the bad daughter

Mum says tonight:
We had a good chemo visit-Dr N is great;our nurses super;we are irreverent;they brought a tiny tele for soccer; ran into friends at the shop. Dad mowed the yard; I loaded the truck.My friend going to Mass asked what prayer we'd like - I asked to make it a hard fight ,just not impossible. We are doing fine!

I feel tremendously guilty. Part of what I wanted from my exorcism. Let loose some long-held baggage.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dear DC dom, domme, and IlRe -

Domme, I'll wear the tight black summer dress (the one with zipper up the front?). I presume this means I'll have time to go home from work and change before meeting with you all? Or, I'll change upon arrival?

Thank you for giving me an overview of the possibilities for tomorrow night, and for the opportunity to share some thoughts prior to Tuesday. I've had a hard time not thinking about Tuesday, so my mind and imagination have whirled around and a few things have surfaced.

Of course, I understand that my words will be read and decided upon as you all please. I'm also aware that sometimes it's best not to say anything at all - mind fucks, desire twisting, etc. I've simply decided that I'd like to push myself on Tuesday a bit further than I have before. This three-dom/me-scene is already one step in that direction. In situating myself mentally toward that goal, a few ideas popped into mind. I've been reading a book called Radical Ecstasy, which speaks highly to the intersection of tantra, s&m, spirituality. I'm interested in the potential of our opportunity to use the violet wand and flogging/whipping toward a very gut-centered release of some tightly-held, worthless baggage. I'm also curious about balancing that (possible) process with some very naughty sexual acts... of course, only if I'm a very good girl and anyone has any interest in using me as such. Along that vein, I'm very intrigued by objectification, as well.

Having contemplated this email many times today, and well aware of the potential consequences (as well as the trust I feel toward each of you), I'm going to take a deep breath and hit the "send" button.

Thank you for allowing me to share this with you. I'm terribly excited for tomorrow. :)

lola

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I've been selfishly absorbed. I was going to call my parents tonight, but I just couldn't muster up the intent. I didn't want the long-drawn out descriptions of how things went. I didn't want the forced conversation. The reminders. The knowledge that my father is fighting. I wanted to be selfish today and yesterday and days to come.

And now, I feel horrible again.

Relishing in my own fight. Facing my deep fears and physical pain. As if I couldn't stop and actually be present for my family.

And, oddly, last night, and the days leading up to it, all I could think was, "I asked to make it a hard fight ,just not impossible."

Luckiest girl in the world - major update

I will publish this regardless if I have time to edit it.

Preface.

There's so much living going on! I really had no expectations for DC. Sure, there have been Madam scandals and all the politicians and all their cigars, but I really had no idea I'd have my dance card filled within 2-1/2 months.

How to run down the fun? How to describe the emotions? How to re-tell the stories?

Oh my. It's a huge feat.

I guess as a framework for it all, as a backdrop, a foundation... I've got to wake up at 5:45am Monday-Friday. And I'm a whore for sleep so I'm popping a Tylenol PM by 9:00pm to wind down and in bed by 10:00pm - or so I try. Weekends I've found myself waking up at 8 or 9 or this past weekend 10 for a nap at noon. Work days are full of steep learning curves, political savvy, negotiations, leading the charge, demonstrating my abilities, performing at top notch. It's a bit stressful. My division is 1500 people. My agency is over 150k. There's a lot of learning going on. My dad is undergoing chemo for a new cancer that has appeared. He seems to be doing well under the circumstances and our family is tight regardless distance.

So, in the flip-side of time, in my nights, I like to release.

There is the Mother Teresa of Love:

