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