I submitted my report of Homestay 2 on Sunday, beating my deadline for turning it in by a few hours. I'll post some of it here soon so it can accompany and explain the photos.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
I swoon and feel silly afterwards. I'm swooning hard now. Donkey Kong, chess genius, he listens to my petty daily grievances, he asks if I was intrigued by rough play, he is pushing me to new places, he is the first in a long time to wish for all things uplifting and realizing my long-held dreams.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Yesterday was overly stressful with the running rush to the end of the grad project. Never made a documentary before and don't feel like I want to be the artistic director, but we have to review all the 23 interviews, select clips of each (hour to two hour interviews), write up narration, choose graphics and statistics, be interviewed ourselves to fill in the gaps and turn the camera on us as producers. And this is all in the context of the fact that no one has done a project like this. We started with a potential client who fell through. We quickly made our own project. We demoted the project leader to adviser. We took her contacts, did the studies, made the appointments, made the questions, negotiated rough waves, convinced them to not fear the camera, eased them into answering, got what we wanted, were diplomatic and driven. The piecing together is precious because everyone else will stand up there with their projects highlighted in powerpoints and reports. We will have a useful tool to shop to governments, private firms, NGOs, unions, and the like. We are pioneers and if the blazing of the trail fails, we fail and the possibility for future alternatives fails.
Today was joyous. We made enormous progress, high on caffeine, locked in a room, me and the other American girl. We went for hours bouncing off each other, feeding, agreeing and politely challenging. We made strides. And then the other members joined us and it was magic.
What happens between a day?
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Yesterday I also noticed something. I like strong men. I talked to my sister and her fiance on Skype on Sunday, planning their visit to Paris in June, our trip to Italy, and where we'd go after. They will file the paperwork to have a civil ceremony in Cinque Terre somewhere. I will be a witness (despite being legally able to marry people - I got the certificate online in Wisconsin and promptly married myself to myself at the Orpheum one drunk night with friends). But, while we were planning, I noticed her bossing him around. He'd come up with good suggestions and she'd shoot them down, she'd tell him to stop rambling and do the research. I sent her an email after the call, much later in the night, and commented that I only get to see glimpses of them together and don't know - nor is it any of my business - what their dynamic is, but that I wanted to be sure things were alright. The prospect of three weeks together with them fighting does not seem appealing to me at all. She replied back the day after that it's just a bit of strain on the relationship and they're working on it.
This affected me though and carried over into the bad day yesterday. The Filmmaker wasn't showing enough backbone, wasn't telling us what to do but was suggesting meekly or hinting at. The four of us women in the project are strong, Alpha types. Play on our field or pony up harder, but don't even think of revealing a weak throat or we'll take it and tear it. We demand. We expect. We want perfection. We want strength. And he seemed to easy too push around yesterday. And this just made me even more disrespectful of the situation.
I told my sister once that I did not envy her situation with her fiance moving into her apartment. I said that the only way I could live with someone now would be to be the accepting partner of the relationship: told where the sugar goes, told how the towel is folded, told what days laundry is done, etc. Otherwise, I'm sure my personal habits and OCD would take over and I'd want to arrange things as I've had them. Whereas she said she has the upper management of household and needs to. So, she finds herself sighing at the misplaced coffee grinder, boxes stacked high in their bedroom, and rearrangement of her furniture.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Back to the Filmmaker, what I did realize today is that while he might be overly kind and concede to our wily demands, anyone else in his place and this whole thing would fail. If he were more dominant or arrogant and told us how things would be, it wouldn't work. If he were trying to drive our project and prohibiting our input, it wouldn't work. So, I realized I just need to take a breath, be thankful and grateful, and accept things as they are.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
This is challenging, as well, trying to be the dominant leader girl during school and then the submissive in my special time when talking with Mr FD. It's a balancing act: re-reading what I write and how I write it to him after hours and hours of writing directions and shorthand comments. Switching my voice - inside and outside. Switching my brain. I thought for a while that it might be better just to turn it all off while I try to finish this last month of school -- not cancelling the May homestay per se, but shutting down communications. Earlier, I've felt almost obsessed or possessed by the topic of bdsm, by thinking of him and what we'd done and were doing. And now, I have to become re-obsessed with school work in order to throw myself in and finish well. I can't give up now. And, Mr FD has expressed his complete support (and demand) that I do well. It's all about finding a balance, because I can't envision living right now without having Mr FD and bdsm in my life and can't let myself slide out of finishing school well either.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
I'm encouraged as a person and a student that we have sort of valedictorian elections right now and several people asked to nominate me. I've declined because, frankly, I am not so eager to represent our class in the final days. I'll be happy to move on and I'm not so stuck on getting that kind of recognition. Sure, share the podium with the former President of Ireland, but I don't have the heart to express admiration for all my colleagues, and certainly don't share the same vision of our future.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Pauline (heart) Mario
I reblogged this on Tumblr and then got this message from Mr FD:
I was the best Donkey Kong player in the world on the original arcade machine booth. Or it is a tie.
I could play it until the end of the program, then it would loop back to the first level, etc. Longest I played, publicly was over 8 hours then the place closed.
There were a couple of other games like that too.
Daddy has other related stories from the period...
[continued]
Yeah, the non Hollywood screenplay would go something like this:
If you did organize a tourney at the time on the original booth, you would only measure capacity of contestant to cope with stress and physical / emotional resistance. Not any game skills.
Because the game, in my memory so you know it can be approximate, was made of 4 levels. When you finished level 4, the whole thing would start again but in a higher speed and thus a couple of times until it become extremely fast and very difficult to complete. Then............ Back to the very first level. Everything absolutely the same. So if you had mastered the game you could basically play it endlessly. I won tons of money (for a kiddo) doing that.
While I was not aware of anyone else who did in the different places I was playing in, I imagine there must have been quite a few others. No clue whether it is a few hundred, thousands or more. We could start a very democratic club in any case.
%%%%%
Of course he'd say that. Coincidence doesn't exist.
This is how I feel:
Thursday, April 23, 2009
home - stay (photos)
I've uploaded all the photos from both March and April homestays. (They're on my flickr, which is invite-only viewing, so if you'd like to see, ask. Teaser: there's a photo of Mr FD this time.)
A lot of the April homestay photos are brutal to look at (warning) and the whole weekend isn't captured because we don't take photos during after-care cuddles, during wine drinking informality, music dancing and mind soaring to tunes, during meals, or during movie watching chill time. So don't get the wrong impression.
Mr FD is a sadist for sure. And I've discovered that I'm a masochist pain slut (contrary to what Sir Max thought and I had believed). Most of April was punishment for me as I'd accrued some lessons to learn. I think 100% of it is about learning through punishment, but there's another 100% that is divided between 70% for his pleasure and 70% for my release and turn on, which doesn't equal 100% (I'm not that bad at math, thank you), but our enjoyment is not just 50-50 because there's more to it.
March homestay report of activities seemed like by the time I posted it on CDOA I'd beaten it to death (pun intended). I had lived through it in real time, lived through it in photos, lived through it in thinking, lived through it in writing, lived through it again. I was almost fed up with thinking about it and had to let it go. This time, upon my return to Paris, I've been too busy with school to truly process yet. So, the photos - looked at on the train back, looked at in editing, looked at in uploading to flickr - haven't worn on me yet. The report is in the making and I'm eager to get the homestay out, examine it, think about it, relive it. Maybe it's a more natural progression. Maybe it's just a calmer stewing inside. Either way, you'll get your review soon.
You get the overview peek through the photos (since I've posted them before writing it up), but they don't stand alone well. I went through so many amazing emotions. I suffered, I smiled, I giggled (what is it with caning?), I cried my eyes out until I had no tears left, I went deep into recesses that had not lived inside me for years and needed to be exorcised, I orgasmed in cosmic explosions, I had an out-of-body experience in the post-orgasm shine and visited worlds I've only imagined, I was fucked well and held and kissed and loved, I cleaned my sweat out, I was faceless, I lost fear, I feared, I trusted, I tea-bagged better than the Republicans.
And these short phrases are just that.
My next homestay is in May. I'm debating whether to skip class and take a train ride on my birthday to land in Mr FD's arms again, or spend that day with myself and go the next day to him. Either way, my birthday celebration (one year older than Jesus, one year closer to death) will be with him. And as you know, I'm a bit superstitious about these annual celebrations. At 12:01am on New Years Day I need the first words I hear be good, well wishes for the beginning of a new year. Birthdays are a time to reflect on my growth in the past year and a time to imagine the possibilities of the next year. In my drunken state in Croatia with the Filmmaker, I told him that my time is running out. If the prophesy is right, I will have 6 years. I can't wait any longer. I can't put off the books inside me any longer. I knew grad school was for multiple reasons and one of them is to get me to a place where I can get all of this out finally.
