The Lighthouse

Celine gave me good hash.

It's been nice to remember my relationship with drugs. It's been nice to roll a joint again. I have fond memories of this. I have skills. It's why I dropped out of college. I discovered that I had other talents - not just for debating Kant, analyzing the diverse voices in a work by Sherman Alexie, or writing incredibly descriptive essays for English class -- for an assistant professor who invited Gordon Gano, from the Violent Femmes, because his dad was their lawyer. I had other talents, too, though. Rolling joints, getting high, fucking, and rockin' out at punk rock shows. Not that those, in and of themselves, say something - but they do point to a certain release and re-evaluation of my abilities. All of these activities brought out something more deep in me. Revealed new parts of myself to my eyes.

I remember sometimes losing my grip on the roach holder. Or, nights where everyone took turns rolling a joint - and, would compare techniques. Filterless. Dan, with the redhaired afro, who listed to Pavement all day long, made pizzas all night, and was so riddled with shyness that he barely spoke a word. The Teller of Penn. He'd sometimes roll two papers together and make us all high for the night. There'd be boys and girls who'd come and go. Taylor, the jock-ish kid who embodied "tall, dark, and handsome." Not too wise, but smart enough. Not as many girls came through the mix. But when they did, those boys fell so hard in love.

We never talked much about that though. We'd talk about scoring, pooling our cash, meeting the kid down at the Jim Carroll show at The Whole (or insert your choice: Scooby Don't, The Strike, J Church, Dillinger Four, Avail, Man Afraid, Propagandhi, Tribe 8). Or, someone would collect, and then all of a sudden between morning classes and your afternoon lab, Dan or Eric or Shane would show up with a big bag of grass. We talked about how to do this, and we talked about doing it, with dry gutter weed, or sticky sweet dope, picking the seeds out, and gazing in awe at how hairy it was, glistening under the one lamp in the room, the individual scent of each bag, or the familiar smell of the same batch in town, how the body would buzz or zone or hunger or fuck. We, also, talked about musical notes, we turned up the music real loud and stuffed a towel under the door, and after a while, we started getting up. Inevitably, we would end up in a slow, shoulder-hunch slinky line to the doors of the dorm. There was always one kid who'd wandered around "the other day" and found this "fucking cool ass spot." Sometimes we jumped fences. Sometimes we hid in shadows. Sometimes we got caught - and were lucky they had a girl with them.

I could never roll a perfect joint. They always looked like a snake had eaten an elephant. Or a hat.

This summer, Mr FD reminded me about this. He liked joints. Ones with tobacco and weed mixed. I could remember this from doing it in Spain. It's a nice high, where instead of the brain turning to trails of lights and feeling unable to move, it feels capable and alert, yet overwhelmingly mellow. I learned how to roll, man, did I learn. Filter, long Rizlas that I wasn't familiar with, loosening the tobacco in a small dish, de-steming the grass, mixing the two into a once-in-a-while perfect cone. We'd listen to music, too. He had the tall speakers, and he'd move the ottoman to the center point of listening, I'd sit and sometimes just rock out - Aidonia from "Jamaica's Most Wanted Mixtape," Baden Powell, Antipop Consortium, Gnarls Barkley, Reverend Charlie Jackson, Ann Peebles, and then old familiars from the college days, Praxis and Parliament.

So, now, I'm rolling my own tonight. Re-learning my way around hash is fun. Celine's 24-year-old roommmate (who sports a 7 o'clock shadow, spiky hair, and used to work for Quicksilver) scored some. Apparently hash is what you smoke when there is no grass around town. It was funny to have drinks with Celine this past weekend and watch four guys his age get high and doll up for going out clubbing.

Interesting. She said a few things while we watched some UK humor flicks. Things like, I'd "never let her before." To my comment that we should have spent more time together hanging out during school. Things like, "Are you comfortable? You're leaning on your hand. You can sit back if you wanna." I found them just friendly gestures at the time. Hm.. I guess I did kiss her and fondle her tits the other night.

