Xanadu

Xanadu
In Xanadu did Kublah Khan a stately pleasure dome decree

Sunday, April 15, 2018

The Basics

I’ve been talking to a new boy for a while, and we have reached the point where it makes sense to give him the clear basics of My service expectations.  Every boy needs to hear the particulars of My expectations, I cannot reasonably expect them to read My mind, so this has developed into a series of little elevator speeches. We are discussing him coming to camp, so it is written with that in mind, but one can certainly extrapolate and I think I’ll be re-using a good part of this rendition in the future:
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The bedrock of My dynamic is the Duty Of Transparency. This means you consent to be an open book to Me in every way. you answer My questions completely and truthfully to the best of your ability. you consciously withhold nothing. If you know something that I don’t, and it might possibly influence My decision making, you alert Me. If you are sad, you tell Me. If you feel sick, you tell Me. If you just feel bad and don’t know why, you tell Me.  I want you PRESENT.  As soon as you begin to debate something internally, to feel conflicted, you become less Present with Me. This is an authority based dynamic.   To Me that means:  I decide; you trust Me to decide well; you give Me all the info I need to do My job.  To fly this airplane, I need all the indicator gauges and I need them giving Me accurate information.  

Do you agree to accept the Duty Of Transparency?

Beyond that: 
Male hygeine is very important to Me. Have regular dental cleanings, good oral hygeine, and make sure your breath and body are kept fresh. This can be a challenge at camp. Feet should be attractive, nails should be rounded and smooth. I am chemical sensitive, most fragrance and mass perfume (soaps) makes Me allergic. Everything I use for laundry is a plant based soap with only a faint and always natural fragrance (lavender, verbena). Choose your products accordingly.  I prefer your underarms and crotch at minimum neatly groomed, the shorter the better. If you have never been waxed, I do not require it, however I do like it on a boy. I have a waxing kit, I could plan to bring it and wax you at camp. It hurts a lot, be sure you are a masochist before you agree. I like a clean shaven face, esp. immediately before providing oral service, if you are so lucky. 

Upon greeting, I like My hand kissed in a gentlemanly way with a little courtly bow. The same upon taking leave for the evening. To really capture My fancy, when the context permits (everywhere at camp), add gracefully kneeling and kissing My feet with reverence.  I love a boy kneeling and looking up at Me. I definitely want you at My physical level or below, not above. I have a neck injury and cannot look upward comfortably for any length of time.

Here is how you offer unsolicited assistance and request clarification when unsure:

“Would Miss like Her boy to... do XYZ?”

Here are the levels of assent:

Yes, Miss
This can be pleasurably and entertainingly enhanced with embellishments like "Right away, Miss!" and  "Absolutely, Miss!" And of course a big smile. Never underestimate how powerful this little thing is. Invest it with meaning in how you do it. I like cheerful working dogs.

If it please you, Miss
This conveys that a reservation or concern exists, so that I can choose to inquire and make sure I understand it

Not unless it please you, Miss
This means you seriously do not want to do this, but you will as a matter of pure obedience. It puts Me on notice that you are doing a challenging thing and we are close to the limits of your consent. This phrase alerts My antenna to watch out for some sort of rebound response, need for aftercare, and probably need for some extra praise.

The default safewords are:

Yellow
I need a breather, I’m feeling overwhelmed, or I need to talk about this

Red
Absolutely not, consent withdrawn immediately

Blue
Like yellow, but for hitting an emotional landmine, e.g., I slapped you and you had a flashback to being hit as a kid and it made you feel panicky. The slap itself wasn’t too hard, the problem is the emotions triggered that (duty of transparency!)  I cannot know are happening.

Three of anything, when you cannot speak
Anything, grunts, taps, claps. Three of anything means an urgent yellow, i.e.,  there is a problem that needs My immediate attention to inquire and address. I will hear it as a distress signal.

Things that make Me smile:

- anticipatory service, which I think of as ALIGNMENT.  you are paying attention to Me and what I care about; your energies are fully aligned with My wants, needs, values.  Noticing I need a refill, esp., need more ice at camp. Straightening up clutter so things look nice and ordered. Clearing My plate when finished. Assessing whether I need anything when you have to get up for yourself. Offering the chair or better chair. All the high level chivalrous things that have faded. Alignment encompasses robust paying attention - for example, it looks like rain and the first raindrop is heard on the roof. you connect the dots to the fact we have towels dried outside on the line that will get wet, so (“Miss! The towels!”) you pop up and grab them.  Also, paying attention may mean assessing whether I have ready the things I will need to go to a class, noting the time and location of the class, and alerting Me I will need to leave shortly. The major domo role/ concierge role is something I really enjoy, as it allows Me time off duty. I am generally on duty mentally all the time.

- being at My feet. I don’t want or require you to sit in a mud puddle, I recognize we have middle age body limits, and camp is uncomfortable, but where logical and possible, I always enjoy you at My feet or failing that at My side (e.g., campfire) when I am seated as much as possible. 

- I like to control your access to the loo when we are together. If you need to pee: “Would Miss like Her boy to go to the loo?”  If you need to move bowels: “Would Miss like Her boy to use the facilities?”  Don’t worry, I am not into poo play, it is about sustaining the dynamic, and about transparency, which may carry with it just a little humiliation sometimes.

I expect My boys to apply their real world skills for Me, and if you are a white collar sort, hopefully you will find this fairly organic. This is the CEO-COO teamwork model of D/s.

