this morning

It's how I can't believe that my father is actually pulverized dust in a plastic bag, wrapped in 2 other plastic bags, sitting in a cheap urn I bought at a garage sale 16 years ago.

It's discussing with my therapist that I should re-imagine positive outcomes because I've got a mind set to believe in low expectations or none. And how we talked about my passion for photography and she suggested I take a course to get back into it. The first thing I thought about was putting up a show of the photos of my dying and dead father. It's the closest I'd ever been to a corpse. It was beautiful and strange and I wanted to giggle and scream at the same time.

It's how it's a new day and I don't have to do again what I did yesterday. Or the day before.

It's struggling to understand the best way to "turn it over" to my Higher Power, while also being in the driver seat of my destiny. Co-pilot and map-maker I suppose.

Meet Joe Black

For how terribly acted, for how long it runs, for the multiple and obvious goofs, for Brad Pitt's horrendous hair, for all these things - it's still a decent script.

There should be a remake soon. Less on the sap, more on the death, I bet. This plot is the same type of philosophical question we all have about the elements out of our control: nature (Anti-Christ), our obsessions (Little Children), mutants (X-Men), degrees of separation (Babel), beliefs (Angels and Demons), consciousness (The Matrix), and death (Meet Joe Black).

[I can't believe "dervish" came out of Anthony Hopkins' mouth. Like I can't believe "suborn" came out of Brad Pitt's.]



Bill: There's not an ounce of excitement, not a... whisper of a thrill. And this relationship has all the passion of a pair of titmice. I want you to get swept away out there. I want you to levitate. I want you to... sing with rapture and dance like a dervish. Be deliriously happy, or at least leave yourself open to be.

Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived.




Bill: You know, I got to thinking. With you here and seemingly occupied, how's your work going, I mean, elsewhere?

Joe: While you were shaving this morning, you weren't just shaving.

Bill: What do you mean?

Joe: You were hatching ideas, making plans, arriving at decisions, right?

Bill: Yeah, I guess so.

Joe: So you understand the concept. While part of you is busy doing one thing, another part of you is doing another, perhaps even attending to the problems of your work. Correct?

Bill: Of course.

Joe: So you understand the idea. Congratulations, Bill. Now multiply that by infinity, take that to the depths of forever, and you still will barely have a glimpse of what I'm talking about.




Joe: You're the poison, Drew. You've operated behind the scenes
to suborn the trust of a man... who has stamped you with his imprimatur of class, elegance and stature. I've had the opportunity to be witness to every kind and degree of deception. But Bill Parrish has been on the receiving end of machinations so Machiavellian... that it has rarely been my experience to encounter. And yet, he has combatted them stoically and selflessly, without revealing my identity. Had he violated the vow of secrecy he took, his task would have been far easier. He could have turned defeat into victory. But he is too honorable a man to have done that. Because of me, he has lost his work, his company, his reputation. So now, given these losses, I'm compelled to end the need for secrecy. The time has come to tell you who I am.

The secret conversations I have in my head

When Flickr is uploading and/or I've had sufficient wine.

My neighbor man knocks on my door:

Man: I'm sorry, I really need to sleep tonight. Could you keep the noise down?

Me: [You can't always get what you want - Rolling Stones - is playing in the background] You know those times when you tap tap tap your fucking razor on the wall of your bathroom and it tap tap taps my wall? Well, that's fucking annoying. And, the times when you plug in that fucking amplifying speaker cord into your goddamn computer or whatever and there's that horrible loud zap sound? Or, how about your fucking teenage daughter has parties late and loudly? Or, how about the loud ping ping ping of your goddamn online chat? Or when you come home and jingle jingle jingle your fucking keys? Or, when you always slam your fucking door? Or, how I hear your moan moan moan of fucking? ... Well, I never said a goddamn fucking thing because I remember back when we ran into each other in the bouglangerie and you pretended that you didn't hear my cough cough coughing. I base our relationship on a fooling of secrecy and silence. So, fuck you. You don't hear a goddamn thing tonight.

