes me feel closer.

Then, he wants to see my porn. My porn. I've only shared the deep, dark, private dreams of my inner mind with maybe 3 people, and only 1 I knew in real life. I'm excited to share and to be free of any secrets. But I'm also so shy about this. He says he likes me shy, but wants me shameless. We try to get off together, but I'm too tired and my cunnie goes shy. We sleep from 8am until when he wakes me at noon, hard and horny, he fills me with his cock and cum.

We nap as best we can and get up at 2pm. Fruit for breakfast and I'm stuffing it into my mouth and he notices how hungry I am and gives me the last bits. I offer him the last pineapple and he takes it. I'm so giddy and I'm so high and oblivious and not paying attention to lessons learned. He had pointed out hours earlier that I should ask if I can have something, like water. I finish the fruit and wash it down with water. I exhale loudly in fullness of the moment, turn to him and see his eyes. A look of "Who do you think you are?" I get a face slap and my eyes tear up. Not for the pain, but for the disappointment and rudeness. He immediately changes the tone of things and makes a joke of me being a silly girl. He brings the conversation to a light place and removes the heavy guilt I could have had.

It's a challenge to break the independence streak, to realize I could be looked after and could be dependent upon this person. I want to be dependent. I respect him for his intellect, taste in music, how well read he is, his caring, his professionalism and expertise in bdsm, his seemingly genuine good-person-with-mean-bastard streak, the way he lives his life and work, his imagination.... and so it's not difficult to want to be the best sub I can be. It's just not automatic in so many regards. I have the feeling I would like to satisfy him, and in turn want to give up the self-consciousness I have, the independence and placement of my regard. This in no way means I become a doormat or a helpless, weak person or forget who I am. Who would want to hang out with that? But it means that my priorities are re-aligned. For example: our night snack of fresh salmon as a sashimi. There were 2 cuts of fish. In wondering if I should cut both or just one, I asked if I could have some, as well - for proportion judging. He suggested I ask, instead, if I should cut both and then serve him, then he'd decide if I should have some (which would happen in this instance - why deprive my starvation if it's good for me and wouldn't complicate anything [reference withholding cigarettes prior to breath play]).

My god, re-reading this just now makes me so wet. "Of course," says my mind. And, "finally," says my being.

Different mind thoughts (priority of wrap-up before the train back to Paris): Me: clean the kitchen, let it all dry while cleaning the bedroom and toys, then pack (thinking of self last); His: pack to be ready to leave any time, clean the bedroom and toys, and then dishes/kitchen - more important to have a sub clean her toys than doing the dishes.

His comment: Yes. Pack first so we can then use time as its best and you don’t forget important stuff such as your camera (silly girl). Also it frees your mind of one mandatory to do and keeps you fully here until leaving time.

And then, the loaned movies, the reading, the homework, the work to center and focus myself between now and the next "homestay." The music. The wine for our last talk about channelizing and if we have anything else to share or discuss. I did not get to shower - to learn to get over being self-conscious, and to keep the scents and stink on me from the past couple of days.

I’m not the main event or the main focus. This, in bdsm, is not about me. And I don’t want it to be about me. Riding the train back, as a grease monkey was a challenge, for sure. I did brush my teeth. Despite the fact I felt I looked disgusting, I continued to notice men noticing me – just like when I was on my way to “homestay.” Leering eyes, hungry eyes. Strange.

Him: Not that strange if you really think about it.


I've posted the photos from the weekend on Flickr.


Me: ...And, please, when you decide our time is up - after April / May, whenever - please be gentle in letting me know. I'm falling deeper and deeper into you/this, and know I can survive heartbreak (as Hedonyste pointed out so eloquently on FetLife comments), but would gratefully appreciate a soft letting go to a sadistic one ;)

For now, being here now... I'm the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

Him: It's always a good omen when one writes "I'm the luckiest girl in the whole wide world."

I don't recall mentioning anything about any time up, little anxiety bomb.

I remember mentioning I can offer continutiy and care.

Now, your life as a whole comes first and things will move and shift around a lot in the next few months. I will help you in making your choices with the most benevolent heart.

In the meantime you focus on two things: acing the end of your studies and being the best sub you can be to me. Live to the fullest in the here and now. Have faith.


photos ©Mr FD

Thank you, but no thanks

Remember when I was smart and he was dismissive?

This came on Sunday:
Hello Lola,

Not sure that you remember me, months having passed…We met for a drink one evening at the XYZ bar in late November/early December and I’m a very tall and (rather;-) ) mature Frenchman.

Saw glimpses of you on Alt, hope you have found interesting partners in all kinds of activities! Lol!

Just wanted to let you know I have set my strictly private “dungeon” up again, somewhere in the #eme, in a largish (85m²) flat. The place is great but it may be too much for you.

In case you are interested to hear more, let me know.


Well, I thought about it for a while. Sitting on the Seine, at the base of my new favorite tree, in the sun, I decided I wasn't interested. Sure, the lure of having access to local punishment, fun, and challenges is tantalizing and dreamy and makes me wet, but he was so impatient in addressing my concerns. He wanted a fast and shallow slave slut. Frankly, the path I'm on right now with Mr. FD is so much more exciting, filled with swoons, and turns me into a fountain of wetness. And, more importantly, the path is open to deeper meaning and activities that I've dreamed about for a long time.

I didn't want to write The French Dom off right away though. I wanted to mull it over, consider my options, and keep opportunities open. Yes, I'm falling for Mr. FD and what he offers and demands, but I still want a degree of autonomy and to live in a place where freedom reigns: if a healthy, happy offer arises, I should be free to take it right now. But The French Dom's offer couldn't even begin to meet where I'm at right now: I'm respected, pushed, challenged, immersed in genuine training, my concerns are met with validation and acknowledgment, my trust is recognized as integral and is "the ground of legitimacy which is my play league" (Mr. FD).

But, just in case I was missing something in the invitation, I forwarded it to Mr. FD for his insight. His comments were helpful and his compliments on my tuned awareness were flattering. Of course, it was still my prerogative whether to engage or not.

Here's the reply:


Thank you for contacting me again and for your offer to give me more information on the dungeon, should I have interest. I'm happy to hear that you've got a dungeon going again.

I'm actually already on a fruitful path of exploring what "too much" can mean, but wish you well in finding partners for all kinds of activities.



Hope it wasn't too snarky, but ... seriously! I was obviously not being respected before this email, or in this email. Sheesh.

Needs v Wants

Sure, I've thought about this. I know the difference in life in general. But it's interesting to frame it within the bdsm lola-ville.

In my 24-7-3 recap, I noted that crying in scene and at the end of scene was liberating. He might have laughed at me as a suffering little girl, crying for the pain of labia clamps or doggie competition exhaustion. And then he would hold me after a scene when I'd sob as the only way to let all the endorphins and emotions release. But I made the comment in my recap: "Crying. I need it. You need it. Enough said."

His feedback on this statement was: "You have nothing whatsoever to do with thinking about my needs. I take care of them. Crying is something I enjoy a lot, but nothing more than that. Some of my partners never cry and I have no problem with that.

More widely I have wants and fancies, lots of them. The more one person can deliver, the more she interests me.

I am of course glad that crying is a need for you."

This has launched me into an exploration of need v want. As I said, I know what mine are in life in general, but in this special bdsm world? Not sure if you can read this link on FetLife without joining the group, but I'm in the middle of reading this. (Although right now I'm trying to pay attention to some bullshit about epistemic communities within diffusion of innovation and policy-making. Bleh.) Someone in this discussion linked over to The Submissive Guide website. I started the reading of this series and it's really rather trite and almost condescending in its simplicity. But it's got me thinking. And I'm going to spend some time exploring this in the blog.