Mother Teresa of Love - first writing


11/17/2001



{{{{i took a break from writing this and started to get ready. it's 713pm and i'm sitting in my finest under garments, make-up on, hair settling into place, "out of control" by the chemical brothers is on, and i'm sipping some shiraz while reflecting for a moment. i think, some days, that i'm the mother teresa of love. i skip like a magical rabbit from lover to lover, spreading confidence, assurance, connectivity, inhibition, the light of the sun, the nectar of the flowers. how many times have people contacted me, years later, and told me what an impact i had on their lives? NYC hip-hop boys, blue collar mechanics, tree-huggin' hippies, spotlight strippers, high-tech wizards, photography geniuses, record-spinning stylies, artists-in-residence. maybe i won't be the one to settle down, marry, to-have-and-to-hold-from-this-day-forward-for-the-rest-of-your-life-i-do. maybe my calling in life is to preach love indiscriminate. it's a blessing and a curse. to connect with everyone on the deepest level. "who knew?" he asked me last night. "who knew? i've never felt this way before. this has never happened in my life." i knew. i have. this has. but it's always different, don't get me wrong. it's always different, beautiful, and special - even the fuck'n'chuck booty calls. that's why i felt so rejected days ago, while waiting for him to call. because, in some spiritual/religious way, i knew i had something to bring to him and he was wasting time. not my time. he was wasting HIS time. i'm off to the art opening - i'll continue the digest of the above stories later.}}}}}

There is the submissive pain slut.

The babygirl to Daddys.

The lover to lovers.

The porn star to photography.

The forever teacher.

I feel best describing things by time, by people. If you asked me if I played sports ever, I'd have to go back in my mind and think: soccer - volleyball - field hockey; age something - lived in Germany for the soccer so ages 6-9, volleyball in Oklahoma and Wisconsin - ages ...., field hockey - Argentina. And then my mind wanders to who was there. My life is categorized by places I've lived, then remembering what ages that was, then who was there.

So, here I am in DC. I'm 35. My colleagues thought I was 25-30. I feel younger than ever, and older than ever. I am life embodied in time.

And I never expected so much joy from this place in the world, so much action, so much fucking, so much feeling.

There is DCDY, the Dominant Couple (aka previously just DD - the dominant daddy), the Soccer Player, the Musician Daddy, the Poly Daddy (aka Hill), the Pet Daddy, and the few between: the SleepCreep, the Photographer, the Younger One, the Choker Yoga Guy, the IM chat Daddys.

And it's strange, because when I ride the bus, ride the metro, walk around - except for the tourists - this city is all women! So, how have I been so lucky??

DCDY - gives me rides home from work sometimes, we kiss in his car, sometimes he stops up with a gift and a cock to suck, a short distance cock fucking, a shoulder to cuddle on. He's been a CDOA reader for years and knows who I am - probably more than anyone in this city. He is not jealous. He is not a time-taker or time-waster. We have our obligations and our time together. He is the person I would call in an emergency. He is the Daddy I'd lean on if I needed propping up. He is a friend. He is - and this so important that it needs to be said again - the person who knows ALL of me.

The Dominant Couple - we played alone together a few times. He and I alone, then the three of us alone, then at a play party at her house, and another play party last Saturday at her house. She's well to do, married to a cross-dresser, hosts parties out in their beautiful house with a full dungeon for the younger generation of kinksters. He's a family man, works downtown, and is her Dominant - she used to be a Pro Domme. And I wasn't so convinced about him until I met her. He's more rough, brusque, non-social. I thought him a bit thuggish. But she balances him out. She knows the rules of play, the safety, the sensations, the care. She holds me as he beats me. She caresses me and tells me what I slut I am as he flogs me. She whispers into my hooded ears what a little beautiful slut I am while he face fucks me through the mouth hole. We get compliments after about how hot the scene was.

The Soccer Player - I fell for him but am moving myself out of that. We share a sad commonality that our dads are dealing with cancer. He loves wine more than I do and is a connoisseur. We did a wine tasting and touched each other slyly like we were teenagers. We love music - he more avant-garde, more reggae from Jamaica. We can carry on a conversation while caressing each others' legs. We fuck with passion and I'm turning him on to Daddy/little girl play. I started missing him as our schedules didn't permit, but it turned out it was on purpose because he wants things I can't provide: steady, long-term dedication. I had visions of poly with him, us being primaries and fondling others on the side, but I don't think that's in the cards for us. I'm re-adjusting my view on us. Retrieving a bit of what I put out there, recalling a bit of my heart.

The Musician Daddy is about my age and brings a sly, good gift of smoke when he comes. We fuck raw and naughty. Daddy/little girl all the way. Apparently, I'm the only one in his rotation that craves this, although he played with an ex before in this realm. We talk music, politics, family - all briefly before he leaves. A short visit.