TSPD


Sent from My phone

Thursday, March 29, 2018

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I have a sometime playmate, Deev, who defies categorization. We have over the last year had maybe eight playdates. They are quite simple and even repetitively dull to anyone watching. But they are amazing to experience.

He struggled as usual with mass transit to reach Me at the office at 7 pm, though we had planned on 6. On a whim, with no explanation or warning, I took him up to see the magnificent roof view and we watched a lot of airplanes on final approach overhead, turning and landing.  Talking about how strange it is to be on the roof looking at people in cars and airplanes, and to know what it is like to be inside those cars and airplanes, while I look at them. He mentioned that he hasn’t really ever gone anywhere. Finally we got to the house and sat outside eating the McDonalds we had grabbed, talking for quite a while as we watched four cop cars trying to accomplish something down the block. Eventually he said:

“I have news. I broke up with my live in girlfriend and I am moving to Thailand in four months, maybe less.”

So we had a nice talk about the how and why and excitement of all that, his big adventure, life change, and how interesting that I had without discussion taken him up to the roof to watch and talk about airplanes.  I was a little sad but also very happy for him. He is a young man, and it is right he should go live life in a bigger way than he has been doing.  I suppose if I had thought about it I would have seen that this would not go on indefinitely; I thought he’d leave through marriage. 

We had agreed he would crash overnight, since getting him home late on the bus was not easy, but in time he changed his mind out in the yard enjoying the weather. So we took ourselves inside and had another delightful session. I lay on the bed, a big bolster under My knees, no pillow, a big blanket on Me from nose to knees, bare from the knees down. He takes off his shirt, I give him a pillow for comfort on the floor which he usually ignores, and then he... does something between a foot rub and body worship and massage and dance and reiki.  He uses his hands and arms, his chest and head and lips, tongue, ears, shoulders, hair to connect with Me at both a body level and a deep energy level, from knees to toe tips. Then when it’s complete, he climbs on the bed and we cuddle and talk about our experiences. And then he goes home, except that tonight I was planning to have him crash in the guest room.

I cannot meaningfully rank pieces of the experience, but some of the consistently most lovely moments are when he slides his arms up from feet to above the knees with full contact. Or puts the soles of both My feet on his warm, solid chest. I like to wiggle My toes a little in certain ways to communicate My enjoyment, and I love twining My toes in his beautiful, long, magnificent mane of black wavy hair. 

Tonight I had a moment where I realized that even in receiving his service, I felt the need to work a little, so I gave Myself permission to stop, actually TOLD Myself to stop, to just be still, to completely receive. And at that point I fell off the cliff for I have no idea how long. Not asleep. Somewhere floating out in yoga nidra universe space connected to My body by only the slenderest of golden threads, in the most deeply relaxed and restorative state I have found. Until the moment he gently kissed one foot and then the other in a very still way, and the hour long wave of our wordless, shared energy abated, pulling Me back into My body. And I heard the Princess voice faintly say, “nooooooooo....!”

But it was still entirely good.

It was also 11pm and he had quite the trek home. I’ve driven him before, part or all the way. Tonight I flipped for an Uber pool, I didn’t want to kill My buzz with driving.  We said goodbye before I pushed the button on the uber app, and I said...

“I’m sure we will see each other again maybe a few times before you go to Thailand. I have an ask: I need to know when it is the last time. I’m tender in the area of people going away, especially when they are men I like.”

He sweetly agreed and said...

“I know. I remember you told me that once. It’s why I waited until we were together in person to tell you about going to Thailand.”

You know, it has taken me a long time to reach the point where I can articulate that deep vulnerability to people in anything like a clear yet casual way. And even though I do it now, in the last year at most, it is still probably my core emotional reality/ belief that I don't *expect* people to respect that need.  In this place, I am still achey from slave tarin’s abrupt departure, someone I had only with great effort allowed Myself to rely on. But I could point to many other points in life where I experienced exactly this thing which I specifically asked not occur.  In the past I have worked a whole lot harder to try and make a partner be sensitive, and failed. This time, I apparently did My part, and it was such a low grade issue, I forgot I had.

So Deev’s totally unexpected thoughtfulness and kindness wasn't just kind and thoughtful, it prompted in Me a new feeling... that something in the world has shifted.  I grew and shifted; I got in touch with this vulnerability and claimed it; and learned to have enough self compassion to clearly request compassion for it; and finally, after persisting in this new approach, the world has fallen in line with the new reality of Me. 

That's a lotta freight, of course, on a seemingly small thing, but that's how it felt. 

I shared this feeling with Deev when he reached home, and thanked him for both layers of it.  I had to smile when My one and only burner boy texted back:


“Well, damn! I’m really glad, dude!”

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Ain’t That a Shame

Gosh, Master, that was kinda a SUCKY day, wasn’t it?

Yes, Princess, I agree. That was not the day I was hoping for.

I mean it’s bad enough we had a HEADache all day LONG. And we had to drive FOREVER to physical therapy. And we got BEAT UP, but we are STILL in pain, and then that BOY doesn’t want us AFTER ALL when we thought he DID, and then the PT we go all that way for raised his RATES 36% but he didn’t TELL us until after he beat us up and we were ALTERED. And then we felt so EXHAUSTED we had to sleep in the CAR for a long time and then it was so BRIGHT and we didn’t have SUNGLASSES and it took FOREVER to get home on STUPID I-95.

I know, Princess. It really was an all day odyssey and it was not a whole lotta fun. But we made it all that way safely, the car is ok, we are ok.