For starters, I don't think crying is a need. I think it's a want and even a sub-want. But I do note a longing to cry when I haven't for a while, a want to cry at least once in a year. But is it a need? I've got to dig around here, and then start being more succinct in my use of words.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Be my friend

It's a wild ride this re-entry into bdsm.

I made that big post on FetLife and then people came out of the woodwork to be-friend me.

It's like being on a huge playground. First day, I stood up on the soapbox to say "hi" and then some dude ran up to me to be-friend me. And then I ran over to look at his playspace and was like, um, no.

Today, I made a new friend who likes to dress up in wild dolly clothes. She's like a superstar bondage doll girl. Ok, your corner of the playground looks interesting but I've got a couple of trepidations.

Then, another kid ran up in his trans gear. Got nothing against trannies - live fully, be yourself, be beautiful. But I looked in her corner of the playground and got scared. Another girl commented on my photos and she hails from WI. And I got scared of her playspace. It reminded me of women I used to work with and it kind of freaked me out.

I know I don't have to friend everyone back, of course. And I'm developing my own rules on my playground. But, geez, some of it makes me want to cover my eyes and go swing alone.

Sure, to each their own. We all make the world go 'round. But I don't wanna play there. ..... Daddy???? Eeek.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Riding the stainless saddle

[Well, the re-cap of the weekend is in the making. As many details as I can and care to share. In the meantime, here's what I posted on FetLife. Oh, and photos of the adventure - © Mr FD - will be up on Flickr soon. If you don't have private access, don't hesitate to ask.]

Hello friends,

I am thrilled and delighted to have a follow-up post to my first FetLife post [below]. Through a twist of fate (a benevolence of the gods perhaps), I met Mr. FD online and was warmly invited to visit him in Switzerland. At the time of the first posting, when I wrote about getting back into bdsm, I was about two weeks away from a three-day experience in total immersion with him. Of course, I was completely excited and giddy as a schoolgirl, but I had doubts about my ability and about meeting a relative stranger, entrusting him with my whole being, and plunging into a full weekend of play, service, and training.

My highest compliments and greatest thanks go to him for his clear communications prior to our rendezvous. Through his words and exchanges, I could already tell I could trust him in this endeavor. But, worries about my own ability bubbled up.

Needless to say, and wonderful to report, my physical tolerance was better and stronger than I could imagine. The red and purple painting he made on my ass and thighs is slowly fading into a beautiful Easter egg yellow. The cane marks on my inner thighs are now soft shades of train tracks and such lovely reminders of my first figging experience and lessons in obedience.

My mind had been tightly twisted around fears (of self-ability, of trust, of focus) and afraid to release into his discipline, control, and ability. From the moment I was situated on the train in his direction - I felt home. I could breathe better and felt a strong sense of relief. With him, my thoughts and psyche went from giggling (while being caned no less!) to centered concentration (breath play); from intellectual, informal discussions to adhering to protocol; from focused attention to floating trust.

This sounds silly perhaps, but my spirit was freed. All these days of built-up need and longing, having an idea of where my place is, dreaming of finding a way to get myself into that place! What a release. Mr. FD welcomed me without judgment, listened to me when I communicated sincere distress, opened a safe space for honesty, pushed me beyond borders that I thought were boundaries, and fueled my desires.... I definitely learned to be careful what I asked for! Breast bondage, pet play, bathroom management - oh my!

And, all the while, as I was learning how to be the best sub I could be, the little girl was also let loose to play. For the first time ever, she got to run on the playground, show her fears, cry tears, pacify herself, and get big hugs.

The first day back in Paris, I was - quite literally - floating down the streets. My first day back in class, and I found I had some additional inner strength that released me from being so self-conscious. Almost a week after my return and I'm still floating, content, inspired to re-examine my priorities (in a healthy, constructive way), and feel stronger and more purposeful. I am completely aware that this post could have been very negative. While we both had an agreed "out" (I have a friend in Geneva), it became the object of a joke. I'm so lucky, thankful, and appreciative of the experience Mr. FD provided me and so joyous at my own development.

Thank you again to those who commented on my previous post. Your warm words were encouraging and thoughtful.


Back in the saddle (as it were)

Hello friends,

New to FetLife. Great to be here! I was engaged in bdsm activity in various ways before I moved to Paris for graduate school. Kind of stashed the sub away in order to suffer under the demands of school for the past 1.5 years. But now, I have been reinvigorated to explore and tap into my submissive side.

Transition from silence to this new, open space is definitely an interesting shift. I'm not a novice, but I feel like I could identify with their intrigue and curiosity. Not a well-practiced sub, so I can't identify with some of the more complex questions and issues.

It's been somewhat of a challenge to start listening to this part of me. I imagine many subs balance being dominant in work/vanilla life with being a sub in private life. Moving into that space of balance is taking a bit of effort. By previous interest I'm a lover of words and ideas, so reading FetLife profiles, posts, discussions, and outside websites have got me riled up and excited in a wonderful way. I'm on the path to have an outlet for these new explorations and release of feelings/needs. In the meantime though, I'm finding challenge in patience, security, and ability.

My flesh, in and of itself, is a new, blank slate. I've had some vanilla lovers in Paris spank me, but it's been such a minor endeavor (not to belittle spanking, because I love it!). But this leaves me to wonder what my tolerance level is for harder pain (which I crave in idea and memory).

My mind has been zoned in on controlling myself, creating boundaries, monitoring my behavior, punishing and praising. I'm worried about my ability to let go of that and replace it with a dominant's commands, controls, direction. There is no doubt in any bone of my body that I need it and want it and crave it. I'm just wary of my ability to do so easily.

My spirit, as it were, is aroused again with remembrance of submission, and recall of unfulfilled dreams and deep need. In this transition, I'm a bit hesitant to let go of all the built-up self-control and just let myself be free, honest, needing, seeking, and desirous.

It's a wonderful predicament to be in!! Life is the journey, right? :) I guess I'm posting just to see if there are others out there who have experienced the same - before or always. The balance, the re-engagement, taking deep breaths while being so ecstatic about diving in again, being rational while day-dreaming like a little kid, letting go and being wise about it, etc...

Thanks for reading and I look forward to your comments.

Friday, March 27, 2009

No idea

what I'm doing

"What am I doing?" was a constant theme in my mind over the weekend in Switzerland. "What the fuck am I doing?"

The constant me watching me.

At some point I put that to rest and just ... did.

Decided to live - fully.

In my mind, it's all coming together now. In my body I'm absorbed with "yes yes yes yes." In my heart I know things to be true.

There just is no other way but to live in honesty, transparency, and to my fullest.

Who cares about anything else?

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

I'm your...

Mr. FD likes to make notes of his ideas.

It started as a teasing joke in emails that he needs a personal assistant. Over the weekend, he tasked me to take notice of the ideas he'd want me to remember. And then would say, "I have this idea - make a mental memo." And then, while I sat on the toilet peeing he said, "I think I'll call this part of you: memo. So, when I say 'memo' be prepared to take a note." Later, it was established that he would give me the note verbally to remember, and then I could write it down afterward.

So, after our Skype session tonight, after we'd discussed any concerns or questions we had for each other, after I'd undressed and shown him my bruises, after I told him I was wet, and after he told me to masturbate just to the point where I was close to cumming, he told me he'd hang up the Skype call and I was to orgasm thinking of the past weekend.