The Poly Daddy - I fucked him once while his baby daughter slept in the other room. We looked at photos of him and his wife with another couple. I went over again to their place to play with them both. She's pregnant. They were fucking when I walked in - a true, straight-to-the-point hello. I hadn't licked a cunnie in years until hers. It was nice enough, but I'm still firmly a whore for cock. We had good chat. She cried after he fucked her - a release, and an overwhelming feeling of bringing me into the mix that night. We chatted more and kissed while he fucked me from behind. All nice, all ethical. He wants to visit me alone and do more Daddy/daughter.

The Pet Daddy is learning bdsm. I was hesitant to meet him for this reason, but he seems to have an idea of how to go about things and does them. We had drinks and dinner and I crawled up into his lap to kiss him. We were alone on the patio and it seemed apropos. Another night, he came over and spanked me in a long, slow, sensual, built-up spanking and finger fucked me until I was a wild beast on the bed. He was the first to sleep over and we slept well. In the morning, I sucked his cock and he fingered me over and over because I couldn't get enough of his hands, his arms. We share common work interests and common bdsm ideas. This time, he wants me to start as a girl and be trained into being a good pet puppy. Bondage tape to bind my arms, knee pads to scurry about, bondage tape on my feet and hands. A collar. A leash. A dog bowl. And who knows what kind of training. Fetch? Simon Says? I'm excited to see.

The SleepCreep wanted to play out Daddy molesting his sleeping babygirl. I had had several drinks on the weekend and popped a Tylenol PM. I buzzed him into the apartment and he fucked me slowly, without waking me (although I was entirely conscious, just drowsy). Came. Left the rubber as a note. Left as quietly as he entered. I never opened my eyes. Anonymous completely. So fucking hot. Our schedules don't match up and he's got a new lover so I'm not sure if we'll play again.

The Photographer was in town one night and on CraigsList. He came over and made some lovely photos of me - posted on Tumblr. He's kinky and poly and smart and fun. I hope he comes to town again.

The Younger One from a Southern state. New to life. New to sex. New to wanting to be fucked by men and fuck women. He's wound up and long-lasting although without rhythm to get me off. He is sweet and working for good causes. He's also younger than me. The first in a long time. But dirty dirty.

The Choker Yoga Daddy - Sounds so strange, but he's newly divorced, exploring, discovering, realizing he likes to use his extensive skills from hardcore martial arts wrestling something rather to choke girls out lightly and have them come to while he's fucking them. I have yet to actually have a date. I'm hesitant for all the right reasons, but enthralled by the idea of losing consciousness to wake to find I'm being fucked. He's also into tantric sex and I'm dying to learn about it.

And then, some free time with IM Daddys. Two of which live in the city. But to realize our naughty chats into real life would make the world explode in firey sparks.


&&&&&&&&&&&

Time management, I guess. And, unpacking the nest, setting up the living situation, making myself at home, getting the rotation in order, feeling free and fancy fun! My dining room windows face north, face the street, are smack viewing the middle of two lovely trees. I feel like I live in a tree house. Climb up to be recluse and free. I can walk about the apartment naked (the living room and bed room windows face an adjacent building but their shades are always drawn and I'm in between 2 apartments, so my blinds are mostly drawn - to protect the innocent). I can unpack, repack, make a mess, make sounds, be quiet, invite over, leave, change, re-change, dress up, dress down, prepare, let go, .... be free!!!! Free! I feel so free!

I'm facing a lot of shit outside this little treehouse. Dad has 10-15% chance of living past 3 years, but I keep hearing from folks who were told the same thing about their parents (pro-Domme lady included) and their family members lived long, long lives. Work is busy and crazy and challenging and fun -- and good for the world!

So, you might think the red light is hanging outside my window blinking, flashing, calling to the fellas. But I think I have a really great situation. Wonderfully amazing, complex men and women in my life. Caring and sexy, honest and breathing, full of dimensions in emotion, intimacy, dedication to life.

I have a new thought of late. A thought that comes once in a while. A thought that how nice it would be to find a poly primary partner to settle in with a bit and keep playing around together and on our own. So far that hasn't been in the cards. I'm open to it. I'm not afraid of the emotions that come with it, or the work or the love. But I'm not calling for it strongly. I'm just.. lazily entertaining the idea. Feeling a bit jilted momentarily that it's not immediate when I crave it, but I am enjoying what life is bringing. I can't help the naive, idealistic, new eyes I have on. Or the fact that it's a state of being for me. I consider the nightmare possibilities of things, but know that the idealistic positive is more realistic and achievable. I could end up dying a lonely, sad, prolonged, painful death ----- but, damn!, have I lived a fucking stellar, amazing, exciting, uplifting, wonderful life!