I’m not very HAPPY, but I’m not sure WHY and I don’t LIKE it.

Ok, Princess. C’m here. Would you like to be a blue budgie, would that help?

*nods yes with tears welling*

Ok, let’s get you into your onesie and get your feeties warm and get some painkiller you. Maybe a little lie down for a bit. Then we will see about dinner, I bet you are getting hungry.

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There’s a great line in Room With a View in which Mr. Emerson says of his child: he only tried when he should not have tried. That was Me today.  It was a good, calibrated object lesson. Princess is new to dating and she is totally undefended. I’ve been gradually opening us up to the guy from camp who gave us the big cum. Outside of a dynamic in which I have all the power, it feels very different to say: "Hey, I wanna get laid, would you like to do the deed?"  It’s way more uncomfortable.  We were getting conflicting signals from the guy, so when he kept the date, we got our hopes up and opened the kimono emotionally, only to be turned down, with still more conflicting signals. In My adult headspace, it was no big deal. In Princess headspace, it was. She is very sensitive about feeling unwanted.

As I struggled through the long drive home, I tried to name the feels. Disappointed, sure. A little angry, possibly. Embarassed, very. But more than that. Something like embarassment but much deeper. And then I realized. Ah... this must be Shame.

I have known of Shame in the abstract. Heard it discussed. But I never knew what it meant as an experience that I could name in My own body.  Shame turns out to be the original gaslighting. Ask for what you want in a situation; the situation chooses not to grant the wish, but doesn’t accept responsibility for that decision. Instead, it’s YOUR fault for wanting it, there’s something wrong with YOU that you’d even THINK about asking. How do you manage to even exist in such epic wrongness? You should know no one would ever agree to THAT, certainly not with YOU.  

Shame is being so embarrassed for asking, for wanting what you want, that when you get told no, even nicely, you want to die.  Or at least, you want to change, cloak, cut off, even suffocate the part of yourself that is unwanted. That black, oily feeling of Shame make such choices seem well advised.

In sharing with the guy, I made passing reference to wanting to explore “the things I have not allowed myself” sexually. And flipping through the internet tonight looking at fun alternative vibe clothes I would never buy, much less wear out the front door, I was struck again by the things I do not allow Myself. Is this why I don’t dance around or do other movement alone in the house? Is this why I don’t do yoga outside of a supportive class where I get lots of encouragement?  Does My shame run that deep? Am I that estranged from Myself?

I know it has to do with feeling stupid. I know it has something to do with not wanting to look dumb even - especially - in My own mind’s eye. Public ridicule might be easier, come to think of it. "Pathetic" was My father’s go-to word. This makes some sense. Something big and still only vaguely understood happened in Me that put Princess in the dark for decades. Maybe I’m starting to get an idea of what it was. 

Ten years ago, as I went through depression, I went through a form of delayed adolescence, but Princess wasn’t with Me yet at that point. Maybe that process is still incomplete.  I tripped across this line in the news today:  “the path to truth so often runs through shame”.

A while ago I named a new piece, distinct from Master Me, Princess, and the General. I haven’t given it much thought since then, but I had named it The Shadow.  It’s a swift and silent reflex in Me that shuts down, recoils from even faintly uncomfortable and slightly dangerous-feeling situations. Could it be a form of shame in action?

I have long been aware that I became a Femdom and a Master type in kink without ever wrestling much with self acceptance.  It always felt like a logical extension of My vanilla self and it was. It took a while to get comfortable with being sadistic, sure. But I have watched so many people -- usually subby boys -- struggle with self acceptance and honestly, I have felt a bit superior to them, beyond them. 

But maybe... maybe the reverse has been true, maybe they were much further down the road than I am, because I have fundamentally been playing it safe as a Dominant. Maybe I am only just now excavating the thing I struggle with.  Maybe shame is the flip side of brave, when brave doesn’t go as hoped.

I think it is the author Robert Bly that writes about how we are born with a bag that we carry around. Any time we cannot deal, we put that unprocessed experience into the bag. Eventually we get so good at stuffing things we cannot deal with, we hardly notice, there’s just a faint doppler effect as another whizzes by. But in middle age, the bag has gotten several blocks long and heavy, and we are struggling, dragging it around. It gets stuck in revolving doors, elevators. We get to work in the morning and cannot understand why we are so tired. At some point we have no choice but to set it down and open it up, and when we do, what we find inside is a whole other person. And usually... that person is pissed.

Surfing internet clothes, I had an intense moment looking at a fun outfit where I thought:  That’s Me.  That’s a different version of Me, which I have not allowed Myself to be. 

I like Her very much. She’s not terribly far away, I don’t think. But it’s gonna take some work to get there. I’m careful of the consumerist promise that buying things solves problems, but the fleece onesie has been very instructive and so have the warm boots. Clothes help us explore and communicate identity, not just to other people but even to ourselves. Clothes make the man as the ancient saying goes. Maybe it would be worth buying that outfit.


Monday, February 26, 2018

Baroque Sandpaper

Twas a quiet, processing sort of weekend. Not enough WinterFire unpacking. Friday night at home I felt a little raw and bruised from the week, working through drop is never fun, and while I was fortunate the drop was mild, and I had the lift from collaring boy m, by Friday night I felt sandpapered. Sandpapered to the point that I found Myself looking at My fleece onesie with interest. 