Here's how it went:

Got my vibrating egg because my fingers were tired
Went to sex & submission website - Feb 13, Servant Keen
Closed my eyes
Thought of you caning me, the night my ass turned red
Being wet on the metal horse
Being wet almost every time you touched me
On top of you fucking while you smacked my thighs
On all fours with you fucking me from behind
Ginger in my cunnie hole and you laughing at my tears
Face slapping face slapping face slapping face slapping
and then Maggie popped into my head "I'm your secretary.. I'm your secretary.." and I thought "I'm your memo... I'm your memo..." and boom! Orgasm.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

24-7 in 3

I'm exhausted. I slept so long last night when I got back from Switzerland and am still just wiped the fuck out. ... and whipped the fuck out. Heh.

My ass is turning a deep, dark sunset. My tits are speckled in bruisey stars. I look at my arm with sleeves rolled up and there's a little scratch reminder. I don't know its birthplace, as many other reminders around my body.

My mind? I feel like I'm floating down the street. I'm overwhelmed with such motion on the street after being ensconced in his apartment for 3 days (we did leave once for about a half-hour, and it's not that I wasn't allowed to leave for I was, but chose not to). I'm still processing. If I was frantically obsessed with the idea of meeting him and if I was consumed with examining bdsm the weeks before we met, then I am now calmly absorbed in what happened from meeting him and passionately processing the activities, thoughts, words, gestures, lessons, and feelings.

That's all for now.

I'm happy, safe, was not murdered, and have another date in April to see him.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

All tomorrow's parties

And, he replied in kind and was patient.

"Thanks for sharing.

You will get instructions by tomorrow evening (as you certainly imagined reading my last mail). They should appease your anxieties.

>>I truly hope you can help make me become the best sub that I can be.<<

My principal plan for the weekend. Hence the title of last mail.

Have no fear, really. I am trustworthy as a human being and well intentioned. It is only words so far because it is what I can offer. I hold that standing behind one's words is the basis of it all.

I do expect that you stand behind those quoted too."

And while I was still freaking out and getting deeper into my insecurities. He thought I was lighter and sent this:

Subject: Be careful what you wish for, litte lola, you might very well get it...
"Don't worry, you'll get spastic soon enough.
Tomorrow evening starting substantially so, I predict."

And it sent me to the corners of my imagination where the toychest is layered with blood and guts and sin is screaming all around me with firey clowns laughing with hyennas and birds ready to pluck my eyes out. This was not funny to me, to say the least.

Me: um, that just terrifies me.
Him: lil'lola needed some thrills...
Me: I stand behind every quoted word.
I know... I know... I know you're not a mass murderer.

But um a rollercoaster ride of thrilldom over a terrified girlie with a (scary!!!) bat and (even more scarier!!!) mask guy!..... oh god, you DO want to chase me around your apartment with knives and masks and num chucks!!!! fuckkkkkkkkk


oh god i'm on such a fucking up and down and around ride right now.

trust me. I am only interested in being the best I can be. And I doubt that, once you meet me you'll think I'm too incompetent..... words.... for me, more powerful than spoken letters chained together with breath. Images? Can be more thrilling than me, .... on the balcony, crouched, thinking I might explode like a star with all the pent-up tension I'm having right now.
Him: Good.
You mentioned feeling too rational, almost outside of it, disconnected..

I simply took care of that.

I'll take good care of you, little girl. Mark my words.
Me: Um.... last week I felt infatuated --- granted, I understand the initial swooning syndrome and recognize the time/place for that ---- but um, scaring me into feardom of being chased with knives and num chucks and bats and masks = connected, but still scared. Are you going to beat me to a pulp? Are you such a sadist that if I'm a sensitive Nelly you will give up and be bored? Will you be burning candles with goats as sacrifices and total anger that you'll hate me and make me suck out the scum of the gutter in public? Are you going to hurt me and forget to cuddle me? Are you going to not touch me and only caress me with latex gloves?

>>I'll take good care of you, little girl. Mark my words.<<

I just dont' know what that means.... but I have a better understanding of what sadism is.
Me (45 minutes later): Yes. Good call. Don't reply. I'm being silly in a bad way. I know it will all be good.

Off to bed.

Nigh nigh
Him (in the morning): Yeah, it is evident you were having a little attention fit (amongst other things), a bit like you had ten days ago but shaping somewhat differently.

I am ok with it since I know you have been out of things for long... the cravings and images that seize can be so strong then, that they sometimes appear at odds with reality (especially when you get disconnected a bit like you just did). And I know you don't know me yet in co-presence so I can take 2 mins to restate the obvious: Just trust your instincts. If you are coming tomorrow, it is not only because you are a needy slut but also because I did catch your mind and inspire enough trust to do so.

I know that being overbusy this week, and hence minimal in exchanges was going to provoke a bit of unrest. As long as you keep a fundamentally consequent and constructive attitude, it is ok at this stage. And it is not a problem, for it will dissolve altogether in due time. You can bet on that one.

What you can forget about though, are the "don'ts", the "do's" and the imperative mode altogether.

A good day in the spinning wheel, lil mouse.


I woke up late. My head was pounding a bit for the first time in a long time. Ben G was in town and we went to dinner and then out for drinks. We laughed and laughed. I felt ashamed for my wild drunk dialing and uncontrolled randomness. All I could think to email to Mr. FD was "I'm sorry. Thank you."

And what I got back, hours later, just in time, were instructions. In PDF format (swoon) with bold titles from a "Cornerstone" to "Aftermath" (triple swoon).

It's truly amazing how the mind works. Seventeen million thoughts can zoom about like fruit flies around a sticky, moist, fresh-from-the-oven vanilla cake. Not a single one stays for long but each gets the time for feeding and annoyance.

I got the instructions. Read them twice. Started my reply in an email. My plan - expressed to Mr. FD previously for planning purposes - was to head down to the school's printer in the afternoon, pick up a reader for a course (and the 2 for the professors as I'm course delegate), walk to school, drop them off, print the instructions (for train reading and memorizing), walk home, pack, and prepare. Thought of replying to the email. Drafted the reply. Needed to make sure I knew what I was doing and was doing it correctly. Needed to get to school and would walk there to let the ideas sink in.

Almost ran to school I was so happy. Thinking thinking thinking about the "Concrete principles," "First steps" (meet, have some time over a drink, his apartment door is the "threshold" to the new world for the weekend), "House rules" (including 4 positions which I have now memorized and practiced in order and at random), the "Aftermath" (written digest of experience and other details if we choose to continue things), and the "Procedure" (for my response to the instructions). God, I love organization.

I picked up the readers - despite the greve - and dropped them off at school. I opened the email. Re-read it two more times, printed two copies, sent my reply: "I have received, understand, and agree of/to the instructions. Thank you very much." And got kicked out - something about closing at 5pm in case of student revolt due to the greve. Flew down Rue de Seine, captured some images, found my way down the steps to the Seine, spotted the most perfect tree at its edge, leaned back, turned up the Thru You, and re-read the instructions.

Got home, packed, cancelled my dinner date with Ben G, spent an hour in the bathroom shaving -- everything, which is harder than you think when your butt cheeks touch and you've only got a small hand-held mirror.

Him: So, a bit more connected tonight, impatient lil'girl? My guess would be yes.


It's so unusual. Lately, I've been drinking like Dorothy Parker has invaded my body. But tonight, I am just not interested. I am a nervous wreck for tomorrow, but my head is screwed on well. I have wanted to throw-up about twenty times today, but I have just breathed deeply.

