I am writing this post as an explanation of my impetuous behavior that led to deleting my original blog. Since my last divorce, I have said that I would never marry again. I was not in any relationship for a very long time. until I met J. At that time I was not looking for an exclusive relationship. My relationship with J. had progressed quickly (though not too quickly) and had fulfilled me and met needs in me in a way I had not known before. There were limitations on what our relationship could be, but I was fine with those limitations. I had a long term plan for my life, I was taking steps to meet my goals and make that plan a reality. I was happy and content with my life and our relationship. I belonged to Him, I wanted to belong to Him. Ours was a D/s relationship, but it was more than that. He was a close and trusted friend. He was caring and protective of me, to a greater degree than I had ever known. I trusted Him completely. In retrospect, I don't know why I would have ever chosen anything else.
There were other factors though. The stress in my life was building, cost of living outpacing my income. My son being out of work and trying to help him financially, leaving my own bills unpaid. Working full time and finishing school. A never ending string of car problems and repairs. Constant jabs and slights from my older, but less than stable sister. Another man, that I regarded as a friend and mentor, an advisor, but who was wanting more in a relationship with me. It was that last factor that became a tipping point for me. It became a sudden presence in my life. Promises of something easier, something better, more stability. Offers of support, financial and otherwise, while I finished school. A voice telling me that I needed to get away, remove myself from some of the stresses. Being told I was needed, as well as what I needed. I had worked so hard to be independent and strong, but a series of events made me doubt my strength and independence. I succumbed to the promises and the pressure. I told J. that I had to see if I could make things work in a new relationship, I had to explore the possibilities. I should have discussed it with Him, I should have allowed Him to be my voice of reason. Instead I pulled away and cut things off, I knew I would not be able to give Him up if I talked about it or thought about it too long. He was kind and gracious and understanding, He allowed me space, but left the door open.
Not even a month has passed, I needed Him, I missed Him, I came back to Him. In the interim, I acted impulsively. I tried to erase that part of my life in an attempt to deny how much I needed it. That was why I deleted the blog. It was my testament, my record of how important and vital He was to me. I left a loving and caring Dominant, for someone who has turned out to be more controlling than dominant. Someone, who did not really know me, who did not understand me. I have always said that I was not good at relationships, that is not true. I am not good at vanilla relationships, I need to submit, I want to be His pet. With J, my submission came easily, the trust was there, He layed the groundwork, He knew me and understood me, better than anyone else. Even when I tried to deny that, I knew in my heart where I belonged. I belonged with Him, I belonged to Him. I am back, for as long as He will have me, I am His.
I have been able to step back, clear my head and come to my senses. The loss of my blog is a big regret, I have reposted as much as I could, the rest is lost. For myself and for Him, I wanted to try and recreate what I could. I am not sure what I will do with this blog now. Maybe just let it be a reminder to me of when I veered off of my path. Rather than continue here, I have created a new blog. It is the next chapter, it represents a new beginning, a recommitment to to Him and to my plans. I know there are things I want to do and accomplish, things that are very important to me. He is also very important to me, I want to always share some element of my life with Him, whether that be as a friend or a pet or both. The link to the new blog is here, it is my intention for now, to continue posting there.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Blog resurrected
I previously created this blog under the name of Lola. A little less than a month ago, during a personal crisis of sorts, I deleted my profile and the blog. Having found my way again and my sanity, I also faced regret at the loss of my journal. While I do not have copies of all of my posts, I will try and recreate as much as I can. My apologies also to J. The original Growth and Decline was as much a gift to Him as it was a reflection of me.
letter to Him
J,
I have missed you, being in service to you. I need to show you my willingness to surrender to you. I want to meet your needs and to give you release. I need to have your instruction and training, I need your use of me, I need you to take me for your pleasure and your fantasies. I want you to use me to satisfy your darkest desires and to explore your deepest thoughts. I need to be able to touch you and take your cock in my mouth, I want to lick and taste all of you, to worship you with my mouth and my tongue. To completely surrender to you and to show you my desire and dedication to you. My need to be with you is becoming an obsession with me. My thoughts and fantasies are of touching you, serving you and surrendering to your whims and your discipline. I will try to never deny you anything that you ask of me, I want to be completely under your domination and your will.
When I am masturbating, I am remembering your instruction, for my hands to be your hands. As I touch my breasts and stroke my nipples, I feel your hands as I squeeze and pinch them hard. As I rub and pinch my clit, I feel your hands on me, I imagine your teeth, biting and pulling. I long to feel your strokes across my ass, leaving your marks and bruises on me. I need that so badly. I want to feel your hand on my ass, I want to experience your strokes from the brush, but also from the whip and the cane. I want to push myself past my limits, to accept and experience that from you. I want to see and feel your marks for the longest time possible. I want to hear your voice telling me that I am your pet and I will take this for you. I need to take it for myself as well, I need to scream out from the pain, from the pleasure that it gives me. Want to kneel before you and beg you to allow me to have the gift of your discipline, beg you to spank me, to whip me. I want you to take me past what I think I can tolerate, to the place you know I am capable of. I want you to be proud of me, of my surrender to you. I need for you to take me there. Test my limits and push me past them.
I will beg you to allow me to touch you, to lick you, to anticipate your needs. I need to touch and suck your cock, I need to have my mouth on your balls and your ass. I need to touch, lick and worship all of you. I want to be your toy, your plaything that you use for your pleasure and amusement. I am your pet and your slut. I will assume and change those roles as you need me to, as you desire different things from me. Use me to explore and satisfy your desires. I want to wear your rings, as well as your marks. I want explore many things with you, I want to get to the point of being able to climax on your command, I want you to control my ability to do so. I want you to tell me when and how I am allowed to cum. To await your permission or to immediately cum at your command. I want to explore another woman at your direction and in your presence, for she and I to explore each other and to also attend to your needs. The three of us interacting at your will and command. I want to eat her pussy and lick and suck her clit, making her cum for us. I want to work together with her to give you pleasure and to service you, using both of us for your satisfaction, in whatever way you desire. I am your pet, for you to keep me, give me, or direct me in any way you wish. I am consumed by my need to surrender to you, for you to utilize that surrender.
Your possession and use of me is only limited by your own desires.
I am yours.
I have missed you, being in service to you. I need to show you my willingness to surrender to you. I want to meet your needs and to give you release. I need to have your instruction and training, I need your use of me, I need you to take me for your pleasure and your fantasies. I want you to use me to satisfy your darkest desires and to explore your deepest thoughts. I need to be able to touch you and take your cock in my mouth, I want to lick and taste all of you, to worship you with my mouth and my tongue. To completely surrender to you and to show you my desire and dedication to you. My need to be with you is becoming an obsession with me. My thoughts and fantasies are of touching you, serving you and surrendering to your whims and your discipline. I will try to never deny you anything that you ask of me, I want to be completely under your domination and your will.
When I am masturbating, I am remembering your instruction, for my hands to be your hands. As I touch my breasts and stroke my nipples, I feel your hands as I squeeze and pinch them hard. As I rub and pinch my clit, I feel your hands on me, I imagine your teeth, biting and pulling. I long to feel your strokes across my ass, leaving your marks and bruises on me. I need that so badly. I want to feel your hand on my ass, I want to experience your strokes from the brush, but also from the whip and the cane. I want to push myself past my limits, to accept and experience that from you. I want to see and feel your marks for the longest time possible. I want to hear your voice telling me that I am your pet and I will take this for you. I need to take it for myself as well, I need to scream out from the pain, from the pleasure that it gives me. Want to kneel before you and beg you to allow me to have the gift of your discipline, beg you to spank me, to whip me. I want you to take me past what I think I can tolerate, to the place you know I am capable of. I want you to be proud of me, of my surrender to you. I need for you to take me there. Test my limits and push me past them.