So I put on Princess’ blue budgie onesie, and two pairs of thick wool socks. I continue to be surprised at the emotional heft of having warm feet. How did I never really notice that before? I hung out around the house feeling snuggly, and in time climbed into My delightful buttery soft flannel sheets from boy m last year.  I spent most of Saturday in bed. Sleep, orgasm. Repeat. I think it was seven orgasms by time I got up in the afternoon. It was awesome. So satisfying.

Then it was up and figured out how to shower properly without a shower working in the house. That turned out to be six different steps of washing involving four different pieces of porcelain. The crossdresser I played with at WF had very kindly offered Me some tickets he could not use. So I dabbled in dressing up a bit and used My nice skin care products, never found the makeup (curses, foiled again) but applied some tinted lip gloss. I arranged with a kink girlfriend and we converged at a small house concert of Spanish baroque harpsichord music with accompanying readings, both Spanish and English, with a very well done printed program I still couldn’t manage to follow. We perched on better quality folding chairs in someone’s living room, where I had staked us out with a view of the musician’s hands.  

The reading performer has a small occasional part on a well known TV show, and was seated at our dinner table of 9, so there was more star fuckery than I enjoy. The dude himself was OK and showed signs of being interesting, but the pretentious suck up sitting between us was a pain and dragged the conversation in the most eyeball-glazingly tedious directions. Still, the music was delightful and I have realized that while I am exhausted to death of the Baroque music I know, I love this Spanish stuff. I want both to hear more and learn to play some. I remember I have long wished for a harpsichord, but let us not get carried away.

At one point, a guest at our table proposed a parlor game, we were all to name the book that has had the greatest influence on us. This of course elicited more pretentious displays of erudition. I was second to answer and didn’t care what these people might think so I told the truth: the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty trilogy. It was not playing the game correctly but it grabbed actor guy’s attention. I definitely saw a flash of recognition and surprise, quickly wallpapered over. 

I gave heels a try last night, they are seldom worn, and I felt it was time to give the back another go at it. I was in pain already on the way home, and awoke quite afflicted today. 

It was a stark contrast with Saturday’s lying in bed. Today was too much pain for orgasms. I got very little done, but managed to get food and hydration sorted, did some but not enough stretching and only of the most passive sort involving lying on a narrow yoga bolster to open the chest and take some of the pull off the neck.  I blessedly found a dose of tylenol after what seemed an endless hunt. Was it the long night on uncomfortable chairs, the heels? The low grade sinus infection? The drop? Con crud? Fighting a bug? I don’t know. Late in the day, I now suspect the asthma has gotten away from Me again, and perhaps some form of PMS is in the mix, but who can tell? A friend suggested I take a percoset and that was a damned attractive idea. Exactly why I don’t keep that shit around.  Because on the rare occasions I have ever been prescribed it, I have always had a moment of: oh yeah. This is why opium dens and opium wars. Woooooow. This shit is gooooood. I wanna feel like this aaaaaaaallll the time. Hmmmm. Zzzzzz.

So it was Tylenol and lots of Eddie Izzard on youtube for Me. The turning point was a long session with the hitachi on My neck and upper body, which made Me notice the asthma might be worse again. Must find those steroids. A chilly rainy grey day spent in bed.  I try not to think of it as one less day of My life left, but perhaps I should. Perhaps I should have fought harder for it. I didn’t.

I’ve been texting a bit with the fine man who gave Me the big O at camp. He has made clear he is not available for deep relationship for Good Reasons. Still we enjoy each other and we have been slipping in and out of interactions that have a little dynamic to them. I couldn’t tell you what it is exactly, just that it seems titillating and a bit scary in a good way and well, Princess does attach like a barnacle. I re-read all My blogs of the last 12 months, for perspective. I’m trying to keep a close eye on it. NRE can be tough to manage esp., when there are strong orgasms involved.  I know that Princess is pretty undefended, and this is new to her. It is uncomfortable for Me in middle age to feel like a middle schooler with a crush, but there you have it. We are talking about meeting up next weekend but who knows, perhaps it will dissolve by then. 

All I can do is what I commit as I do in yoga each week when we are asked to form an intention: I commit to be present, brave, and compassionate.  The rest must take care of itself.


Saturday, February 24, 2018

Lightly Collared

Yesterday, I collared boy m.

he has been in My life about 18 months, and has been the most unexpected of pleasant surprises. A trusted friend put in touch, about the time I was withdrawing from collarspace. he had asked our gay male friend how to find a Dominant and our friend knew *just* the Woman for the job. We met at a Starbucks after I applied pressure to meet in person promptly, and he left an NFL stadium game early in order to comply. he seemed so skittish, I really expected him to ghost yet somehow other boys have come and gone and he has remained steadfast.

Ours is a necessarily constrained dynamic and it took Me a while to reconcile what I wanted with what he realistically could give. Then in the last six months, his life circumstances have been tough and I have watched him struggle. But he remains My dedicated boy and I have come to accept him as My champion. his primary service is encouragement, enthusiasm, adoration, and making Me feel I am equal to any challenge. When boy t left last summer, m was deeply aggrieved. It hurt him greatly to see Me hurt.  he worships Me with his words and his touch and his chivalry when he takes Me out for a special meal together, where we talk non-stop about everything under the sun. Not once have I been relieved to see him go, we always wish for more. Today, he mentioned how much he enjoys the blog and characterized My writing as being complex, like a fine red wine. he is a bit of a poet and as well as a warrior who rises to My defense when life is unkind. I confess I like that clannish response more than I feel I should, I do have a thing for knights. 

