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Adrift

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It always happens this time of year.

Fusion is approaching. This will be my third year going, and my second anniversary with Chris. I find myself… more unsettled than ever.

Technically I have four partners… I joke that I have four partners and a complication.

The first is my Sir, Chris. I’m proud of us for making it two years. There have been some… severe bumps and nightmare metamours along the way, but we’ve still managed to be a thing. I enjoy our D/s dynamic, and I find great comfort in the ease that has always existed between us when we spend time together…but at the same time I have felt more and more ‘friend zoned’ lately with him.. That spark, that desire that once had him frantically running to a 7/11 to buy condoms so that we could do it in my childhood bedroom just… hasn’t been there lately. I sleep in my dog bed, which I love, but it leaves me… wanting when I know that another partner gets to sleep beside him at night, and frequently. I’m fighting the ache of displacement with him, and honestly hope that Fusion will ease some of those aches and reinforce our dynamic. Fusion has always been good for us.. I am hopeful it will be that way again.

Then there is Grey… We are fantastic when we are together. It’s just.. The getting together part that is hard. I think the last time I saw him was around March.. I can’t even remember at this point. It’s on both of us. My schedule, his crazy life with his awesome life. Poly can be complicated, especially when you throw in the demands of work and home. I miss him, more than I’m probably willing to admit out loud. I miss his touch, him growling in my ear.. his hand wrapped around my throat while his other sneaks between my legs and..

Gah. Rabbit hole. Sorry. Summation, I miss Grey. He doesn’t even know Ryan is my Daddy; it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other…

Ryan has the patience of a saint with me at times… Easily the most emotionally accessible of my partners, he’s also human. For some reason days when I get overloaded tend to allign with the same days he is, so the few moments when I would let myself go, “I need my Daddy..” just don’t happen. I don’t let them. I can see him balancing me and my meta best he can, as well as trying to make room to date others… and he tries. He does. There are times when I just feel… forgotten. Like my meta’s shadow. Part of it is because I am the second parter. Secondary or not, I’m entering a dynamic that’s already been established, and that can be hard. She had dibs on certain days of the week long before I arrived, meaning less time for me off the bat. I’m… scared of time right now, with Ryan. I disappear for two weeks on the 18th, and then by the time I get back he’s off on a meditation retreat. I’m scared our dynamic will fizzle while I’m gone, especially when I’m off to something like Fusion. I can feel my emotional walls going up; can feel myself bracing for the inevitable letdown that my brain is convinced is going to happen. I don’t want to shove my Daddy away… If anything I want the opposite.

And then there is Ace, a partner I haven’t talked about on here. He and I have the loosest D/s dynamic.. We’ve also been on and off for almost a decade. I credit him with poking my kinky side before anyone else. When I was sixteen he and I started talking, and though there were gaps in-between he and I have never fully lost touch. Ace is currently where I was last year; dealing with the recent death of a primary relationship, and slowly gaining ground back to peace and emotional health. I’m grateful to have such a sweet, loving creature in my life…but he’s 3,000 miles away most of the time, works opposite hours of me, so that I am sleeping when he is awake and vice versa, and has so much on his own plate that tackling mine as well would be some sort of cruel joke to play on him. I won’t do that to him. It’s easier to try to help him than to try and decode my brain squirrles.

There’s my complication… the same one that’s been there for a year. James. We finally had a fundraiser for him, a week ago. For a single night I saw a James I had not seen in a year. I saw MY James. Sweet, and open, and loving, and willing to go to the deeper, darker areas that we don’t touch to keep the peace. I got my hopes up that maybe, just maybe, we were making progress… I’m not naieve enough to hope for a relationship right now, but I felt this rush of hope that maybe we were to the point where we could negotiate a scene. I wanted to kiss him, hug him. And he let me. And then he snapped back like a rubber band so hard I got whip lash. It’s been a while since he’s gotten me to cry.. Both last Wednesday and Friday he managed it, lashing out at the only safe person to do so to… My James, who does not do emotions, had to deal with a lot all at once. He’s compensating for it. I know that. But still… Godde does it hurt.

Five wonderful people. Five very different dynamics with their own separate challenges… and no anchor. That’s where I struggle. There’s no main, safe person to go to when my emotions become too much. No one to cling to to bring me back when I begin to drift away. I could reach out to Ryan, or even James..but Ryan has been so overwhelmed lately… and he has my meta. James… he overwhelmes himself, and I’m lucky to get an answer from him most days. Ace tries. He tries so hard..but my dark days are… bad. Dark. And with him trying to get over his own I don’t want to infect him with mine.

So here I sit, feeling more along than I have in a while despite all these amazing, loving people in my life. I still reach up to my bare neck and sigh, missing what used to be there; knowing that I’m not at a place where I could have that again right now. I miss the anchor of being someone’s, and that fear exists that no one will ever want me to be theirs again. That I will find all the other pieces of my puzzle.. except for that last one that makes me whole.

I try not to dwell, and to be grateful for what I have…but there are nights like tonight when I am truly lonely. My beloved roomate is curled up with her primary, more content than she has been in days because he’s here. I’m on the couch, restless at 2:30 in the morning and unable to motivate myself to sleep alone yet another night. There are these broken, jagged pieces of myself that cut away at the parts of myself that I thought I had built up… The parts that want to be a kink educator, that shine at things like Bondage a Go-Go and Citadel events. I am the little thing that does tours, and leads discussions, and is always there to get that last clean up shift to make sure that everyone gets out of the Citadel on time. I’m good at it.. I think..maybe.