So, here's to spring and blossoming. And, here's to bridging to the future sun of summer.
A lot of the April homestay photos are brutal to look at (warning) and the whole weekend isn't captured because we don't take photos during after-care cuddles, during wine drinking informality, music dancing and mind soaring to tunes, during meals, or during movie watching chill time. So don't get the wrong impression.
Mr FD is a sadist for sure. And I've discovered that I'm a masochist pain slut (contrary to what Sir Max thought and I had believed). Most of April was punishment for me as I'd accrued some lessons to learn. I think 100% of it is about learning through punishment, but there's another 100% that is divided between 70% for his pleasure and 70% for my release and turn on, which doesn't equal 100% (I'm not that bad at math, thank you), but our enjoyment is not just 50-50 because there's more to it.
March homestay report of activities seemed like by the time I posted it on CDOA I'd beaten it to death (pun intended). I had lived through it in real time, lived through it in photos, lived through it in thinking, lived through it in writing, lived through it again. I was almost fed up with thinking about it and had to let it go. This time, upon my return to Paris, I've been too busy with school to truly process yet. So, the photos - looked at on the train back, looked at in editing, looked at in uploading to flickr - haven't worn on me yet. The report is in the making and I'm eager to get the homestay out, examine it, think about it, relive it. Maybe it's a more natural progression. Maybe it's just a calmer stewing inside. Either way, you'll get your review soon.
You get the overview peek through the photos (since I've posted them before writing it up), but they don't stand alone well. I went through so many amazing emotions. I suffered, I smiled, I giggled (what is it with caning?), I cried my eyes out until I had no tears left, I went deep into recesses that had not lived inside me for years and needed to be exorcised, I orgasmed in cosmic explosions, I had an out-of-body experience in the post-orgasm shine and visited worlds I've only imagined, I was fucked well and held and kissed and loved, I cleaned my sweat out, I was faceless, I lost fear, I feared, I trusted, I tea-bagged better than the Republicans.
And these short phrases are just that.
My next homestay is in May. I'm debating whether to skip class and take a train ride on my birthday to land in Mr FD's arms again, or spend that day with myself and go the next day to him. Either way, my birthday celebration (one year older than Jesus, one year closer to death) will be with him. And as you know, I'm a bit superstitious about these annual celebrations. At 12:01am on New Years Day I need the first words I hear be good, well wishes for the beginning of a new year. Birthdays are a time to reflect on my growth in the past year and a time to imagine the possibilities of the next year. In my drunken state in Croatia with the Filmmaker, I told him that my time is running out. If the prophesy is right, I will have 6 years. I can't wait any longer. I can't put off the books inside me any longer. I knew grad school was for multiple reasons and one of them is to get me to a place where I can get all of this out finally.
So, here's to spring and blossoming. And, here's to bridging to the future sun of summer.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Two months
Insane.
It's been two months since Mr FD and I have known each other.
My first connection:
Date: March 30, 2008
Subject: Cheers
Message:
From a fellow kinkster in Paris.
This is the first time I've composed a message to send on this site. Late night inspiration and wistfulness that you're over in [another European city].
Best of luck to you in your search,
Lola
He replied:
Date: February 22, 2009
Subject: a quickie, albeit virtual
Message:
Hiya,
I am much too busy too write anything substantial (ending a long nomadic period next week while juggling to finish several projects) but I really dig your profile.
And since I notice I had already saved you in my fav's without any memory of it (that tells as much about my palimpsest memory as about the kind of Log-Under-Influence states that see me around here at times) I'd rather do something about it before I forget totally about you again.
Anyway, since there is not guarantee at all you have any interest in being in touch, it is no catastrophe.
If you have 2 min to spare have a look at my profile and I promise I won't shun a note dropped, in case.
Une bonne nuit, si tu dors.
Mr FD
...and so it goes... and so life goes...
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Second homestay in CH was amazing and I am a painting.
Now, school. Hot for teacher. Readings. Last month of everything. Writings. Meetings. Editings. Senioritis. Future fears.
Things are moving quickly. The picture flickers 100 beats per minute.
Just breathe.
Through my eyelids.
Like the lizards.
It's been two months since Mr FD and I have known each other.
My first connection:
Date: March 30, 2008
Subject: Cheers
Message:
From a fellow kinkster in Paris.
This is the first time I've composed a message to send on this site. Late night inspiration and wistfulness that you're over in [another European city].
Best of luck to you in your search,
Lola
He replied:
Date: February 22, 2009
Subject: a quickie, albeit virtual
Message:
Hiya,
I am much too busy too write anything substantial (ending a long nomadic period next week while juggling to finish several projects) but I really dig your profile.
And since I notice I had already saved you in my fav's without any memory of it (that tells as much about my palimpsest memory as about the kind of Log-Under-Influence states that see me around here at times) I'd rather do something about it before I forget totally about you again.
Anyway, since there is not guarantee at all you have any interest in being in touch, it is no catastrophe.
If you have 2 min to spare have a look at my profile and I promise I won't shun a note dropped, in case.
Une bonne nuit, si tu dors.
Mr FD
...and so it goes... and so life goes...
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Second homestay in CH was amazing and I am a painting.
Now, school. Hot for teacher. Readings. Last month of everything. Writings. Meetings. Editings. Senioritis. Future fears.
Things are moving quickly. The picture flickers 100 beats per minute.
Just breathe.
Through my eyelids.
Like the lizards.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
yes, Sir.
Packing and re-reading my instructions.
Tomorrow I head back to Mr FD in Switzerland - back to my new home. Big hugs, strict enforcement, clear instructions, Bollywood, whiskey, amazing kisses, peace with my service, pain where I need it, deep sleep, pushing through boundaries, cuddles, and so much more.
There's even a footnote in the PDF instructions. Swooning.
#########
It's amazing how tired I am. Combined with a delayed girl-period, I thought for sure I was pregnant again. I was awake a total of 6 hours on Monday and have no idea how I'm still awake now. I'm getting on with the sickness, although it feels like the antibiotics aren't doing anything to my pressure head. I feel dizzy. The steroids to reduce the swelling make me feel like I'm on speed and could clean the apartment all day. On the inside, I feel like I'm running. On the outside, I've got bags under my eyes and could sleep for 20 hours. I feel like I need a neck and shoulder massage I'm so tense. My poor little body is fighting a civil war on its own accord.
My schedule for the next month is crazy intense with finishing our graduate project. If I'm not in class, or home on the weekends writing my 2 major papers, I'll be in a meeting with the team mates. The homestay this weekend is perfectly timed to get me out of this hell and then rejuvenate me with new confidence and strength.
7:58am my train departs tomorrow. I will sleep and probably snore. Through the hills of France into the lake.
Re-reading my instructions, I realized this is what I needed to not feel removed or far. The moment I put eyes onto them I could feel the excitement again, the swoon for him, the "this is how I want it to be forever." I have thanked the gods repeatedly today. I'm not sure if it's enough. I'm the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. And tomorrow pain and humiliation will befall me, and like a marathon, I will enjoy it, hate it, be challenged by it, and will cross the finish with the last leg of energy I have, thinking, "I can't fucking wait to do this again."
Tomorrow I head back to Mr FD in Switzerland - back to my new home. Big hugs, strict enforcement, clear instructions, Bollywood, whiskey, amazing kisses, peace with my service, pain where I need it, deep sleep, pushing through boundaries, cuddles, and so much more.
There's even a footnote in the PDF instructions. Swooning.
#########
It's amazing how tired I am. Combined with a delayed girl-period, I thought for sure I was pregnant again. I was awake a total of 6 hours on Monday and have no idea how I'm still awake now. I'm getting on with the sickness, although it feels like the antibiotics aren't doing anything to my pressure head. I feel dizzy. The steroids to reduce the swelling make me feel like I'm on speed and could clean the apartment all day. On the inside, I feel like I'm running. On the outside, I've got bags under my eyes and could sleep for 20 hours. I feel like I need a neck and shoulder massage I'm so tense. My poor little body is fighting a civil war on its own accord.
My schedule for the next month is crazy intense with finishing our graduate project. If I'm not in class, or home on the weekends writing my 2 major papers, I'll be in a meeting with the team mates. The homestay this weekend is perfectly timed to get me out of this hell and then rejuvenate me with new confidence and strength.