I will beg you to allow me to touch you, to lick you, to anticipate your needs. I need to touch and suck your cock, I need to have my mouth on your balls and your ass. I need to touch, lick and worship all of you. I want to be your toy, your plaything that you use for your pleasure and amusement. I am your pet and your slut. I will assume and change those roles as you need me to, as you desire different things from me. Use me to explore and satisfy your desires. I want to wear your rings, as well as your marks. I want explore many things with you, I want to get to the point of being able to climax on your command, I want you to control my ability to do so. I want you to tell me when and how I am allowed to cum. To await your permission or to immediately cum at your command. I want to explore another woman at your direction and in your presence, for she and I to explore each other and to also attend to your needs. The three of us interacting at your will and command. I want to eat her pussy and lick and suck her clit, making her cum for us. I want to work together with her to give you pleasure and to service you, using both of us for your satisfaction, in whatever way you desire. I am your pet, for you to keep me, give me, or direct me in any way you wish. I am consumed by my need to surrender to you, for you to utilize that surrender.
Your possession and use of me is only limited by your own desires.
I am yours.
100 things about me
1. I have brown hair.
2. Sometimes it has been red.
3. If the truth be known, it is probably at least half grey anymore.
4. I love my dogs, almost as much as my kids.
5. I collect Christmas ornaments.
6. I hate feeling like my feet are restrained; I don’t even tuck the sheets in at the foot of the bed.
7. I love to cook.
8. My favorite smell is campfires.
9. I used to show horses.
10. I owned a Quarter Horse named Carlos Bars; I sold him when I got married.
11. I should have kept the horse and passed on the husband.
12. I love wearing skirts, but I usually wear jeans.
13. I love to write, I wish I were better at it.
14. Irises are my favorite flowers.
15. I will turn 50 this year, but sometimes I still feel 20.
16. I love the theater and the opera.
17. I like to mow grass.
18. My favorite color is red.
19. I wear Chanel #5 perfume and have since I was in high school.
20. I love being spanked and flogged.
21. I want to be caned, but it scares me.
22. My college dorm was haunted; Ghost Hunters did a show on it.
23. I do believe in spirits, but I don’t believe in ghosts.
24. I am a Christian, but I incorporate some aspects of Taoism in with it.
25. Three places I would really love to travel to are: Angkor Wat, Cambodia, Machu Picchu, Peru, and Stonehenge, United Kingdom.
26. I love ruins and historical sites.
27. I also love tourist traps/roadside attractions, Rock City is my favorite one, but I love the Belles of Cypress Gardens and the Mermaids at Weeki Wachi Springs too.
28. I can’t wear watches; they do not keep time on me.
29. I am allergic to jewelry, unless it is nickel-free.
30. I wanted to major in anthropology, but my parents said no.
31. Tent camping is my favorite vacation.
32. I love to sew, especially quilting.
33. My grandmother taught me to sew on a treadle sewing machine.
34. She also taught me to quilt, but gave up trying to teach me to knit and crochet.
35. I still cannot knit or crochet.
36. I love roller coasters, but not ones where you stand up.
37. I am afraid of heights.
38. I love traveling on trains.
39. I love reading quotes and try to incorporate them into what I write.
40. I think Sean Connery is the sexiest man in the world, but only after he was older.
41. I love Monty Python and I know the words to The Lumberjack Song.
42. I get migraines.
43. I have had 5 knee surgeries.
45. My trachea was severed by a piece of glass when I was two.
46. I really am a bit accident prone.
47. I love pomegranates, but I don’t eat the seeds.
48. I have three grandchildren, I love doing things with them.
49. They wear me out.
50. I am wondering if I can think of 50 more semi-interesting things about me.
51. Toffifays are my favorite candy, but they’re hard to find.
52. I smoke, even though I know I should quit.
53. I play with my hair and bite my lip when I am nervous or thinking.
54. I try to buy myself fresh flowers once a week.
55. I love fish and seafood, but I hate oysters.
56. I drove a 1972 Dodge Charger in high school.
57. I love muscle cars and car shows.
58. I like to study philosophy and religions.
59. I love the beach and the mountains.
60. I have never traveled outside North America.
61. I love crosswords and word puzzles.
62. I have one brother and two sisters.
63. I am the baby of the family.
64. I love to read.
65. Biographies and memoirs are my favorite genre.
66. I was a daddy’s girl; I really miss my father since he died.
67. He and I used to sail and canoe together.
68. Sometimes I still sleep in one of his old shirts.
69. I kept his slide rule.
70. I am determined to get my Master’s Degree.
71. I love school.
72. I collect music boxes; I love to listen to them.
73. I collect iron doorstops.
74. I collect way too much junk.
75. When I was little, I thought Memorial Day parades were held for my birthday.
76. I love watching fireworks.
77. I am a cancer survivor.
78. Death does not scare me.
79. I love flying kites.
80. I have always had few, but close friends.
81. I love thunder storms, the more severe the better.
82. I hate violence, but like watching boxing.
83. I am sapiosexual.
84. I am a bit of a masochist.
85. I am fascinated by fire.
86. I have a very low tolerance for stupid people.
87. The most famous person I ever met was Margaret Mead.
88. My favorite holiday is Christmas, followed by Halloween.
89. I enjoy going to museums.
90. Working third shift at 7/11 was the worst job I ever had.
91. Working at a stable was the best job I ever had.
92. I am an expert shot with handguns.
93. I have shot a sawed-off shotgun and an AK-47.
94. Giving birth, twice, was the most amazing experience I ever had.
95. I breastfed both my sons.
96. Only five more to go, and yes I am cheating.
97. I have been married and divorced twice.
98. My second husband abused me.
99. I am good at jigsaw puzzles.
100. I have nightmares that I am being strangled.
2. Sometimes it has been red.
3. If the truth be known, it is probably at least half grey anymore.
4. I love my dogs, almost as much as my kids.
5. I collect Christmas ornaments.
6. I hate feeling like my feet are restrained; I don’t even tuck the sheets in at the foot of the bed.
7. I love to cook.
8. My favorite smell is campfires.
9. I used to show horses.
10. I owned a Quarter Horse named Carlos Bars; I sold him when I got married.
11. I should have kept the horse and passed on the husband.
12. I love wearing skirts, but I usually wear jeans.
13. I love to write, I wish I were better at it.
14. Irises are my favorite flowers.
15. I will turn 50 this year, but sometimes I still feel 20.
16. I love the theater and the opera.
17. I like to mow grass.
18. My favorite color is red.
19. I wear Chanel #5 perfume and have since I was in high school.
20. I love being spanked and flogged.
21. I want to be caned, but it scares me.
22. My college dorm was haunted; Ghost Hunters did a show on it.
23. I do believe in spirits, but I don’t believe in ghosts.
24. I am a Christian, but I incorporate some aspects of Taoism in with it.
25. Three places I would really love to travel to are: Angkor Wat, Cambodia, Machu Picchu, Peru, and Stonehenge, United Kingdom.
26. I love ruins and historical sites.
27. I also love tourist traps/roadside attractions, Rock City is my favorite one, but I love the Belles of Cypress Gardens and the Mermaids at Weeki Wachi Springs too.
