A True Story

Every morning she opens her computer and searches for his profile just to soak in what words he may have penned. Every morning she checks. Every morning she cries. Four years and the feelings haven’t changed. Four years and she’s still wrapped up in torment. Four years and she still feels as lost, lost to time’s ravages, lost to a broken heart, lost to having loved and lost.

Reading other’s poetry is hard to do. One poet has caught her attention and his words are salt on her open wounds. She feels the green rise behind her eyes and screams. Why oh Why is she so insistent in having what she wants? Oh, the Sun shines his light on all, freely and yet her heart beats and screams held in a cage that only one person has the key. Why does her heart only shine for one instead of all?

A beautiful poem she read and it broke something inside of her. She wanted those words for herself and sitting there with tears she blessed those who those words were for, knowing they were never meant for her. It was right there, what she wanted for herself but it was missing one so very important thing, those words were meant for another. She’d never felt the green gaze behind her eyes so keenly before. She recognized this for what it truly was, a lack inside of her.

To be loved all truly want deep down inside. She wanted to know it, to feel it, to have that connection and it was that which glared in neon as missing. She searched her memory and could only come up with one time that she felt that deep connection to another person. But she had pushed and pushed him away and ran. Instincts told her feeling that deeply was dangerous. Experience taught her later that it was already too late.

The connection had been forged and the more she ran the deeper it went. These were the consequences, to be torn open, her heart beating empty and alone. She could see and feel other’s love, could taste it metaphorically now.

Her personal God had banished her to the wastelands, in silence. Like a petulant child she kicked and screamed vile words, anything to get a reaction but was met with nothingness. Just to hear his words over her soul, she opened Pandora’s box, a special folder that contained all of his words, all of her thoughts, everything that was him without being Him. Consumed in pain, she read.

It had been years but it still felt like yesterday. There was no goodbye. In it’s place stood “Fuck off.” At what point does one say all is broken and walk away? What of the ground work of their relationship? The more she tried to be obedient, the more it tied her into knots. Facing the fact she had been abandoned tore at her mind. She rolled the options she saw around in her mind, tossing them off one by one. She was truly stuck, good and well fucked. She could well admit when she makes mistakes but in this perhaps not? Oh, what a load of hubris and yet what if she was right and yet wrong all at the same time? She made a good choice and fucked it all up.

She was alive under his hands and his words. A burning flame of passion and desire. It is so hard to go back to a life without that. She’d tasted ambrosia of the Gods, how was she to live a mortal life after that? You have no choice kept ringing around her mind but He’d taught her otherwise. There was always a choice even when it felt like there was nothing. She didn’t want to taste ambrosia one more time. She wanted to swim in it! She wanted it everyday, any day.

Closing Pandora’s Box left her unsettled. As she gazed out the window she wondered what this choice would cost. There was no way of knowing. If she continued to hold on to Him, she’d shrivel and die of sadness. Wiping away tears she murmured “I will always love Him” and nodded once to herself. Pity the mortals who’s loved the Gods. There is no going back to a mortal life after that. Most fall, few rise. Now was the time to find out which she was. Now.

Starset – Love You To Death

This song right here makes me think I should make a playlist for listening to while browsing Collarspace. I know. I know. I broke down and joined it. I’d rather visit the dentist every day of the year than do Collarspace but here I am.

Enjoy the song.

Jaymes Young – Tied Down

This ought to be the theme song for all the rope Masters out there just because anytime I hear the phrase ‘tied down’ I tend to think of flying rope bunnies. Maybe that’s just me? Besides this is packed tight with hot male vocals! Awesome!

Casting my eyes behind me

Old threads that pop back up tend to bring back a ton of memories. So, here I am perving on Fet and I run across an age-old question: can slaves have hard limits? What a cluster-fuck.

Basically, there are two camps; one says, of course, there are hard limits and the other goes well, I don’t impose any hard limits. Both sides go to verbal blows over this, cause frankly, one side is in denial or if they are telling the utter truth, they are super scary as fuck. If you can’t tell by now, I am in the camp of yes, I have hard fucking limits.

But I wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time, I was in that other camp. I didn’t want to impose limits on my Master. I had an inkling that there was something fairly tricky to all this slave business with limits and the removal of limits. And there is. There is a way, it is very possible to be that person who becomes a no limit slave. They do exist and yes, I find that scary as fuck.

I am a greedy person. I know this fact about myself. I want my cake and eat it too. Most of the time, I do. But in this, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that with this lifestyle. I thought it would be a piece of cake, pardon the pun, to find a Master who naturally had the same limits that I do. Yeah, um, I’m still striking out on this one.

And then I met Dreamwalker. I broke my head attempting to work my mind around being anything he wanted, that in being anything meant the elimination of all limits. It is far easier to love the whole world than to accept and take responsibility for being anything and everything. Oddly, both are deeply interconnected. You can only love what you understand and you can only understand that which you are….so yeah. Very mind tripy and extraordinarily painful.