Given ample lead time, he makes a fine Easter bunny, and he gives the gifts on the part of My wish list that I don’t expect anyone to give. In illness, he is wonderfully protective and care-taking. he brings Me supplies and good food, and monitors My well being daily.  We wish each other good morning daily, and often good night too. We know where the other is pretty much all the time despite not living together. When things go wrong at the house, he asks whether he can provide a hotel room. When I needed the ER last year, it was his begging that I go and his offer to pay for an Uber that got Me to the hospital. It was the extreme of his concern that convinced Me I needed help.


To fit the nature of our connection and his life demands, I chose a survival bracelet. Yesterday, I solemnly clicked it on his wrist, then removed it and clicked it onto his ankle where it stayed. It fit as if meant for him. This way he can keep it on continuously, despite a wide range of clothing and situations. These types of bracelets are very common especially among men like him, so he can be My proud collared boy in plain sight.  

I know how he aches for that profoundly deep sense of belonging and connection. Both of us were surprised at just how moved we felt, in the moment and for the rest of the day. It was such a shame we could not abandon the office and celebrate fully. I want very much for him to be naked in his collar, servicing Me well with all of his sleek otter body. There are Reasons that’s extremely difficult to make happen but I trust it will from time to time. I trust My boy.

Friday, February 23, 2018

Oh! You are French!

The day before WinterFire, I forcibly ejected from work for a few hours to get My hair done. It’s expensive to have a cut and full highlight, so I put it off and had not seen a salon in six months. This is a bit of a hardship, as I realized decades ago that when My hair is good, I look good. When the hair is not good, nothing else can get Me where I want to go. Clothes, makeup, bag, shoes, doesn’t matter. There’s just something about the hair.  When I felt the student loan finish line approaching, I got extremely frugal (still cannot quite believe it is paid!)  and so for the last six months it has gotten increasingly painful to look in the mirror. I looked old and grey and sallow and VERY middle aged and I did NOT like it, but oddly I sort of forgot what the cure was. 

Then I was out in an unfamiliar office building getting a sandwich one day and thought, I wonder where this hallway goes. Following it through a short dark tunnel it opened up to a brightly lit atrium and I found Myself looking down at a cascading green wall two stories high. It felt more than a little shamanic, and I noted that.  On My right was a hair salon. Popping in I looked around, spotted a seemingly gay male stylist and immediately knew: that’s the man I need. It was a weirdly certain feeling. Appointment was made and boom! Next day Sammie and I got started.

I walked in looking like the middle aged desk worker I am, super frumpy. I told him I wanted shorter and blonde again, a cut that projects confidence and fun, with a bit of an edge but professional enough to job hunt a white collar job. I told him I fantasize about making it multiple bold colors. I told him that in college I had it bleach blonde on top, shaved short underneath (it was the 80s), with the bleach blonde top coming to a stacked duck tail point high in the back, that perfectly matched the line of My mortarboard when I graduated. His eyes lit a little, he said ok.

I told him the cut was prompted by big plans for the weekend, an “alternative lifestyle” event, but the remark passed with no response. I eventually elicited that he is not gay, but French. Married, two adult kids. He came to America for love... love of money, opportunity, and married one of his clients. 

The pivot came when the only other person in the salon, the Central American sweeper, commented that My husband will really like the new look. I replied that I don’t have a man, I have four. I swear I heard Sammie’s ears perk up. I mentioned polyamory and briefly descibed each of My four boys. Sammie asked Me to define polyamory, as he had never heard the word, and when I did, he responded:

"Oh!  You are French!"

This made Sammie happy. Now talk turned to Dark Odyssey events. How do you know someone consents? When, where, how much? Are the hotel rooms assigned?  He has been looking for such people for years and never found them. Sammie was thrilled. I showed him event photos, the event website, I put the URL on his phone.

As we finished My stunning new do, blonder, shorter, sculptural, asymmetrical — I love it and it’s getting rave reviews — he said: now I know. 

Next time will be different, now I understand you.

I suspect maybe Sammie also wants to fuck Me, this much needs no translation. I didn’t get into the BDSM part of camp while we had an audience, though he saw some pictures and he lifted no eyebrows.  He may very well be as vanilla as they come, and het dom male at that, it may be a non-starter.  But I suspect we are good for a few dates, and who knows what could happen? Perhaps I’ll be getting My hair done regularly. Who knows where this could lead.

At minimum I have a new do, a new place, a new confidante, an easy place to procure My Aveda shampoo, a great escape from the office. And maybe much more.

I feel pretty again, and confident in perhaps yes that seemingly easy way of French women. Now when I look in the mirror, I see a more beautiful Me, oddly a thinner Me, a more vibrant Me, no mtter what I’m wearing.  Being able to see it again for the first time in a long time, makes Me want to eat right, makes Me want to exercise. I started wearing earrings again, I put on makeup at camp. It crossed My mind to buy more. My God, it even crossed My mind that if Eddie Izzard can run marathons around England with no training, I surely could start running too. Where did THAT come from? 


Who is this Woman that lurks beneath the debt, who has this beauty, and these wild thoughts of exercise and Frenchmen? I must meet her. 

Monday, February 19, 2018

WinterFire 2018: Sunday - Thanks, I Needed That


Sunday
It began with hanging out in the room with Unkey. He was feeling energy getting ready to present a class on Alchemy and sexual magick and such. It was far more detail about actual alchemical processes than I would have expected and it was really interesting.  Unkey is into the woo, and Unkey has some mojo. I think that mojo rubbed off,  as you’ll see.  This pair of posts is in the vein of tease and delay, I realize, but it will be worth it in the end. I promise.