7:58am my train departs tomorrow. I will sleep and probably snore. Through the hills of France into the lake.
Re-reading my instructions, I realized this is what I needed to not feel removed or far. The moment I put eyes onto them I could feel the excitement again, the swoon for him, the "this is how I want it to be forever." I have thanked the gods repeatedly today. I'm not sure if it's enough. I'm the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. And tomorrow pain and humiliation will befall me, and like a marathon, I will enjoy it, hate it, be challenged by it, and will cross the finish with the last leg of energy I have, thinking, "I can't fucking wait to do this again."
Monday, April 13, 2009
Back from Croatia
I had a great time, but am down for the count with a horrible cold/flu/sinus thing. I'm leaning to it just being a cold, but feel like a train is running over me again and again. I guess it's time though, haven't been sick in a long, long time.
I started writing a post about little girl lolita while in Croatia but haven't finished and am too tired to write much right now.
Went out one night to a dance club with some locals. Walked around quite a bit and agree with the Lonely Planet that one only needs about 2-3 days in Zagreb to see all the sights. Had success in school work with my team there. Ended up totally drunk one night and let the Filmmaker have his way on me. It was okay. Mostly I was too drunk to know what was going on. I was singing all the Devotchka albums, drinking wine, and then all of a sudden he was next to me leaning over to kiss me. The other team mate sharing the apartment reminded me the next day that we actually were loud for a long time, which reminded me that he'd fingered me for quite some time before having sex. It wasn't sad sex, which Mr FD was hoping I'd stop having. It wasn't oh-so-much-fun. It just was. I did feel a bit strange telling Mr FD about it. Not that I had to, but I'm not good at secrets from people I care about and if it came out later it would feel to me as if I was hiding something. He was happy I had fun and not strange about it (as I could tell).
But I did/do feel a bit odd. On the one hand, Mr FD was entertaining a play date over the weekend and neither of us is interested in monogamy. I still want this freedom to see other people and have fun, but I also felt like it was some minor kind of betrayal. Like, I'm really into Mr FD and the Filmmaker was only so-so. I have my focus kind of on Mr FD but want to keep my options open. I don't know. ... I've always told every lover that I'm not monogamous, but even when I told James this I ended up accidentally monogamous with him for 2 years and it was he who had dates toward the end. So, I guess I've never really been in a polyamorous or non-monogamous actuality. While in Zagreb, I spent a lot of time with the team mate who suffered the sex sounds. We spent a lot of our in-between work time at cafes drinking wine in the sun and talking about sex and relationships. I told her all about bdsm, Mr FD, and his playdate. Over time, I felt much more comfortable explaining bdsm (my 2nd conversation recently about it with people who had no prior knowledge), comparing her return from Seattle with bruises from sex spanking to my return from Switzerland with bruises from spanking and whipping and the like, comparing the marathon she'd run to masochistic activities of endurance that I went through (the "what the fuck am I doing?" to the "I'll never do this again" to "Oh my god, this is so awesome" to the aftercare we both got: poncho to blanket, food and water, hugs from loved ones, pride, tears, and the great high), etc. And talking about Mr FD's playdate made it easier for me to think about and easier to actually believe the things I thought about the whole deal. He has skills that should be shared with other hungry subs. From what I know of her, she seems like a good person for him. Polyamory doesn't have to necessarily mean that people have primaries and secondaries and so on, but that each person has a place in another's heart. That my insecure mind, trying to compare myself to her (what little I know of her) is just silly, because if you lined up my lovers next to each other I could tell you that each one brings something different out of me and gives me something different. So, while I'm sure my team mate learned quite a lot - I probably was the one who gained even more from the conversations.
That said, when Mr FD and I started emailing again in regularity yesterday and Skyped today, I still felt removed. Granted, I've got a fever brain and I am not in the best of form. And, remembering that it's been a week of an email per day if that -- from regular exchange and frequent Skype. Still, there was a moment when I thought that I should cool down a bit of the other fever I've got for him, be careful a bit more of my heart and take a bit more time to fall into him. ... It's much more of the rational adult in me talking, but it's something I'm feeling. I hate the idea of it, but it might be worth contemplating. .... Or, maybe it's just temporary fears, which will all vanish in three days when I'm back at "homestay" again.
Who knows. And since I'm not thinking all too clearly, it's time to put fever girl to bed.
I started writing a post about little girl lolita while in Croatia but haven't finished and am too tired to write much right now.
Went out one night to a dance club with some locals. Walked around quite a bit and agree with the Lonely Planet that one only needs about 2-3 days in Zagreb to see all the sights. Had success in school work with my team there. Ended up totally drunk one night and let the Filmmaker have his way on me. It was okay. Mostly I was too drunk to know what was going on. I was singing all the Devotchka albums, drinking wine, and then all of a sudden he was next to me leaning over to kiss me. The other team mate sharing the apartment reminded me the next day that we actually were loud for a long time, which reminded me that he'd fingered me for quite some time before having sex. It wasn't sad sex, which Mr FD was hoping I'd stop having. It wasn't oh-so-much-fun. It just was. I did feel a bit strange telling Mr FD about it. Not that I had to, but I'm not good at secrets from people I care about and if it came out later it would feel to me as if I was hiding something. He was happy I had fun and not strange about it (as I could tell).
But I did/do feel a bit odd. On the one hand, Mr FD was entertaining a play date over the weekend and neither of us is interested in monogamy. I still want this freedom to see other people and have fun, but I also felt like it was some minor kind of betrayal. Like, I'm really into Mr FD and the Filmmaker was only so-so. I have my focus kind of on Mr FD but want to keep my options open. I don't know. ... I've always told every lover that I'm not monogamous, but even when I told James this I ended up accidentally monogamous with him for 2 years and it was he who had dates toward the end. So, I guess I've never really been in a polyamorous or non-monogamous actuality. While in Zagreb, I spent a lot of time with the team mate who suffered the sex sounds. We spent a lot of our in-between work time at cafes drinking wine in the sun and talking about sex and relationships. I told her all about bdsm, Mr FD, and his playdate. Over time, I felt much more comfortable explaining bdsm (my 2nd conversation recently about it with people who had no prior knowledge), comparing her return from Seattle with bruises from sex spanking to my return from Switzerland with bruises from spanking and whipping and the like, comparing the marathon she'd run to masochistic activities of endurance that I went through (the "what the fuck am I doing?" to the "I'll never do this again" to "Oh my god, this is so awesome" to the aftercare we both got: poncho to blanket, food and water, hugs from loved ones, pride, tears, and the great high), etc. And talking about Mr FD's playdate made it easier for me to think about and easier to actually believe the things I thought about the whole deal. He has skills that should be shared with other hungry subs. From what I know of her, she seems like a good person for him. Polyamory doesn't have to necessarily mean that people have primaries and secondaries and so on, but that each person has a place in another's heart. That my insecure mind, trying to compare myself to her (what little I know of her) is just silly, because if you lined up my lovers next to each other I could tell you that each one brings something different out of me and gives me something different. So, while I'm sure my team mate learned quite a lot - I probably was the one who gained even more from the conversations.
That said, when Mr FD and I started emailing again in regularity yesterday and Skyped today, I still felt removed. Granted, I've got a fever brain and I am not in the best of form. And, remembering that it's been a week of an email per day if that -- from regular exchange and frequent Skype. Still, there was a moment when I thought that I should cool down a bit of the other fever I've got for him, be careful a bit more of my heart and take a bit more time to fall into him. ... It's much more of the rational adult in me talking, but it's something I'm feeling. I hate the idea of it, but it might be worth contemplating. .... Or, maybe it's just temporary fears, which will all vanish in three days when I'm back at "homestay" again.
Who knows. And since I'm not thinking all too clearly, it's time to put fever girl to bed.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
I remember back in ....
In 1999 or so, I was getting more and more interested in bdsm. I was about 24 and had broken up with my boyfriend at the college newspaper, because I had bought a pair of handcuffs, a dildo, and nipple clamps and wanted him to use them on me. He objected and I had reached a quick, but rather deep point where I had to try this stuff. A break-up with tragedy but for only good reasons.
I somehow found this young woman online who was a sub living in Minneapolis and who was involved with a dom in London. We went for coffee at a restaurant on the south side. She always wore a collar, they talked online all the time, he'd visited once, she'd visited him once. I still thought negatively about their relationship. I couldn't understand how someone could get so deep into something with someone so far away. Internet bdsm - ha! The realm of Trekkies, of fat people, of people afraid to live in real time, of fakers, people with too much fear to live what they wanted to do, and lame because they couldn't find someone local.