Fusion, as beautiful as it is, tests me. It’s complete immersion into this world of kink for a solid week straight… and it’s a lot to take. I find myself looking at it similarly this year as I did my first. I feel..disconnected from it, unsure, overwhelmed at the idea of being gone so long and at what I will see and experience there. I don’t know if I’m open to new partners, or pick up play, or exploration with others as I have been in the past. I am freyed and covered in battle scars. You have to cut mighty deep into me to cause either pain or pleasure..and it’s hard for a stranger to get there in a week. I wish..  I wish I had some direction. Some marching orders to follow. Go to these classes. Wear these outfits because it will please me. Get pictures of yourself doing this. I miss that.

I’m going into camp with no plan or goal in mind… I hadn’t even planned on going this year. I’m going because Chris made it happen. He wanted me there, and there I shall be… but my walls are so far up with him as well. I don’t know what I’m doing, or how to make this feeling of being lost go away. I feel as if I am adrift in the middle of an ocean, miles from everyone. Unreachable. Eventually a boat will find me and fish me out, or I will drown.

And if I drown.. does it really matter? There are echos in the back of my mind. Yes. It does. No. It doesn’t. The argument as to which is the truth.

So… adrift I shall remain, in a sea of emotions that I don’t understand right now, and don’t quite know how to sort through. I suppose this is how one learns to be their own anchor. To not need anyone.

I should probably sleep.

Yours, restless

-Rene

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Day 29

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29) Is pain or humiliation (spankings for example) a part of your submission? What is your relationship to it? Do you embrace it as a part of your submission, tolerate it as necessary or have some other type of relationship with it?

I feel like I’ve answered this already…

Yes, pain is part of my submission. My relationship to pain is…confusing for me. Because it’s new, it’s shiny, and it’s something that I never thought I would love.

It’s become, as weird as it sounds, its own type of love language. I love when James spanks me..because it’s not just the spanking. It’s that caress before. It’s when he knows just the right moments to check on me, where I need to see his face and have a hand in my hair before the beating continues. It’s that thrill of showing him just what a good girl I am and how much I can take.

I like pain.

I love when he doodles on my chest, carving beautiful designs in it with his nails. I love when he yanks my hair. I become a rag doll, pliant and compliant and a giant ball of need… I love love love love LOVE being marked up after all of this…

But I love all this with James.

My pain threshold is dependent on my Sir being close by and accessible. He’s in the same building, he’s administrating the beating, he’s helping, or he’s taking pictures.. Then I want to fly. I want to excel and pose and show off and show him just how much I can take. When he’s not nearby, or I can’t reach him… The safety blanket just buckles and I can’t perform.

I like pain, when it’s balanced by James’s protective energy. He hurts me, yes, but if anyone harms me he will protect me. I know that with absolutely certainty.. The community knows you don’t harm what is his. And I’m his.

Yours 29 posts later (ONE TO GO!!!)

-Rene

Jealous

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Jealousy is a thing.

I know there are some people who claim not to get jealous… There are also some that claim that if you’re poly you can’t get jealous.

The second one is bullshit, and I envy those that can accomplish the first. I can’t. I fully admit that I can’t, even with the poly element as part of my relationship.

James has one friend that is literally everything that I am not. Friend is a very loose term.. They’ve known each other for years and, as it often can be, it’s complicated…

I don’t mean the whole she’s everything I’m not as a dig against myself.. she just.. is.. While I’m a brunette and dark of features she is a blonde and fair. While I am compact she is tall and leggy, and while I have some extra curvage she is quite literally perfectly proportioned. It goes passed physical into the world of skills..  I was excited to show off belly dancing for James..until the first time I saw her move with a grace I just don’t have and went “nope!”. She is also rather skilled as deep tissue massage, something that helps James when he has a sore back that I just don’t know how to do right now.. She is outgoing while I take a while to warm up to people, and has no qualms plopping down in my boyfriend’s lap when I am incredibly skiddish about trying such a thing.. I am incredibly self conscious (especially recently… I can feel clothing being tight on me…) about my size.. I’m worried I’m too big to plop in his lap… and the thought makes me very sad. I want lap time too…

I digress. As I said, James has this friend who is everything I’m not. She is very sweet, very nice, and so for the most part I ignore the triggers she causes in me. I know it’s me, seeing my own inadequacies and girl brain, and that there is a reason he chose me as his primary. There’s a reason he keeps me. But that doesn’t help when the pretty leggy blonde is in his lap and I’ve been begging for lap time for a good month…

There is a routine to BaGG nights, one that I have fallen in to easily. The time before BaGG is my time with James. It’s when we snuggle, do very bad things in his car that could possibly get us arrested (tee hee), talk, and basically touch base before the hecticness of the night begins. Once we walk into Wicked Ground we can still snuggle and often play for the entertainment of ourselves and others, but that’s when the performance starts and I have to share him. Once we enter the club I know he will spend time with me when he can, but the performance continues. It only breaks when I need him… when something’s seriously wrong and I need that point of connection, of eye contact, of him to hold me for just a second or give me one sweet kiss to tell me everything is okay. Once that performance starts there is no stopping it, especially in the club when you add work mode on top of it. I know this routine, I know it well, and I don’t attempt to stop it. I love watching James work. He works his ass off and he’s got a damn good eye. I’ve even learned to love giving him material to shoot… I have a group of friends that I play with at BaGG. I love when he takes photos of me playing and I catch the smirk on his face as he clicks the shutter.