There are many times in my life that I've felt that everything I'd done up until then had led to me a perfect point in time. I feel that again tonight. Hearing "Whole Wide World" by Wreckless Eric back in Madison and feeling like something would happen in grad school. Stepping into Paris for the first time and knowing I had to be here. All this freaking out in the past months. All the longing. All the misplaced aggression and seeking and seeking. I'm realistic enough to know that Mr. FD is not Jesus or Buddha or Daddy Warbucks. I know I'm dancing in a frenzy of aspiration that is incomplete. But for now, for these moments, it all just feels right again. Like, this is where I'm supposed to be. This is what I'm supposed to be doing. This is who I am destined to fulfill.

My boots are polished. The last clean-up will be in the morning (armpits and a once-over on the cunnie). The backpack is busting out with all my dreams. Apples for the train ride. Camera batteries charged. Head reeling and spinning and centered. Spirit of fireworks and calm.

My god it feels so good to live.

Thank you thank you thank you.

I am a tree pt.2

To Mr. FD:

[To the tune of "Can't Be Sure" by the Sundays.]

I'm almost too tipsy to write. I probably shouldn't write this. Or, at least send it.

Mostly I feel that last week I was excited and this week my mind has got the best of me and is making me frightened, hesitant, second-guessing, whereas last week it was my heart that was thirsty.

I watched this movie, "Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus." It's about the south of the US. And it's heavily laden with religion but some good comes out of it.

This narrative caught me:
For the uninitiated, walkin' in, seeing a healing service or a apiritual church in full bloom, it's quite a wonderous sight. There's a real power there that you can't deny, you just can't deny it. It's pretty incredible. And there's a lot of love there, and there's a lot of .. there's a presence. It's - it's hard to explain. It's just so hard to explain. Things happen there that defy explanation and you feel like you're in the presence of God. You feel that way real strong. It gets sort of addictive. You go to a Presbyterian church or you go to a Catholic Church and it's a lot of friendly talk, but it doesn't give you any clue that beyond your mind that there's some immensity that loves you. You get in one of these churches, first thing they do is set the mind at the door. Come walk in with your heart. And it feels real good sometimes just to leave that mind behind and let your heart do the talkin'.

Not so much for the speak about religion, but how I want to spiritually connect bdsm in a way. I want to leave my mind at the door and know that my inner voice is surrounded by naturalness. *My* naturalness. Let go of all rationalization and just be who I am supposed to be. Yet, I don't know who that person is or how I should be in that state. In the film, religious folk are speaking in tongues and flailing about. I imagine that's almost equal to being tied and beaten. Different "gods," different practices, different ways of getting there but with the same results. It's inexplicable, it's beyond the mind, there's an immensity to letting go and being subsumed by "every thing its place," let the heart go free. I want to be raw. To be real. To be who I crave to be.

But with that, I'm frightened to how that looks, how it presents itself, how it happens. In a church it would constructed and predictable. But you're an unknown. I have no idea what you plan to do with me or what you plan to make of me. I realize and am close to the idea that you wouldn't aim to break a toy with which you'd envision playing with again. I can almost know that you're not a murder or a sadist for the point of hatred or disgust or evil. But my imagination runs wild and seeks the dark recesses of my cave. Could you harm me in such a way that I'm utterly unhappy or terrified to [the point of ] distrust or left destroyed? What is sadism and who would I have to be to fulfill that received action? I'm not one of the women whose profiles I've read who calls herself a worthless piece of shit. I want to live for someone, be all desired for someone, but I am filled with joy and aspiration and self-worth in such a way I cannot be that kind of person.

I am filled with trepidation. I want last week's girl back. I'm hot and horny and feel slutty and tried to seduce my friend tonight but resisted any thick temptation of him because he is not what I want. I haven't had sex in almost a month which makes me a renewed virgin. It's something I want to give as a gift this new first time, my tight pussy, and not have it be manipulated like a cavity to be filled. It will be that, but not the first time. I want to offer myself as a good hole for pleasure. I'm scared you want to fill me with the dildo and not touch me there yourself. I'm afraid of being an object, but want to be. I feel like a moron writing all this. God.

I want to get out of my mind.

I want to feel my skin. I want to feel each draw of it tensing and each chill. Each slap, the warming redness and pain....

I don't want to be disregarded or disrespected. I'm afraid for this weekend. I'm afraid of what I don't know of you. I want to fulfill so many things and am afraid of myself failing.

I have been thinking too much and imagining too much and have been trying to ground myself in reality too much. There doesn't seem to be a balance. First, I get swept away with newbie subbie romantic dreams. Then, I'm carried away with masochist fantasies. Then, I'm trying to remember to be real and rational. Then, I have doubts. Then, I want to forget flaws and be free. Then, I want to please so badly. Then, to have and have not. ... I have no idea what you want from me. I don't know what mindset I'm supposed to be in. Am I supposed to be scared? Adoring? Compliant? Can I hug you when I see you? Obedient? Sexy and strong? Wearing thigh high boots and shiny latex dress? A porn bdsm star? A shy girl? A smart girl? A self-reliant girl? A needy girl?

I feel so dumb with all these thoughts. I've stopped reading FetLife postings because what I read mostly whines and feeds my own insecurities. I'm trying to be grown up and me and smart, but this is all set off a kind of wild questioning and feeling: to desire not to desire. Be chill. Be mellow. Be relaxed. But I have so many thoughts that ping from dark and insecure, to high and strong. I can't stop thinking about this weekend. For weeks now. I'm fine in school and able to be the leader I have to be there and can produce the work I need to produce, but my mind is out there flying and dreaming and wondering. I'm sure this must be (and I've thought about this a lot, too) a huge burden on you to even entertain me or a "damsel in distress" as you have to take all of these ideas and issues into consideration and manipulate them ("tout ce que tu diras pourra être retenu contre toi") while feeding them and caring for them and using them to your direction. I know a 24-7 is almost impossible under the furthest extreme ideas of it, because who wants to have a child / pet every day for the rest of their lives?! It would be immense work for a dom/master.

So, I close with the fact that a) I'm totally tipsy, b) this is a moment snapshot in time and I certainly don't feel so doubtful all the time but it's built up a bit, c) I'm more excited than scared for this weekend really, d) I hope you don't use these words to detriment, e) I truly hope you can help make me become the best sub that I can be, f) rock n roll.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

I am a tree

Week beginning March 19 c/o FreeWillAstrology.com

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Among medieval alchemists, there were some who tried to make a fortune by literally converting lead into gold. But the authentic practitioners of the art were interested in a subtler kind of experimentation: ripening and beautifying the shadowy aspects of their own psyches. That explains their motto: "For a tree's branches to reach to heaven, its roots must reach to hell." Among other things, that means you have to dig deep and work hard on redeeming your less flattering qualities in order to earn the right to exalted states of consciousness and spiritual powers. The coming weeks will be an excellent time for you to carry out this alchemy.

I had an exchange of emails with Mr. FD about where I'm at in my bdsm activities, tolerance, journey, blah blah.

Me: I know I'm not sugar because I don't melt in the rain. I know I'm not steel because I bend over easily. Where I am between the two has yet to be fully discovered.

Him: I liked the images. I got an answer to the question you raise, in the same image language. I am not going to let you know what it is but would be curious to see what you guess it is. you have three guesses.

I thought about this long and hard and too hard and then too long and then my dreams were thinking about it and then sleep became imagery and mathematics.

Me: .... Where am I between the two?..... 1) I'm between two ears. (the mind can be trained to move into all kinds of situations with a variety of reactions) 2) I'm a willow. (strong, but bending; changing over seasons/reasons) 3) .... Can I have a hint?