So, now, I'm sitting outside on the balcony terrace, it's night cold, and the Eiffel Tower light sends out its beacon like the lighthouse. The stars are out, hazily winking through the light clouds. I can barely differentiate the clouds from the sky but for a faint hint of grey contrasting to a darker dark blue. Yes, one could say, a midnight blue.



And then an interesting thought. There might be nothing that can be done about the past, but the future you can change.

A life less ordinary

Southern France and Barcelona were incredible. Great times with great friends.

I'm now in homestay with Mr FD in a cloudy, rainy Switzerland. Day 3 and it's been a mix of sorts: highs and slightly less highs. We're figuring out our relationship, ourselves, and our places in things. I'm PMS'd and as you all know, I typically ride out the PMS alone, away from interaction with the humanz, but this has been a relief of a different kind to be here with him riding this state. I'll write more on details later, but today is a deeper day into domination/submission lifestyle. My friends in France joked that I'm living the housewife tale in Cocorosie's ironic "By Your Side" (video live).

I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
I just wanted to be your housewife
All I wanted was to be your housewife
I'll iron your clothes
I'll shine your shoes
I'll make your bed
And cook your food
I'll never cheat
I'll be the best girl you'll ever meet
And for a diamond ring
I'll do these kinds of things
I'll scrub your floor
Never be a bore
I'll tuck you in
I do not snore
I'd wear your black eyes
Bake you apple pies
I don't ask why
And i trys not to crys
I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
And its nearly midnight
And all i want with my life
Is to be a housewife
Is to be a housewife
'Cause it's nearly midnight
And all i want with my life
Is to die a housewife
Is to die a housewife

...more later....

Vacationing

Yes, friends, well it is over. I emailed my last paper, memo, and documents for the final project. And a day early, thank you. This does not speak to the caliber of work because it sucked and it was sent intentionally as crap. Be done! Move on! Senioritis!

And now, there's a sort of confusion. Mr FD put it so nicely as "postpartum" and I'd have to agree. In a way it was giving birth. So, my final project comrades and I had lovely flutes of champagne and talked about how odd we feel now that it's done. What do we do? One has a job already so she's set. The other has called in reinforcements and her NYC pally will come to town. The other has a partner and they will make flight plans to return to South America. And me?

Well, I have been invited to go south to Toulouse to hang out with pdh and his lovely lady M. I thought about saying no so I could just simply veg out in Paris, wander, readjust, etc. But it's better I go. See them. Get out. Move my brain in other places. Staying here and I might have felt trapped in the 2-year rut of sitting at my antique table with laptop, typing typing something, and not seeing much of summer sun. So, instead I'll go to Toulouse and laugh with them, talk, drink, and who knows what else. Then, they'll so generously throw me in the back of a car and drive me to Barcelona with them. I've always loved car rides, train rides, bus rides, motorcycle rides, bike rides, traveling over the landscape with my eyes, and the rhythm of the road. We'll have a whirlwind together as they wind down their trip and I start mine. Short visit in Barcelona and I'm off to Switzerland again. This time, for a 10-12 day homestay with Mr FD.

I realize I'm overdue in posting an overview of actions and thoughts from April's homestay, but I'm not sure yet how to share those. May was a different story. I think it was, from the outset, very different than what we would have imagined. Mr FD was sick, I was stressed out, and the weekend was different contextually than what I had envisioned (whenever I envision ... and don't let my mind race too far off). I think we had some really deep progression. As cheesy as it sounds, Mr FD decided that I would/could/should be his submissive and we talked at length about what that would/could/should mean. The end of the weekend went a bit off into a strange place and we're still talking about what happened, acknowledging it, figuring it out, and man, I can't wait to just move beyond it now. But, I do know that we have some more to discuss.

