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.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
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
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