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
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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.
Sunday:
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.
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I've posted the photos from the weekend on Flickr.
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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.
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photos ©Mr FD
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