I take words and promises very seriously now. I’ve learned how important that is, the hard way. Yet, I sit here chewing on obedience and what it means to a slave, to me. On one hand, there is a sense that a Master could or perhaps better said, should not order something they know cannot be obeyed. Yet, on the other hand, there is a daring that pushes against that, to hold obedience as the highest virtue, order and purpose. The only way for me to split the difference, so to speak, is to find the extraordinary.

I’m not even looking. I didn’t find it in the first place. But that’s a side tangent, back on track. Both camps are telling the truth from their own perspectives. It’s uncomfortable to look deep and explode this to its logical conclusions. It kinda ruins the magic when you look at how it’s all framed together. And I’m willing to bet, there are few slaves out there that were able to find their extraordinary. Or at the very least, their extraordinary hasn’t been put to the test, so the magic remains.

I want to say for me it’s impossible because of my issues with trust. But then why does impossible say I’m possible?

Yet, I know it is possible. I know all it takes is a fusing to two into one. That’s it. Fait accompli.

I just have no roadmap to this.

I fundamentally do not trust people.

I came crashing into this realization just a few days ago. This isn’t the run of the mill being slow or even painfully slow in trusting. This is a core fact that I do not trust anyone at all. And yet I still operate and function mostly without this causing interesting effects. Mostly.

I don’t want to get into how this realization came about. That it did is enough.

The thing is I know people are capable of anything and this isn’t restricted by morals or circumstances. For me to trust someone, I would have to believe that they are incapable of hurting me in any and for under every possible and impossible circumstance. Knowing that people are capable of anything is easily confirmed because I am unable to be sure of what I’d do or act in any hypothetical scenario.

I can and have developed a level of comfortability around people. It does take a bit of time for this to develop. It does not erase the fundamental fact that I, at my core, I know people are capable of causing harm out of nowhere and at any time. It means I am wary. I am always wary.

Diving deep into myself and seeing how deeply rooted this is, it is foundational. I don’t even know when those foundations were set but it’s early. That caught me off guard with how early it goes, younger than age three.

I talked to my hubs about this, about working to undo this and he told me, not too. He said that this has basically kept me alive all these years and it’s been successful. He said he understands my reactions at times and doesn’t fault me for them, that it’s understandable considering what I’ve gone through. All that may be true but it still bothers me.

I’m starting to see some of the effects this core rule has on me. Feeling unable to rely on others in a crisis, always carrying at least a low-level awareness of vigilance, over analyzing situations and words and protectively reactive to interpretive provocation, which means I don’t always react as I should to what others do or say.

It was an interesting conversation. He made sure I understood that he didn’t want a slave, he wanted an equal partner in life. And that because he wanted a partner and not a slave that he was okay with this aspect of who I am. He views it as making me stronger, that I am able to survive and thrive, that my survival instinct is strong and that he wanted a strong mother for his children, to protect and raise them.

As much as those words make me smile, it also upsets me. I understand now my lifelong quest for a Master was really a quest to find someone I could trust, fully, completely and without reservation. I am left with much to ponder on.

Well, I never!

I have never faked an orgasm in my life. 

I get on Fetlife and read quite a bit and it turns out there are more than a few women who have routinely faked an orgasm. It never occurred to me to even fake one. Oh, I can tease like I’m having one but it’s not the same at all. It’s identical to porn star orgasms which makes me think those are all fakes. Because I sure as hell don’t sound like that!

I have never dressed up in a latex suit. 

I have to say the shiny is very attractive but I’d look like some sort of blobby sausage if I got up in a suit like that. I’ll stick to admiring the photos from afar.

I have never felt the bite of a whip on my skin.

Oh, I sound like a wimp! But I’m not counting all the snap fights I get into with my hubs at all. That sharp snap! Oww!! If he can land a good one, it makes a nice welt and makes me howl but, of course, I wiggle and run and snap back a few good ones of my own.

I have never sung karaoke.

Nope. Nope. And a whole bag full of nopes. Hard limit. I call RED. This is not happening. This is dig heels in territory. I’ve had more than a few friends try this on me with a few drinks in me and yeah, still not happening. Nothing sobers me up faster than saying “Let’s do karaoke!”

I have never gone to a local munch, now that I’ve moved to a different state. 

It’s taken me some time to settle into this place and I’m still feeling my way around here. It’s a bit of a different culture out here and it takes some getting used too. But I’m at a loss to dipping my toes into the local kink community. I’m not sure what I am anymore nor what I want out of kink anymore. A side-effect of too many questions and not enough time and I still have to set priorities. Who knows? Might go one day and say hello.

So, these are my five “Well, I never!” statements. All true and All odd and all just fun to have thought up. So what are your five statements?

I’m very, so very hungry…can you feed me? Pretty please?

Think back to all the plates of spaghetti you’ve eaten in your life. Remember the ones that were really filling and then the plates that were just ho-hum. Sex is just like eating spaghetti. It’s filling and tastes delicious and you want more of it.

Some chefs can only dish out the same for every person. Endless rounds of just pasta and sauce and leave you craving garlic and meatballs. Some chefs get fancy and sprinkle on the parmesan cheese and give a side of garlic bread. A few chefs will ask you how you like your spaghetti and sever up exactly what you asked for. And fewer still, will ask you to take a chance as they blindfold your eyes and feed you.

So, how do you like your spaghetti?