I'm the luckiest girl in the whole wide world!

The pain is the glory

"I don't get the whole being in pain is pleasurable thing. How do you get all these bruises and why do you like it? If you don't mind me askingg......" [asked on tumblr]

Oh, darlin', the answer to this has been written in books and tomes and encyclopedia-length writings.

For me personally? Geez, even that's a book-length novel. Well, to give a synopsis while withholding learning opportunities...? I hate to explain it without offering links or books or references for your own exploration or learning, because frankly I'm not fond of giving my own version of the facts without supplying you with alternative comparisons. Although, for now, I don't have the time to search it out for you --- I hope commenters will suggest things, or you'll go a-looking on your own.

So, here goes my personal interest part:
Endorphins.

Just like smokers dig on nicotine and heroin addicts dig their drug and runners relish their highs, so is pain in the body. It jogs a part of the brain to "feel." Granted the aforementioned is more hazardous, the same principles apply. The brain is the center of transmitting feeling, sensation, perception. And the body reacts.

I wasn't into pain much for most of my bdsm life, but I've come to enjoy it more. It's like, for me, an ass spank can be a snap-to, a wake-up-call. It's taking the brain away from thinking and into feeling, focusing on the senses. I like morphing from a sitting girl in a chair crunching numbers or plotting over programs into a girl reacting to how my body feels and goes. A slight tweak of a nipple, a pinch on a cheek, a spank, a paddle to the ass, flogger to my back, a lit cigarette to my breast, a face slap -- all these things re-focus my brain from abstract ideas and into a place where flesh matters and is foremost.

And, once that sting - of whichever kind - hits or happens, then my brain changes. Forget schedules or ideas, confusion or analysis, dreams or interpretations - and focus on what is actual. It's in some way, a retreat to a primal state of being. When humans hunted and gathered, speared and sucked poisons from our bodies.

I've read about the days when we used to hunt our own food (and many still do), we'd feel the flesh of the goat/dinosaur/deer and kill it. Blood would flow. People would skin it. It would hang in the foyer of the habitat, people would see it. Then, it would be cooked and eaten.

Shit's not like that now. Now, it's pre-packaged, arranged, dressed, presented. We have no idea what came before or middle. We just consume the end.

I want to feel the beginning, middle and end. Granted, not as a delectable item, but as a part of life. And, I've read about people reenacting these hunting scenarios to go back to those days, those feelings. Or, enacting kidnapping scenes (mostly the bored rich do this) to feel the throttle of surprise.

It's rather similar, in my mind. A primal urge, a hunger, a genetic curiosity and interest.

Sure, one can find this kind of pain in bicycling a long distance (as I have), weight lifting (as I have), getting a deep massage (as I have), etc... It's the same thing really.

But there's more.

It brings in the domination/submission (top/bottom, master/slave) aspect wherein someone who has the control and someone else gives up the control of the situation. Another aspect of the above, I suppose. I would prefer to be the hunted than the hunter. (Although that's fluid to a point.) And brings in trust - that the person wielding the pain instrument will respond to the person receiving so there's "just enough" --- which varies person to person.

It brings in the beautiful side of competition. Not the ugly "I'll fuck you over you bitch" side, but the "Can I take more than my own best?" side. The upping of a person's own ability. The challenge to be and do better than before. To take more cycling up the hill (Lance Armstrong), to box harder (insert a famous boxer), to beat the time and distance and strength of the last time.

It also brings in the beauty of visuals. To see my own flesh formed. I might wear a hood (as I did recently at a play party where my tits and ass were pained) and miss seeing the actual action, but after, I get to look at my body and see colors. Reds and blues and pinks change to purples and roses and greys. And they change over days into other paintings.

So, I guess this all can explain my own perspective on pain as pleasure. It's invigorating, it's enlivening, it's rich and real, it's instantaneous, it's sustainable, it's beautiful. And it's so freeing.

Knicker party

So, how has DC been for the sexy side of Lola?