28. I can’t wear watches; they do not keep time on me.
29. I am allergic to jewelry, unless it is nickel-free.
30. I wanted to major in anthropology, but my parents said no.
31. Tent camping is my favorite vacation.
32. I love to sew, especially quilting.
33. My grandmother taught me to sew on a treadle sewing machine.
34. She also taught me to quilt, but gave up trying to teach me to knit and crochet.
35. I still cannot knit or crochet.
36. I love roller coasters, but not ones where you stand up.
37. I am afraid of heights.
38. I love traveling on trains.
39. I love reading quotes and try to incorporate them into what I write.
40. I think Sean Connery is the sexiest man in the world, but only after he was older.
41. I love Monty Python and I know the words to The Lumberjack Song.
42. I get migraines.
43. I have had 5 knee surgeries.
45. My trachea was severed by a piece of glass when I was two.
46. I really am a bit accident prone.
47. I love pomegranates, but I don’t eat the seeds.
48. I have three grandchildren, I love doing things with them.
49. They wear me out.
50. I am wondering if I can think of 50 more semi-interesting things about me.
51. Toffifays are my favorite candy, but they’re hard to find.
52. I smoke, even though I know I should quit.
53. I play with my hair and bite my lip when I am nervous or thinking.
54. I try to buy myself fresh flowers once a week.
55. I love fish and seafood, but I hate oysters.
56. I drove a 1972 Dodge Charger in high school.
57. I love muscle cars and car shows.
58. I like to study philosophy and religions.
59. I love the beach and the mountains.
60. I have never traveled outside North America.
61. I love crosswords and word puzzles.
62. I have one brother and two sisters.
63. I am the baby of the family.
64. I love to read.
65. Biographies and memoirs are my favorite genre.
66. I was a daddy’s girl; I really miss my father since he died.
67. He and I used to sail and canoe together.
68. Sometimes I still sleep in one of his old shirts.
69. I kept his slide rule.
70. I am determined to get my Master’s Degree.
71. I love school.
72. I collect music boxes; I love to listen to them.
73. I collect iron doorstops.
74. I collect way too much junk.
75. When I was little, I thought Memorial Day parades were held for my birthday.
76. I love watching fireworks.
77. I am a cancer survivor.
78. Death does not scare me.
79. I love flying kites.
80. I have always had few, but close friends.
81. I love thunder storms, the more severe the better.
82. I hate violence, but like watching boxing.
83. I am sapiosexual.
84. I am a bit of a masochist.
85. I am fascinated by fire.
86. I have a very low tolerance for stupid people.
87. The most famous person I ever met was Margaret Mead.
88. My favorite holiday is Christmas, followed by Halloween.
89. I enjoy going to museums.
90. Working third shift at 7/11 was the worst job I ever had.
91. Working at a stable was the best job I ever had.
92. I am an expert shot with handguns.
93. I have shot a sawed-off shotgun and an AK-47.
94. Giving birth, twice, was the most amazing experience I ever had.
95. I breastfed both my sons.
96. Only five more to go, and yes I am cheating.
97. I have been married and divorced twice.
98. My second husband abused me.
99. I am good at jigsaw puzzles.
100. I have nightmares that I am being strangled.
More Gifts
In keeping with the spirit of giving, I am posting again on the best gifts that I ever received. As I consider these gifts, I realize that none of them were actual concrete things, they were gifts that come from within and they touched my soul.
I grew up in a very conservative family. My father was a staunch Republican. While my parents were loving and taught me many things, some of the greatest lessons I learned were from my aunt. She was much more liberal than my parents, she was very socially aware, she was an activist and she was a teacher. While I was growing up, I spent many weekends at my aunt’s house, she was very attentive to me. Even when I was a child, she treated me with respect and she spoke to me on an adult level. She took me to museums and plays and the symphony. She was never disrespectful or critical of my parents, but she made sure that I received a balanced view of the world.
She taught me to read and to count, later she taught me to multiply and divide, she made me aware of history (not from history books, but the other side of the story). She taught me to cook and to grow vegetables and to be frugal. She taught me to value education, to love learning for the sake of learning. She taught me social awareness. From her I learned of Cesar Chavez and I knew why she boycotted grapes. I knew of Ralph Nader and his crusade for public safety, human rights, and the environment. I knew that Helen Keller was not only a disabled woman, but a socialist and a crusader. My aunt taught me service and charity, together we packed boxes for American soldiers in Viet Nam, but at the same time I knew of the plight of the Viet Namese and the Cambodian boat people. She taught me to reuse and recycle, before it was popular. She taught and tutored me along side of underprivileged, inner city children whose skin was a different color than mine. She taught me to darn socks and patch clothes, because to throw them away was wasteful. At Christmas we collected toys and clothes for the poor.
As a child, I did not always appreciate her lessons, but as an adult I have embraced her views and beliefs. I will never have an opportunity to tell her how great of an influence she has had on my life, but the lessons she taught me were some of my greatest gifts.
“Every extension of knowledge arises from making the conscious the unconscious.”
~ Friedrich Neitzsche
I grew up in a very conservative family. My father was a staunch Republican. While my parents were loving and taught me many things, some of the greatest lessons I learned were from my aunt. She was much more liberal than my parents, she was very socially aware, she was an activist and she was a teacher. While I was growing up, I spent many weekends at my aunt’s house, she was very attentive to me. Even when I was a child, she treated me with respect and she spoke to me on an adult level. She took me to museums and plays and the symphony. She was never disrespectful or critical of my parents, but she made sure that I received a balanced view of the world.
She taught me to read and to count, later she taught me to multiply and divide, she made me aware of history (not from history books, but the other side of the story). She taught me to cook and to grow vegetables and to be frugal. She taught me to value education, to love learning for the sake of learning. She taught me social awareness. From her I learned of Cesar Chavez and I knew why she boycotted grapes. I knew of Ralph Nader and his crusade for public safety, human rights, and the environment. I knew that Helen Keller was not only a disabled woman, but a socialist and a crusader. My aunt taught me service and charity, together we packed boxes for American soldiers in Viet Nam, but at the same time I knew of the plight of the Viet Namese and the Cambodian boat people. She taught me to reuse and recycle, before it was popular. She taught and tutored me along side of underprivileged, inner city children whose skin was a different color than mine. She taught me to darn socks and patch clothes, because to throw them away was wasteful. At Christmas we collected toys and clothes for the poor.
As a child, I did not always appreciate her lessons, but as an adult I have embraced her views and beliefs. I will never have an opportunity to tell her how great of an influence she has had on my life, but the lessons she taught me were some of my greatest gifts.
“Every extension of knowledge arises from making the conscious the unconscious.”
~ Friedrich Neitzsche
Gifts
I have been feeling a little bah-humbug lately. I LOVE Christmas, but I am sick of what it has become. It seems the holiday season is just an excuse anymore for people to get a severe case of the “gimmees”. The joy, the beauty, and the spirit of the season has been all but lost. In an effort to recover some of the meaning, I began contemplating some of the best gifts that I have received. Not all of these gifts were at Christmas time, in fact many of them were at other times during the year, but they touched my heart all the same. So my intentions is to write about some of them over the course of the next few days.
I seem to have a surprising ability to have remained friends with many of my exes. After a relationship has ended, we have a choice. We can remember and celebrate the cherished moments, the sweetness, the good times or we can dwell on the mistakes, the hurts and the things that contributed to the demise. I prefer to try and remember the things that touched my soul and helped me grow. I still correspond with and occasionally see, my first real boyfriend, my first love, and the boy I gave my virginity to. There is no regret over what might have been or longing to reclaim what was, we are simply friends. This past summer he gave me the wonderful gift of remembrance and affection. The following is an excerpt of the e-mail he sent me that made me smile and allowed me to feel like I was 16 again. I hope he doesn’t mind me sharing it, it was one of the best gifts ever bestowed on me.
