Monthly update

With some amusement I notice, that I’ve been posting only once a month or so. Things are strange here in relationship land. Maybe making bullet points will help me get my information together.

● The D/s we are in does not feel very D/s to me, I’ve been thinking on this rather extensively. It’s actually not D/s at all. I don’t feel in anyway that I am submissive. On the bimonthly occasion that we are at a play party I feel like one of his regular bottoms. Not in any way that we have a power exchange.

● I also don’t feel that I’m a very good bottom for him. Our play feels hollow to me. I think in part because there is no power exchange.

●I don’t enjoy “bottoming” I crave to submit and I don’t feel like I can do that to someone who isn’t my Dominant. Bottoming, for me, feels like a facade.

● I’ve recently questioned literally all of the things I’ve thought were my kinks. Making this list is shedding light on a primary issue. M is a sadist, pure and true. I don’t hurt for people I’m not the little “s” for. If I’m being hurt for pleasure during sex, and there is no D/s, I feel violated. Not stimulated.

● My sex life is a barren field. Because of the faulty workings of our attempted D/s I’m shutting down.

● I’m starting to shut down everywhere actually.

● I don’t know how to have this conversation.

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Monthly update

Poetry of Submission

I started with an idea for this post, maybe with a few minutes of writing it will return to me. Over the last few weeks as my relationship reaches its own rhythm, we have learned plenty about one another. Because of my service nature I’ve kept track of small things, how he likes his pillows, the right amount of ice in his cup, vegetable to protein ratio on his plate. I try to log these things, I work towards making my presence useful and appreciated. I serve.

In my domestic service at times, the sexual submissive wiggles her fingers wanting recognition. So used to being rewarded with sexual gratification, so trained that way in the past. Training that you believe in/enjoy, turns out to be a difficult habit to break. At times disappointment has caught up with me that this relationship does not reflect others I’ve enjoyed. That there is no punishment/reward system. That there is no task assignment, and at times my schedule and our life wouldn’t allow it anyway. Further reflection provides that this just isn’t the nature of things at this time. It may never be.

But, it makes me no less submissive. It makes my service no less important. In a small way for me, the lack of “rules and regulations”, the missing “reward” system makes my continued dedication to service that much more important for me. Knowing I am providing without overstepping, a quiet support. Enjoying the times of power exchange when they do happen. Remembering that it is unfair for everyone involved to compare our relationship to someone else’s. It is damaging to measure it up against the “perfect idea of D/s”. Because what we are doing right now is what works for us. There are frequent conversations about how we can improve our relationship. Not just with ourselves but with the community. How we can help, even in the face of whatever obstacles lay in the way. Moreover when that obstacle is one we have laid out because of our own issues.

There has been so much talk lately of cute submissive rebellion, it makes my relationship choices feel unpopular. Especially in the reality of less regimented D/s. It makes me forget the importance of my submission, both for me and for my Sir. Even when days pass and he hasn’t noticed that Ive not done the laundry or swept the floor. A part of me realizes that many people may read this and stand in defense of either one of us. That is not the point of this writing. I believe in a learning community of like minded individuals. Reading this may in fact give someone, D or s (or any of the other wonderful categories we fall into), a moment of thanks that they aren’t alone. That BDSM is not always all about the whips and canes. The rules and regulations. We are real people with real lives. Doing the best we can with what we have.

Poetry of Submission

Assessments

I often wonder if diving inside as often as I do is healthy or not. Arguably, I can indeed provide more complete healing for my clients when I am in a balanced place emotionally.

Balance.

What a huge word, I’ve never really felt balanced. Especially when it comes to my sexuality. My sex drive in particular. I could, if time permitted have sex 3-4 times a day. Here for sake of ease I will define sex as: vaginal penetration ending in mine and my partners orgasm. In the past I’ve had partners who were up for the challenge, some who were very spirited and our frequent sessions lasted a short amount of time. Others who were open to once a day for longer periods. And those who, unable to provide me with multiple sessions would, spend copious amounts of time spoiling me with affections.