The ironies. I really tried not to judge and I could tell it worked for her, and she'd planned to move to London. But I thought about it all realistically and couldn't imagine a closeness that could pass through the internet. I laughed at the idea of her doing things to herself that he'd tell her to do over the 'net. I had stumbled upon bdsm through some guy who had IM'd me, thinking I was someone else (or maybe not?). He was married and living in New Jersey. We talked on the phone and he'd tell me to pour candle wax on myself. I'd fake it because I couldn't imagine doing that to myself and really didn't have valid reasons to do it anyway. It seemed silly. It seemed stupid. And, for all the right reasons. The guy was playing in a fantasy world, and I was eager to explore, release, and try this any way possible. But I wanted someone in real life. And someone who knew what they were doing and what they wanted.
Around this time, I was also using the 1-800 chat lines. A guy came over to my apartment one night after we'd talked about bdsm stuff. It was a complete risk to let some stranger into my apartment, but I was desperate and horny. He had me lay down on my futon couch, blindfolded me, and then just tickled and teased me. He explained he didn't need to be mean to arouse feelings and emotions in me. Cutting off one of my senses could allow him to heighten others. I thank the gods he didn't kill me, but I was also so disappointed that he didn't hurt me a little bit.
After this, I hooked up with the stripper and her husband. They were exploring bdsm stuff but it was more about kink, adding me into their crazy mix. We'd take photos of fake poses with her in tall boots and topless, standing over me as I crouched on their floor, while she pretended to flog me. But we'd always end up back in their bed - and even then I wasn't good at eating cunnie. I wanted to do more with bdsm, as did the husband, but she wasn't so interested. This is where we had to draw the line. Because I couldn't envision having a secret relationship with him and her not involved or not knowing. But before this point, she and I ventured to a munch in town. It was embarrassing as we were clearly the youngest and by far the hottest of the gathering. We were stared at and welcomed, but only in a leering, hungry (or jealous) fashion. It was horrible.
When I moved to Madison and lived on my own, I met up with this guy who was doing PhD work at the school and was into bdsm. I remember one night, at his apartment, he'd laid out all his tools and toys for me to look at and pick some for play. Then, he tied me up to his bed and used some on me. But he ended up wanting to date more and play less, fuck more and tie me up less. It wasn't enough. I had a ton of people to fuck at the time - late at night, at the end of my shift in the old theatre/restaurant, where we'd get wasted and I'd come home with rugburn on my knees for fucking on the carpet in the theatre.
pdh was the next significant play partner. We were crazy kinksters. For my birthday, he invited a guy from Chicago to take photos of us in a hotel room - fucking, playing. We went to the Kit Kat Club and other sex clubs in Berlin, but mostly we reinforced our kink and crazy and love. bd was next and probably just the next obvious step in bdsm. A drunk that I was, I'd end up in his flat, wild on the floor, being tied up so I couldn't find my way to stand up. He'd tie my legs open and flog my cunnie. He'd tie me and put a dildo in my ass. He once tried to fist me and gave me my first squirt. It was amazing, and embarrassing. I'd seen a documentary on it back in 1996, but had never produced it with anyone but myself. And even then, wetting myself seemed like a strange thing - rushing to the bathroom for a towel to quick mop it up.
James was the next in awesome lovers. Rope rope rope all over. Leather mittens on my hands after I'd scratched him up too much while fucking. Ball gag, blindfold, spanking, playing with objects, calling me names, etc.
Sir Max was the next progression. I won't go into details, because you can read them elsewhere. But he gave me a taste of protocol (kneeling at his feet to remove his shoes, calling him Sir) and the dungeon (flogging, caning, spanking, humiliation, bathroom monitoring).
And, then Paris. My lovely friends W and Sarah inviting me to kink events, being so patient with me at munches while I didn't understand a damn word, telling me where to buy kink clothes, always sending me invites to fabulous parties. Language always posing a problem. I remember the Nuit Demonia in the first semester when I was here and some guy tried to express his desire to have me or something. I had to ask Sarah to translate, and even then, I was too scared to talk to him.
That brings us to a culmination into now.
I am that girl who I found slightly silly. I'm running around town for "errands" for Mr FD - pulling together a somewhat ensemble for a maid's outfit, getting my full body measurements, looking for a specific Manrammer dildo. I'm living mindfully with his desires. I'm looking forward to our next "homestay" in 11 days. I'm chatting online and hurting myself for his (and my) pleasure. It's not so silly now. Of course. I'm reminded of this often, that we have no idea what other people are experiencing and shouldn't judge the way they are living their lives. I'm the one becoming a masochist slut - far from physical presence of Mr FD, but mentally tuned into a certain path.
Last night was particularly trippy. So, for almost 2 weeks now I've been controlling my orgasms. I've met a few people who have told me about their ability to control their cum and channeling their energy into something longer lasting akin to tantric sex. I'd gotten to the point this past week where I could ride the edge of pre-orgasm for several minutes - putting my vibrating egg on my clit, taking it off, on, off, etc. And, the last time I did this I found it was almost as relieving as having a full-on orgasm in and of itself. I was as relieved as if I'd cum. I was relaxed and calmed.
When I went for measurements last week, I also bought Mr FD a birthday present. I was thinking of getting an instrument of some kind but didn't know what he'd want. I thought about getting a kinky outfit, but knew I'd already spent quite a bit on the maid outfit. So, I settled on a choker type collar with nipple clamps attached to long chains at the neck. I was figuring, I need to practice with this area of my body since I didn't take it so well last time. I thought he might enjoy the s&m dimension of the gift. So, I tried it on yesterday while hanging out in the apartment. Made it to about 20 minutes of the clamps being on and had to take them off. The pressure just builds up so much and makes me feel like little shards of glass are spiking my nipples.
I'd taken some photos of me in the gift earlier and had planned to send them to him, but then, when I asked how he'd want to receive the gift, he said that I should just bring it with me when I'm there. For kicks and a fun peek, I sent a photo to him. He called me a tease and said he wouldn't look. I took the collar-clamps off to have a Skype call with my sister and then put the collar part back on for comfort -- before he'd sent a Skype note, before I realized we were going to video in Skype and he'd see it. (He got to see me, but he refrained from turning on his video.)
Well, lo and behold, I got myself into some fun trouble. If I was going to wear it, he might as well see it, and I might as well have to wear the full get-up. Twenty minutes before turned into an hour and I grew increasingly uncomfortable. The pain was becoming unbearable. He laughed at the torture I'd put upon myself. I laughed - through cringing. He said that as soon as they'd have to come off, he'd hang up the call (of course, considering that unbearable does not equate harmful or unhealthy). I didn't want to end the call - obviously. So, I tried to breathe through it. My palms started sweating. My head started to buzz and swirl. My tummy started to feel twisty.
So, to take my mind off of the pain a bit, he turned on his video. Sigh and swoon. It helped to redirect my thoughts to him instead of the pain. But only so much.
He told me to take my underwear off and play with myself, while making an arc connection between the pain and pleasure. At this point, before I started touching myself, I was ready to rip off the clamps (or, take them off slowly, heh), but I also wanted to go further and still be able to see and talk to him.
Something definitely culminated inside. I started touching myself and there was a mixture of pain and pleasure in some kind of quilt or field or plane that was in me and around me, where there wasn't a difference between the two. They were one big crochet of feeling, and I was so wet. He smiled and watched me. I stopped being conscious of how I looked (was I grimacing or was I contorted?) and felt flooded with lust and endorphins, my eyes wanted to close but I wanted to keep looking at him. A twang of pain would surface and I'd fondle myself harder or more intensely. He moved his eyes into the video and just stared at me, smiling or watching or grinning. And while I looked into his eyes and played with myself and felt my arms moving and my breasts bouncing, I didn't feel the pain. I felt some calm waves of nowhere. I was high and gone. I was me, staring at him, moving my fingers, but I was out somewhere else. "I'm your memo... I want you to burn me with your cigarette... I want you inside me... I am in your eyes... I am nowhere... What is going on?... Where am I?... Ouch... Yes... Close to cumming... So close... I am your memo..." My eyes would space out and he'd become fuzzy. My eyes would want to close and I'd keep them open. I know I made noises because I could kind of hear them but not: short, quick breaths; long, deep breaths; moans. But I didn't know I was making them until he pointed them out. And then my eyes opened up again, real wide, and I was peering into him, looking into him, still touching myself, still out there, and then I got so close and in so deep to a place I have no idea where it is, that I started to cry. I wanted to orgasm, but didn't need to. I wanted to let my mind and body break apart into all these little pieces of sun rays, expand itself into a chrysanthemum like fireworks, but I wanted to keep it together. Where the fuck was I?