It’s a good routine, one that I don’t think to disturb for lap time or unnecessary snuggles when he’s focused… I play by the rules, afraid to break his focus or be too much of a pest. Afraid of the reprimands he may give. It can be hard, especially when BaGG is the only day that week I get to see him and that hour alone in the car together is the only in-person time I get with my boyfriend.

I am one of those people that finds physical touch to be incredibly healing. I’ve mentioned before that I am a tactile person. If I’m not touched enough, held enough.. Emotionally, I shift. I become more on-edge. Sometimes I don’t realize it.

The other night I got no time with James before BaGG. This happens sometimes, it’s life. Sometimes adulting gets in the way of kinky fuckery. The week before I had only gotten to see James at BaGG itself, and he had barely made it in time. There was no check-in, no snuggles… and the day had not been the easiest. The week had not been the easiest.

I didn’t quite realize how much it had effected me until I looked over and saw Leggy Blonde in a little outfit walking off with my boyfriend just when I had gone over to talk to him about something. I gave them a wide birth, and did what I tend to do when my friends are not at BaGG and I’m not otherwise occupied. I watched.

I watched her curl up in his lap.. Watched him hold her, nuzzle her. Watched them kiss. I was shocked by the amount of jealousy and hurt that I felt. We’re poly. It wasn’t as if this was breaking any rules.

…But this wasn’t play. This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t kinky fuckery, which we both get off on watching the other do.

This was intimacy. Something I can’t ask for once the performance starts, and something I hadn’t gotten much of with him lately. I fought the tears burning the corners of my eyes as I watched, half talking to the friend who had come down to sit next to me.

She, in turn, followed my gaze.

“He picked you, you know. She doesn’t have the girlfriend title. You do.”

That didn’t mean that the girlfriend title would have been denied to her if she had wanted to. I didn’t know. I don’t know their past. I haven’t asked. I’m too afraid that my girl-brain will self-combust and I will become an insecure mess no sir wants to touch, no matter MY Sir.

I could feel my hurt turning to resentment and anger. Before I did something based off of heat of the moment emotions that I would regret, I sent him a text telling him that we needed to talk.. that I needed to talk to him as his girlfriend, not his submissive.

It’s when communication breaks down that you’re fucked over jealousy issues.. And while James and I don’t have great amounts of time to discuss things, when we do sit and really talk we do well. We clear up a lot of miscommunications and issues and leave the conversation a lot lighter than when we entered it..

I entered the conversation pissed and hurt, angry that while I played by the rules someone he has a past with was getting the physical attention and intimacy I craved and, at times, begged for. I went back into the club a bit more reassured about my place. I understood why she was receiving such physical intimacy, and understood why he reserved such intimacy between he and I for when we were alone.. I know when the mask goes on, when the performer goes on stage, I should not try to pull him off. I wouldn’t want to. I love the man behind the mask and know when to watch him on stage, when to join, and when to be in the wings for the intermission.

That doesn’t mean I still don’t want physical attention while in the club.. and that doesn’t fully kill off my jealousy issues. She is still everything I am not. And I am still aching for more touch from the man I adore..

But I can see James doing what he can to squash those issues, as I try to work on the internal triggers in me that cause the issues I have in the first place. Neither of us shut down, which would be the easiest thing to do. We hear the other out. He’s got the patience of a saint with me when it comes to the feels, and it reminds me often how lucky I am to actually be in a healthy poly relationship.

Jealousy happens. We’re only human. It’s what you do when the jealousy spikes that matters.

Yours reassured,

-Rene

Day 23

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23) Is there anything about submission (yours or what you see in others) that you question, dislike or repels you? Was there a time you questioned or were resistant to your own submissive feelings?

I am a big fan of different strokes for different folks. However, there are limits to this. I believe in the safe, sane, consensual tenant of BDSM.. and while the sane part is up for debate, the safe and consensual are not.

The only time I have questioned another submissive is when they were going into truly unsafe situations… I had a friend at Bondage a Go Go when I started going early on who called herself a pain slut. In all reality she was a heavy bottom, but not a pain slut, and she pushed her body too hard to prove just how much she could take (because she wanted to be the best of all the subs… Subbies you know how this is…). To do this, she would eat AFTER bag and not have any food before, because she believed that it allowed her to take more pain. One night she did this and on top of this took several medications that left her not in her right mind, combined this with alcohol, and then went to go play… The partner she was playing with cut the scene short because they saw she wasn’t right, but it was one of the few times I have gone over and lectured another submissive, as well as her primary for letting her put herself in that situation.

I’ve also met many a young ‘sub’ that was “looking for her Christian Grey.” They are easy to spot in a dungeon setting. Usually younger, dressed to the nines in lingerie and brand new heels, walking around with a bit of a dear in the headlights look. These lost little ones me and a few other experienced submissives will sit down and talk to, and try to explain the difference between Christian Grey and real Doms. It’s why so many of us read the books, so we could know thy enemy and keep young, vulnerable subbies from getting hurt.

There is a difference between a submissive putting herself in danger because she is under some sort of influence (be it alcohol or some fictional character) and a submissive letting her Dominant push her. I have seen a couple scenes that have had me question whether or not an ambulance should be called. You sit, you watch, you wonder, but in those moments you know that an experienced submissive has not had alcohol or drugs before playing, because they want to be fully aware of their body and what is is going through. An experienced Dominant will be able to read their submissive’s body to pace the play out so that even if they’re pushing, it will be something they know that their submissive can take. And if something happens, if something gets pushed to far, everyone knows how to safeword, and will if they need to. You sometimes just have to trust that. And when you can’t, well, that’s what dungeon monitors are for.