It must really suck being a dominant. I mean, as a submissive, basically, my biggest job is to obey, serve, and try my hardest to be the best sub I can be. (Which, evidenced by my rate of incurring punishments says something. I am trying, trust me. But there's a LOT to learn and, remember, I come from a testy, fuck-you, punk rock, skater girl background. I have a will that wishes to be tamed, but nonetheless it bucks a bit.) But dominants, well, they've got to remain steady and reliable, trust-worthy, capable, sometimes what our dads weren't or sometimes what our dads were, sometimes what our lovers were or weren't, in control, monitoring, keeping it together, etc. Often there's not much room to be human or real or fallible in these scenarios. After all, I'm not sure what extreme risk the dom sees in trusting the sub. "Please don't be totally crazy or sue me after I beat the shit out of you." Whereas, subs - if they aren't totally crazy - are thinking about the aura of trust into which they are placing their vulnerable bodies and minds. Huge responsibility for the dom. Anyway. Mr FD and I are building over time and interested in seeing what happens and that's good enough for what I want right now. Funny though, since February, since deciding to meet him, I've been saying the same thing to myself: I am ready to be his full-time and live with him - but let's see how this homestay goes just in case. I have, since February, asked the stars for a sign and all I get is monthly decisions to make another homestay. I think they're now laughing at me - and some must be screaming and rolling their eyes. "What more do you want, Lola?!?!?! THIS IS THE SIGN!" I know. I know. But rationality isn't a foe.

And so, vacationing and home.

I'd like to get crazy fucking drunk on wine with pdh and M and see where things go in the middle of the sky. Albert Camus visited it in the 1950s and remarked that “In Cordes, everything is beautiful, even regret”. We shall see.

And then, Barcelona. I haven't seen this fabulous place since sometime in 1998, when one could climb to the top of the cathedral and look out. I wonder if I still can. I didn't fall in love with BCN then, but so many people have loved her since that I wonder what magic has come. I'd prefer to stop along the way than rest inside the city. But, I'm lucky to be driven along the road so we'll see where we go.

And then, BCN to GVA, train to Mr FD. We had an hour chat today, which was nice as my mind was reeling with packing, doing, running errands, paying landlord, this person wants to see me, this person, and he told me stories that distracted my brain race. But at the same time, I felt a bit ... strange. I haven't been one to co-habit with another person for a long damn time. Even with James, my longest relationship, we spent almost 2 years just spending weekends together. I have to admit I'm terrified by the idea of 10-12 days with one person. Granted, we both have work to do and I have territory to explore in the country so it won't be like every second spent together. But it could be. And I'm not afraid of that. Strangely. Instead, I'm afraid of finding out that we couldn't spend every second together. And my seconds are imagined with silence - me in hood and serving with no talking, with OCD - me as céline cleaning and no speaking, with screams - in pain, with quiet - us both on laptops working on whatever, in torture - me tied up and silenced for hours on the floor. Whatever. I'm so hoping it will work out because I can't fathom it not.

One strange thing I thought about today though. As Mr FD told me about a fling with a story. Adjusting to poly is interesting. I haven't really practiced it despite my years of believing in it. I have bubbling feelings of fear, desire, want, admiration, justification, attraction, love as he tells me about this. I'm also jealous. I had a drink - finally - with the Butcher since our last year love affair. It ended up with a lot of whiskey and spanking and fucking. I loved being with him, but I also kept seeing Mr FD. I kept feeling him. I kept thinking of him. I'm just not sure what kind of a poly I am. Or how to do it without feeling weird. I want sex and love and fun with other people, but I'm not sure how to balance all the feelings. So I'm jealous that Mr FD already has his poly understanding - although I'm sure he'll help me figure out mine. And from all this, as our Skype call went on, as he told me about his fling and as we talked briefly about mine.. I kind of started to freak out. This is the first time that I feel I'm involved with someone who out-kinks me. Really. Someone who knows more about bdsm, has more experience with poly. This hasn't happened since... well, almost never, at least at this depth. And that's a total throttle. Not that I don't have something to share or teach, not a self-diss. But to be with someone who might be more kinky and crazy than me? I think this might, sadly, bring out the defenses and the punk rock fuck you. Or, I might be able to bring the earthy, yes, yes, guru listening and learning in me. I just don't know. I've never been here before. And part of me hates the idea and part of me is oh so grateful.