And his voice came back. He could let this go on, but he thought maybe I was reaching a point and should come back. Could I come back? I could. And I cried. Tears down my face. And it was time to calm down, and take the clamps off. My hands were shaking and I was terrified that they'd accidentally lose grip and slap the clamp back on. "Quickly or slowly?" I didn't know I had words. Quickly would be better, he said. The first one off and it shot like a spike in me. And then cooled. The second wasn't as easy and stuck to my skin and I had to kind of pull it off. This was like fire piercing me.
I spaced out. Breathing. Zoning. Dreaming. Floating. High as a kite. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted nothing. I just zoned out. Like when you look at a baby nursing on his mom, and its eyes get all droopy and it kind of grins like its drunk. I had had only one glass of wine tonight tops, and yet I was as drunk as a happy sailor. Mellow, happy, floating.
He wanted to bring me back if I could come back. On the inside, I felt like I could snap to attention if I was required to do so, but the other, over-riding part slowly pulled on the kite string to let me glide back into my body. Eyes half open. Yes?
See, he said, that's what I was doing. I was ready to cut the call if you needed to remove the clamps, but you were able to go further. And once you started going further, I wasn't going to drop you like that. I will see you through and be here after.
I put my pj pants back on and he told me to get a blanket and wrap up in it. I was in a cocoon of joy. I touched my breast with a bit of my finger, way above my nipple, and it zinged back at me. It was so sensitive and tender. And, thankfully, contrary to my fears, neither one had fallen off or become disfigured. I giggled and all of a sudden felt incredibly sleepy.
Why don't you just go lay down and see if you fall asleep? He suggested. After all, it's midnight, a fine time to go to bed, and if you can't sleep you can always watch the Deadwood I loaned you. We said good night.
I was in bed, my shirt making me aware of my nipples but not uncomfortably so. I closed my eyes and drifted all over the place. I flew to different places in the world and encountered different actions. I hadn't remembered that I was invisible and so I thought I had to dodge things. I could look at people and they didn't know I was there. And then, the sounds from the street outside would honk honk or someone would yell and I'd wake up back in my bed. At about 3am I couldn't take the sleep-wake repetitiveness and took a pill. There were no more dreams or flying about without fear.
I have no idea what happened to me last night - although I have a guess. I have no idea if it was a long time or a short time. I have no idea what he was thinking or doing. I don't remember all the things I thought or felt. It was super fucking intense but I wasn't alone.
I somehow found this young woman online who was a sub living in Minneapolis and who was involved with a dom in London. We went for coffee at a restaurant on the south side. She always wore a collar, they talked online all the time, he'd visited once, she'd visited him once. I still thought negatively about their relationship. I couldn't understand how someone could get so deep into something with someone so far away. Internet bdsm - ha! The realm of Trekkies, of fat people, of people afraid to live in real time, of fakers, people with too much fear to live what they wanted to do, and lame because they couldn't find someone local.
The ironies. I really tried not to judge and I could tell it worked for her, and she'd planned to move to London. But I thought about it all realistically and couldn't imagine a closeness that could pass through the internet. I laughed at the idea of her doing things to herself that he'd tell her to do over the 'net. I had stumbled upon bdsm through some guy who had IM'd me, thinking I was someone else (or maybe not?). He was married and living in New Jersey. We talked on the phone and he'd tell me to pour candle wax on myself. I'd fake it because I couldn't imagine doing that to myself and really didn't have valid reasons to do it anyway. It seemed silly. It seemed stupid. And, for all the right reasons. The guy was playing in a fantasy world, and I was eager to explore, release, and try this any way possible. But I wanted someone in real life. And someone who knew what they were doing and what they wanted.
Around this time, I was also using the 1-800 chat lines. A guy came over to my apartment one night after we'd talked about bdsm stuff. It was a complete risk to let some stranger into my apartment, but I was desperate and horny. He had me lay down on my futon couch, blindfolded me, and then just tickled and teased me. He explained he didn't need to be mean to arouse feelings and emotions in me. Cutting off one of my senses could allow him to heighten others. I thank the gods he didn't kill me, but I was also so disappointed that he didn't hurt me a little bit.
After this, I hooked up with the stripper and her husband. They were exploring bdsm stuff but it was more about kink, adding me into their crazy mix. We'd take photos of fake poses with her in tall boots and topless, standing over me as I crouched on their floor, while she pretended to flog me. But we'd always end up back in their bed - and even then I wasn't good at eating cunnie. I wanted to do more with bdsm, as did the husband, but she wasn't so interested. This is where we had to draw the line. Because I couldn't envision having a secret relationship with him and her not involved or not knowing. But before this point, she and I ventured to a munch in town. It was embarrassing as we were clearly the youngest and by far the hottest of the gathering. We were stared at and welcomed, but only in a leering, hungry (or jealous) fashion. It was horrible.
When I moved to Madison and lived on my own, I met up with this guy who was doing PhD work at the school and was into bdsm. I remember one night, at his apartment, he'd laid out all his tools and toys for me to look at and pick some for play. Then, he tied me up to his bed and used some on me. But he ended up wanting to date more and play less, fuck more and tie me up less. It wasn't enough. I had a ton of people to fuck at the time - late at night, at the end of my shift in the old theatre/restaurant, where we'd get wasted and I'd come home with rugburn on my knees for fucking on the carpet in the theatre.
pdh was the next significant play partner. We were crazy kinksters. For my birthday, he invited a guy from Chicago to take photos of us in a hotel room - fucking, playing. We went to the Kit Kat Club and other sex clubs in Berlin, but mostly we reinforced our kink and crazy and love. bd was next and probably just the next obvious step in bdsm. A drunk that I was, I'd end up in his flat, wild on the floor, being tied up so I couldn't find my way to stand up. He'd tie my legs open and flog my cunnie. He'd tie me and put a dildo in my ass. He once tried to fist me and gave me my first squirt. It was amazing, and embarrassing. I'd seen a documentary on it back in 1996, but had never produced it with anyone but myself. And even then, wetting myself seemed like a strange thing - rushing to the bathroom for a towel to quick mop it up.
James was the next in awesome lovers. Rope rope rope all over. Leather mittens on my hands after I'd scratched him up too much while fucking. Ball gag, blindfold, spanking, playing with objects, calling me names, etc.
Sir Max was the next progression. I won't go into details, because you can read them elsewhere. But he gave me a taste of protocol (kneeling at his feet to remove his shoes, calling him Sir) and the dungeon (flogging, caning, spanking, humiliation, bathroom monitoring).
And, then Paris. My lovely friends W and Sarah inviting me to kink events, being so patient with me at munches while I didn't understand a damn word, telling me where to buy kink clothes, always sending me invites to fabulous parties. Language always posing a problem. I remember the Nuit Demonia in the first semester when I was here and some guy tried to express his desire to have me or something. I had to ask Sarah to translate, and even then, I was too scared to talk to him.
That brings us to a culmination into now.
I am that girl who I found slightly silly. I'm running around town for "errands" for Mr FD - pulling together a somewhat ensemble for a maid's outfit, getting my full body measurements, looking for a specific Manrammer dildo. I'm living mindfully with his desires. I'm looking forward to our next "homestay" in 11 days. I'm chatting online and hurting myself for his (and my) pleasure. It's not so silly now. Of course. I'm reminded of this often, that we have no idea what other people are experiencing and shouldn't judge the way they are living their lives. I'm the one becoming a masochist slut - far from physical presence of Mr FD, but mentally tuned into a certain path.
Last night was particularly trippy. So, for almost 2 weeks now I've been controlling my orgasms. I've met a few people who have told me about their ability to control their cum and channeling their energy into something longer lasting akin to tantric sex. I'd gotten to the point this past week where I could ride the edge of pre-orgasm for several minutes - putting my vibrating egg on my clit, taking it off, on, off, etc. And, the last time I did this I found it was almost as relieving as having a full-on orgasm in and of itself. I was as relieved as if I'd cum. I was relaxed and calmed.