Wow.. after your email I spent some time reminiscing.While you weren't my first sexual partner, you might as well have been for all the experience I'd had (sorry about that), & you were so many of my other firsts!The first girl I ever fell in love with... The first girl I ever got in a fist fight over...The first girl I ever lost a friend over, but not the last...The first jealous-rage drunk I'd ever hadThe first time I learned that a bare shoulder, a look, a giggle, a conversation, sweat, a taste, a scent, a cast on a leg, or a smile could be REALLY sexy... (I'm pretty certain that blindfolded, I could pick you out of a room full of women by taking a quick nibble on everyone's neck)The first girl that ever cried while making love to me...My first real heartbreak.If teenagers can be said to really have relationships, ours was my maiden voyage into the sea of adult emotion (good god, isn't THAT lofty sounding!!)
“The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
I seem to have a surprising ability to have remained friends with many of my exes. After a relationship has ended, we have a choice. We can remember and celebrate the cherished moments, the sweetness, the good times or we can dwell on the mistakes, the hurts and the things that contributed to the demise. I prefer to try and remember the things that touched my soul and helped me grow. I still correspond with and occasionally see, my first real boyfriend, my first love, and the boy I gave my virginity to. There is no regret over what might have been or longing to reclaim what was, we are simply friends. This past summer he gave me the wonderful gift of remembrance and affection. The following is an excerpt of the e-mail he sent me that made me smile and allowed me to feel like I was 16 again. I hope he doesn’t mind me sharing it, it was one of the best gifts ever bestowed on me.
Wow.. after your email I spent some time reminiscing.While you weren't my first sexual partner, you might as well have been for all the experience I'd had (sorry about that), & you were so many of my other firsts!The first girl I ever fell in love with... The first girl I ever got in a fist fight over...The first girl I ever lost a friend over, but not the last...The first jealous-rage drunk I'd ever hadThe first time I learned that a bare shoulder, a look, a giggle, a conversation, sweat, a taste, a scent, a cast on a leg, or a smile could be REALLY sexy... (I'm pretty certain that blindfolded, I could pick you out of a room full of women by taking a quick nibble on everyone's neck)The first girl that ever cried while making love to me...My first real heartbreak.If teenagers can be said to really have relationships, ours was my maiden voyage into the sea of adult emotion (good god, isn't THAT lofty sounding!!)
“The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Secrets
Originally posted November 12, 2007
I am sure that everyone has secrets. Some we may share with a few people, others we don't tell anyone at all. Sometimes secrets are good, like when you are a kid and you share secrets with your best friend. These are usually silly things like who you have a crush on, or guess who kissed me. Then there are bad secrets. Secrets that you hold inside because you don't know how to verbalize them. Things that you think will make everyone look at you differently, with pity or disgust. Things that happened that left a huge scar on your soul. A scar that is so ugly that you are afraid if anyone sees it they will only see the ugliness and not who you are. You hide the scar, so no one will see it, but it is still there and it just gets uglier.
I hid my secret behind walls. By the time I was done I had a fortress of walls surrounding me. Each wall had a name, my walls were strength, independence, indifference, hatred, anger, mistrust, suspicion. I isolated myself behind these walls, but the secret never went away and the scar never healed. Over the years I let a few people in, but never all the way in. I was alone in the inner sanctum. I did not want anyone to see my disfigurement. Instead of the walls becoming my protection, I began protecting the walls. I could not cry, I knew that tears would erode the walls and leave me vulnerable. I knew that if people saw what makes you cry, they would know what your weaknesses were. People exploit weakness. It even became my motto; Crying is a sign of weakness, never let them see you cry. I became really good at living as this persona, I tried to forget who I used to be. Sometimes she tried to surface, that girl I used to be, but I never let her. I was mad at her, she was weak, she let it happen. I would have never let it happen, I wouldn't have been that weak or stupid. I was wrong though, she wasn't as weak as I thought and I wasn't as strong as I pretended to be.
I became weary of my isolation, I was tired of being alone. I began to explore the possibilities. I found it was safe to meet and talk to people online, I could be anonymous, I could be in control, I could play the game. I saw Him on a vanilla site, I sent a short superficial message. He was a few hours away, enough distance to serve as a buffer, a safety net, we didn't even ever have to meet. He messaged back, we had a lot in common, politics, theatre, he had a dog, an interest in D/s. I read the message several times, He really did bring D/s and sex up in the first message. I had made a cryptic reference to D/s in my profile, my site test results had revealed a bit more, had I made a nebulous invitation to this response? He was intelligent, funny, and despite His direct D/s reference, seemed non-threatening. I was intrigued, I sent another message. Communications continued, our messages were balanced between vanilla topics and BDSM, He recognized my submissiveness, He took the lead. I am not sure why I was compelled to trust Him, but he seems to be able to have that effect on me. I needed to trust, I needed to submit, He met those needs. A little at a time I revealed my secrets, I breached the walls. I let Him in, more than anyone else. I felt safe, He allowed me to expose myself, He was not disgusted or judgmental. There was no pity, only acceptance. He addressed my need to heal, my need to cry.
Crying was a major issue for me, I had suppressed the tears for so long I did not know if I could allow them to come. I knew with the tears would come memories, emotions, all the ugliness that I had locked away. It frightened me, I wasn't sure that I could stand face to face with my former self and not be crushed by the collapsing walls. We talked about the crying issue, He told me we would face it together. I did not think that I could just allow myself to cry, I wrote a post, I imagined a scenario. I would only be able to cry if I was forced to. He disagreed, He told me; "To be honest, I would much rather sit across from you, fully clothed, and talk about your fear of crying and appearance of weakness. To remind you that you're safe with me, regardless of what you expose. To simply talk you into your release... then to comfort and protect you as the walls begin to come down." Not surprisingly, He was correct. We were talking, He was asking me questions about myself, who I was, how I defined myself. That was enough, as I thought about who I was, I knew that my past was part of who I was, that if I was honest, I could not run from it any longer. Unplanned, that simple, I just began to cry. It was that simple, but not that easy. He was there for me, He encouraged me, He comforted me, I cried for over an hour. When it was done, I remembered her, who she was, I remembered it was not her fault. I feel free now, free from my anger towards myself and towards my abuser. I do not forgive him, but I do not have to waste my emotions on him. I am worth more than that. I have basically outlined my abuse in a previous post, but here is my secret:
When I met him, I was recently divorced, he was my neighbor. He was attentive to me and to my son. I was vulnerable, I felt rejected, he made me feel attractive and desirable. There were many red flags, things that should have alerted me to his true nature, but my confidence was shaken, I did not trust my own intuition. He always had an explanation and an excuse. Soon things became very sexual in nature, sex was rough, but I liked it that way. There were several times that I broke things off, but he always talked his way back in, he said he needed me. Despite my better judgement, we ended up getting married, I began to feel trapped. He isolated me from my friends and my family, I felt that all I had was him. Rough sex eventually became rougher, he only seemed to be satisfied when he actually hurt me. He pushed me to engage in rape scenarios during sex, but then the rape became real. It was no longer consensual. He would force me, holding a knife to my throat or just holding my throat and choking me. He began to rape me anally, he ignored my crying and my pleas to stop. I remember when he tore my rectum and I bled for days, he didn't care, he told me that I had liked it. I would have to hide the bruises on my throat, where he had choked me. He degraded me, it excited him. He would hold me down in the tub and urinate on me, in my face and my mouth. He told me I was worthless, that I made him do this to me. He told me I was ugly, what was happening made me feel ugly. The whole situation was ugly. He accused me of wanting other men, he became more controlling, he hurt me more, he would laugh when I begged him to stop. I believed him when he told me that no one cared about me, that there was no where I could go. I was depressed, I was numb, I was helpless.He told me if I left, he would come after me. He told me he would kill himself and it would be my fault. I did not get out until he began abusing my son.