The one class the whole event I felt strongly about seeing was Kali’s Dominant Self Care. I chose it simply because I have gotten a TON of completely unexpected mileage out of a Kali class several years ago on financial domination, she is a good presenter, and I can always work on My self care. So sat down toward the back in a very full class room, and who should come plonk down next to Me but Instigatosaurus in street clothes. So that was nice, and soon I had My arm around her in a friendly way.  Not long after that I was crying, most unexpectedly.

As it turned out, Kali began by reviewing what it’s like when a Dom doesn’t get self care or enough support from their partner, and she was moving really quickly. For a few minutes there, everything she said was kicking up a strongly emotional memory of the early days of My relationship with E…  not the boy  who died, but the one after, that I moved in with and lived with for 4 ½ years, at the beginning as a Master slave dynamic. The one I felt married to though we weren’t. But the M/s and then the D/s and then the relationship just didn’t work, and shortly after we split, he was identifying as a Master.  As Kali talked, I got hit with a freight train of feels from that time, back when I was a baby Domme and trying *SO HARD* to figure it out, and do what I needed for Myself and make My partner happy, and failing. Because as I understood then, I am a person first and a kinkster second; I’m not porn brought to life, and well, I’m just not able to be somebody’s infinite kink fantasy, exactly what they want, when they want it, each day’s fantasy different than before. But boy did I try, and boy did I want to succeed, and boy, did I feel really unsupported during that time as I tried to do it all right, and to build the confidence I now have. That’s not the whole story, but it’s enough for context in this story.

So there I am, crying in a class where it is really not intuitive one would be crying at all and I’m not crying just a little.  Normally, if I feel the impulse to cry, My reflex to squelch it is so strong that it gets stuck, but not this time, it never gave Me the chance. Someone turned around to give Me a tissue (I had some, a Dominant is prepared for everything, right?), Instigatosaurus was very sweet and cuddly and supportive.  I could see E a few rows ahead on the aisle by the wall, and seriously considered getting up and sitting next to him on the floor so I could lay My head in his lap while I cried. But in My experience he’s not a cuddly, overly supportive guy and never was with Me – exactly WHY I was having these feels in the first place -- and the idea of getting that kind of support from him was ridonculous, mere fantasy. I tortured Myself with the fantasy for a while, but in the end returned to:  we’ve been split for years, this is My rodeo to manage.  If I had gone to him, I think he would have been annoyed. The class ended, and he stopped by to talk about getting BBQ for lunch. I thought What The Hell, looked at him and said “I’ve just cried through most of this class because it really took Me back to the beginning of our relationship”. I don’t think he said anything, but he didn’t leave, and I sort of fell forward in My chair until My head was on his scratchy wool sweater, and I started to cry again with My sensitive cheeks on the scratchy fabric, which also is a sense memory from that time. He amazingly put his hand on My shoulder, and with this small gesture of in-the-moment compassion, which is a lot from him in My experience, I was sobbing. He put his hand on My head, and the flood gates came down the last bit, leaving Me utterly dissolved until the storm had passed. 

Then we talked about BBQ for lunch and how to eat it in the bar space despite the ban on outside food. We chatted briefly with Kali, sharing a brief of what had just happened, enough to express thanks.

In the bar, I told a few friends I’d just had a cathartic release in class and while they listened patiently, the E relationship is well trod ground so no one seemed wildly interested in the details. Still, every time the thought “I tried SO HARD” went through My head, I was on the verge of sobbing again, so I blocked it.  The BBQ was good.  We always did share our emotions encoded in food, and it was nice to feel that very particular form of caretaking from him, as we continued to not talk about it.  Wasn’t even awkward that it was the three of us, Me, him, and his now wife-and-slave, whom I like very much and whom I credit with the fact I got My head patted on February 19, 2018.  It sounds weird, but it was fine.

After BBQ, it was off to class where I was meeting John for IPCookieMonster’s talk on How To Fuck a FemDom.  It was OK, but I’m not sure I got a lot out of it. Like many classes, it immediately bogged down in nomenclature and definition of the problem, leaving the meaty solution teaser of the class title until way too late. And even then, I never felt we arrived at the center of the question.  But as john astutely observed, the takeaway was affirmation that we have figured some things out, him and Chloe, him and Me. And that was a sweet point to make. It’s so delightful to trust john to be gracious and make a solid point.

The memorable part of the class was the guy in the front row of the HOW TO FUCK A FEMDOM CLASS who was dressed as a pimp and presenting very much as a Dom. He apparently wanted to talk about what to do when you are a Dom and you are in a relationship with a Dom, how do you make THAT work?  And the presenter was too nice to shut him down.  I recognize she gets to be a presenter in part because she doesn’t shut people down, but this guy deserved it and I sensed the trouble immediately. Sure enough, he kept talking, pulling the class way off topic where HE wanted to go, leaving the other 40 people in the room rolling their eyes, shooting him with their gun fingers, pretending to wank off.  How he survived that level of hostility aimed at the back of his fur ruff collar, I cannot imagine. After the guy’s third comment, john leaned over and said to Me… Breathe.  So I did.  And it quickly became a little joke that he didn’t have to tell Me, but every time that dude started talking again (“When I was in art school…”) I would do an exaggerated inhale and exhale.  After a bit, john looked at Me and said quietly, “If Chloe were here, she’d have left”.  And I thought you know what, screw it.  Since the presenter didn’t seem be managing him, I would. I appointed Myself responsible to keep us on the class topic and get to the part we were all there for: not the definitions, the problem solving. It became a power struggle for control of the class, with him pulling us to his personal problem, and Me dragging us back.  I believe john was amused, and three people in the class later thanked Me in various ways.