When I went for measurements last week, I also bought Mr FD a birthday present. I was thinking of getting an instrument of some kind but didn't know what he'd want. I thought about getting a kinky outfit, but knew I'd already spent quite a bit on the maid outfit. So, I settled on a choker type collar with nipple clamps attached to long chains at the neck. I was figuring, I need to practice with this area of my body since I didn't take it so well last time. I thought he might enjoy the s&m dimension of the gift. So, I tried it on yesterday while hanging out in the apartment. Made it to about 20 minutes of the clamps being on and had to take them off. The pressure just builds up so much and makes me feel like little shards of glass are spiking my nipples.
I'd taken some photos of me in the gift earlier and had planned to send them to him, but then, when I asked how he'd want to receive the gift, he said that I should just bring it with me when I'm there. For kicks and a fun peek, I sent a photo to him. He called me a tease and said he wouldn't look. I took the collar-clamps off to have a Skype call with my sister and then put the collar part back on for comfort -- before he'd sent a Skype note, before I realized we were going to video in Skype and he'd see it. (He got to see me, but he refrained from turning on his video.)
Well, lo and behold, I got myself into some fun trouble. If I was going to wear it, he might as well see it, and I might as well have to wear the full get-up. Twenty minutes before turned into an hour and I grew increasingly uncomfortable. The pain was becoming unbearable. He laughed at the torture I'd put upon myself. I laughed - through cringing. He said that as soon as they'd have to come off, he'd hang up the call (of course, considering that unbearable does not equate harmful or unhealthy). I didn't want to end the call - obviously. So, I tried to breathe through it. My palms started sweating. My head started to buzz and swirl. My tummy started to feel twisty.
So, to take my mind off of the pain a bit, he turned on his video. Sigh and swoon. It helped to redirect my thoughts to him instead of the pain. But only so much.
He told me to take my underwear off and play with myself, while making an arc connection between the pain and pleasure. At this point, before I started touching myself, I was ready to rip off the clamps (or, take them off slowly, heh), but I also wanted to go further and still be able to see and talk to him.
Something definitely culminated inside. I started touching myself and there was a mixture of pain and pleasure in some kind of quilt or field or plane that was in me and around me, where there wasn't a difference between the two. They were one big crochet of feeling, and I was so wet. He smiled and watched me. I stopped being conscious of how I looked (was I grimacing or was I contorted?) and felt flooded with lust and endorphins, my eyes wanted to close but I wanted to keep looking at him. A twang of pain would surface and I'd fondle myself harder or more intensely. He moved his eyes into the video and just stared at me, smiling or watching or grinning. And while I looked into his eyes and played with myself and felt my arms moving and my breasts bouncing, I didn't feel the pain. I felt some calm waves of nowhere. I was high and gone. I was me, staring at him, moving my fingers, but I was out somewhere else. "I'm your memo... I want you to burn me with your cigarette... I want you inside me... I am in your eyes... I am nowhere... What is going on?... Where am I?... Ouch... Yes... Close to cumming... So close... I am your memo..." My eyes would space out and he'd become fuzzy. My eyes would want to close and I'd keep them open. I know I made noises because I could kind of hear them but not: short, quick breaths; long, deep breaths; moans. But I didn't know I was making them until he pointed them out. And then my eyes opened up again, real wide, and I was peering into him, looking into him, still touching myself, still out there, and then I got so close and in so deep to a place I have no idea where it is, that I started to cry. I wanted to orgasm, but didn't need to. I wanted to let my mind and body break apart into all these little pieces of sun rays, expand itself into a chrysanthemum like fireworks, but I wanted to keep it together. Where the fuck was I?
And his voice came back. He could let this go on, but he thought maybe I was reaching a point and should come back. Could I come back? I could. And I cried. Tears down my face. And it was time to calm down, and take the clamps off. My hands were shaking and I was terrified that they'd accidentally lose grip and slap the clamp back on. "Quickly or slowly?" I didn't know I had words. Quickly would be better, he said. The first one off and it shot like a spike in me. And then cooled. The second wasn't as easy and stuck to my skin and I had to kind of pull it off. This was like fire piercing me.
I spaced out. Breathing. Zoning. Dreaming. Floating. High as a kite. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted nothing. I just zoned out. Like when you look at a baby nursing on his mom, and its eyes get all droopy and it kind of grins like its drunk. I had had only one glass of wine tonight tops, and yet I was as drunk as a happy sailor. Mellow, happy, floating.
He wanted to bring me back if I could come back. On the inside, I felt like I could snap to attention if I was required to do so, but the other, over-riding part slowly pulled on the kite string to let me glide back into my body. Eyes half open. Yes?
See, he said, that's what I was doing. I was ready to cut the call if you needed to remove the clamps, but you were able to go further. And once you started going further, I wasn't going to drop you like that. I will see you through and be here after.
I put my pj pants back on and he told me to get a blanket and wrap up in it. I was in a cocoon of joy. I touched my breast with a bit of my finger, way above my nipple, and it zinged back at me. It was so sensitive and tender. And, thankfully, contrary to my fears, neither one had fallen off or become disfigured. I giggled and all of a sudden felt incredibly sleepy.
Why don't you just go lay down and see if you fall asleep? He suggested. After all, it's midnight, a fine time to go to bed, and if you can't sleep you can always watch the Deadwood I loaned you. We said good night.
I was in bed, my shirt making me aware of my nipples but not uncomfortably so. I closed my eyes and drifted all over the place. I flew to different places in the world and encountered different actions. I hadn't remembered that I was invisible and so I thought I had to dodge things. I could look at people and they didn't know I was there. And then, the sounds from the street outside would honk honk or someone would yell and I'd wake up back in my bed. At about 3am I couldn't take the sleep-wake repetitiveness and took a pill. There were no more dreams or flying about without fear.
I have no idea what happened to me last night - although I have a guess. I have no idea if it was a long time or a short time. I have no idea what he was thinking or doing. I don't remember all the things I thought or felt. It was super fucking intense but I wasn't alone.
Friday, April 3, 2009
I wanna stay at the ball
As The World Falls Down (David Bowie)
There's such a sad love
Deep in your eyes, a kind of pale jewel
Opened and closed within your eyes
I'll place the sky within your eyes
There's such a fooled heart
Beating so fast in search of new dreams
A love that will last within your heart
I'll place the moon within your heart
As the pain sweeps through
Makes no sense for you
Every thrill he's caused
Wasn't too much fun at all
But I'll be there for you
As the world falls down
Falling
(As the world) Falling down
Falling in love
I'll paint you mornings of gold
I'll spin you Valentine evenings
Though we're strangers till now
We're choosing the path between the stars
I'll leave my love between the stars
As the pain sweeps through
Makes no sense for you
Every thrill he's caused
Wasn't too much fun at all
But I'll be there for you
As the world falls down
As the world falls down
Thursday, April 2, 2009
In the quest
I was so hungover this morning.
Yesterday, went to lunch with a school chum, toured through LaChapelle's exhibit (I adore religious iconography mixed with sex and gay boys), and ran errands to fulfill a request from Mr. FD (make-shift maid outfit with white blouses and black skirt - cheap as possible so they could be mangled and maimed ala "damsel in distress"). Then, last night, almost all the kids in my second year got together for dinner and drinks. So much wine flowed over dinner that I ended up stealing the last full bottle and packing it in my bag as we all piled out of the restaurant to go to a bar. I love Europe - passing the bottle around in the metro to my friends as we obnoxiously talk loudly in English, Spanish, and French, and think we're the only people on the train. Got the bartender at this hipster place to re-fill the bottle and I just swigged out of it all night, causing great distress to some French bike messenger guy. Found a cab, came home and confessed my drunken longing to Mr FD, who proceeded to tell me that he'd posted some of the "homestay" photos on FetLife. (We had discussed posting pics online before (abstractly) and agreed on criterias for possibly doing that.)
Him: Just exposed you online, horny slut.
Me: Eh? Pardon?
Him: On Fetlife, little girl.
Me: ohgod
Him: So you can become a virtual cumbag ;) [one of my expressed fantasies has to do with being a cumdumpster]
Me: fuck.
Me: why?
Him: I thought it would tease your exhibitionist side. Was I that wrong?
Of course, he wasn't wrong. It was just the initial shock factor I guess. The first time revealing a part of me to the WHOLE WIDE WORLD that I only keep locked down under invitation (Flickr) and only mildly alluded to (FetLife posting) and described through words but not wholly graphic images (CDOA).
Him: All this said, if it doens't make you secretely proud (or wet) and if it provokes too odd feelings, we can discuss the issue and I can envision removing the pics.