After he was gone, I hated myself for what had happened. I hated him. I wanted to kill him, I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to be sorry. He never even acknowledged what he had done. I was angry, I was determined that I would never be used or abused again. I decided that I would never need anyone but myself again. That was 17 years ago. It took me this long to know that I did need other people, I needed to heal and to trust. The tears released me, they dissolved the shame and the guilt. They let me tell my story.
"Any real progress takes time and patience and effort. You are making real strides. Don't curse yourself because you're not yet where you want to be; praise yourself that you are on the right track."
~ Adam Rifkin
I am sure that everyone has secrets. Some we may share with a few people, others we don't tell anyone at all. Sometimes secrets are good, like when you are a kid and you share secrets with your best friend. These are usually silly things like who you have a crush on, or guess who kissed me. Then there are bad secrets. Secrets that you hold inside because you don't know how to verbalize them. Things that you think will make everyone look at you differently, with pity or disgust. Things that happened that left a huge scar on your soul. A scar that is so ugly that you are afraid if anyone sees it they will only see the ugliness and not who you are. You hide the scar, so no one will see it, but it is still there and it just gets uglier.
I hid my secret behind walls. By the time I was done I had a fortress of walls surrounding me. Each wall had a name, my walls were strength, independence, indifference, hatred, anger, mistrust, suspicion. I isolated myself behind these walls, but the secret never went away and the scar never healed. Over the years I let a few people in, but never all the way in. I was alone in the inner sanctum. I did not want anyone to see my disfigurement. Instead of the walls becoming my protection, I began protecting the walls. I could not cry, I knew that tears would erode the walls and leave me vulnerable. I knew that if people saw what makes you cry, they would know what your weaknesses were. People exploit weakness. It even became my motto; Crying is a sign of weakness, never let them see you cry. I became really good at living as this persona, I tried to forget who I used to be. Sometimes she tried to surface, that girl I used to be, but I never let her. I was mad at her, she was weak, she let it happen. I would have never let it happen, I wouldn't have been that weak or stupid. I was wrong though, she wasn't as weak as I thought and I wasn't as strong as I pretended to be.
I became weary of my isolation, I was tired of being alone. I began to explore the possibilities. I found it was safe to meet and talk to people online, I could be anonymous, I could be in control, I could play the game. I saw Him on a vanilla site, I sent a short superficial message. He was a few hours away, enough distance to serve as a buffer, a safety net, we didn't even ever have to meet. He messaged back, we had a lot in common, politics, theatre, he had a dog, an interest in D/s. I read the message several times, He really did bring D/s and sex up in the first message. I had made a cryptic reference to D/s in my profile, my site test results had revealed a bit more, had I made a nebulous invitation to this response? He was intelligent, funny, and despite His direct D/s reference, seemed non-threatening. I was intrigued, I sent another message. Communications continued, our messages were balanced between vanilla topics and BDSM, He recognized my submissiveness, He took the lead. I am not sure why I was compelled to trust Him, but he seems to be able to have that effect on me. I needed to trust, I needed to submit, He met those needs. A little at a time I revealed my secrets, I breached the walls. I let Him in, more than anyone else. I felt safe, He allowed me to expose myself, He was not disgusted or judgmental. There was no pity, only acceptance. He addressed my need to heal, my need to cry.
Crying was a major issue for me, I had suppressed the tears for so long I did not know if I could allow them to come. I knew with the tears would come memories, emotions, all the ugliness that I had locked away. It frightened me, I wasn't sure that I could stand face to face with my former self and not be crushed by the collapsing walls. We talked about the crying issue, He told me we would face it together. I did not think that I could just allow myself to cry, I wrote a post, I imagined a scenario. I would only be able to cry if I was forced to. He disagreed, He told me; "To be honest, I would much rather sit across from you, fully clothed, and talk about your fear of crying and appearance of weakness. To remind you that you're safe with me, regardless of what you expose. To simply talk you into your release... then to comfort and protect you as the walls begin to come down." Not surprisingly, He was correct. We were talking, He was asking me questions about myself, who I was, how I defined myself. That was enough, as I thought about who I was, I knew that my past was part of who I was, that if I was honest, I could not run from it any longer. Unplanned, that simple, I just began to cry. It was that simple, but not that easy. He was there for me, He encouraged me, He comforted me, I cried for over an hour. When it was done, I remembered her, who she was, I remembered it was not her fault. I feel free now, free from my anger towards myself and towards my abuser. I do not forgive him, but I do not have to waste my emotions on him. I am worth more than that. I have basically outlined my abuse in a previous post, but here is my secret:
When I met him, I was recently divorced, he was my neighbor. He was attentive to me and to my son. I was vulnerable, I felt rejected, he made me feel attractive and desirable. There were many red flags, things that should have alerted me to his true nature, but my confidence was shaken, I did not trust my own intuition. He always had an explanation and an excuse. Soon things became very sexual in nature, sex was rough, but I liked it that way. There were several times that I broke things off, but he always talked his way back in, he said he needed me. Despite my better judgement, we ended up getting married, I began to feel trapped. He isolated me from my friends and my family, I felt that all I had was him. Rough sex eventually became rougher, he only seemed to be satisfied when he actually hurt me. He pushed me to engage in rape scenarios during sex, but then the rape became real. It was no longer consensual. He would force me, holding a knife to my throat or just holding my throat and choking me. He began to rape me anally, he ignored my crying and my pleas to stop. I remember when he tore my rectum and I bled for days, he didn't care, he told me that I had liked it. I would have to hide the bruises on my throat, where he had choked me. He degraded me, it excited him. He would hold me down in the tub and urinate on me, in my face and my mouth. He told me I was worthless, that I made him do this to me. He told me I was ugly, what was happening made me feel ugly. The whole situation was ugly. He accused me of wanting other men, he became more controlling, he hurt me more, he would laugh when I begged him to stop. I believed him when he told me that no one cared about me, that there was no where I could go. I was depressed, I was numb, I was helpless.He told me if I left, he would come after me. He told me he would kill himself and it would be my fault. I did not get out until he began abusing my son.
After he was gone, I hated myself for what had happened. I hated him. I wanted to kill him, I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to be sorry. He never even acknowledged what he had done. I was angry, I was determined that I would never be used or abused again. I decided that I would never need anyone but myself again. That was 17 years ago. It took me this long to know that I did need other people, I needed to heal and to trust. The tears released me, they dissolved the shame and the guilt. They let me tell my story.
"Any real progress takes time and patience and effort. You are making real strides. Don't curse yourself because you're not yet where you want to be; praise yourself that you are on the right track."
~ Adam Rifkin
My Journey - Part 3
My original concept of submission was the ability and the willingness to follow commands and directives. As I delved into this more deeply, I also realized that it extended to anticipating His needs and desires. To become able to determine what He wants and attend to those wants, before being directed. While both of these beliefs are correct, neither of them go far enough. I did not initially recognize my active role in submission; I equated being submissive with being passive and compliant. I assumed it was being made to do His bidding, more about the physical than the psychological.