Yes, vacationing. It will take on a lovely form. And I'm ready for it.

Down the rabbit hole

Seen in Wonderland:

"Seeing to My needs by sating the needs of she who serves Me."



Overheard in Wonderland (regarding Old School):

Man: For you young lady, you may start thinking about just one thing. Why did we always have mountains of pristine white handkerchiefs to iron where I trained.. EVIL GRIN
girl: (darting behind a nearby sofa and peeking out at him... while thinking of a response)
Man: And while you thinking about handkerchiefs girl, consider what a six inch ruler and a pair of nail scissors are useful for *CHUCKLES
Man: Notice how she still hasn't worked out what those white handkerchiefs, nail scissors or six-inch ruler are for?
girl: LOLOL... I am waiting for You to enlighten me.
Man: White handkerchiefs are for checking the adequacy of cleaning, eg behind s-traps, above door architraves, inside all sorts of nooks and crannies... GRIN

Nail-scissors and six inch ruler are used for mowing the lawn. Each blade is to be exactly 1 1/2 inches long - there is an acre of ground to do... GRIN

.....I don't keep a clean apartment at all, but for some reason I've found myself fantasizing about cleaning Mr FD's apartment (not that it's messy, mind you). Not only cleaning it, but letting my OCD out to get all the little bits of dirt or dust, to be able to almost meditate into a service for him. Reading about the handkerchiefs and mowing the lawn made my heart race and my panties wet.

Oh, this strange world I'm entering.

To Sir with love

I just read a wonderful email from my girl friend on FetLife. It's so settling to know I'm not alone in this venture of realizing who I am and who I can be - to you.

I have not been your good submissive lately and I'm so sorry for this. I know you're fighting flu-like feelings right now so I wouldn't send this to you (hence posting on my blog - wherein I can be free to write my feelings of any nature and know that I can get them out of my system in privacy and confidence and without burdening you).

I know that the reason I've behaved poorly in communications is because I'm struggling to balance the submissive I want to be to you with the dominant I have to be in other realms of life. I'm writing quickly between school tasks and not taking the time to use my words properly. And I'm smarter and more cognizant than this. I know that every word uttered in life has value and every letter written carries meaning. But life is not lived to the crossed T and dotted i. Still, I should have more consciousness of my communications.

I am, also, aware of the twisted questioning I have for our dynamic. It's new, it's physically infrequent, it relies on mental and spiritual diligence, and a whole lotta trust. On the one hand, I'm completely at ease with giving myself to your control, nurture, design, discipline, but yet on the other I have reservations on that great leap. I'm not sure what they're based on: baggage, newness, wisdom with age, worry-wort tendencies, caution of heart break, safety, stubbornness, or punk rock rebellion. Or, any other little negative inch worm trying to nibble away at my growth. As such, as of now, you have demonstrated no inconsistency or irrationality that would indicate I'd have foundation for this mistrust. It just is what it is and I have some inner activities to figure it out.

My friend on FetLife was talking about her interest in become a slave to her dominant. That it is not for her to decide in their relationship, but it was one key point she made that intrigued me:
"We discussed the 'slave' topic. He was very quiet and simply stated that he has noted for some time that I act in a way that would be in keeping with a slave towards him. Whether or not I am a slave however, seems to be something that he will determine the timing of and I suppose at that time I will need to decide whether I give myself entirely over to his control. It is a little confusing to me, because at this time, I don't know that my mindframe isn't already there. But, I also recognize that he is the one to better know what that means and so perhaps I am not ready or he has not determined that is the level of commitment that he wants to make, at this time. We can both feel it though and it surfaces in our interactions anytime we are together."