Looking back, what strikes Me is: I didn’t question it. I didn’t question whether I should engage in a power struggle with stranger for control of a class being taught by a third person. I didn’t debate whether it was right, or My place, or likely to be unpopular. I just trusted Myself and did it.  Even with john there as an intimate audience whose judgment would be meaningful to Me, I didn’t question Myself.  This seems to be one of Princess’ gifts. She is clear about what she wants, and she will go for it.  She doesn’t do self conscious and she doesn’t do analysis paralysis.  It’s like a clear, crisp wind and I like it a lot.  I see the danger of self absorption if taken too far, but I think overall, it pulls Me into a better balance.

After class, I popped into a FemDom centric birthday event, where a boy was tied to the dining room table, being smeared with ice cream cake, and having a birthday candle pressed into his urethra so it could be lit while we sang him Happy Birthday.  He didn’t seem to want a candle in his urethra and I’m not sure how it ultimately got in, perhaps they finally applied lube.  It made Me a little uncomfortable, as those sorts of scenes tend to do, but he seemed happy enough afterwards. I got to peek at My cross dressing playmate’s bottom to see the tragic absence of marks, and check in with his wife.  Then it was off to john and Chloe’s room, to chat with a couple they had met, and let john ply Me with just the right amount of vodka cran and he served us all naked.  I hardly even notice that any more, it’s just the way it should be.  After a good hour they dressed, putting him in yumyum leather chaps over black undies, with a buttondown shirt and tie. Off we went to dinner in the restaurant.

After being nudged by Chloe to poke j about having taken several bites of food before Madame did and enjoying his face as realization dawned (ooops, more cane strokes for j), we had lovely conversation with the two others in our party.  The woman had helped with staff and was seated with us in the restaurant – possibly really pushing the dress code – bare breasted except for some pasties on her nips.  But they are the most amazingly beautiful breasts and were the most incredible pasties… miniature gardens, really.  Each had a butterfly on it, a little scene of moss and flowers, and I just have never seen such a thing. Really incredible and now I want garden on My nipples too.  At dinner, Chloe mentioned that someone I played with at Fusion was having a bit of a day with playmates cancelling so I texted to remind him that if he wanted to massage a nice nekkid woman, I was available. Moments later, that was in progress, and we landed in the dungeon’s medical room where he gave Me the most delightful full body massage. The plan was to take a break after the massage, hit the bathroom, and return to turn things sexual. 

I got up, wrapped up (nekkid police on the job), ran to the loo, and on the way back, saw a different playmate who had flirted even sexted all week with Me before camp then completely blown Me off throughout the event. That was a frownie moment, but didn’t really pierce My endorphin veil.  What did pierce the veil was walking back into the medical room and seeing that the table only four feet from Mine was now occupied by…. My former slave who vaporized in July.  My former slave to whom I had reached out before the event requesting we have a coffee and a friendly catch-up chat, who had also blown Me off.  There was no way I was going to Get Off with Mr. Exponential Blow-Off right next to Me.  Not happening. So I wrapped back up, popped out of the room, met My playmate in the open space and announced that very regrettably, Houston had a problem.  He was suitably horrified and fully understood the implications. We grabbed the stuff, I tried extremely hard (but probably failed) to not-glare at the folks who really might have been considerate enough to choose a different play spot, even on peak dungeon night.  I was feeling almost panicky by this point and really wanted to get away before any sort of conversation could occur. I was not equipped to deal at that moment.  We headed to My room, where we found Unkey in for the night, with a friend keeping him company.  Off to the guy’s room! At last, a landing spot.

I find it uncomfortable to go to a guy’s turf for sex. It makes Me nervous and not in a good way. It’s the singularity of it.  The very clear message of: we are in this place to fuck. I don’t like it. I somehow tend to feel that from the moment we walk in to his place, it becomes about conquest, he has in fact already conquered, even before we hit the bed, because I’m now a foregone conclusion, and yes, I can leave but I feel a pressure to stay just by virtue of not being home.  I threw down My washable pet piddle pad that is bigger and better than paper chux, and causes Me no worries, and we started with cuddling and flirting, then he was going down on Me, and it was nice but we needed to back up to START to deal with My agita and get Me back to a relaxed, happy place again. We got there and well, I really don’t remember exactly what happened in what order, but it was good.  I tried at one point to get Myself off with fingers while he did a really well calibrated spanking, and I was trying to work My more reliable go-to hot images, but I needed something in My pussy, and I was really too wet to get the traction I needed. I had a little cum but it was frustrating and I was feeling breathless from being face down in the blanket.  We moved on to a little G spot which he quickly located and I was really quite impressed with his skills.  He is a sweet man and I enjoy him. 

By this time we had talked quite a bit about My pussy and what it likes, and how My brain is presently wired, what tends to work, where things have gone off the rails.  I specifically had shared with him that there have been times where there has been a huge orgasm in sight, and it has felt frightening, which has shut it down. I’ve just not had a partner who seemed equipped to handle that and Me; I cannot let Myself go there unless I am sure the guy can gather up the shattered Me and put Me back together. He said he knew what I was talking about, and he could. I had told him about the class catharsis; I had told him enough about why we left the Medical Room.  I had talked to him about what the pussy likes that seems to be a bit unusual and he had shared that a recent girlfriend had similar needs.  I had coached him not to say the thing men so often say near orgasm, which tends to shut Me down, and had given him alternative language. So I was emotionally open, we had some good trust, the pump was primed, we had done a good job of laying the foundation. 