After His acceptance of my submission and the commencement of my training, the very strong psychological component became apparent to me. He devoted much time and effort into knowing me. I was led to submit my thoughts and my mind, even more than my body. It was more difficult to submit my psyche, than it was to submit my actions and physical self. Revealing my essence, my innermost self, was a test of my submission. The more I allowed Him to know of me, the more I knew myself. The better I understood my desires and my limits, the fewer limits remained. The greater my understanding of self, the deeper my submission.
He developed His control through my own thoughts and interpretations. He constantly placed my submission back in my mind, where it had originated. There in the depths of my mind, my submission grew, it matured, it bloomed. It was through His questions, His probing of my soul, that I came to understand what He knew all along. He confirmed this to me this week, when He told me: The more you understand yourself, the more of yourself you can surrender to me. and You are not a slave, you are my pet. Luckily, you are a pet that can work to understand her training, not merely to react blindly to command. I do finally understand my training.
"Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved."
~ William Jennings Bryan
After His acceptance of my submission and the commencement of my training, the very strong psychological component became apparent to me. He devoted much time and effort into knowing me. I was led to submit my thoughts and my mind, even more than my body. It was more difficult to submit my psyche, than it was to submit my actions and physical self. Revealing my essence, my innermost self, was a test of my submission. The more I allowed Him to know of me, the more I knew myself. The better I understood my desires and my limits, the fewer limits remained. The greater my understanding of self, the deeper my submission.
He developed His control through my own thoughts and interpretations. He constantly placed my submission back in my mind, where it had originated. There in the depths of my mind, my submission grew, it matured, it bloomed. It was through His questions, His probing of my soul, that I came to understand what He knew all along. He confirmed this to me this week, when He told me: The more you understand yourself, the more of yourself you can surrender to me. and You are not a slave, you are my pet. Luckily, you are a pet that can work to understand her training, not merely to react blindly to command. I do finally understand my training.
"Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved."
~ William Jennings Bryan
My Journey - Part 2
At the outset of this relationship, I was not in the mind of pursuing a D/s relationship. Respect and trust were developed, mutual interests were discussed (of a non-sexual nature), and shared kinks were talked about. I acknowledged a submissive side, we both found OTK spanking to be a turn on, we both stated an interest in a D/s dynamic. I expected to play with being submissive, to incorporate things into foreplay and sex, but complete submission was never something I considered. I did not yet realize my basic need to submit. I had never had a relationship with someone who knew how to be truly dominant.
As things progressed, he led me to allow him to know me, thoroughly and intimately. His insight and intuition concerning me was amazing. I do not think anyone has ever known me or understood me that well, nor has anyone else ever made the effort to do so. I sometimes felt he could read my mind, or see into my soul. The more intensely he knew me, the more I felt compelled to share with him. I told him of my past, my abuse, my fears, things that no one else knew. He made me feel safe, cared for, and submissive. The more submissive I became, the more I wanted to surrender to him. I also began to change, even others noticed; I was happier, more relaxed, less stressed. I had stated my limits to him early in the relationship. He was respectful of them, but also told me that he would push some of them. His pushing of those limits has never been more than suggesting things and discussing them. However, those communications have left me challenging my own limits. Close examination has shown me that most of my limits are a result of my past abuse. I feel that by having those limits in place, I have allowed my abuser to keep a measure of control over me. I feel this way, because that past abuse still controls my actions and decisions.
My submission and surrender has become a therapy of sorts. By challenging and crossing those limits that result from my abuse, I am moving past that abuse. This is not a method that I would recommend to anyone else, but to me it is cathartic. To engage in some of these activities, with someone that I know cares for me and will keep me safe at all costs, will enable me to overcome the fear and the feelings of shame. I trust him to keep me safer than I could myself. I trust him to know what I need and what I am ready for. He has had to urge caution at times and to remind me of the need to take things slowly. I have tended to push ahead too quickly because this has been so freeing for me.
One of the first things he addressed was my resistance to crying. I hate to cry. I do not want anyone to see my vulnerability. I want to be the strong one. I get mad at myself when I cry. I am afraid that if I begin to cry, I will not be able to stop. There are a lot of suppressed tears inside of me. He has mentioned that I am safe to cry in front of him and that we would work on it eventually. My original reaction was complete resistance, then as I pondered it I realized he was right. I did not know how to cross this limit, my suppression of crying is deeply ingrained. My reaction now is to ask him to spank me, hard and past my limits. Spank me until I cry, I want him to spank me into submission, past the point of resistance. Then he will have to hold me until I am done. For as long as it takes to get it all out. Does the prospect scare me? Absolutely. I do not fear the anticipation of the pain, but the expectation of tears terrifies me. Yet I know it is something I need.
"Pain is only weakness leaving your body, so don't give up because it hurts...keep going because it makes you stronger." ~Brandon Moore
As things progressed, he led me to allow him to know me, thoroughly and intimately. His insight and intuition concerning me was amazing. I do not think anyone has ever known me or understood me that well, nor has anyone else ever made the effort to do so. I sometimes felt he could read my mind, or see into my soul. The more intensely he knew me, the more I felt compelled to share with him. I told him of my past, my abuse, my fears, things that no one else knew. He made me feel safe, cared for, and submissive. The more submissive I became, the more I wanted to surrender to him. I also began to change, even others noticed; I was happier, more relaxed, less stressed. I had stated my limits to him early in the relationship. He was respectful of them, but also told me that he would push some of them. His pushing of those limits has never been more than suggesting things and discussing them. However, those communications have left me challenging my own limits. Close examination has shown me that most of my limits are a result of my past abuse. I feel that by having those limits in place, I have allowed my abuser to keep a measure of control over me. I feel this way, because that past abuse still controls my actions and decisions.
My submission and surrender has become a therapy of sorts. By challenging and crossing those limits that result from my abuse, I am moving past that abuse. This is not a method that I would recommend to anyone else, but to me it is cathartic. To engage in some of these activities, with someone that I know cares for me and will keep me safe at all costs, will enable me to overcome the fear and the feelings of shame. I trust him to keep me safer than I could myself. I trust him to know what I need and what I am ready for. He has had to urge caution at times and to remind me of the need to take things slowly. I have tended to push ahead too quickly because this has been so freeing for me.
One of the first things he addressed was my resistance to crying. I hate to cry. I do not want anyone to see my vulnerability. I want to be the strong one. I get mad at myself when I cry. I am afraid that if I begin to cry, I will not be able to stop. There are a lot of suppressed tears inside of me. He has mentioned that I am safe to cry in front of him and that we would work on it eventually. My original reaction was complete resistance, then as I pondered it I realized he was right. I did not know how to cross this limit, my suppression of crying is deeply ingrained. My reaction now is to ask him to spank me, hard and past my limits. Spank me until I cry, I want him to spank me into submission, past the point of resistance. Then he will have to hold me until I am done. For as long as it takes to get it all out. Does the prospect scare me? Absolutely. I do not fear the anticipation of the pain, but the expectation of tears terrifies me. Yet I know it is something I need.
"Pain is only weakness leaving your body, so don't give up because it hurts...keep going because it makes you stronger." ~Brandon Moore
My Journey into Submission - Part 1
I am a strong assertive, confident woman. I pride myself on having well thought out, rational, fact based, defendable opinions and beliefs. Though I try to be respectful of others and their opinions and beliefs, I am quick to debate and slow to back down. I try to maintain a high level of control in my life and over my actions. I do not like to rely on others, my independence and self reliance are extremely important to me. I struggle with displaying vulnerability or humility. I am quick to come to the aid of others, but I find it next to impossible to ask for or accept help from others. I am a private person, I keep my struggles and my pain within myself. It is not that I do not want to impose, it is just that I have to carefully guard those chinks in my own armor. I hate to cry, I view crying as a sign of weakness and refuse to let others see that weakness. I hate to fail. I am a perfectionist, which more often tends to paralyze me for fear of failure and causes me to procrastinate. Despite my excuses ("I work better under pressure, I do not need the help of others, I am protecting myself, everyone has a hidden agenda."), I realize that my independence is often more of a weakness than a strength.