You can’t always judge a book by its cover. James and I have made the dungeon monitors look up a few times, because he makes me howl. He will hit me hard enough that the sound of the crack will echo throughout the entire dungeon, and I in turn will scream like a banshee. He pushes me, and I let him push me. Everyone in that dungeon knows we’re experienced. The DMs have seen James for years in the scene, and while I haven’t been around for as long they know me as well. They trust that if I need to, I will red out. And I have in the past, with other partners.

As for my own submission… of course I’ve struggled with it. When my mother told me I could be anything I wanted to be I don’t think she pictured one of those things as someone who craved spankings, floggings and the phrase ‘good girl’. Strong, independent women are not supposed to want to kneel at their boyfriend’s feet.. I struggled most with something that has become one of my biggest kinks. The concept of being owned.

The collar. One of my biggest turn-ons is the thought that someone wants me enough, values me enough, that they want me to be one of their possessions. They want to own me. They will share, but I will be theirs to do with as they well. Coming to terms with wanting that, with craving that.. it took me some time. There is still a stigma to D/s, and to BDSM in general. It takes time to realize that the stigma is just something  you learn how to live with.. That it’s going to be part of your everyday life whether you want it to be or not.

It’s a matter of how you live with it that matters. I will never be ashamed of who and what I am. It has taken me a long time to get there, and I’ll be damned if I’m going back… But I’ve learned what to and not to share with people about who I am. Sometimes that makes me sad, that I can only be half of myself with people.

But then I rejoin my people… and I frolic in the dungeon. James makes me scream, and all is right with the world.

Yours, as always

-Rene

Day 22

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Day 22

Can you feel submissive without a dominant partner? If so, how does your submission express itself? If not, how do you handle your submission or submissive feelings?

My friend Cal is a Domly Dom. I’ve described him as being able to be spotted as Dominant from 100 feet away. This attribute may be heightened when his girl is kneeling at his feet or curled up in his lap, but standing on his own he reeds as Dominant. Those who aren’t in the scene may not know that he was a Dominant, but he would read as a domineering person in general, a take charge boss man that looks like he should be calling the shots.

The same can be said on the other end of the spectrum. My submissive tendencies don’t go away when I’m not with my Sir… and somethings this can be a really annoying thing…because I can’t control it.

When I am upset and around people I trust I become incredibly submissive. Most of my friends know that I like to sit on the floor when I cry, that I will apologize for every little thing (including apologizing so much) and that the easiest way to make my mood right is to order me to action. Tell me to do something so that I’m not focusing on my own melancholia.

My submissive side is strong enough and, ironically, dominant enough in me that it comes out, partner or not, and I am lucky enough to have people in my life that know how to handle me when this does happen. They are not necessarily Doms but toppy people that know what to do when I go subby.

I’m not necessarily one of those people that goes “Dom shopping” when I’m single, and I have been single in the scene before. I’ve mentioned before that I am a picky bitch when it comes to relationships. When I feel a need to formally submit but don’t have a Dominant in my life, I am lucky in that I have friends. Friendships in the scene…can be interesting. Some of my friends I go to dinner and drinks with… some of them beat my ass in a dungeon when I ask. It ends up not being in a sexual way, rather in a cathartic way. Their need to Dominate ends up as strong as my need to submit, and the play makes both of us feel better and more right in our own skin.

I’m one of those who is blessed and cursed with the fact that my submission never really goes away. I would like to think that has the ability to make me a damn good submissive to my Sir, and that he is proud to call me his, because it isn’t an act. It’s not a mask that I put on for an evening performance. It’s in me, same as my need to create. I love it, and sometimes I hate it.

Yours, subby as ever

-Rene

Day 20

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Day 20

Has your submission increased or decreased over time? Have you ever had to renegotiate your submission due to a change in your feelings or circumstance?

I wouldn’t say it has increased or decreased.. I would say it’s stabilized.

When Cal found me eons ago all he had to do was tell me that it was real for me to be all in. I had wanted it for ages… felt a need to submit that I couldn’t understand and couldn’t name at the time. I was one of those hopeless souls that clung to kinky novels and prayed that something, anything like that existed… And when it did I threw myself in full-tilt. So much so that I think even if Cal hadn’t had a significant other the mentor-ship would have ended. I wanted to swim in the deep end of the community when he was slowly dipping his toes back into the water.

I did… but perhaps not in the most healthy way. When Kane and I were together, we were basically 24/7. I would live at his house during the week while his wife was away and then go back to my place on the weekends. Certain things I loved.. I still love. I would have dinner waiting for him when he got home from work, along with me on my knees at the front door in lingerie. I would clean the house. He would leave me chores to do; exercise, do laundry, etc, and I admit weight wise that I was lighter then than I am now (and no I’m not happy about that dammit -_- But I’m a work in progress).

…I think we loved the fantasy of 24/7, but neither of us were ready to deal with the realities of it.. That eventually he would need to deal with the stress of a failing marriage, that I was too young realistically for him because he could never comfortably swallow that age gab… That I wanted children and he was past that age where that was going to be realistic.

It was a gradual shift. It started with me staying home two weeks and being with him for a week. Then five days. Then four.