This idea of the dominant knowing better about situations - and about ourselves - than we know. This is such a mystery to me and yet it has surfaced in our email exchanges quite a bit. Yes, I comprehend the idea that a (good) dominant watches physical reactions during play to analyze the situation beyond what the sub will be capable of doing. Yes, I understand that the dom judges what the scope of play is before engaging to find the right direction for play and the limits (with the underlying principle that no one is perfect and communication reigns supreme in this interaction). But this whole life outside of physical interaction is confusing: service, commitment, mental engagement - and a phrase I'm still slightly turned off by "total power exchange" (buhm buhm booommmm - as if some guy should jump out of a horrible TV commercial: "And now, introducing, Total Power Exchange! The brand that gets those tough stains out of your precious linen!").

And then, after my years of providing for my own survival and enjoyment, who the fuck thinks they know better than I do about my own satisfaction, growth, improvement, needs, wants, etc? How does someone have this magic power to see the bigger picture and is able to determine the specific details better than I can? I have the deep desire to concede this grand spectrum of my life, but I guess it does simply involve a depth of trust and breadth of demonstrated comprehension. And, most certainly, I am not near to having a slave discussion. While my heart might want to go in that direction, and I have already longed to be told to change my "relationship status" to say "submissive to Mr FD," I have silly reservations about that (ugh, that's so dumb to declare that kind of thing) and serious considerations (only he could tell me if I've reached that point).

This all said, I've reached a point where things are rearranging inside me. I've had many new swoons over my life and have wariness that this one prove itself as something beyond an instant infatuation. I'm a risk-taker (you can't steal second base and keep your foot on first). I like the extreme (although I thought this had tempered over time - considering that I'm on the way to become a voodoo doll with needle play, who knows if this is true). I like newness. I like the taboo. (I remember talking to James about my incest erotica fetish and he eased my concerns about this by pointing out that I've always liked taboo things.)

But there is a clear obviousness that reveals itself when I'm least looking. A hastily written email, badly worded, and you send message back that I'm out of line and why am I thinking so self-centeredly? This sends my mind spinning (even if you follow that note with a caution that I shouldn't indulge in guilt or whining or rationalization, just understand the point and get back to school work). It's not an instinctive reenactment of my own childhood misdemeanors with parental disapproval. But it extends from that. I've disappointed many people since I was a kid and have felt no such impact as I do when I get your notices. When given tasks from afar (shopping or writing), I've felt such dedication to the point where I could end up caring less about other responsibilities. Although you wouldn't allow that. There are days and moments when I feel a sensation of distraction, elation, concern, peace and send you an email and get some type of in-kind acknowledgment that there was, indeed, a reason for it: you were working on me, you received good news, you were considering a punishment, you were calm taking a nap. These could be rationalized away from my thoughts as simply coincidental interactions, but I've studied synchronicity and quantum physics and know that coincidences do not exist solely as accidents.

There is something bigger at work between us.

When I looked up at the sky in December and felt trepidation for the future and realized what I wanted was to fall in love, it wasn't as simple as that. It was a longing that wasn't being met and a call I put out to the universe. (Hippie shit, I know, but after all my parents have said over and over that I was reincarnated from that time period or born too late.) And, when I started to shut down from the lovers of Adam's reign, it was a signal to other notions developing. And when the year had passed and I got a call back from you, the stars said it was time. And while I was meditating on following my path as it should be, following the course of events as my life should develop, requesting some sign that I was moving to the next phase of my life as it should be, and asking for clear signals of this next step, I received them in overlapping greatness: Venus was at the southern sky and shining brighter and bigger than an eye could conceive, such that I thought for sure it was a UFO; energy centralized in me; comfort in this huge wash of uncertainty folded around me; the sun gave me a spring in step; I started to blossom; and your words came frequently, my trips on the train became an umbilical cord, puzzle pieces fell into place within me. I've had only clear signs - all pointing to Yes: yes, follow this final project I'm working on at school for it will lead to continuation; yes, time is running out and it's time to carve out the words of years and years; yes, give myself to Mr FD - wholly and without hesitation. Yet, with all these signals, my rational mind plays intervener and protector. It's a constant struggle to be true to my destiny.

Along those lines, I've achieved momumental development. The final project is a first of its kind and will be met with praise for its timeliness. My words are ready for formulation and structure into some kind of permanent, publicly available medium. And I had never thought I'd crave you, pain, service, adoration, and more than total power exchange.