Him: A pussy willow or a weeping willow? I even give you two hints, nice man that I am: It's between 1) and something that is sometimes below 2) You mentioned sugar and steel which are non-quantifiables.

I never guessed it correctly and he hasn't told me. I have a slight feeling that the above horoscope description is accurate: "For a tree's branches to reach to heaven, its roots must reach to hell."

I have no idea what to expect for this weekend. He has selected from my wardrobe. I have bought an enormous dildo since it was one of many objects he left behind in NL when he moved to CH. This thing has given me a mind warp. He knows my bumstar is off-limits so I won't be anally impaled on it. My cunnie is definitely NOT that long - or wide even maybe. My mouth and throat are like baby bird's mouth next to it. So, all I can fathom is that I will be beaten with this gigantic instrument... or, I'm simply a delivery boy for a toy he misses. Either way, my imagination has been carried away and stressed to its limits in conceiving the possibilities.

It's interesting. I was so very excited early last week imagining our time together and now that it had to be rescheduled, I have more time for my rational mind to creep in and take over, which makes me more controlled and pensive and less spastically excited. I want to be the latter. I'm sure I will be on the 3-hour train ride. So, perhaps this is a good thing. All signs pointing to yes: weather will be sunny there this weekend, I am done with my period, his back is better and he's not sick with the flu anymore. Now, if only the scheduled French greve tomorrow will refrain from carrying into the next day of transport activities.

A friend from back in Madison is in Paris right now. We're off to dinner tonight. We had sushi on Tuesday night followed by lovely (expensive) whiskey near the Opera. Because I haven't had any live person to talk to about this, and because he's an expat of sorts - passing through Paris for the Middle East - it's easier to talk without filters. But my mind is circling around all kinds of questions, expectations, dreams, hopes, realities, sensibilities, curiosities, fears, etc. I know I'll get instructions tomorrow to ponder for Friday. But it will only fuel more questions, I'm sure.

Goddamn this is exciting.

I have my back-up plan in case things don't work out between us. My ex-flatmate in Geneve. I told her basically what I was doing and if I could crash with her, need be. She emailed back that it was no problem and to have fun with my hilarious activities. I love her. Classic.

I think after dinner and drinks tonight, I'll come back and write out all the questions buzzing through my head. It might help to get them out.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


My karma in life.

I'm still learning, but I'm getting so much better.

Well, Mr. FD has come down with a horrible cold and I'm due for a visit from Aunt Flo this weekend. Luckily, next weekend - same dates - are open and free as the plains of Nebraska. So, we will postpone the weekend in bdsm playland. We've been talking on Skype of late and conversations warm me up that he's not a serial killer or a pyschopath or a mean person. And, it's good to reschedule because then I can get some homework out of the way and clean my apartment, which has started to look (as my mother says) "like a bomb went off in it." I took down all the play clothes and toys from the closet so I'll put them back up knowing it won't be much longer. And as he said, it's only a few days of extra waiting and one week closer to the next playdate.

Turned in a memo today. Going to load a movie and chill for the night.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Insert: dreaming

Walking from the landlord's apartment near all the Ministries, a solider said to me "Vous etes chair mount." I had my headphones on. I stopped, turned, because when a person of military outfit says something to you, you stop and pay attention. I didn't understand, he repeated it, and then in English "You are charming pretty!" Ohhhh "Vous etes charmante." I laughed, squeezed his arm, he blushed in front of his colleague, and I danced off. I think more of us should tell strangers that they're "charming pretty." While no woman wants to be reduced to being an object, and beauty shouldn't make the man or woman, a harmless "you are charming pretty" can make someone's day.

Friday night, I went to a social with fellow students. Meet this new second-year kid, got drunk, let him convince me to go with him into the "bear bar" around the corner, got kicked out with him as I have boobs and he has no beard (although gay as Jack from "Will & Grace"), laughed so hard and so much. Yesterday, I got my head massaged at the salon, and then cut off about an inch of hairs. Walked the long way home with my camera in hand and remembered who I am and what I love. Walking with my camera is better than the gym for getting out of my head. I get the fast walking but with many pauses for capturing awesome beauty. This city is fucking incredible and neighborhoods change within 5 blocks of each other. And, I only walked through the 9eme and 10eme.

But for now... thoughts and ideas:

“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.” — Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

(oh, the irony)

Random images and thoughts, with some structured description regarding ideas of bdsm:

This is beautiful:

But more of this (I love her expression):

The comfort and security within a corset. Tightening the corset so I can't bend forward for fear of breaking a rib or losing all breath. Pushing my tits up so they almost spill over in entirety. Can they be beaten when in this position?

Crouched on the floor, used as an ottoman.

Stretched from a rig so only my tiptoes touch the floor. Bound with my hands above me. Spreader bar keeping my legs apart. A cane on my outer thighs, clothespins on my inner thighs. Begging for it to end. Whimpering. Crying. Screaming.

This is fucking amazing (from Arno Bani):

The humiliation of being naked, bent over with head on the floor, hands behind my back pulling my sex and ass open for viewing or inspection.

Ball gag and drooling a lot / too much. While being made fun of for being a drooler and not being able to control myself.

All kinds of flogging for hours. Back, legs, ass, chest. I remember one time being on SirK's X-cross, freely giving myself to the experience, spread-eagle, my wrists and ankles free from bondage. He started out slowly and lightly and over time built up speed and force. I remember standing there, thinking how tiring it must be for doms to do this for a long time. It felt like hours, but I'm sure it was only a half-hour maybe. After a while the flogging takes on such a therapeutic feeling like massage. The depth of my muscles were releasing all kinds of tension and toxins. I stopped thinking about him becoming tired or what my ass looked like naked or if I had a high enough tolerance for him and just started feeling each landing on my skin, the swoosh of air, the thwack or snap noise when it landed on me. When he stopped I didn't want him to. And then he'd approach me and ask what I thought was coming next. I was blindfolded so I couldn't foresee the next moments. He'd run the next tool under my nose to smell its leather, run it through my lips to feel its thinness or thickness. Cat o' nine tails (or seven as it were) I remembered most.

Blindfolded all the time. Every time. I love not seeing (although I hate the dark!) and having all other senses heightened. Sure, I feel like an bumbling idiot when I have to walk or move with a blindfold on, but that's part of the fun, right?

I want to try hoods more. SirK put one on me for the first time. No eye holes, no nose holes, no mouth hole, but he left it open and loose at the neck. I want to try more of this. I want to test my fear of the dark and my small-claustrophobia.

I love breath play and enjoy having someone (knowledgeable and practiced!) squeeze my throat as I'm being fucked.

I can't even go into bondage. Being tied in rope turns me on to no end. Tied with my arms behind me, in front of me, my legs apart, my legs closed, tie me up! Tie me down! Combining fucking with being tied up and unable to feel totally comfortable, or be able to assist in the rhythm or the speed, leaving me a helpless fucktoy - joy! Letting me try to wrestle out of the ropes until I lose energy and breath, rolling around like an incapable idiot, and then succumbing to the bondage - total joy. I've been blessed to know rope experts - and to know rope idiots. There's a huge difference.

Humiliation: bondage without rope. ---> Quiet control: I’ve also told her that there would be humiliation. To me this is bondage without rope. I will do something in public to humiliate her and she will sit and listen to it. Silly things like telling a waitress after ordering a meal that, “the girl isn’t eating. She’s being punished for playing with herself without permission” <--- excellent.