Eventually the sleepovers stopped.. His life had become too hectic. There was too much stress at work to try to fit me in. And because he was my Dom, because I wore his collar, I trusted that it would all be okay. We talked about it all being okay. That I loved him and he loved me and that was all that mattered…

… This is surprisingly hard to write… It’s been about a year since things started falling apart. Since the downward spiral began.

I had to renegotiate the entire relationship in my head time and time again, not because I willingly wanted to and it was the healthy thing to do but because I had no choice… He was my Dom and my boyfriend. I had to trust that he was doing things for a reason at that it would all be alright. That eventually we would get back to Disney. In my head I explained away the way he treated me time and time again, something I’m incredibly conscious of now. Dominants are not gods, they are humans, and when they stop communicating they make very bad, very painful mistakes. Kane made a few. He is still my friend…but he very much shattered parts of me. That’s taken a while to heal.

The relationship with James is a different D/s dynamic than I’ve had before.. There is no label, bedroom only, 24/7, etc. I’m not in subby mode all the time. There are times when I am very much, and very happily, his girlfriend. And then he flips that subby switch. He can do it with a look, a tone, a glance, and I’m on my knees with my chest out and my back arched. It’s laced through everything for both of us..because kink is laced through our entire lives. What we do, how we both want to make our livelihoods, is saturated with the kink world, and rather than fight against it and try to create a separate persona we’ve both embraced it whole-heartedly.

Sometimes labels just don’t work.. When you remove some of them, you find the balance.

Yours playing catch up

-Rene

Day 18

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Day 18
Very often the stereotype of submission is that the submissive person loses the ability to have an opinion. While that clearly isn’t true except in the absolute rarest of occasions, how does communication factor into your submission and how do you communicate your desires and needs?

James and I have had a rule from the beginning. Before rules. Before titles. There was this.

Honesty, always. Even if I think he won’t like it. Even if it will make him upset. Be honest about what I’m feeling and what’s going on.

I am very bad at telling someone that I care about that I am upset… Unless I am royally pissed off and in that case run. Run far away. But minor things that make me sad? That’s hard for me to express.

More often than not I bury my own emotions, putting the happiness of my partner before my own. His opinions matter more. His priorities. What do I matter at all? I am nothing. Etc. This is a habit that both James and I are working on….

Last Wednesday was a horrible day, for a multitude of reasons. I came to Wicked Grounds emotionally fried and wanting to curl up in James’s lap… And eventually get the ever-loving hell spanked out of me. I kept trying to get myself to voice the request… But all I managed to get out was wanting to give him a blow job (which I kinda always wanna do…) and the cuddles got put off due to the company of a friend once we returned to the cafe.

Taking stock of my deteriorating emotional state, I did what I had to in a method that made me more comfortable. I texted James as we sat in the cafe, asking if we could talk after BaGG.

He gave me the time to talk, he calmed my body (which at that point was shaking), and he actually got me to leave smiling..  But he wouldn’t have known the extent of how much the day’s events had impacted me if I hadn’t vocalized them to him. Something that is a big issue to me sometimes isn’t to him, and vice versa. Whether D or s, communication is key. That breaks down and so does the relationship.

Besides. I don’t care how submissive I am. I’m also an Italian Jersey girl… Getting me to be unopininated just isn’t going to happen.

Yours, sassy yet subby

-Rene

Ps I realize I am behind in these entries. I spent the last few days packing and moving, and while the entries are written they have not been posted… I will be catching up on this today. I apologize in advance for the spam.

Bittersweet

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My life is radically changing in the next few days… Hence why I’m awake at 2:33 in the morning on a night when I did NOT have a kink event for once.

I was up packing..because this is when I have time to pack.

On Saturday I am moving to the most wonderful new home. My roommates are kinky; a stable, owned and collared couple that have been together for years and are the most welcoming people I’ve ever met in my life. They’ve worked with my budget in every possible way (even letting me pay some of my first months rent on the 12th when I move in and the rest on the 16th), cut the price of rent almost in half to give me a home, and even have a little black cat of their own to keep Poe company when I’m at work. There is a kitchen to cook in, a garage to work in, a back patio for awesome BBQs, and a sense of peace that I am feeling for the first time since August 1st when I was given notice. The place is even wheelchair accessible with enough room for two, in time.

The one con of my new home when I have all these pros? It’s a con and it’s not.. The house isn’t in San Francisco. It’s down the Peninsula a ways, in a small town called Menlo Park.

I know Menlo Park pretty well. That’s where Rocky Horror nights happen. There is a cute bookstore, and Italian restaurants, and summer festivals that happen.. The town is just quiet enough that I can park on the street but not so quiet that I have little to explore. I’m suddenly close to Palo Alto, a city I’ve only driven through once, and am closer to friends in San Jose. I’m still only a half hour away from San Francisco by car (an hour by Bart), and as someone who grew up with that same amount of a commute into New York City from her home town this is nothing for me. This is normal for me.. The city is close, but not overwhelming, and I like that.

But it means giving up my San Francisco address, and being further away from James.. It’s a doable far away. San Francisco is our meeting point, just as it’s always been. I will continue to be at all the events I go to normally. I still have my jobs in and near the city. It’s just a matter of making sleepovers work and..seeing where this goes.