Y'all know that I've been working my ass off. Getting to bed by 10pm. Getting up at 6am. Waiting for the horrendous bus system to get to me work by 8am. I'm enjoying the job, feel challenged, and get to assist with an agency that has over 180,000 employees and spends over $10million in certain programs (which we are analyzing). I pretend to be grown-up. I dress like I'm comfortable in the heels and skirts, pants and patterned jackets. I'm aiming for the next levels of promotion.

I've walked a lot. It's a half-hour from my apartment to the bottom of the hill in Georgetown - past quaint stores with French names, "It" girls and their faux tan legs, boys with their Polo collars up, fashion, and ice cream. I took my bike, Duane, in for a summer tune-up, and need to return him for gear alignment, but he's in working order. Took a 17-mile bike ride NW up to Chevy Chase (still makes me think of Clark Griswold) and down through the Rock Creek Park. They close the main road off on the weekends so it's cyclists, lolly-gaggers, and families.

But, really, what you want to know is: how happy is Lola's cunnie?

Well... it's been an interesting few weeks.

I updated my OK Cupid profile before I left for DC and have had some intriguing exchanges from that.

I started an exchange with a guy on OKC who is in a poly relationship. He works on the Hill and his wife is a raging horn dog, but so is he. I'll call him Hill for now.

I had my Daddy-type friend over. The one who has known me since CDOA v.1, who helped me secure my flat, and who has helped me acclimate to DC over the past few weeks. I'll call him DCDY.

I placed two Craigslist ads, which introduced me to some interesting chat, but no consummated action.

I met up with a Daddy/dom type. I'll call him DD.

So, what has come of this?

Well, DCDY and I met for dinner after work my first week. Had awesome guacamole and margaritas over at Oyamel. He drove me home, came up, we snuggled a bit, and talked about some of the Daddy/girl ideas we have. He got to see the apartment in mid-unpacking state. Nothing much happened, but he came back the following weekend. He brought me some big, blank paper and crayons of all colors so I could draw to my little girl heart's content. Then, we snuggled more with Mr. Bear and my Dolly. And then Daddy wanted to show me a new friend he brought. He sat down on my bed and I kneeled on my appropriate placed hand-woven rug. He stood up, back against the wall, looking into the full-length mirror. He got behind me as I crouched over on all fours on my bed. Then, we had pizza. And talked and then he split. A nice, lovely afternoon.

[In fact, he just stopped by now. I need a drill to screw my full-length mirror to the door. (Yeah, it all reads so naughty, doesn't it?) A kiss, a bit of relating our busy weeks, his drill plugged in to recharge, a good long hug.]

Then, I met the DD. We had lunch before I started work. He teased me with the toys in his pocket and staring deeply and intensely without letting go. I blushed. I fidgeted. He put my hand under the table on his hard cock. I decided not to invite him over for the afternoon. We met up again the next week. I went over to his office after work and we drove out of DC to a house owned by a friend of his - actually his submissive's husband. The basement has been converted into a dungeon playspace. He gave me an Easter Bunny of chocolate and a cute card with stickers. It was a nice distraction to ease into the game by letting my little girl stick the stickers, while my big girl sipped on some wine. He had me call him "Sir" or "Daddy" and asked me to take off his socks and shoes (something I remembered from being with Sir Keith back in the day). I sucked his cock and he finger fucked me. I bent over his lap and he worked my ass into some bruises and stinging release. He bent me over the medical table in the center of the room and used a few natural bamboo canes on me. And, then flipped me over and fucked me.

We sat on the couch for a while and talked about our interests. There were a few things that pulled me back and made me re-think the possibility of our continuing on a deeper level. Small things that can matter, like not having a blanket after our play. I'm a sensitive being and need after-care. No excuses there, just saying - there was no blanket. He's been with his submissive for more than 5 years now, so I'd definitely come in second in the running. He's also got a family that requires a lot of attention. And, he likes women in heels and skirts. I don't mind dressing up occasionally, but anyone who knows me well knows I'm a tomboy pretending to be a girl who likes to dress up like a slutty princess sometimes. Also, just some of the too-quick assumptions that a lot of people make in the bdsm world: that a submissive will submit so readily to someone who shows dominance. I might have done that before - to my detriment and to my joy - but I'm a bit more cautious now. And, perhaps, more patient now.