Like Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.
I could totally marry someone if we promised to live without open relationship drama and shared a housing situation wherein we each had our own apartments. I could stop by, rub his back while he painted. He could stop by, rub my back as I wrote. We wouldn't have to talk while we were in the same room though. It would be a shared appreciation of physical shared space. Just because I was there, he wouldn't have to talk - or engage me or ask my opinion or ask for my help or even acknowledge my existence. But we'd know we were there for each other.

Does anyone know an easy way to compress an MP3? Because I have a kick ass song I want to post online. Fuck Audacity - it's too complicated.

I really shouldn't have emailed that guy back last night. I was too manic to sound sane.

I dreamed I was pregnant. I know I'm not. I know this bloated belly is just PMS. But I dreamed the Spaniard knocked me up. I sent my sister an email. We started chatting on Skype and I asked her if she wanted it. We swore never to tell the child that I didn't want it. I would have to go into hiding for the 9 months. There would never be any photographs of the pregnancy. I would treat it like a niece or nephew. I would enjoy eating whatever I wanted to and lazying around the house. Childbirth would bring no feelings of regret. .... My cousin had a baby a couple of days ago. My younger cousin. The one I grew up with playing "store" in our grandparents' house. The one I told about cool music and gave mixed tapes to. The one whose brother I drunkenly sucked off in the entryway to my hotel room the night of her wedding (and who won't speak to me now - I fear I've damaged him). She's had a baby. My baby cousin. She doesn't look like she's grown up enough to do so. I can imagine her, when thinking about making the baby, giggling to her husband, shrugging her shoulders, and childishly goofing as she says, "So, whaddaya think about makin' a baby?! Hahahahha!" And then she'd do a little goofy kid dance where she'd kick up her feet a bit and square-dance her elbows out. She's a successful pharmaceutical marketer rep or something. He makes the internet buzz with interactive activity at football games and such. They live in a top floor apartment of a high-rise in Chicago. Their dog is named after a park nearby that sounds like Jackoff. They are not old enough to have a baby. Their baby does not wake my ovaries, but it makes me feel more lost. Am I really missing something? What's wrong with me that I'm not even the slightest interested in this for myself? I'm beginning to think I'm slightly developmentally slow. I mature slowly. I am only now realizing the value of my family. Will I realize the value of making my own too late?

It wasn't nice that Tall Tom didn't invite me to his party tonight.
The reason I brushed him off was for his random insistence that we hang out. I'm not "on-call" for him. He has no idea what's happening to me. He has no idea what good information I could impart to him for his second year. I feel like I'm 15 again and rejected. It's all very silly.

Yeah, that's all the conversations I've had for tonight. Or, at least those that I want to write out.

Shhh don't tell.

Entertainment for today

I am going over 8 years of Cheating Death Once Again and cataloging all my posts. The count on my dashboard says that since 2001 it's been 937 posts. The count I have between half of 2006 and today is 487 posts - including this one. I guess it makes sense.

I haven't stopped to read them, as that's the next phase. But in glancing and not remembering what I wrote three years ago, it looks damn interesting. I made some really quirky titles for my posts. And, as of now, I've yet to come across two of the same. That's encouraging.

I really like this McSweeney's 2006 entry that has nothing to do with cuteness:
SILLY THINGS MY 3-YEAR-OLD SAID THAT I'M CERTAIN THE REST OF THE WORLD WOULD FIND SWEET
AND CUTE.


And, then, because I need a silly break:

I AM: sitting cross-legged in a horrible chair.
I JUST NOW: poured the last of a bottle of Merlot.
I SAID: nothing to anyone today.
I WANT: to keep the big tits associated with PMS, but not the bloating belly balloon.
I WISH: sometimes when I see a star, sometimes on my birthday, and then whenever the hell I feel like it.
I HATE: nothing really, but sometimes I use the word for emphasis.
I MISS: daily newspapers (for the crossword), Wired magazine, Newsweek.
I FEAR: fear.
I HEAR: way too much on this street: scooters, motorcycles, horns, cars, buses, babies crying, people screaming, and random birds - usually pigeons.
I WONDER: all the time, and it's a great activity.
I REGRET: nothing - still - and that's a great thing.
I AM NOT: a man, but sometimes I feel like I have penis.
I SING: the song of freedom - but only in the shower, and only in my head.
I CRY: when I cut fucking leeks; and then, not enough.
I AM NOT ALWAYS: pretty.
I MADE: dookie this morning.
I WRITE: when inspired, since 1986.
I CONFUSE: memories.
I NEED: sunshine or Vitamin D daily.
I SHOULD: do and be so many things, but I'm not Catholic so I don't care too much.
I START: books and often never finish them.
I FINISH: when I have to.