Packing up my life makes me nostalgic. I was wrapping up my fifty gazillion mugs (I’m a bit of a tea whore…), thinking about how much I’ve changed since I first moved into this place. This was my first real grown-up apartment. I was never in school while living inside these walls. I worked. I worked my ass off, and I grew. I learned. Almost my entire relationship with Kane happened while I lived here. I remember texting him after my road trip with my sister, telling him that I was all-in, that I wanted to be his.

I went from almost completely isolated in my kink relationships to being in an amazing community of people. Having friends that I see outside of just kink events. Having the first healthy poly relationship..and probably the first healthy relationship in general that I’ve had in a while with a man I am crazy about. I’ve gone from kink being at the fringe of my life to kink being in almost every aspect of my life.

I’ve lost some things along the way… I didn’t work while I was here.. not the way I wanted. My hands rarely touched clay. It’s something that I’ve sworn to change once Saturday comes to pass. I found a studio in San Francisco with drop in hours that I can afford..and dammit I need to work again. James has honestly taught me that without really trying to. The more I see him work, the more I hear him talking about what he loves about what he does and I see the dedication and time he puts into it.. the more I remember what it feels like to be lost in the studio. To be running around at 3 a.m. with headphones on, covered in clay and lost in my own world. There is a physical ache to find that part of myself again.. I need it like I need air.. Honestly, like I need to submit..

I met some friends that showed me an even broader part of my world. The Dark Odyssey events and the people involved in them are amazing, and I am honestly grateful to Smith for getting me more involved. For being my initial reason for going to Fusion, which led to connecting with Chris and several other awesome people.

I discovered today that that particular relationship has come full circle. I was poking around on Fetlife, as per usual, and ended up liking a blog that Smith’s primary had also liked. It was seeing that that made me realize I hadn’t seen updates from her in about a month. Smith was never much of a presence on Fetlife as it was, so I wasn’t exactly missing his updates. I clicked, and saw that she had blocked me, and so had he.. and honestly, I laughed. It was a sad laugh. It’s always sad when a friendship dies..but I had been so busy enjoying my life that I hadn’t noticed they had finally fully exited it. Part of me is still curious to see how they will navigate this when I plan on frequenting events they are involved with, and share play with someone that they play with as well.. We shall see. Still… It’s nice to have that negativity out of my feed, and out of my life. Cowardice is not a way to keep my friendship.

With all these changes I want to make one small change to this blog. I’m sure many of you have figured out from a couple posts ago that my name isn’t Rena. It’s Rene. One letter off, but still different. I don’t know why I changed that letter. Why I was so afraid to openly be Rene on here. I have this blog linked to my Fetlife profile, so many people know that it’s me.. Whatever the motivation, I would like to drop that small twerk and just..be myself. So, the writer is still the same It’s just the name signing the posts that’s changing slightly

So many beginnings, and so many endings. It seems appropriate that all these things seem to be happening at once, less than a month after my birthday. Will I miss some of the things that are gone from my life? Of course… but I have a feeling the best is yet to come. Good things are coming. I am excited to see what this next chapter in my life with bring me.

Yours overwhelmed with the amount of packing still needing to be done… GAH

-Rene

Uncharted Territory

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I have never fallen asleep in someone’s arms before and actually SLEPT there. I’m so used to the tuck and roll, or snuggle until right before sleep and then get into comfy sleeping positions. Arms fall asleep, legs get tangled. Sleeping in someone’s arms just doesn’t work.

Until it does.

I feel like I need to backtrack. I have been in the scene here in San Francisco for over a year now, and in that year there have been constant figures that are always some part of it. I have not been one of those constants. There have been several month gaps where I pulled away from the scene, from the munches and the people I called friends. Things weren’t right with Kane, or I was focusing on building the relationship with Smith. Or I was off in New Jersey.

Things end. Sometimes you have control over those endings, and sometimes you don’t. Kane is still in my life. I hope he will be for the rest of my life. There are points where we just.. get each other as friends and artists. There is a soul connection there. Smith is no longer in my life. I had no control over this, and I lost someone who could have been a phenomenal friend over miscommunications that were never clarified or explained. I trusted Smith..and it hurt, a lot, it especially hurt my Little side. At the same time Kane was gently nudging me out of my collar, not because I failed him or because I was a bad submissive, but because his life is complicated to say the least. There was room for me to be in his life as his friend, but not as his submissive, and accepting that took some time.

I hid. I licked my wounds. I wallowed. And then I got it into my head that I should go to the Littles munch at the local kink cafe. I hadn’t gone in ages. I wasn’t feeling interested in play just for play’s sake, and my Little side was the most damaged. I thought.. why not? And so I went.

I got bored by the munch in about 10 minutes. I ran out to get food, and that’s when I ran into James.

James is one of the constants I mentioned. Always there, always playing some sort of part, he’s been involved in the Bay Area scene longer than I’ve been here. I’ve been attracted to him since the beginning, but I got involved with Kane so quickly after my mentorship ended and I just wanted to focus on him and my collar and all the bells and whistles attached to it.. James got thrown into the category of “crush”, which, for some reason in my mind makes someone untouchable. He’s safe. I admire from a far, can keep up the friendship, and all is well.

We had played once, at Surrender, but there was something about him that made my heart race..made me afraid. I knew enough about him to know he had his demons. I felt safe when I was around him.. I saw how he looked at a lot of the subby girls around him. Protective. He was always my friend, but he kept me at a a distance just as much as I kept him there. Distance was safe. Distance meant there was some level of detachment.