I have not always been this way. Events in my past have served as a catalyst for me to put up walls and trust only myself. I have been married and divorced twice. Though, these were vastly different experiences, the result was the same, I failed. The failure of these marriages were not all my fault, but I recognize my part in it. Many reasons contributed to my divorces, but that is not the purpose of my post today. I will address issues from my second marriage, he was an abuser. He was also a drug addict, a con man, and a socio-path. I do accept my part in all of it, my part was in making piss poor choices to begin with. I chose to be with him, I chose to overlook things, I chose to think that he could change. But in the end, I chose to get out and never allow myself to be that vulnerable again. He was not a wife beater, he did not hit or punch. Instead it was primarily psychological, though physical force did play a role in the end. I was driven to self doubt, to question my value, to accept blame that was not mine to own. The abuse escalated to domestic rape, he subdued me at knife point, through choking, and through physical strength. He forced me to participate in things that were meant to cause me humiliation and degradation. I did not choose to leave until the abuse began to transfer to my son. My eventual departure led me to become fiercely independent. I was never going to allow myself to depend on someone else. I vowed to curtail any vulnerability that would allow someone else to gain the upper hand. In short, I did not want to ever need anyone else again.
What does that have to do with my submission? A hell of a lot. I have always had a submissive side to me, I have to acknowledge that it may have even played a role in my abuse. I have always been attracted to men with strong personalities, men that knew what they wanted and what they wanted was control. I have always desired to be 'taken in hand'. I want to be led, to be guided. I need to submit. My submission completes me, it balances me, it allows me to be vulnerable and to break free of constraints that limit me. My personal growth depends on my submission. After my abuse, I denied my submissive side and needs for a long time, but that need did not go away. All of my previous relationships have been vanilla, though I dabbled in D/s in the context of some of these relationships, it was more of foreplay, role-playing, not true submission. None of the men in my past were Doms. The psychological side was never there. (Abuse is not dominance, so I do not consider that.) I did not realize that I craved to be dominated psychologically. To be led to submit, to surrender fully. To be allowed to give myself to someone else, to choose to offer my complete surrender. To be able to rest in the strength that I relinquished and in the strength that he offers me. I needed to allow someone complete knowledge of me, to have them know me so well, that they know what I need, more than I know myself.
For the first time in my life, I am fulfilling that need. I have found someone who understands my need to submit, to surrender. Someone who is worthy of my trust and vulnerability. Someone who can lead me, can take me in hand, who can dominate me. He has not only accepted my submission, but the responsibility that goes with it. I know he will use it to keep me safe, to help me grow, and to push through my limits. The choice rests with me and I have chosen to give myself to him. To give myself physically, sexually, and psychologically, in order that I may fulfill my need and achieve my potential.
"None are more hopelessly enslaved, than those who falsely believe they are free."
~ Johann W. von Goethe
I have not always been this way. Events in my past have served as a catalyst for me to put up walls and trust only myself. I have been married and divorced twice. Though, these were vastly different experiences, the result was the same, I failed. The failure of these marriages were not all my fault, but I recognize my part in it. Many reasons contributed to my divorces, but that is not the purpose of my post today. I will address issues from my second marriage, he was an abuser. He was also a drug addict, a con man, and a socio-path. I do accept my part in all of it, my part was in making piss poor choices to begin with. I chose to be with him, I chose to overlook things, I chose to think that he could change. But in the end, I chose to get out and never allow myself to be that vulnerable again. He was not a wife beater, he did not hit or punch. Instead it was primarily psychological, though physical force did play a role in the end. I was driven to self doubt, to question my value, to accept blame that was not mine to own. The abuse escalated to domestic rape, he subdued me at knife point, through choking, and through physical strength. He forced me to participate in things that were meant to cause me humiliation and degradation. I did not choose to leave until the abuse began to transfer to my son. My eventual departure led me to become fiercely independent. I was never going to allow myself to depend on someone else. I vowed to curtail any vulnerability that would allow someone else to gain the upper hand. In short, I did not want to ever need anyone else again.
What does that have to do with my submission? A hell of a lot. I have always had a submissive side to me, I have to acknowledge that it may have even played a role in my abuse. I have always been attracted to men with strong personalities, men that knew what they wanted and what they wanted was control. I have always desired to be 'taken in hand'. I want to be led, to be guided. I need to submit. My submission completes me, it balances me, it allows me to be vulnerable and to break free of constraints that limit me. My personal growth depends on my submission. After my abuse, I denied my submissive side and needs for a long time, but that need did not go away. All of my previous relationships have been vanilla, though I dabbled in D/s in the context of some of these relationships, it was more of foreplay, role-playing, not true submission. None of the men in my past were Doms. The psychological side was never there. (Abuse is not dominance, so I do not consider that.) I did not realize that I craved to be dominated psychologically. To be led to submit, to surrender fully. To be allowed to give myself to someone else, to choose to offer my complete surrender. To be able to rest in the strength that I relinquished and in the strength that he offers me. I needed to allow someone complete knowledge of me, to have them know me so well, that they know what I need, more than I know myself.
For the first time in my life, I am fulfilling that need. I have found someone who understands my need to submit, to surrender. Someone who is worthy of my trust and vulnerability. Someone who can lead me, can take me in hand, who can dominate me. He has not only accepted my submission, but the responsibility that goes with it. I know he will use it to keep me safe, to help me grow, and to push through my limits. The choice rests with me and I have chosen to give myself to him. To give myself physically, sexually, and psychologically, in order that I may fulfill my need and achieve my potential.
"None are more hopelessly enslaved, than those who falsely believe they are free."
~ Johann W. von Goethe
Destiny
It is my destiny to submit. Submission is something that I have long desired, I just never could quite define that desire. As a teenager and a young adult, I did not know what D/s or submission was. I just knew that I longed to surrender some aspect of myself to another. The thought of being held down and taken sexually was exciting. I knew it wasn't a rape fantasy, I knew that I would not resist, but I did not know how to express that to anyone. And spanking...I fantasized about spanking. Where did that even come from, I was rarely spanked as a child. During that time of my life, I was probably sexually promiscuous, at least by polite society's standards. Despite the number of sexual encounters I had, I knew there was something more I needed.
Just recently have I discovered that submitting is more than a desire. It is something that I need to do. It completes me, it makes me happy and content. It is a component of who I am. I cannot imagine being happy in the context of a vanilla relationship again. The further I explore my submissive side, the more I am able to surrender, the more centered I become. I do not desire to become a slave, or engage in a 24/7, D/s relationship. I have plans, goals that are important to me, that I am not willing to forgo. I also have realized that I want more than play scenarios to meet my submissive needs. I need the relationship part of it, the "knowing" of me, the psychological aspect. I do not think I could casually submit to just anyone. I need someone to explore my mind and emotions in order to gain my submission. Without the psychological component, I think I am too strong willed to yield control to another.