Because life is short

Drinking 1999 Tenuta San Guido Bolgheri-Sassicaia, average price for a 750ml bottle 180$.

Last summer, I had two dates with an older gentleman who flew private jets. I never fucked him, but slept in his bed. In the morning, he gave me two bottles of wine from his temperature-controlled cellar.

I have no reason for popping the cork at this instance.

Except.

I just watched Rushmore.

(posted on Tumblr)

it's so hot in Paris

that all the shutters are open tonight
turning the city from grey to warm yellow
the swallows are screaming
as they intertwine and play
and hunt in the sky
it's so hot in Paris tonight
the cat calls on the street
are barely murmurs

it's gotta be the heat

Street Hassle
I wanna go Gonzo
walk the wire
call up randomly
smoke and drink
scream from the pier
until the words
just type themselves
out

Overdue and underdone

My lord it's been a while for posting here.

Homestay in Switzerland ended. I graduated in Paris. (No, no, please don't call me Master.) Then, took a jaunt through Cinque Terre (where I could spend the rest of my life if it weren't 3 hours to the nearest airport -- and that's if the trains are running), Prague, and Amsterdam. Most of my comments during this time were on Tumblr so go have a look - photos there, too.

Not so much sexy sexy fun during those days, nor during these days. I'm mostly consumed with figuring shit out. Yeah, free from the grips of grad school and now I have no idea what to do. A slight pre-mid-life crisis as it were. Ideally, I'd love to take the next three months and do something with my graduate project (a documentary film), write the CDOA book I've been longing to write for years and years and years and years, and make a photo portfolio. What about public policy and the years of study? Well... well.. well. It'd be lovely to combine it all and go off into the world as a premier political photojournalist. Can a dream deferred come true? Or, was it a dream in the making? Ten years ago in December, I graduated from college with a double-major in photography and Spanish. At lunch with my parents and sister, my father asked me what I'd like to do now. "Work for National Geographic."

I'm revisiting that idea.

Or, perhaps, it's resurfacing in me.

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.

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.

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.

without a skin

I cried tonight.
Not for torture, but for those that are tortured.

She broke his heart. Her mom was schizophrenic. She is acting out.

He loved her so much. He did all he could.

I love them both.

And there is nothing I can do.

She has tortured me by my willing to let her insecurities in.
I torture myself with his torment.

I grabbed his lapel. I love you. I respect you. I don't know what to do with her. She aches and cries and is longing and I have learned now to repel it. She could easily bring me into her spiral downwards but I can't let it feed me. I have to let her be who she is.

My mantra: accept you all for who you are.

But don't let you come live inside me.

I have enough personalities inside.

I love you both and you are now divorced, separated, free from one another. She is crazy and hurtful and he is desirous and wanting.

All I can do is let you both have space near me, but not within me.

It's so hard to not feel what they feel.

I rub my arm over and over thinking I can coat it in protection.

But I love you both.

So, I cry. Emotional ejaculate. Eye expression. Soul living.

I hug him. She is abroad and far from reach. He needs to be free. She needs to be released.

I cry tears to him. I love you, man. I do.

...and then there was truth

From a Tumblr I follow....

mills:

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

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

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

Yet in the famous words of Richard Rorty:

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

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

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

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

 

Insert: dreaming

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

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

But for now... thoughts and ideas:

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

(oh, the irony)

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

This is beautiful:

But more of this (I love her expression):

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

Crouched on the floor, used as an ottoman.

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

This is fucking amazing (from Arno Bani):

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

Lolita

It's 5 million and 2 zillion fantasy night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yup. That’s what I want. Uh huh.

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

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

Never thought of it from your point of view

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

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

The subs asked:

For Tops:

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

For Switches

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

The doms asked:

For Subs:

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

For Switches

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

The switches asked:

For Tops:

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

For Bottoms:

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

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

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

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