But I was really thinking this wasn’t going to result in a great orgasm. It had gotten away from Me already and I just didn’t know what was going to bring it out.  I didn’t have any toys on Me and I didn’t know him well enough to have a line of tried and true sexy talk. He was giving it a great effort but I could tell sexy talk is no more natural for him than for Me.  So he got Me squirting which was excellent and I called a break, really not expecting things to progress much further.  Then he changed something and there was a new Gspotty sensation that felt different, it felt very much like the clit sensation I give Myself, but he was doing it from the inside. I lay there playing with My clit, him playing inside, and it was pretty idle for quite a while. We were chatting. My legs were supported by a pillow on each side to take the strain off.  I was just beginning to worry in the back of My mind that at some point he was going to get bored or was going to make the move to climb aboard.  And for most of My past, I would choose to exit the awkwardness by just letting him fuck Me.  Feeling I had taken up too much time and space, and hadn’t performed well enough, and that was the nearest exit door.  It isn’t the best choice, it’s possibly the worst, but that’s where I lived a long time, and old habits reappear under stress.

I’ve said this before recently, that I’ve realized bottoms and subs are really brave, they don’t have a choice. And I’ve realized there’s a way in which being on the top is the emotionally safer choice for Me, but it’s not getting Me great sex. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I’ve been working on it for a while, this idea that to have a better sex life, dammit, I am going to have to be more brave than I want to have to be.  And that’s what changed since I paid off the student loan, it feels safer and easier to be braver in many areas of life.

I read Dan Savage once to say something along the lines of:  we all want to say and do things in bed that we would file charges against in daily life.  So when I got a little sparkle of something-might-happen, I followed it, sort of knowing while refusing to know that this was going to take Me somewhere… that all the emotions flying around the last 24 hours had opened the door to something new.  There was a moment when, in a new way, I chose to be brave.  I chose to be brave in bed with someone I don’t know especially well.

So when I got a glimmer that the two orgasmy clit feelings might converge to lead somewhere, I said go, and we started.  He started stroking Me in that place, and I deepened the pressure outside, and when it popped into My mind to say a very loaded word out loud, I chose to do it.  It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just sounds, it’s just sex, we all know what is said in the heat of passion isn’t necessarily real, but it took Me a good four tries to get the word all the way out the first time. I thought that would be it, one and done, get Me over the edge, get My rocks off, time for a nap.  

But no.  

It was so powerful, that we were immediately beyond what I think of as orgasm.  We didn’t just go there, we blew through the light. It was like in movies where the fighter jet roars away to Mach 3 or the spaceship goes to Warp Speed, Mr. Sulu.  From here on I really cannot tell you what happened in any way that conveys My experience, I can only convey what an observer might say because it became an out of body experience, or perhaps it happened to someone else, to a person I already no longer am.

I said the difficult word again, louder, and this time, the air changed, the sound changed, My voice changed.  It was higher pitched. Warp Speed jump again. I said it again, the voice goes higher. Another Warp Speed jump. I have no idea where we are, where the orgasm is, I don’t know what an orgasm is, I don’t know who I am, whoheis, wherethisiswhathisis. I didn’t even know at that point I was having sex or having an orgasm. I know only that: (1) I now understand why people refer sometimes to women’s orgasmic noises as singing, because I was definitely singing and (2) I had become the person I hate, the person screaming as they orgasm noisily and inconsiderately in a hotel at one o'clock in the God damned morning, bothering everyone else who is trying get some fucking sleep. I was THAT girl.  But I knew it in such a detached way that I didn’t even consider stopping. 

I don’t know how long it lasted, and I don’t know exactly how it ended, but the five (?) or so Warp Speed jumps took Me to a place where the screaming became shrieking became something that became laughing and the laughing became falling – very definitely FALLING even though I was horizontal -- which became something else which became sobbing. And he remembered what to say to Me, and at the right moment he did exactly the right thing and he released My beautiful, succulent cunt and grabbed hold of Me bodily, wrapped his arms and legs around Me and pulled Me into him, and told Me he had Me, and he held Me together so I could let go more completely than I have ever let go sexually.

It is hard to explain, but a process I have been going through for a long time feels like it culminated in that orgasm, in a way that reminds Me of this Rilke poetry.  

It is possible I’ve been pushing through solid rock
As the ore lies alone
I am such a long way in, and see no way through, and no space;
Everything is close to my face and everything close to My face is stone.
I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief
So this great darkness makes Me feel small.
You be the Master.
Make yourself fierce.
Break in.
Then your great transforming will happen to Me
And My great grief cry will happen to You.

I had thought I was having a nice mellow, low key, no drama, nothing special, maybe even phoning it in kind of WinterFire. Instead I think I got a tectonic plate shift. I got an earthquake. Not a cum. A release. Several releases.  SEVERAL experiences of release from old ways of going through life. SEVERAL experiences of engaging with real male power and handling it, past and present, handling it in a way that I didn’t just survive  but thrived.  

Unkey is right, I think.  You might not get the camp you want, but you get the camp you need. 

Thanks, I needed that.

I think I was right. I think 2018 is definitely the year of detox. And I think I just set a whole bunch of stuff down which is already allowing Me to fly.