While this is about relationship, because without the relationship this is impossible, it is more about me. It is about satisfying my need for surrender, about finding this balance that has been missing in my life. It is strange to think of complete submission and surrender as a selfish act, but in a way it is. Maybe not a selfish act, but certainly not selfless. I appreciate and admire his dominance. I know that to dominate someone, and accept their submission, requires much thought, responsibility, and work. His responsibility is far greater than mine. He has been very careful to know me, care for me, and ensure my safety. He has accepted responsibility for my physical and my emotional well being. My trust in him is complete and without question. He has earned and inspired that trust. My complete emotional and physical surrender to him seems a small thing in return.
"The longest journey is the journey inwards. Of him who has chosen his destiny, who has started upon his quest for the source of his being."
~Dag Hammarskjold
Just recently have I discovered that submitting is more than a desire. It is something that I need to do. It completes me, it makes me happy and content. It is a component of who I am. I cannot imagine being happy in the context of a vanilla relationship again. The further I explore my submissive side, the more I am able to surrender, the more centered I become. I do not desire to become a slave, or engage in a 24/7, D/s relationship. I have plans, goals that are important to me, that I am not willing to forgo. I also have realized that I want more than play scenarios to meet my submissive needs. I need the relationship part of it, the "knowing" of me, the psychological aspect. I do not think I could casually submit to just anyone. I need someone to explore my mind and emotions in order to gain my submission. Without the psychological component, I think I am too strong willed to yield control to another.
While this is about relationship, because without the relationship this is impossible, it is more about me. It is about satisfying my need for surrender, about finding this balance that has been missing in my life. It is strange to think of complete submission and surrender as a selfish act, but in a way it is. Maybe not a selfish act, but certainly not selfless. I appreciate and admire his dominance. I know that to dominate someone, and accept their submission, requires much thought, responsibility, and work. His responsibility is far greater than mine. He has been very careful to know me, care for me, and ensure my safety. He has accepted responsibility for my physical and my emotional well being. My trust in him is complete and without question. He has earned and inspired that trust. My complete emotional and physical surrender to him seems a small thing in return.
"The longest journey is the journey inwards. Of him who has chosen his destiny, who has started upon his quest for the source of his being."
~Dag Hammarskjold
PMS and D/s
As I travel on a journey to become submissive, it seems that my monthly bout with PMS is trying to throw me overboard. Somehow, dealing with cramping, bloating, and general crankiness does not make me feel submissive. Instead, I feel needy, whiny, and demanding. Fortunately, I have not been with Him during this time. Unfortunately, I have felt compelled to send Him more than daily e-mails, which convey my less than submissive attitude.
This D/s relationship is not 24/7. If I had any intelligence and decorum, I would take my ibuprofen, get my heating pad and go to bed. Instead, I think and overthink what is happening in the relationship, I worry, I become anxious and then I sit down and hammer it all out in an e-mail. Then I reread the e-mail and worry all over again, and send another e-mail. At this point I am amazed and relieved that He hasn't blocked my e-mail from His account. Instead, He tells me that He understands and He does not think I am crazy. Little does He know that I really am, at least this week. I have not told Him directly, that I am PMSing. I have mentioned being hormonal and grouchy, but that is it. For every demanding e-mail, I have followed up with an apologetic one. Of course to me, this would be an additional sign of instability.
I do not think that PMS qualifies for a week long referendum on my submissiveness. My submissiveness involves putting my willfulness in check and turning control over to Him. It is slowly abdicating my limitations and choices and allowing Him the perogative to set those limits and make those choices. It is about trust and honesty. This week, both my trust and honesty have been compromised by out of control hormones. As this week of female hell is wrapping up, I will probably have to suck it up and offer an honest explanantion, followed by a bit of groveling for forgiveness. Next month, I will have to consider requesting that my hands be cuffed behind my back to keep me from any keyboard use.
"Don't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die."
~ men's restroom wall, Murphy's, Champaign, Ill.
This D/s relationship is not 24/7. If I had any intelligence and decorum, I would take my ibuprofen, get my heating pad and go to bed. Instead, I think and overthink what is happening in the relationship, I worry, I become anxious and then I sit down and hammer it all out in an e-mail. Then I reread the e-mail and worry all over again, and send another e-mail. At this point I am amazed and relieved that He hasn't blocked my e-mail from His account. Instead, He tells me that He understands and He does not think I am crazy. Little does He know that I really am, at least this week. I have not told Him directly, that I am PMSing. I have mentioned being hormonal and grouchy, but that is it. For every demanding e-mail, I have followed up with an apologetic one. Of course to me, this would be an additional sign of instability.
I do not think that PMS qualifies for a week long referendum on my submissiveness. My submissiveness involves putting my willfulness in check and turning control over to Him. It is slowly abdicating my limitations and choices and allowing Him the perogative to set those limits and make those choices. It is about trust and honesty. This week, both my trust and honesty have been compromised by out of control hormones. As this week of female hell is wrapping up, I will probably have to suck it up and offer an honest explanantion, followed by a bit of groveling for forgiveness. Next month, I will have to consider requesting that my hands be cuffed behind my back to keep me from any keyboard use.
"Don't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die."
~ men's restroom wall, Murphy's, Champaign, Ill.
First Encounter
You sit on the edge of the bed and stare at me as I stand before you naked and totally exposed. There is so much I want to say and do. Not knowing what you think, I want to cover myself, I feel so vulnerable, I cast my eyes down and wish I could be perfect for you. I want to be perfect for you. Your silence is screaming at me, I force myself to stand before you, with my arms and hands at my sides. Even in my embarrassment, my cunt feels alive and charged. I have been wet and hot all evening. Chatting through dinner, I felt incoherent; my thoughts were consumed with wanting to touch you, to submit to you, to be devoured by you. Now we are alone and part of me longs to be back at the restaurant. I wonder what I am doing here, common sense and sensibility are trying to pull me away. This has nothing to do with sensibilities, this is animalistic, I am driven by raw instinct and desire. These few minutes have seemed like hours, as I try to calm my inner struggle. As if you knew of the turmoil raging inside me, you reach out and grab my wrist and pull me to you on the bed. As you kiss me deeply, you reach up and grasp my breast, squeezing it and molding it to your hand. With your kiss, you are draining my will from me. I am filled with your presence, with your desire. Sensing the drop in my resistance, you withdraw from me and tell me to lie over your lap. As I comply, bending over, you push my head farther forward, positioning me downward with my ass angled up towards you. This position, that I know will become a familiar one, electrifies me. My senses are all super charged as I am so near you and so exposed. You rest one hand on the small of my back as the other one is rubbing and exploring my ass. You tell me to open my legs and as I comply I feel your hand travel down through my legs and your fingers entering my cunt. I hear a moan escape my lips and my back arches involuntarily. I am open and wet for your touch. My breathing quickens and I feel like I am almost panting. I feel you withdraw your hand, I arch up again as to try to follow your touch, but seconds later your hand comes down hard on my ass with a loud slap. I gasp and squirm a bit, but long for more. Not to disappoint me, you continue, each swat a little harder and louder. I can feel my cheeks getting hot and red, I try to hold still, but my hips are rolling. My body jerks with each smack, rubbing against you. I feel your cock through your pants, growing hard against my belly. It reminds me of all that is still to ensue. You pause occasionally to rub my ass and admire your work, to see how red it is. You also reach down to see how hot and wet my cunt is. I am ready to beg you to fuck me, I am mad with desire to have you inside me. Before I can form the words of my plea, you are rubbing my clit and working my cunt, your touch gets harder and more direct and intense, the muscles in my thighs and stomach tighten and I feel myself coming on your hand. My whole body convulses as I feel the waves of my orgasm wash over me, I hear myself scream, but I don't know where it came from, I am left limp and trembling across your lap. I try to slow my breathing, while I wait for your next command.
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