Before the start of my monogamous relationship with MC and the trails of last year, I ended 2013 with multiple partners. It was a perfect blend of hard hitting attention, tranquil sensuality, and exciting interludes. My “bank” was being filled on every single level. *bank here does not mean vagina lol, though that was happening too* I’m posting today with a bit of .. well I don’t know the appropriate word here. Wonder maybe. Because I am wondering about this.

My sexual relationship with MC is something I’ve never experienced before. We’ve waited so long to get here, I had all of these perceptions about what it would be. Now we have all of these road blocks. *Surgery, my screwed up hormones, a god awful haircut that’s further impacting my self perception, hyper awareness of my body, house renovations, combining our lives, not quite connecting in some areas that I thought would be fluid, totally different views on sex in general.* 

Sex isn’t awfully important to him. It’s paramount to me. It validates me. When I’m not getting intimacy, the physical release, the connection, it feels like my energetic person is drying out. Leaving a delicate piece of something in the blazing sun. It domino’s out into the rest of my life. My intimacy with friends, family, clients becomes strained. Because I feel guilty. I feel broken. I feel neglected. I feel unattractive. I feel unworthy. I feel like I have nothing to give.

The tasks of my life become robotic and lifeless. The wild woman in me suffering under the weight of morose feelings. I feel as if my true self is being smothered out. I feel lost.

In these moments I’m not sure what to do. My desires to study more in tantric yoga with the intention of sharing makes me feel foolish. My desire for connection feels foolish. I start to think I’m the one with the problem. I want to much. It makes me feel separate from my D/s, like I’m not in a relationship at all. I fear scenes because of the fragile state of my sexuality. As if I won’t be heard there.

A spinning vortex of doubt.

I wish I could believe that it wasn’t important. I wish I could feel that.

Assessments

Reflections

Of all the forums I have to express these words, the appropriate one fails me currently. As I pack up my small two bedroom apartment moments have been bittersweet. Some have just been sad. A few, well a few have been regrets. I have made strides to say I would never live a life I would regret. Yet I find myself here, thinking of the ghosts of the last 18 months.

As my hands touch the very fiber of things i’ve spent 30 years trying to run from.  My mind reminds me that fear and devestation I’ve experienced in the first quarter of my life are dead. He is long gone, though his teachings and scars bind me at times. The gentle healing that my mom  attempted to provide after guilt drove her to action. I don’t have to carry that weeping suitcase around anymore either.

I try to highlight the things that she’s missing. How much she would have loved MC, how I am the things she always loved about me. Gentle, kind, loving, forgiving, and I’m sure for someone my smile still lights up the room. I’m sure they feel like my hand resting on their forearm is a moment of peace. That they look at me and see a million stars waiting to burst. That is the regret. Knowing I won’t ever see her recognize the way I’ve grown.

I think of my lovers here. Who held my head above water in the tsunami of my life. The one who sat with me in my miniscule bathroom and was present with me while I cried in my shower. Just there, a silent pillar of support for me. He helped me believe I was beautiful all the time. Not just when I was made up and ready to socialize. He made me feel worthy, appreciated, loved. *If you read this, thank you. For all of the ways you believed in me. You made me feel hopeful. For myself and my future.*

There are moments when all of the loss feels like total devestation. As if surely one day a board will Crack and the house of my life will implode on itself.

Then I remember that MC is someone who has always been my partner. He has always always supported when my own legs failed. But not so much that I’ve forgotten I have legs. I recognize his flaws. I feel as if I can love him without rose colored glasses shading my view. The feeling is calm and sure. A steadiness I’ve never felt. It’s a new adventure.

While I move forward with the lessons of my past, some of those things with varying degrees of presence, it’s hopeful.

I have hope. Thank you for walking with me. For walking for me when I couldnt.