Last weekend Friday I was in a heated (ie sexy) exchange with Hill, as he was home alone and his wife had left him in town. After a bit of whiskey, I decided to venture across town to his place. We talked easily, he showed me his sleeping babe in the other room (so naughty!), and we got undressed with quickness and familiarity. I sucked his cock and he called me good girl. He fucked me from behind whispering about how I'd watch he and his wife fucking, sitting in a corner of the room, touching myself, not being able to do anything but wank to them fucking, how I'd be their girl servant, and do what I'm told. And then I sucked him off. Walked for forever to find a cab (while I got my period in my little girl panties). Couldn't remember my apartment address. Walked a bit of the way home. Content, relaxed, relieved of a certain pressure that had been building up for weeks.

Aside from that, there is building. Growing of a "network." Although, I'm back to how I felt last year. Maybe it's spring that does this new mind twist on me. Maybe it's age. But there's a piece of me that wants to find a bit more in someone.

I described it on CL like this:

little girl missing her Daddy

I know there's gotta be a Daddy out there who is missing his little girl, too. I'm not talking about a money Daddy. I'm talking about a protective Daddy who knows that his little girl needs hugs and teddy bears, spankings when she's been bad, pink hair bands for her pigtails, a special lollipop when she's been good, walks in the park, pushes on the swing, a particular pacifier at bed time, and sometimes big girl outings. I'm not a needy little girl and my big girl job keeps me awfully busy. I am intelligent, creative, fun, thoughtful, naughty, and mature. But a big part of me misses Daddy time. Do you have an empty lap and big arms that need a to be filled?

(Please send a pic for a reply. No, I'm not a bot or seeking monetary means.)

:)

...........

There's a lot in that paragraph that could be construed as regular, ol' relationship action. Boyfriend-girlfriend hand-holding, comforting, supporting. Sure. I know this. But it's not what I want. I want those things wrapped in a clear kinkiness. I want those things within a lens of naughtiness. And I don't want them all the time.

I keep going back to how Frida and Diego lived. One complex, two houses, meeting places in the middle. What Katharine Hepburn said, "I often wonder whether men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then." I want my space, I want lovers, I want severe kink, but I also want some protection, some support, like a little bird under a dirty old wing.

I wrote down my call-to-action, as it were. As I read many, many years ago and have done off and on. Write down my interests, put them under a candle, make it a direct call to the universe. (Albeit, I'm without any candles for some reason so my Mother Mary statue will have to do. Regardless, it's my official call to the world that I know - again - what I'm looking for and hope someone will come along with some of the traits.)

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

So, all in all, my cunnie is happy, my desires aroused, my intrigued heightened, my possibilities ... endless.

Freedom in the Capitol

I christened my new apartment yesterday. A nice solo job with my jeans down around my ankles and all the freedom of porn that I wanted.

I so missed living on my own.

DC is beautiful these days (although it'll rain tomorrow). I've been a grown-up, getting up at 6am to run trial bus routes to my future workplace. I've already been assigned some work for this weekend.

Joined the Zipcar and took a many-hours drive for apartment essentials. It's my first 1-bedroom and it's obvious that I've lived in studios. Rooms that are almost finished: bedroom, bedroom closet, bathroom, coat closet, kitchen (with a whole 3 shelves of crystal glassware and punchbowl scored from the grandparents - I could host a killer booze party but don't have any food). I have no living room furniture at all except for two bookshelves. I need a couch, rugs.

I'm totally excited about this new chapter of life. I grabbed a coffee downtown by the Naval metro stop - the first coffee I've had in 10 months. I think I'll need it for pep in these early mornings. Realized that I could easily be intimidated by the suits and the "What do you do?" attitude (which equals "What can do you for me?"). But I don't care. I don't care if I don't have killer outfits, that I'm not a hottie 20-something intern, that I'm not living in the most hip neighborhood, that I can't do anything for you.

I've got some dates set up. One with an old, old friend who has known me since CDOA v.1 days and who has been such a savior in my move to DC. We're setting ourselves up in a Daddy/girl situation and I'm excited to try it out with him. I'm also meeting with a dom from FetLife for lunch. He's into women wearing dresses and skirts and I might disappoint in that arena, but we're both into watersports and he's much older than I am so that's attractive. Then, there are a few randoms from OKCupid and FetLife. I'm in no rush. There's a whole city of pervs out there and I'll have my fun.