Somehow, that night at the kink cafe, I ended up on my knees in front of him for a mini scene right there in the cafe. For the first time I enjoyed pain for his pleasure. I reconnected with him, and with other friends that were in his circle that I had lost touch with. I had a community again. He invited me along to an event in the city called Bondage a Go Go that’s half club, half dungeon. I don’t do well in clubs, and I was still jumpy despite the endorphins rushing through me and the beautiful teeth marks I was suddenly sporting on my neck. That first week, I declined.

The second week was much the same as the first, with a mini scene again, just a bit bolder.. and this time I went to BaGG. The week after that I went with the anticipation of his hands on me, of the marks he would leave. I brought clothes for BaGG.

As the weeks progressed, it became more than play. In my shy, awkward way (which can be VERY socially awkward) I got to know him more. There was talking in between slaps, and kissing. And lots of squeaking. I found my crush getting stronger. I listened to whispers that he had a thing for me too. I had taken my collar off, and was adjusting to the nakedness of my neck. I was feeling bold… and did something I had never done before, ever.

I asked him out one night at BaGG. And he actually said yes.

And then I failed at follow up. I didn’t know how to have conversations with him via text. Did he want to hear from me, did he not? I didn’t know. Again, socially awkward as all hell, especially if I’m crushing on someone. He’s been very patience with me, slowly pulling me out of my shell week after week as we spend more time together.

It started with just BaGG every week. And then, week after week, he was at the play parties once a week as well, and I ended up as his plus 1..

I don’t remember how to date, and I’ve never done an out-in-the-open relationship with BDSM undertones. I have no clue what the hell I’m doing..and while I am scared shitless I am also loving every last minute of this strange adventure with James. A lot of his friend are mine.. and we both have kink as one of the main parts of our lives. It is a large part of both of our artistic practices. He pushes me, in so many ways; pushes me to ask for what I want, pushes me to take control and stand on my own two feet, to give but to not be taken advantage of. He pushes me physically, leaving wonderful marks all over my chest, back, thighs, and ass. I have bruises, bites, nail marks, scratches…

I have talked about zinging with someone before, that moment of “Oh shit.” When you make a real connection with someone, that moment always appears when you know you are in trouble. When you realize that something is going to make an impact on you, mean something.

For me that moment was last night. He spent the night, which is a novelty in and of itself to me. I hadn’t spent the night with someone in a good six months, and even that it hadn’t been in my tiny apartment with my cat and my chaos and my ‘single girl in her 20’s’ stuff. As much as we engage in kinky fuckery, we are taking things very slow in a lot of ways. For one, we haven’t had sex yet. We haven’t put labels on anything, haven’t rushed into anything. Building a strong foundation and really exploring is important to both of us. One on one, yes we kiss and play and touch, but we also talk, a lot. Conversations start casual and become deep and meaningful between us very quickly.

We were having one of those conversations last night, the deep and meaningful ones. The evening itself was FANTASTIC. He’s involved in theatre, and he let me tag along to a show he helped out with. By the time we got back to my place it was close to 4 a.m. We were both exhausted thanks to a party the night before at the Citadel that hadn’t seen us home until 5 a.m.. There was no logical reason for us to do anything but stumble into my place and pass out.

Only I didn’t want to. Not in that moment. I didn’t want the conversation to end, didn’t want the magic to go away. I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t want the night to end. I just wanted to talk more. Learn more. I wanted to peel back more layers of this man. I was so comfortable, and able to be so totally myself with him. I could really care for this man. This could be something special.

Cue “oh fuck” moment. There, unexpected and delayed after a year of knowing this man but not really knowing him, was the Zing. That zaa zaa zoo moment that added a new level of intensity to our interaction, a new level of intimacy that wasn’t quite there before.

Eventually we did go inside. We got ready for bed and kept talking, kept touching, kept kissing. I didn’t expect to sleep in his arms. I never do. Men always do the tuck and roll, or they’ll wait until just before they pass out to move because they have to sleep in a certain position. And yet I was pulled into his arms and held. I can’t quite put into words how.. safe I felt, how secure. How fucking good it felt to be surrounded by an embrace. My last thought of the night was that there was no way this was going to last, that you don’t actually get to sleep in someone’s arms.

I woke up surrounded by warmth and security, as safely anchored in his arms as I had been when I passed out, mind boggled. I have no idea what I’m doing; no idea at all. I could stress. I could over analyze, freak myself out, tell myself all the reasons I shouldn’t pursue this, or want this, or want him or want to explore this uncharted territory of dating. I’m sure I could come up with a good list of reasons as to why this isn’t a good idea.

Instead, I’m going to feel the feels. I’m going to just… smile and enjoy the moment.

I am in uncharted territory, and I am happy.

Yours, as always

-Rena

P.S. on a more comical note, James and Poe had a wonderful conversation where they plotted my demise. I believe James meets with kitty approval. I haven’t decided yet whether this thrills me or terrifies me. Ho boy…

The Almost-Threesome

I haven’t written in too long.. I’ve been going through a lot, but that is something to write about another time, when I am able to.

For now, I will write about something that did happen, what feels like a lifetime ago.

I was living in Boston trudging through the last year of my undergrad. My aunt was sick, but I didn’t know she was terminal yet. I had a credit card I didn’t pay the bill for, big dreams, and an itch to explore.

My sex life was…limited. I was single but not. Jason and I had broken up the previous May; it was October and we hadn’t seen each other since, but we were calling each other and Skyping regularly, in this weird limbo of sometimes we were friends, sometimes we were more. Feelings were still there, as were whispers of a maybe-future.