Me (drunk schoolgirl): I feel like Venus de Milo to the unknown sculptor or Sistine Chapel to Michelangelo. I'm flattered to be shown and created. (OCD: want to center the images and spell check the details).... flattered is the least of my vocabulary right now. Overwhelmed in a good way.
Him: Daddy is a bit of a perv, you know that much I am sure.
Me: Please stay this way......
Me (this morning): oh, I can be so dramatic and poetic and just like a teen girl when I get drunk. (totally embarrassed now)
Him: It''s ok. I like it.
So, for the life of me I cannot figure out how I stumbled upon Spiritual Polyamory, but I did. I think maybe it was through searches on Amazon for spiritual BDSM, but I landed there and the guy is pretty silly (totally not into the web design or the banner at the bottom blaring "tarot cards"), but I like what he says in the short video piece. Anyway.. it set me off through the rabbit hole some more (which I've been adding to my Naughty Wishlist).
And, then, I got caught at Spiritual Transformation Through BDSM. It sounds kinda hokey, but I do find it all converging together for me. Religious iconography (The Italian gave me a lovely wooden rosary, I'm into the mysticism of sex in other religions), a Master or dominant as a healer or a Orisha priest releasing a sub's inner torment, etc... And then, I got caught in this dude, W. Henkin "Psychotherapist"'s comment (on the above link). I didn't even finish reading his whole comment, I just got stopped dead at "Discussions about the relationship between BDSM and spirituality are not new. The topic was not new in December, 1995, when I joined Joseph Bean, Cléo Dubois, Sybil Holiday, and Fakir Musafar on a panel to discuss the subject for the Society of Janus, nor was it new when Fakir talked about the role of the Ka-See-Ka in guiding SM journeys, or Joseph explained the spiritual dimensions of bondage in an essay by that name, both in Mark Thompson's seminal 1991 anthology Leatherfolk."
And then, I had to go off and follow and find out more about Fakir Musafar and this Kaseeka idea. This interview was one of the most interesting things I've read for a long time (warning: this guy was really into flesh hooks - no photos behind the link, but graphic description nonetheless).
Of course, I did go to school today - twice in fact - and paid my landlord, so it's not like I'm in grad school to cruise the web... although, secretly I am.
Within Musafar's interview was a mention and link to my good friend Ram Dass. Well, good friend in that I read his "Be Here Now" book when I was like 19 and it changed my life as it linked together my high school readings on the Beat Poets, and my skimming through the I-Ching and superficial studies of Buddhism.
I wanted to know more about who was running this website and found a plethora of other cool (and lame: Jerry Garcia) interviews. "Mavericks of the Mind": This site has the complete texts of two remarkable books, as well as additional material for you to enjoy. Mavericks of the Mind and Voices from the Edge contain thought-provoking interviews with over thirty of the leading thinkers of our time on the subject of consciousness.
And, then I had to do some homework. I'm forgoing any booze tonight for the safety of my poor brain cells and because, frankly, I think I've been drinking way too much in a response to some of the fear I've got buzzing inside right now. Not that I need to launch into it, but I'll show you a bit of my hungover freak out today:
Me (final analysis of my reaction to the FetLife photos): All of a sudden - there I was - in bright colors, totally exposed. And then, I wondered what your motivation was and was a bit worried that the images might frighten other interested subbies - and I caught myself at that point, remembering that it's not for me to be concerned with either of these issues. And then, pride and excitement filled me... and I did a little "He really likes me! He really likes me!" dance.
Him: Does it come as a surprise that I really like you, insecure little girl?
Me: Ughhh.. I dunno... My life right now just feels a little like a tornado. This is obvious by just looking at my apartment. It's a total mess.
Everything is surprising me right now. I'm totally hungover today and feel like an idiot. I've been drinking too much lately because I'm scared (and it's fun). I'm overwhelmed with the fact that I look around me and I've got to pack up all my things someday soon but have no idea where I'm going. I know what I think I want to do next (life-wise; career-wise - about which I have questions for you) but it's enormous and a free-fall. It's been gorgeous weather, and Paris almost made me cry with its beauty. I realized last night that I really do love all the kids I've gone to school with and will have to say good-bye soon. I'm going to fucking Croatia in 4 days and have no idea what I'm doing there. I had this complete purpose a year ago and knew what I was doing (school papers were being written, summer internship was already locked in, and I just knew I'd find a fab place to live). Now, I have no fucking idea and it's really freaking me out. Every time I think of you, I feel this weight/pressure/ache like a gigantic tree stump is sitting on my chest. I can't breathe with these feelings. I knew in January that I wanted to fall in love, that Charlie Brown Christmas Song was telling me so, that all the boys I was fucking was fun but unfulfilling. And having all this emotion, amazement, swooning, falling in love with you and panting like an eager puppy for every task, finding such enormous joy in doing things for you/for me, finding myself pinching my nipples and longing for more pain/confinement/placement... it's so fucking surprising and scary. And that you really like me back.. yes, it's a surprise, too.
... I'm ok. Really, I am, but I'm spinning... and I can step outside and see it and remind myself to thoroughly enjoy these moments because right now I am SO ALIVE.
[not to mention that my sister is engaged and will most likely be coming to my graduation with her fiance and might get married here; that my best friend from when I was 15 is visiting in a couple of weeks - after my next "homestay" in CH - and I haven't seen her since 1992; that I've got 2 big papers to write and 2 memos for classes, that I've got a huge final graduation project in the works - hence, Croatia; that my sister's ex-husband's daughter is coming to stay with me at the end of May; that I'm plunging back into bdsm; that I'm being trained on orgasm control and haven't had a full-blown cum in weeks; or so many other things!]
Riiight. So, no booze, earlyish to bed, drinking lots of water, wondering what alcohol withdrawal feels like and if I'm suffering that right now, and gonna maybe watch a movie. Mr FD hasn't emailed since my freak out email, but I'm guessing it's because he's letting me cool off a bit. Our back-and-forths get me pretty excited and it's good to give me breathers. Lord knows, I don't know if I could stop myself right now, but I am letting rationality in every once in a while. Yeah, this is all big, fast, hard, deep. Kinda like chocolate porn, but more overwhelming. Heh.
Yesterday, went to lunch with a school chum, toured through LaChapelle's exhibit (I adore religious iconography mixed with sex and gay boys), and ran errands to fulfill a request from Mr. FD (make-shift maid outfit with white blouses and black skirt - cheap as possible so they could be mangled and maimed ala "damsel in distress"). Then, last night, almost all the kids in my second year got together for dinner and drinks. So much wine flowed over dinner that I ended up stealing the last full bottle and packing it in my bag as we all piled out of the restaurant to go to a bar. I love Europe - passing the bottle around in the metro to my friends as we obnoxiously talk loudly in English, Spanish, and French, and think we're the only people on the train. Got the bartender at this hipster place to re-fill the bottle and I just swigged out of it all night, causing great distress to some French bike messenger guy. Found a cab, came home and confessed my drunken longing to Mr FD, who proceeded to tell me that he'd posted some of the "homestay" photos on FetLife. (We had discussed posting pics online before (abstractly) and agreed on criterias for possibly doing that.)
Him: Just exposed you online, horny slut.
Me: Eh? Pardon?
Him: On Fetlife, little girl.
Me: ohgod
Him: So you can become a virtual cumbag ;) [one of my expressed fantasies has to do with being a cumdumpster]
Me: fuck.
Me: why?
Him: I thought it would tease your exhibitionist side. Was I that wrong?
Of course, he wasn't wrong. It was just the initial shock factor I guess. The first time revealing a part of me to the WHOLE WIDE WORLD that I only keep locked down under invitation (Flickr) and only mildly alluded to (FetLife posting) and described through words but not wholly graphic images (CDOA).
Him: All this said, if it doens't make you secretely proud (or wet) and if it provokes too odd feelings, we can discuss the issue and I can envision removing the pics.
Me (drunk schoolgirl): I feel like Venus de Milo to the unknown sculptor or Sistine Chapel to Michelangelo. I'm flattered to be shown and created. (OCD: want to center the images and spell check the details).... flattered is the least of my vocabulary right now. Overwhelmed in a good way.
Him: Daddy is a bit of a perv, you know that much I am sure.
Me: Please stay this way......
Me (this morning): oh, I can be so dramatic and poetic and just like a teen girl when I get drunk. (totally embarrassed now)
Him: It''s ok. I like it.