Meanwhile, my mind wanders back to Scat Man. A guy I met for drinks in Minneapolis and then invited over to the place at which I was crashing. I let down all my guards. I went deep into my kink. I explored more Daddy/daughter roleplay and incest fantasy. The deepest I've gone ever. Where fantasy could blur to action. Where dirty talk wasn't dirty, it just was.

We had such a good time that we stayed in touch when I went back to my parents before driving out to DC. He came down for a visit and stayed in a local hotel. We fucked in the room and then went out for drinks at a small pub. We held hands as we sat at the bar and turned our heads from each other, talking to strangers we'd just met. The whole time, our hands gripping.

When we got back to the hotel we were wasted. And somehow (I don't remember the details - all the whiskey I indulged in, after days of sterility at my parents'), we were in the bathroom. I squatted, and shit in his hands. He rubbed it on my ass, on my arms, on his face. I can still see this fleck of it sticking off the side of his cheek. This is where my drunk brain woke up. Where my drunk brain saw the openness of two people. Where I saw the exploration that could be. Where I tested a limit and went beyond it. Where I trusted someone to care for me and get deep down with me. My shit. My feces. My dirtiest part. My insides... were on us. Something so much more organic and beautifully sick and honest and internal... internal... I can't think of another word. My insides came out - outside. If I have a hard time showing my emotions, speaking words of care or interest, or breaking down the barriers of mind and body -- they were gone. We were dirty and sexy and reveling in our nature.

I had that scent in my nostrils the entire next day. I kept thinking I had shit on the bottom of my shoes, like when you step in dog doo and can smell a bad scent but have no idea where it's coming from. Is it following me? Is it my mind? Oh, fuck, it's on my shoe! But there was no shit anywhere. It was just the memory lodged in my mind.

I've never gone there before. I remember Daisy, a friend who was an escort and dancer. She told me once, as we leaned over the bar and talked closely, about how a client of hers got them a hotel room, brought plastic sheeting, covered his chest, and asked her to shit on him. I was aghast with curiosity and fear. Now I know.

I do not require this kind of interaction and depth, sincerity and honesty in my everyday life, but I am changed for it. We have developed something I don't know that I could find elsewhere. But I am still pining for my future, potential lovers. And Scat Man and I relish in that: he's fucking other women, I'll fuck other men, we'll play with others. It's an easy poly situation in long-distance, but we're not as honest with others as we are with ourselves over chat or email. I had a heart sigh for him - have - but we're anchored on the same boat while freely drifting and backfloating and tickling with the octopus and mermaids.

A nice segway of safety and surprise into this new chapter of my life. I'm excited for the change. I'm excited to see how my growth goes. Many challenging days ahead with the new, high-level job. Many fun nights. Work hard, play hard. And, above all else ---- freedom.

Never, but maybe now

I was never into scat before. That might change.

My thoughts on money for play

and a photo of my nudey body

and lovely Paris

over at tumblr.

xo

Over there yonder

I've been answering some interesting sex-related questions, as well as posting some new nudie photos over on tumblr.

Right now, I'm preparing for a playdate, but I have been job hunting, too. A naughty girl with a sugar side to me. Indeed.

xo

FeltLife giveaway

FetLife “Sit on Kinky Santa's Lap” giveaway

FetLife is a free social network for the BDSM & fetish community. Similar to Facebook and mySpace but run by kinksters.

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.

Pieces for now

I submitted my report of Homestay 2 on Sunday, beating my deadline for turning it in by a few hours. I'll post some of it here soon so it can accompany and explain the photos.


