relief for a control freak

I wasn't always like this, and it's good that I remember it.

I remember when I was in my twenties and I swore I'd never, ever become so anti-social as my parents. I was punk rock and partied every chance I got. How could one ever decide to say no to a social gathering? Now I know. When all energy is spent during work hours trying to navigate the social fabric of a large organization, the last thing I find myself interested in is dealing with more personalities.

I remember staying up until 4am as a teenager in Buenos Aires. After all, that's just the culture. Dinner is eaten at 9 or 10pm. Lateness is a compliment - 30 minutes is perfect. Early or punctual, and you're regarded as an outsider. And the famous saying is "mañana, mañana." Again, in my twenties, it was natural for me to stay up until bar time - and try to push bartenders to stay open later. I scoffed at my parents and older friends who retired at midnight (or earlier!) to the quiet of their graveyard-like homes. I also swore I'd never need cover-up for under-eye circles or a blow dryer to pretty up my hair, much less any kind of "product" or preening.

Combine the two, and I've got to be up by 6am for an hour-and-half routine of showering, making coffee, putting a lunch together, checking my personal email (it's not allowed on work computers - thank god for the iphone), doing my hair, placing the make-up, and donning the professional work clothes I chose the night before. (God help me how many times the bus is late as I am!) Anyone who knew me before these days has laughed belly-over at the fact that I'm actually becoming a "morning person," while not joyous in the morning I am teaching my brain to actually be congnizant before 10am. So, this leads to enhancing the first point - ugh, people after work hours - and to an early bedtime. At first, because of the steep learning curve, I was like a teenager and required a full night of 8 hours. Then, I adjusted a bit, and could function on 6-7 hours. But now, I'm in a new position (executive assistant - what do they do? "execute!") and again I suffer without a full 8 hours of sleep. This puts me into bed by 10pm - assisted by magic little OTC blue pills.

It didn't use to matter if I had a smear here, a stain there, a forgetfulness over here. But somewhere along the lines - after my days in the non-profit but before grad school, maybe while studying for the GRE - I decided that I couldn't live without some kind of striving for perfection. It's always been inside me, perhaps a bit dormant. My father always tried to instill in us the objective of perfection - that we would never be so, but that the act of trying for it was good enough. In fact, it was perfect to aim for perfection. "Fail to plan, plan to fail." "Proper planning prevents piss poor performance." I also read in a book somewhere, and was confirmed by several dominants with whom I've engaged, that submissives are the biggest control freaks ever. It makes sense in a way. They/we aim to please, strive to fulfill our dominants' needs, want to be better and look better to reflect on them, want to clean the house better or serve the best and most formal way (if we're service subs), want to take as much pain as possible (if we're S&M subs), want to get every little action or position as perfectly as possible (to avoid - or reduce - a punishment, which we may or may not seek anyway), etc.

It's very interesting to me that my colleagues don't know this side of me. They don't understand that even if they tell me XYZ meeting isn't a big deal at all, it means the world to me to get it right. That they say ABC report doesn't mean so much because GHI agency won't really read it - I'm still compelled to complete it perfectly. This can be a hiderence if I don't control the control freak. For instance, boss man tasked me with writing a paper on a certain budget possibility. In the middle of writing it, the woman who previously held my position stopped by and I asked her, "when is it enough?" Of course, she reminded me of what I knew in grad school. "At some point you have to stop researching it and write it. You'll never know everything. You can't. You're too new and you're not omniscient."

So, here it was. A big meeting today. I'd been put in the position to coordinate it. The Commissioner was there and someone tried to introduce us - although we'd been introduced twice and I'd bumped into him in the hallway several times - and he said, "Oh yeah. I already know her. How's it goin'? [something he says EVERY time I see him] I hear you're doing a great job." [The little sub in me rejoiced. Or, perhaps, the girl on the border of X-generation and Y-generation. I'm told my generation and younger seek more validation in their work than previous generations.] "Well, thank you. That's nice." I had nothing more to offer or comment. I was a bit taken aback. My big boss isn't one to offer much feedback at all, thus, I'm only assured that I'm doing a good job by the fact that I'm still in the position that I'm in - would have been transferred if I wasn't working out to his standards.

But then the mistakes. The mistakes came in rolling over the day-long important meeting. One representative wasn't present, although I thought I'd communicated clearly that she was supposed to be there. (Although this doesn't count as a mistake too much as people had told me how problematic she'd been in the past.) Then, the missing last page of Mr. Y's presentation. I went back to the office after the meeting and there it was, the communication from the Commissioner's chief of staff to omit that page. Whew! I had to forward it to him, humbly, just to point out the fact that I was, in fact, not in the wrong and did not neglect my duties, but that there was a missed communication in the end. Same with a following presentation. A page was missing. I have yet to dig up the email communication on that one, but I'm pretty set in knowing that it wasn't my failure.

And that's all new to me. In the good ol' days, I could have let it roll off my back. But in this new spotlight, I feel ever more compelled to make it right, make it excel, make it outstanding. I don't want to meet expectations, and I don't just wan to exceed what people think I can do, I want to knock their fucking socks off. Not that I'm aiming for some superior rise up the ladder, because frankly I don't think I want to be an executive - I'm too lazy. But I want them to think I can gel in the funny moments of the secret downtime between them. I want them to know I can pull anything off and do it superbly.

Sigh. Who is this new person? "Who has kidnapped my sister?" My sister asked. All of this newness even boils down into my dirty sex life. I've been seeing ....

TBC.

and no editing.

fuck it

so what if the ex-co-worker found me... I doubt she's still intrigued now.

so then....

i love when i feel it swell -----

the words swirling inside

the feelings bubbling up

the tense intensity when i hate all people and only love thoughts

i can feel something coming up, about to burst, but contained, restricted, not screaming, but gazing up from the well and ready to leap out, hunger and exclamation, patient steps and stomping screams, something is coming up……….

Almost exclusively on Tumblr

Not enough time or gusto to plug in here, kids.

Want to see what's going on? Check it at my tumblr: http://pourquoi-pas.tumblr.com/

the bad daughter

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

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

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

Dear DC dom, domme, and IlRe -

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

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

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

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

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

lola

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

And now, I feel horrible again.

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

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

Luckiest girl in the world - major update

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

Preface.

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

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

Oh my. It's a huge feat.

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

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

There is the Mother Teresa of Love:

Mother Teresa of Love - first writing


11/17/2001



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

There is the submissive pain slut.

The babygirl to Daddys.

The lover to lovers.

The porn star to photography.

The forever teacher.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


&&&&&&&&&&&

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

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

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

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

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

undies case: closed

Silly foreign visitors using me as a mailbox. (A grad school chum coming to visit - forgot to attach his last name to the To: portion of the address.)

Sigh… and I thought they were my size, albeit, kinda ugly.

....and the underwear mystery is...

Who sent Lola 8 pairs of girlie undies (in size small) from Victoria Secret?

God, I hope it's not a wife of a lover sending a not-so-subtle hint.

Eeek! I hope it's just a generous admirer instead.

If it's you, 'fess up, please.

The pain is the glory

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

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

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

So, here goes my personal interest part:
Endorphins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there's more.

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

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

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

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