Reflections

I’ve been asked

The TNG (The Next Generation) group of our local community has asked me to give an educational class on sensual massage. The possibilities about this thrill me. Intristically I know the body, understand it’s zones. I can imagine how my body feels against yours. My softness, every dip and valley. My hands moving against the tired, strained, worn muscles under your skin.

Part of my job as a therapist is making my clients a partner. Sometimes just for 60 minutes, professionally we are partners in health. One in wellness. We are working together to better you.

Outside of work I’ve only been able to share this tantric, soul searing intimacy with one person. She is no longer on this plane of existence. I’ve not had any other partner open to sharing this with me. Though I practice it alone. It’s very different when its done with someone else. Very different when it’s done in front of a room full of people ready to learn what you have to share.

I teeter between opening up tantric lesson and just sticking to sensual massage. It’s just so entangled for me. One being the other, tantric meeting sensual. Being open with your partner. Regardless of all these things I’m very excited. Very very.

I’ve been asked

A note to the other woman

No really it’s me. Not you.

And why sometimes watching my partner tie you, makes me feel sick.

My fella likes to joke that he is mongaish, (monogamous + ish = sort of. Not everyone can understand a particular relationship language) See most people look at us at think our relationship is brand new. They think, “oh how sweet, all in Luuurve with the newness of one another.” When the truth is far more complicated than that. It’s complicated and intense and we’ve grown in a thousand ways since the first time we met. Our respective histories being wildly different and surprisingly similar.

I’ve been mostly poly for the majority of my life and when I wasn’t poly, well I probably wasn’t being honest either. My understanding of his history is a bit different. With his heart and focus remaining beautifully loyal and dedicated to his one partner. As we’ve grown in our respective kink and self awareness, the both of us have softened our ideals. I’ve healed from some of the emotional trauma of my youth and I think he has learned to trust himself and reevaluate what intimacy means to him. (Many thanks to the teachers and guides who have lead us here.)

Now that I’ve decided to reboard  the monogamy ship, I’m dealing with issues I’ve never experienced before. Things like: jealousy, injured ego, altered self perception, self conciousness about situations I’ve never had issues with before. Because what is happening, every time his hands touch your lovely lovely skin, I immediately start comparing myself to you. Your play to ours. Your moans to mine. The way he watches you orgasm with his rope between yours legs. Your body writhing between his feet. I’m watching you share this intimate thing with my Top.

Sometimes, it carves into me like a chainsaw. Because I begin to wonder, are you better than me? Does your whimper give him the same adreneline rush mine does? Unfortunately no amount of reassurance from any party involved appeases the uncertainty in me. Like I said, it’s not you.

To be clear, my relationship with my Top has very few issues, because after a long struggle of watching one another from different shores we are finally here. Together. It’s also made me a bit selfish, surprisingly.  Where I’ve been too generous in the past, now I seek priority. I want from him what I’ve refused from others. Full attention. Our D/s aside, he is first my partner. Second my Top. 10 times out of 10 the sexual creature in me will see the same attractive features in you that he does. You will pique my interest in an almost identical way. I do not fault you your sexiness. I celebrate it. And two days from now when I again feel desireable, I will return to my original opinion of you. My issues will no longer cloud my appreciation of the masterpiece you are.

I voice this for multiple reasons: 1) after your scene with the Fella I may appear withdrawn. My emotional upheaval needs time to mend in the only way I know how. Self reflection. 2) I know I’m not the only one. With a community such as ours, education and support are paramount. We must learn to care for one another. There will be times you see me stumble when no one else does. A kind smile of understanding over a face of judgement changes a life.

In the mean time while I travel towards enlightenment, please know I love what you share with him. As my Top’s play partner you get a distinct advantage. Care, a friend, understanding, humor, honesty, appreciation and then you get everything that He provides. Which let’s be honest, is pretty freaking awesome.

A note to the other woman