%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I swoon and feel silly afterwards. I'm swooning hard now. Donkey Kong, chess genius, he listens to my petty daily grievances, he asks if I was intrigued by rough play, he is pushing me to new places, he is the first in a long time to wish for all things uplifting and realizing my long-held dreams.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Yesterday was overly stressful with the running rush to the end of the grad project. Never made a documentary before and don't feel like I want to be the artistic director, but we have to review all the 23 interviews, select clips of each (hour to two hour interviews), write up narration, choose graphics and statistics, be interviewed ourselves to fill in the gaps and turn the camera on us as producers. And this is all in the context of the fact that no one has done a project like this. We started with a potential client who fell through. We quickly made our own project. We demoted the project leader to adviser. We took her contacts, did the studies, made the appointments, made the questions, negotiated rough waves, convinced them to not fear the camera, eased them into answering, got what we wanted, were diplomatic and driven. The piecing together is precious because everyone else will stand up there with their projects highlighted in powerpoints and reports. We will have a useful tool to shop to governments, private firms, NGOs, unions, and the like. We are pioneers and if the blazing of the trail fails, we fail and the possibility for future alternatives fails.

Today was joyous. We made enormous progress, high on caffeine, locked in a room, me and the other American girl. We went for hours bouncing off each other, feeding, agreeing and politely challenging. We made strides. And then the other members joined us and it was magic.

What happens between a day?

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Yesterday I also noticed something. I like strong men. I talked to my sister and her fiance on Skype on Sunday, planning their visit to Paris in June, our trip to Italy, and where we'd go after. They will file the paperwork to have a civil ceremony in Cinque Terre somewhere. I will be a witness (despite being legally able to marry people - I got the certificate online in Wisconsin and promptly married myself to myself at the Orpheum one drunk night with friends). But, while we were planning, I noticed her bossing him around. He'd come up with good suggestions and she'd shoot them down, she'd tell him to stop rambling and do the research. I sent her an email after the call, much later in the night, and commented that I only get to see glimpses of them together and don't know - nor is it any of my business - what their dynamic is, but that I wanted to be sure things were alright. The prospect of three weeks together with them fighting does not seem appealing to me at all. She replied back the day after that it's just a bit of strain on the relationship and they're working on it.

This affected me though and carried over into the bad day yesterday. The Filmmaker wasn't showing enough backbone, wasn't telling us what to do but was suggesting meekly or hinting at. The four of us women in the project are strong, Alpha types. Play on our field or pony up harder, but don't even think of revealing a weak throat or we'll take it and tear it. We demand. We expect. We want perfection. We want strength. And he seemed to easy too push around yesterday. And this just made me even more disrespectful of the situation.

I told my sister once that I did not envy her situation with her fiance moving into her apartment. I said that the only way I could live with someone now would be to be the accepting partner of the relationship: told where the sugar goes, told how the towel is folded, told what days laundry is done, etc. Otherwise, I'm sure my personal habits and OCD would take over and I'd want to arrange things as I've had them. Whereas she said she has the upper management of household and needs to. So, she finds herself sighing at the misplaced coffee grinder, boxes stacked high in their bedroom, and rearrangement of her furniture.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Back to the Filmmaker, what I did realize today is that while he might be overly kind and concede to our wily demands, anyone else in his place and this whole thing would fail. If he were more dominant or arrogant and told us how things would be, it wouldn't work. If he were trying to drive our project and prohibiting our input, it wouldn't work. So, I realized I just need to take a breath, be thankful and grateful, and accept things as they are.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

This is challenging, as well, trying to be the dominant leader girl during school and then the submissive in my special time when talking with Mr FD. It's a balancing act: re-reading what I write and how I write it to him after hours and hours of writing directions and shorthand comments. Switching my voice - inside and outside. Switching my brain. I thought for a while that it might be better just to turn it all off while I try to finish this last month of school -- not cancelling the May homestay per se, but shutting down communications. Earlier, I've felt almost obsessed or possessed by the topic of bdsm, by thinking of him and what we'd done and were doing. And now, I have to become re-obsessed with school work in order to throw myself in and finish well. I can't give up now. And, Mr FD has expressed his complete support (and demand) that I do well. It's all about finding a balance, because I can't envision living right now without having Mr FD and bdsm in my life and can't let myself slide out of finishing school well either.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I'm encouraged as a person and a student that we have sort of valedictorian elections right now and several people asked to nominate me. I've declined because, frankly, I am not so eager to represent our class in the final days. I'll be happy to move on and I'm not so stuck on getting that kind of recognition. Sure, share the podium with the former President of Ireland, but I don't have the heart to express admiration for all my colleagues, and certainly don't share the same vision of our future.

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.

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.

Labyrinth

David Bowie with a riding crop

over on my Tumblr.

So hot.