So, for the life of me I cannot figure out how I stumbled upon Spiritual Polyamory, but I did. I think maybe it was through searches on Amazon for spiritual BDSM, but I landed there and the guy is pretty silly (totally not into the web design or the banner at the bottom blaring "tarot cards"), but I like what he says in the short video piece. Anyway.. it set me off through the rabbit hole some more (which I've been adding to my Naughty Wishlist).
And, then, I got caught at Spiritual Transformation Through BDSM. It sounds kinda hokey, but I do find it all converging together for me. Religious iconography (The Italian gave me a lovely wooden rosary, I'm into the mysticism of sex in other religions), a Master or dominant as a healer or a Orisha priest releasing a sub's inner torment, etc... And then, I got caught in this dude, W. Henkin "Psychotherapist"'s comment (on the above link). I didn't even finish reading his whole comment, I just got stopped dead at "Discussions about the relationship between BDSM and spirituality are not new. The topic was not new in December, 1995, when I joined Joseph Bean, Cléo Dubois, Sybil Holiday, and Fakir Musafar on a panel to discuss the subject for the Society of Janus, nor was it new when Fakir talked about the role of the Ka-See-Ka in guiding SM journeys, or Joseph explained the spiritual dimensions of bondage in an essay by that name, both in Mark Thompson's seminal 1991 anthology Leatherfolk."
And then, I had to go off and follow and find out more about Fakir Musafar and this Kaseeka idea. This interview was one of the most interesting things I've read for a long time (warning: this guy was really into flesh hooks - no photos behind the link, but graphic description nonetheless).
Of course, I did go to school today - twice in fact - and paid my landlord, so it's not like I'm in grad school to cruise the web... although, secretly I am.
Within Musafar's interview was a mention and link to my good friend Ram Dass. Well, good friend in that I read his "Be Here Now" book when I was like 19 and it changed my life as it linked together my high school readings on the Beat Poets, and my skimming through the I-Ching and superficial studies of Buddhism.
I wanted to know more about who was running this website and found a plethora of other cool (and lame: Jerry Garcia) interviews. "Mavericks of the Mind": This site has the complete texts of two remarkable books, as well as additional material for you to enjoy. Mavericks of the Mind and Voices from the Edge contain thought-provoking interviews with over thirty of the leading thinkers of our time on the subject of consciousness.
And, then I had to do some homework. I'm forgoing any booze tonight for the safety of my poor brain cells and because, frankly, I think I've been drinking way too much in a response to some of the fear I've got buzzing inside right now. Not that I need to launch into it, but I'll show you a bit of my hungover freak out today:
Me (final analysis of my reaction to the FetLife photos): All of a sudden - there I was - in bright colors, totally exposed. And then, I wondered what your motivation was and was a bit worried that the images might frighten other interested subbies - and I caught myself at that point, remembering that it's not for me to be concerned with either of these issues. And then, pride and excitement filled me... and I did a little "He really likes me! He really likes me!" dance.
Him: Does it come as a surprise that I really like you, insecure little girl?
Me: Ughhh.. I dunno... My life right now just feels a little like a tornado. This is obvious by just looking at my apartment. It's a total mess.
Everything is surprising me right now. I'm totally hungover today and feel like an idiot. I've been drinking too much lately because I'm scared (and it's fun). I'm overwhelmed with the fact that I look around me and I've got to pack up all my things someday soon but have no idea where I'm going. I know what I think I want to do next (life-wise; career-wise - about which I have questions for you) but it's enormous and a free-fall. It's been gorgeous weather, and Paris almost made me cry with its beauty. I realized last night that I really do love all the kids I've gone to school with and will have to say good-bye soon. I'm going to fucking Croatia in 4 days and have no idea what I'm doing there. I had this complete purpose a year ago and knew what I was doing (school papers were being written, summer internship was already locked in, and I just knew I'd find a fab place to live). Now, I have no fucking idea and it's really freaking me out. Every time I think of you, I feel this weight/pressure/ache like a gigantic tree stump is sitting on my chest. I can't breathe with these feelings. I knew in January that I wanted to fall in love, that Charlie Brown Christmas Song was telling me so, that all the boys I was fucking was fun but unfulfilling. And having all this emotion, amazement, swooning, falling in love with you and panting like an eager puppy for every task, finding such enormous joy in doing things for you/for me, finding myself pinching my nipples and longing for more pain/confinement/placement... it's so fucking surprising and scary. And that you really like me back.. yes, it's a surprise, too.
... I'm ok. Really, I am, but I'm spinning... and I can step outside and see it and remind myself to thoroughly enjoy these moments because right now I am SO ALIVE.
[not to mention that my sister is engaged and will most likely be coming to my graduation with her fiance and might get married here; that my best friend from when I was 15 is visiting in a couple of weeks - after my next "homestay" in CH - and I haven't seen her since 1992; that I've got 2 big papers to write and 2 memos for classes, that I've got a huge final graduation project in the works - hence, Croatia; that my sister's ex-husband's daughter is coming to stay with me at the end of May; that I'm plunging back into bdsm; that I'm being trained on orgasm control and haven't had a full-blown cum in weeks; or so many other things!]
Riiight. So, no booze, earlyish to bed, drinking lots of water, wondering what alcohol withdrawal feels like and if I'm suffering that right now, and gonna maybe watch a movie. Mr FD hasn't emailed since my freak out email, but I'm guessing it's because he's letting me cool off a bit. Our back-and-forths get me pretty excited and it's good to give me breathers. Lord knows, I don't know if I could stop myself right now, but I am letting rationality in every once in a while. Yeah, this is all big, fast, hard, deep. Kinda like chocolate porn, but more overwhelming. Heh.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I will become annoying
Sick and boring.
I can't help but swoon. Where I would have rolled my eyes at other submissive exclamations about "the Power of HIM and my all is FOR HIM" -- okay, still feel a bit silly about those, for sure, but am finding myself more and more swooning for Mr. FD and thinking about him (at a LaChapelle exhibit) and talking more about him (@ school friends) and feel slightly sickly with my "falling in love" but ... c'est la vie. I'm swooning and falling...
I can't help but swoon. Where I would have rolled my eyes at other submissive exclamations about "the Power of HIM and my all is FOR HIM" -- okay, still feel a bit silly about those, for sure, but am finding myself more and more swooning for Mr. FD and thinking about him (at a LaChapelle exhibit) and talking more about him (@ school friends) and feel slightly sickly with my "falling in love" but ... c'est la vie. I'm swooning and falling...
without a skin
I cried tonight.
Not for torture, but for those that are tortured.
She broke his heart. Her mom was schizophrenic. She is acting out.
He loved her so much. He did all he could.
I love them both.
And there is nothing I can do.
She has tortured me by my willing to let her insecurities in.
I torture myself with his torment.
I grabbed his lapel. I love you. I respect you. I don't know what to do with her. She aches and cries and is longing and I have learned now to repel it. She could easily bring me into her spiral downwards but I can't let it feed me. I have to let her be who she is.
My mantra: accept you all for who you are.
But don't let you come live inside me.
I have enough personalities inside.
I love you both and you are now divorced, separated, free from one another. She is crazy and hurtful and he is desirous and wanting.
All I can do is let you both have space near me, but not within me.
It's so hard to not feel what they feel.
I rub my arm over and over thinking I can coat it in protection.
But I love you both.
So, I cry. Emotional ejaculate. Eye expression. Soul living.
I hug him. She is abroad and far from reach. He needs to be free. She needs to be released.
I cry tears to him. I love you, man. I do.
Not for torture, but for those that are tortured.
She broke his heart. Her mom was schizophrenic. She is acting out.
He loved her so much. He did all he could.
I love them both.
And there is nothing I can do.
She has tortured me by my willing to let her insecurities in.
I torture myself with his torment.
I grabbed his lapel. I love you. I respect you. I don't know what to do with her. She aches and cries and is longing and I have learned now to repel it. She could easily bring me into her spiral downwards but I can't let it feed me. I have to let her be who she is.
My mantra: accept you all for who you are.
But don't let you come live inside me.
I have enough personalities inside.
I love you both and you are now divorced, separated, free from one another. She is crazy and hurtful and he is desirous and wanting.
All I can do is let you both have space near me, but not within me.
It's so hard to not feel what they feel.
I rub my arm over and over thinking I can coat it in protection.
But I love you both.
So, I cry. Emotional ejaculate. Eye expression. Soul living.
I hug him. She is abroad and far from reach. He needs to be free. She needs to be released.
I cry tears to him. I love you, man. I do.
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