I'm not sure I can explain the enjoyment, torture, discomfort, adoration, need, and fear I have for being humiliated. I can remember being fourteen or so, partying my arse off in the big city, coming home way later than curfew, my dad waking up and making me stand in the entryway to their dark bedroom, he in his pijamas, me smelling like smoke and beer, and him proceeding to do the Simon Says game with me. "You want to act like a child, you'll be treated like one. Sit... Stand... Turn around...." I was deeply angry at him for this, as I was at them both for the many spankings over my childhood....but simultaneously I found it exhillarating. It wasn't that I acted out for attention and that their punishments fulfilled that need. It was more like I needed correction, guidance, boundaries, and consequences, and I was always a stubborn kid. What? Don't touch the iron because it's hot? Well.. how hot is it? Maybe you're fooling. Maybe I am Supergirl and can withstand greater heat than you. Touch - sizzle. OWIE!!!! What? Don't run around in the rain without an umbrella? What? You saw me doing that? Spanks. What do you mean I shouldn't leave you at the PTA meeting and go play "Truth or Dare" with my friends in the dark forest when I'm 8 years old and there's a supposed rapist on the loose? Spanks and major groundings.

I asked my parents why they spanked me (since it's such a taboo for parents to do now). They both said there was no other way of getting my attention. Explaining or talking sternly to me wasn't enough for a punishment when I did bad things. Grounding didn't really affect me (as a kid - as a teen it had greater consequence) since I could sit in my room and play with my imagination. Scolding didn't do it. Threatening to hit me with a wooden spoon didn't do it. Sitting in the corner didn't do it. But spanking always always got my attention, they said. And I don't blame them! I haven't been the smartest kid, and I can't help but be adventurous. My mother reminds me of when I was about six years old, playing with a friend in our driveway, and I went inside the garage to close the electric garage door, and ran the thing right over my fingers. We had to go to the emergency room where I got stitches (I guess, I don't remember but have a super cool scar to remind me). They pulled my mother into a private room and asked if there was anything she wanted to talk about. Was she having a hard time with me? Did she need to talk to someone? I was covered in bruises and scrapes and scabs from being an overactive, slightly ungraceful, adventurous kid. They thought she'd been beating me! HA! As if.

Thinking more on this, I'm not sure where the difference is between someone who responded immediately to parents' scolding or disappointment (which was the most affecting of all their words) versus me, who had to have more physical interaction to respond. I know this isn't the same in my adult life. I respond well to a variety of communication.

I like watersports and love the feel of warm piss on my body. I've tasted it before, but I'm not all that interested in drinking it, although I know people who have and do.

Mind fucks. Not sure about this one. I get the "you're blindfolded and tied, he says he's going to drip hot wax, mentally you prepare for this, you get ice cubes instead." But once I got into SirK's car with the outfit on that he'd requested and was on time and everything, yet he scolded me and told me to shut up and not say a word until we got to his place. This time's scene was totally different with more and harder play. At the end of the evening, I asked him why he was yelling at me at the beginning and he said just to fuck with me, to put me into a space of being broken down, and to prepare for a more intense play session. [I'm paraphrasing and shortening the whole description of the events so don't go thinking poorly of him or the situation based on this.] I still remember how I felt while in his car. What had I done wrong? Oh my god, this is _not_ fun. What had I done to deserve this treatment? I hated (not even joking, no arousal, no "oh this is interesting") being punished without having _done_ anything wrong. I was so confused and was trying to do everything right, and had done so, so why was I being punished? I'm still not sure I get it. Sure, I understand the control aspect and the humiliation, but I did not like that I was doing everything right and was still punished. Very confusing.

Fetish wear. I totally want to try walking in those ballet heels. I like wigs. I loved Fasching in Germany because as kids we all got to make and wear masks. I love corsets. I'm a sucker for thigh highs. I dig fishnet. I'm not as familiar with rubber, vinyl, orlatex, and leather reminds me of motorcycle gangs, gay guys, and cougar MILFs.

I like to be shaved, but I'm not so good at reaching all the nether regions myself.

I'd like to be quieted, stored in a closet like a normal toy would be. Or put into little Lolita clothes and put on a blanket in the corner to play with my toys quietly.

I've had a long-standing fantasy to be a nude servant to a guys' poker game. Serve drinks while crawling on my knees, light cigars, be used as a "good luck" token, be gangbanged on a pool table nearby.

Never had clothespins on my labia or had the soles of my feet beaten. Curious.

Pet life. I would love to be on collar and leash, eat out of a bowl, pee in the yard, sleep in a cage, have squeeze toys to chew on, and be swat with a newspaper when I do wrong.

....and the bdsm world is such a wide playground! I'd forgotten how awesome it is. Now, [deep breath] five days until I get a taste again!

Thursday, March 5, 2009


It's 5 million and 2 zillion fantasy night.

I just finished writing a 6-page re-telling of how I lost my virginity for a woman who is seeking stories for a compilation. The compilation was initiated as a concept for her 14-year-old daughter. She wants to communicate to her that losing one's virginity won't wreck one's life forever - no matter how it happens. I suggested she make a book and seek a publisher if she gets some good stories (FYI: she is looking for people under 50 to tell theirs, from all over the world, gay or straight or whatever, so if you want to write yours - in anonymity or full-on disclosure - let me know).

But now I'm moving into thinking about bdsm stories. I could go over a long list of what I’ve done and just stay there, but I want to dream about what could be (or might just be in my mind) - and explore why.

The first one that comes up most strongly is the little girl. I can imagine being asked about why I like the Daddy/little girl scenario or age play or older/younger theme. I saw a woman a little bit younger than me on the metro today. She sat opposite her older-looking boyfriend and at one point reached across to him and straightened his scarf and zipped his jacket. A gesture of love, caring, or overbearing I have no idea. But for me, I just couldn't imagine doing that. Not to say I haven't done it before, because I have. But I don't want to do it anymore. Sure, if there were a huge spider on his lapel or a tag sticking out, I might want to readjust the situation by brushing it off or tucking it under, but I wouldn't purposefully "straighten him out" as such. Instead, I feel better being the object of that love, caring, overbearing correction. That's a part of it, I suppose.

Another part of it has to do with my eternal youth. People have always said I look about 6 years younger than I am. I've always gone after adventure, explored, loved learning, longed for being taken care of (in doses), needed to be disciplined by someone else, strived to make people happy (while balancing the "I could care less what you think of me" self-confidence), looked up to wise people and craved their knowledge, adored older men, sought approval or recognition for good deeds (although I also do good things for the sake of doing them), and have always retained a curiosity and spontaneity that mirrors the recklessness and eagerness of youth. I am not helpless or sick mentally. I am not weak or lazy. I don't have an unhealthy adoration of my own father.

I own about 20 girlie panties. Ones with cherries, birdies, cartoon characters like Cookie Monster, little poodles with words "pretty girl," Supergirl styles, etc. I usually wear thongs for daytime activities, and then come home and immediately get into a pair of the girlie ones. If I'm lazy and have to run to the store, I might keep them on. I've tried to incorporate them in sexual liaisons or play dates, although this wasn't very often, and never in the past two years. It's not just the comfort factor, because I could pick plain, big lady panties if I wanted that. Instead, I like them because they feel good, are super cute, love what they imply, and can't wait to be able to wear them freely with someone someday!

I can imagine sitting in my Hello Kitty panties, and wearing one of my kid tee-shirts (my favorite is pink, has the dot candy on it, and says DOTS in big letters over my boobies). Maybe I'm on a cozy blanket on the floor. Maybe I'm baking cookies, using my fingers to mash or roll the dough. Maybe I'm at the kitchen table zoned in on a Crayon drawing. Maybe I'm over a knee getting a spanking for doing something bad. Maybe I'm exploring my private parts. Maybe I'm watching Sesame Street and learning my alphabet. Maybe I'm in a sundress on a swing at the playground. Maybe I'm sleepy and brushing my teeth while getting ready for beddy bye. Maybe I'm playing a game of Scrabble with my Daddy.