I’ve mentioned before that Halloween is my favorite holiday, and October my month. Living in Boston I frequented Salem on a regular basis to frolic with witches, and October in Salem was Halloween central. On one of my trips I noticed flyers for a Vampire Ball at the Hawthorne Hotel the last weekend in October. It was my last year there.. I was in.

I dressed in, for the place and time, what was a racy outfit for me. The shirt was see through, I remember, and the jeans were blacked and hugged my ass without giving me pudge. I put on makeup, a set of fake fangs, and was out the door.

I was a good girl. I called a cab ahead of time to pick me up when it said the ball was set to end, at 1 a.m. (Boston’s mass transit stops around midnight) and psyched myself up for a good time, and whatever awaited me. What I ended up finding was somewhat… disappointing. I was hoping for some spice, for people to give me the occasional double-take. For someone to desire me somewhere.

As the night wore on I managed to make a couple of friends. The place was full of couples, and those I was talking to were amused that I had come on my own. One couple I found to be rather striking entertained me for the majority of the evening.

They were polar opposites. Her head was shaved and completely tattooed. She wore an over bust corset with gaps in the lacing that was one size too small, so that when she was dancing occasionally her nipples would pop out, and you could see the glittery spider web design she had attached to them. Her breasts were quite obviously fake, but they balanced out her otherwise curvy figure. She was covered in tattoos from head to toe. Her arms were completely sleeved. Even her fingers were covered. As she drank copious amounts of wine she pulled me onto the dance floor multiple times, grinding with me and one or two other females that dared to join us.

Her partner was completely silent and dressed sharply in a suit with a blood red tie and white undershirt. I remember being puzzled by him; he was quiet, barely said a word to me all evening, and yet filled up the room more than any other person there. He was older than her by at least ten years, with a military style buzz cut of salt and pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. Not a tattoo in sight. Comparing him to his flamboyant partner and attempting to see their compatibility boggled my mind for the rest of the evening.

From time to time the man would beckon his partner over and whisper in her ear, a hand on her hip as he spoke. She then would run off to one person or another and speak with them.

Eventually, she came to me around 11. “We’re going to go outside for one last smoke break and then head upstairs to our room, want to join us?” (they were not locals, and because of this rented one of the three hundred dollar rooms for the evening). I nodded, curious, and also a casual smoker at the time (I blame art school). I had my camera with me, a new Nikon D3200 that I was slowly learning to master. I took several portraits of them under the Hawthorne Hotel’s back entrance light, puffing on my bummed cigarette the whole while. I still have the portraits, backed up on various hard drives.

When we got to the room the couple motioned for me to get comfortable. She was slurring her speech at this point, and I myself was giddy on a few glasses of wine. They were from out of town, the man explained, from the midwest. He traveled a lot for work and brought her with him when he could. They had two sons. It had been so ling since they last played with others.

That last bit was where they lost me..and where I apparently lost my top. I remembering laying on the bed with the woman on top of me transfixed by the man as he shed his layers. When his suit came off I saw what it covered.. He had a body suit of tattoos under his suit, all traditional Japanese style. When he wore long sleeves and slacks you had no close. He crawled onto the bed next to me and showed me where, in all the ink, his wife’s name was hidden.

As if on cue she proudly stripped and showed me where her man’s name was on her, right above her lady bits. “He owns me.” she told me. “I’m branded by him over my most intimate area. I am his property, to do with as I wish.”

…That’s about where vanilla me’s head exploded.

The man ordered the woman up to mix drinks for all of us..not that I can remember what I drank. I liked how he smelled, the musk of his scent, and didn’t resist when he pulled off my bra and underwear. They asked what my limits were..

Here I was, extremely attracted to these two people and extremely confused all at once, and I started rambling on about Jason, about how I loved him about the weirdness between us..

Somehow this led to me making out with the man as he fondled my top and the woman fingering me. I remember her murmuring “You’re so fucking beautiful” over and over, the man agreeing, saying I would make such a nice little pet.

“Look how responsive she is.. It’s like a living squeaky toy..”

Part of me wishes I had been much more sober for this experience than I was..and part of me wish I had recognized them for what they were back then so that I could write this all down sooner, before the details got blurry.

I vaguely remember them having a conversation about me; saying they would like to see me again when I was free of hang ups, that they wish they were closer, that they wished I could fully play. At the time I had only been with three men, so penetration was a very much no-no. It was taboo. You didn’t have sex with strangers! Whores did that.

…I wanted to have sex with him.. really badly. I liked her too..but I wanted to fuck him. Quiet, brooding, and calling the shots.

My cab called me right on time to say he was outside of the hotel. I quickly dressed, despite the protests of the couple, and went outside to go back to my boring college life, trying to process what had just happened and what I got myself into. I had willingly gone to a stranger’s hotel room to fool around with a couple. They saw me naked. She talked about being owned by her husband and seemed giddy when he asked her to make us all drinks.

…So imagine my “DOH!” reaction when I dove into the world of BDSM and remember all I could of this event.. He owned her. She was a submissive to his Dominance, and from all appearance they had a 24/7 arrangement. Throughout the night she had mentioned rewards for things, like her breast implants and tattoos being gifted to her for this, this and this.

Very few people know this happened. I never shared the experience for fear of judgment, only telling that I was propositioned, not that I went upstairs with the swinging couple.

You think that would have gotten me to figure out what I was sooner.  Whoopsie?

Yours,

~Rena