All this to say, I still have deep and frequent questions - and will forever (and at random times). I have a want and a need for you. I have a want and need to learn more. And more importantly, I will live by my new mantra:

I’m here to serve you, be obedient, and be the best sub I can be.

Thank you for your patience and interest in our development. I'm humbled to be considered your memo, céline, sex slut, little girl, lola, dolly, slow anne, fast anne, natasha, sherpa. I can only hope it continues as long as it should.

<3
lo.

Self-inflicted pain

I was never a cutter. I mean, I once hated my dad so much that I carved his initials into my ankle/heel area so I'd never forget what an asshole he was. I once hated being a teen so much that I took one of those tape dispenser things with the jagged edge teeth and sawed it over my wrist. It bled and I covered it with a big band-aid and told everyone it was from a volleyball accident. There's still a hint of a scar. But I never continued the sporadic moments into a stream of being a cutter or the like.

So, when I have tense days I turn to porn for a quick release. And lately I've watched my porn sometimes with the nipple clamps on.

But it's only on Skype with Mr FD that I found myself digging my nails into my inner, soft thigh and loving it. The mixture of him telling me to rub my clit and my automatic response to dig my nails simultaneously is an amazing feeling. Endorphins of all proportions running through me. The hunger in my sopping wet cunnie, the swelling of my clit to a mini-penis, the twang of pain zipping through my nerves and filling my veins even fuller with lust.

It's an amazing thing.

I can't see myself pulling a Maggie "Secretary" and trying to spank myself, because just as she found, there's really not enough force in my limbs to want to hurt myself badly. I'm also not interested in directing hurt on purpose. But there is the shared desire for some kind of stimulant like that. Some kind of shock wave supreme that acts like chiropracty and realigns all the fragmented parts of myself through the pain+pleasure mathematics.

And, really, it makes me more content and satisfied to do it for Mr FD, in front of him, in the comfort of his non-judgment, in the embrace of his encouragement than to do it alone where my mind can wander into questions about my sanity.


UPDATE:
Mr FD: Funny how memory goes: I told you to start pinching you inner thighs and then saw you were quite in it and did just let it flow naturally.

Me: I think I might have pinched before then though. It was a rush of all good things last night. And thank you for that.

Mr FD: I was looking at you and controlling each of your moves: you didn't. It doesn't matter (but is interesting ;-)

Me: Really? I could have sworn that I had leapt to grabbing them with my nails myself just out of desire while fiddling myself inside my panties on the stool the 2nd time. ... If it's the case that I was doing everything you told me to do - being controlled by you - then it felt like myself at times and that's very strange.... interesting.. and perplexing.

Mr FD: Yeah. Good sign.

Again the sequence was I controlled every movement and had you pinch yourself to add another feed point in the circle of energy I was building with the different predicaments.

Then I saw you dwelled into it deeply and just let it be for it was extremely intense and having a life of its own which was what I would have ultimately had it do, so no need to micromanage anymore.

;-)

Me: Interesting... something to ponder.

Thank you for letting it have a life of its own.

Pauline (heart) Mario

King of Kong trailer
by Picturehouse

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:

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.

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.

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."

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 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.

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.

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...

24-7 in 3 recap

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

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

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

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

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

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


##############

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

Friday, 20th:

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

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

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

After talking and being informal we started in slowly.

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

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

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




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

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

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

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


Saturday, 21st:

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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.

#######

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


#######


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

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

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

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

I remember mentioning I can offer continutiy and care.

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

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


#####

photos ©Mr FD

Thank you, but no thanks

Remember when I was smart and he was dismissive?

This came on Sunday:
Hello Lola,

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

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

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

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


#####

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

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

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

Here's the reply:

Hello,

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

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

Cheers,
Lola

#####

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

Riding the stainless saddle

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

Hello friends,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




#####

Back in the saddle (as it were)

Hello friends,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading and I look forward to your comments.