Sundresses. I love girlie clothes - for particular moments and mostly in the summer. I do love wearing skirts, although in school or work life I prefer pants and jeans. But in those right moments, I love dressing like a little girl. I have several pairs of knee-high socks that I wear all the time and most of my woman dress shoes are based around the Mary Jane style. ... Ha! I'm twirling my finger around one of my pigtails right now.

I'm not sure if there's a certain age I fall into when feeling girlie. I have a pacifier that I picked up in the infant aisle of a store - it says "I love Daddy." I wanted to buy a plush blanket and some of the toys, but didn't. I did own a rubber ducky vibrator when I had a bathtub, and love bubble baths. I used a Sponge Bob toothbrush for a while, and used a sippy cup (although they’re so damn small for drinking enough liquids). I've never worn adult diapers but I'd consider it - for pee play, but I've never been interested in poopie. I don't imagine being able to "goo-goo" as my only language. So, I don't think I fall into an adult-baby role per se.

I'm also not too attracted to behaving like a sexually-charged teenager, because I associate that more with rebellion and seeking independence, both of which I'm not eager to engage in or exaggerate. I was this for many years beyond teen years. As a punk rocker in my 20's, I'd wear short plaid skirts, a thong, and boy boxers, combat boots and tight tank tops. I did this to great effect and affect. I have dressed up as a Catholic school girl for many Halloweens. I'm still into the dress-up factor, but I'd rather be somewhere where I can play in a sandbox, revel in finding new bugs, learn about new ideas, be creative without being conscious of it, and still have disciplinary rules upon me. (Basically, take those elements and grow them up and you'd have me now: still interested in getting messy, adventurous, exploratory, creative, and imposing my own discipline.)

This doesn't necessarily translate into something sexual, but there is an element that I like to incorporate. No, I was never sexually abused or taken advantage of as a kid - neither by my father, other relatives, or strangers. In fact, I was the instigator many times in sexuality exploration with other kids. I was the "boy" in play with a girl friend when we were eight years old -- on top of her and humping like we knew what we were doing. I asked a boy to show me his and I'd show him mine. I'd never really, deeply played with this girlie side within a sexual context. Some lovers might have taken care of me on a certain level, but only a few dared to go into a space where they'd actually focus on me being a little girl and them being older. Two in particular come to mind. One, a vanilla lover, was turned on when I opened the Pandora's box and he saw me - my body - looking like a 16-year-old's and how hot that was. A dom I played with who was twenty-years my senior got into it with me and even went so far as to make me promise not to tell anyone, not mommy, not anyone at school.

At first, I found it silly. I'm a grown woman, and I'm conscious of wanting this but felt ridiculous acting it out. Also, with others my age, I couldn't quite grasp the idea that I could be girlie, under their care or instruction or seduction. And with the dom, I did find it titillating but I wasn't sure I wanted the whole "secrecy" thing - don't tell anyone. I do recall replying back to him though, "I promise not to tell anyone. Am I better than Mommy? I want to be better than Mommy."

So, from here where? I have enjoyed going to sleep with a lover and gently sucking on his cock as a pacifier. I definitely can imagine doing it again. I'd love to get fully into the little girl Lolita. Pigtails, panties, tee-shirt and no bra, a sundress or tomboy jeans. I could make some fingerpaint art for my daddy, beg for bedtime stories, clean up my room in twenty minutes flat, be left alone to play with my smarty pants mind toys, or help take care of any of daddy's owies or needs. I wanna have lollipops, an’ cereal every morning, and an apple a day keeps the doctor away, watch cartoons, go for bike rides, look at birds in the forest, be silly, draw faces on my hand with a purple pen, make birthday cakes, go to the zoo, learn new star names at the planetarium, watch worms in the mud, take baths and scrub behind the ears, meet other little girls and boys, get big pushes in the swing, go sledding down big hills, drink hot cocoa, paint my nails with bright pinks, get bruises and push on 'em, pick at my scabs, wear elephant band aids, drink juice out of my sippy cup, and ask daddy any question I have even if it's naughty.

Yup. That’s what I want. Uh huh.

Oh, and teddy bears and big hugs. I wanna watch scary movies and close my eyes real tight. I wanna chase the pigeons and catch butterflies. Wanna write letters to Santa Claus and try to find four-leaf clovers. Wanna learn how to cook and be careful of fire. Wanna have chores to do like washing dishes or taking the garbage out. Wanna listen to “Free To Be, You and Me” and sing real real loud. Wanna help Daddy fix things and learn how they work. Uhmmmm… What else? Hmmmm… Want Daddy to help me pick out the right clothes and tell me if it’s gonna be real cold or real warm out today. Wanna wanna hmmm…. Be a good girl for sure. Yeah. I think that’s it for today.

(To see the images in larger size, you need to have viewing access to my Flickr pix.)

Never thought of it from your point of view

Along the lines of the conversation in comments with Wilfried, I read this post by Graydancer explaining an aspect of an event he'd organized. Fascinating to think about what point of view others have that I don't (can't).

"My Fishbowl discussion is a perennial part of the GRUE, a chance for tops, bottoms, and switches to ask frank questions of each other and hear the responses from an insulated pool - where the people asking the question just listen, and the people answering discuss it amongst themselves. Here's the questions each group asked:

The subs asked:

For Tops:

1. Are you ok with silent sub space?
2. What aftercare do you want?
3. How obedient is too obedient?

For Switches

1. Is it a 50/50 Split?
2. What do we need to do to get you into Top Space?
3. Is it more difficult to play with another switch?

The doms asked:

For Subs:

1. What is the most annoying thing I do to you?
2. What is often missing from a scene that you need to get where you need to go?
3. What thing do you wish we would carry in our toy bag?

For Switches

1. Since you have needs as both top & bottom, can any one scene fulfill you?
2. When you switch, do you go from one side to the other completely?
3. Do you feel persecuted?

The switches asked:

For Tops:

1. Why don't you switch?
2. What bottoming experiences have you had?
3. Do you think switches are aliens?

For Bottoms:

1. Why don't you switch?
2. What topping experiences have you had?
3. Do you bottom for someone who bottoms for someone else?


Frankly, I found it very interesting to see the questions. I would have never thought that doms were curious about their annoying behavior or that they saw switches as possibly unfulfill-able. Or that switches thought that tops viewed them as aliens, or were curious about the connection for subs between topping experiences and switching. While the sub questions to tops are easily relatable and understandable for me: we want to be allowed to have silent subspace (is that ok with you?), we undeniably still want to care for you, we also don't want to be too annoying! And to switches: we would see you as tops if we heard you fell to a 51%top/49%bottom and we'd want to encourage you to go there, and how does it work to encompass both?

Not just a cool way to engage in discussion that might not always happen, but a really neat sociological exercise. ... Although, maybe it's just because I've been out of the loop for a long time and am peeking back in.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

silly, but

I hope this is in reference to me:


category: Master and slaves

subject post by "snuggles":
if you scare Dominants how can you get one

Ok Masters and everyone inbetween

a slave girl we know real time arrived on Masters doorstep today saying she scares Doms away so how can she get a Master when they are all too soft and she can walk all over them.

she has been in a M/s relationship 3 years that ended last November and has now decided its time to be owned again, but hit the problem that because she is into Edge play the Doms run off so she came to my Masters house begging help, because need is killing her

So if you are a strong minded female who has lived 24/7 as a slave how do you move onwards when you had no limits because they were all removed..

reply by "RavenMuse":

It isn't an easy search. My girl got labled a brat because she would walk all over the people she was meeting.... then she met Me and found that when she tried pushing it got her exactly nowhere, like trying to push a brick wall. Which of course was exactly what, without really realising it, she'd been looking for. Someone who wouldn't cave in.

she is far from being a brat, she is a girl I am proud to Own and her behaviour is impecable. The only time there is any pushing from her now is if she feels insecure, but it still gets her nowhere.... which reasures her that the world is as it should be, the walls and structure that she draws strength and security from are as solid as ever... the pushing stops as soon as it started.

To move onward, your friend isn't just looking for a Dom, but someone strong enough to Master her. Wish her the best of luck.

reply by Mr. FD:

100% with RavenMuse.

Actually such profile as your friend's is not a rare one y far. Met many and I am currently in contact with one. she simply needs no space to wiggle at all (not an inch), no way out, direct closing and put back to order if trying little schemes (mosltly semi consciously), and full / clear directivity.

Such beahavior is usually a call for deep, deep control and general take over.

It is not that complicated to implement, provided one... can.

She should avoid bedroom kinksters, service doms, learning ones, etc. and look for somebody experienced (who knows what handling this represents), strict, fully self reliant and not in need of anything etc. You get the drift, I imagine.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Conductor of my train

Oh my.

What the fuck have I done?

What the hell is going to happen?

Three months left in the program. I've got 3 classes and am working on homework #1 wherein I have to - finally - give concrete recommendations and pretend I know what the fuck I'm doing. How to solve teacher absence in a developing country. It's not as if I can just offer implementation of internet to document their appearance, teaching, and conduct. Nor can I offer that they all get salaries paid on time or food programs because the financial crisis has reduced everyone's budgets. Then there's the final graduation project, wherein we're supposed to make hard recommendations on anti-discrimination and diversity management for European firms (these are both new initiatives in EU - shocking, but true). Also, I'm job hunting.

"Listen to the little voice," I heard a classmate say. Yes, now it is time to tune inwardly and figure out what I want to do with all this knowledge and all these (supposed) skills.

The little voice could not contain itself any longer in one regard that could very well change my entire life. Mr. OKC (now known as Mr. FD) found me and opened the little drawer into which I had neatly and gently laid my submissiveness. Well, that's an exaggeration and a lie. Actually, I pulled her out, threw her down, tied her hands, and gagged her myself.

My lovely friends W and Sarah had invited me to many outings in Paris and I attended some, but found no immediate gratification or connection. School has taken the lead and time was of the essence. I thought it'd be easier in the land of "Story of O" but without the time to insert myself into the scene and not able to commit to anything of substance, I gave up. On top of that, my other dominant skills have been required in school: concentrate, schedulize, speak up in class, take decisions, manage other people, run a conference, be bold and don't give up. It's not to say one can't be both a submissive and independently strong, but I wasn't finding ways to reconcile the two so I opted for the latter (the reason to be in Paris anyway). Priorities. Thus, instead, I went for fulfilling basic needs through sex and asking lovers to spank me, write on me, use me, hurt me, overpower me. Temporary outlets, small and short bursts of letting the sub out, and not all that fun or smart or fulfilling. Yet, they were (are?) instants (instances) of necessity.

But now, with less time focusing on papers and classes, and more time focusing on me, I've gradually heard her whimpers and let Mr. FD invite her out to play. He's been thoroughly welcome in the past weeks, and gracious and proper. He's handled my incessant emails with generous replies, accurate information, intelligence, sympathy, and tease. All while "Adam" reappeared.

I've not been able to eat much lately. I'm smoking too much and drinking too much. Not having deadlines and having vacation and beginning of the semester led to me goofing off and brought Adam back home. I went out on a date with the Business Owner and we talked for 3 hours and I got a slight good-night kiss. We went out again and I got a longer kiss but had to make the last bus to get enough sleep for class in the morning. I went out with the Ex-Model and had whiskey and then went down the street to his office where I sat on his lap as we reviewed his web business, then got finger-fucked and he came on my face. I went out with the Ministry of Defense guy and - with the power of my email exchanges and growing interest in Mr. FD and growing release of sub me - wasn't so interested as his twitchy, coked-up quirks and after an hour, smiled, put 10E down and walked out giddy.

I then, in a bit of drunkenness (whiskey and self-esteem), proceeded to put my foot in my mouth and down my throat to Mr. FD in emails. He made a joke and I felt randy and said I'd want to punch his arm for that and maybe wrestle him and he basically said he wasn't interested in a bratty or testing sub. The next day I spent like 2 hours reviewing my horrible messages and formulated an appropriate apology. My drunken outbursts would have been welcome with James or bd or pdh, but not now.

Me: So, I'd push and provoke to [get] more domination. But I know that that was a specific situation in which that behavior was allowed. It wasn't appropriate for me to write those things last night to you though.

Him: No, indeed, it was not. ....But I do appreciate the subsequent understanding and proactiveness in the matter.

Sure, Mr. FD knows I'm not a saint, although I haven't revealed too much of the crazy - although I'm sure he saw it in my manic words. But he's not a rigid person either, with a history of extreme sports and an enjoyment of the grass (and, James, go figure: a back problem!).

Then, last night I saw the Business Owner and we went to a red-light hotel and fucked - or tried to. Having been married for many years he went limp with the condom. This kind of sealed the deal for me. I have no idea what Mr. FD's cock is like or what his breath smells like or how he moves. But I do know he comes with recommendations, can sparkle my cunt by reaching through my mind, and will give me a pleasure that is greater than cum on the face, finger fucking, limp dick, or (as with Tall Tom) criticism that I'm like a corpse.

Yes yes, it is partly sub dreamland, but the rational me is tuned, as well. Yes yes, I have grandiose ideas, but the realistic me is seeing the bigger picture. Yes yes, I'm letting myself get carried away, but the grounded side of me has bought the ticket.

Go-go adventure mum + rationalizing dad. I will not go into the details of the cost of the tickets, nor will I go into how ridiculous I feel when I think about it in terms of money. But I will say, thank you Chinese people for letting me use my loan money for the unknown pain and pleasure I'll be feeling in a week and 3 days.

Why am I doing it? What am I really doing? Well, I'm banking on the descriptions of his expertise, playland, concepts, psychological power. I'm building trust about his person, abilities, awareness, care. I'm being smart by scheduling a way out with friends who know where I'll be, what I'll be doing, and knowing they're available if I need. I'm, as he's seen "a damsel in distress," with a great, strong need to be tied up (or down), beaten, challenged, fed from a bowl, fucked from behind, demanded of, enlightened, given the space to serve, encouraged to become the best sub I can become.... within the space of a weekend. It's an introduction and could become the beginning.

Me: speaking of legitimacy and such, do any of your sub friends on FetLife have particular recommendations for groups [to join]? I looked through about 20 pages of listed groups and found none of true interest. I feel like a novice, but am not and have not found the "I was in, then out, now getting back in" again groups. And, frankly, some of those subs need to learn how to spell!

Him: You can ask [her], she is an intelligent and very active poster (in RL working for a [xyz] company and finishing off a MA in [abc]). If you don't get any satisfying answer, I'll direct you to some other of my friends. If you do not find a group that caters to you current predicament, why not create one? Later you could also create "I was in, then out, then got back in and now I am in so deeep"

Sigh, I'm a lover of words and good minds. We'll see what happens next.