Tag Archives: growing up

Day 20

tumblr_nnp21awcQy1smua2ro4_500

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

Advertisements

One Last Blast

This will be a very short entry.

I’ve mentioned from time to time my search for a new home, and the scramble to find the place.

Life has been a little bit kind to me. I got lucky.. And unlucky at the same time.

I’ve found a new place, more expensive than my last but with so much more potential. And I love it. My roommates are kinky. There is room for Sir to move in if we reach that point. It is the perfect new home for Poe and I.

As if by magic I got a third job at the same time that all of this was finalized… Finally there was light at the end of the tunnel. I was able to slightly dig myself out of the financial hole I’ve sunk into.

… Life never works out perfectly. It’s just how it goes. This new job that made it possible for me to make first months rent suddenly told me after two weeks of pay that I was going to be off for a week and then they will “let me know” if I would be coming back.

I have a good feeling about this job. I’ve gotten nothing but positive reviews so far and I’ve never been let go from a job of this nature… But that doesn’t mean the fear and panic have not set in.. I needed that week of work, desperately, to make rent… They let me know so late that my backup job wouldn’t be able to pay me until the day AFTER rent is due…

Because the universe is funny like that. When everything seems to start falling into place but the littlest thing off throws EVERYTHING off it’s easy to get scared.

I am still working as hard as I can. As I go through my possessions, packing everything up, I am selling what I can..

But I am scared.

When I first started my search for a place I made a gofundme page.. I was not prepped at all to have to move and found out I had 60 days left in my place two weeks before my birthday.. With being so close… SO close to a safe new home and a couple hundred short I am trying one last blast on here..

I feel pathetic asking for financial help when I have tried extremely hard to build myself back up again, and I’ve come so damn close I can taste it… Nothing is stable right now though. And while my ego is suffering at the thought of this… I’m asking for help.

My birthday was about 3 weeks ago now… So if you awesome people out in cyber space take a bit of pity on a twenty something sub and her cat trying to make it by, a secured safe new home would be.. Incredible.

gofundme.com/mss44j4p

That would be me… You all now have a vague idea of what both Poe and I look like..

Thank you for taking the time to read this… I honesty do appreciate it

We now return to our regularly scheduled kinky fuckery

As always, I am yours

-Rene, aka Rena

Day 12

Day 12

Do you include financial submission within the definition of your own submission and if yes, how does it manifest itself? If no, is there a particular reason why? Are you familiar with the concepts of financial submission? Do you have an opinion about financial submission in general?

No, I don’t personally.

Although I can slip into a submissive mindset at the drop of a hat, I am not Jame’s submissive 24/7. I am not anyone’s submissive 24/7.

I have seen contracts written up between slaves/subs and Masters where the slave/sub signs over all of their property for the duration of the relationship. They’re allowed to use it as their Master sees fit. I know other submissives (especially those who are married) that exist on an allowance from their Sir or Master, and that is all they need.

… I can’t exist like this. It’s a personal thing.

It’s not that I couldn’t sign over my possessions to someone I trusted… and if I belong to someone completely you damn well better believe that I trust them. It’s that I know myself well enough to know that I need a balance between my D/s life and my independent life.

Specifically, that I need some time when I am just Rena. Or I begin to depend on that person much too much. I become a burden, rather than just a chosen responsibility. I fall into a 24/7 mindset and begin to depend on them for everything. From what I wear, to what I need to do next, to what I should say to someone next… and I don’t like myself like that.

That is not to say ANYTHING against true 24/7 submissives. Those that can do it, and do it in a healthy way, I envy. Part of me wishes I could delve into the world of kink without needing any ‘off’ time.. but I’ve been there. I was that way with Kane, and it wasn’t healthy for either of us.

I know submissives who thrive with financial submission woven into their BDSM lives. It helps them budget more, it makes them think before they buy, and all in all has helped them to be a better submissive and person.. This is fantastic..

I… am not in a place where I would be comfortable letting someone else touch my finances and possessions.. Not just because I’m not someone’s collared 24/7 sub..but also because my finances are a wee bit of a mess. I mean.. it’s a normal “fuck I’m in my 20’s” mess… and while I do accept help from time to time when I find myself fucked up shits creek without a paddle, I feel like digging myself out of the financial hole is a 20something right of passage. My partners tend to be older, a wee bit wiser, and have already dug themselves out of the mess I’m in… I don’t want anyone fixing my life lessons for me. I want to do it myself. Learn from it to become a better me. If I was older, in a more stable place, then maybe financial submission would be an option… but for now it’s part of my life that is just mine, just as his finances are part of the ‘just his’ life.

I suppose time will tell if this particular kink ever changes with me. We shall see.

Yours, the starving artist

-Rena

Getting By

3551_793715763977436_56069064_n

I often have to remind myself that just getting by is not a bad thing when you’re only twenty-three.

My parents are good people. I’ve talked about them many times before. They are masters of getting by, but not so much masters of saving. I never had a college fund (something my parents now regret as I face 75,000 in loans to pay off just for my undergrad), and a retirement fund is a foreign concept for people like my parents. My dad is 57 and still looks month to month on paying bills. Admitting that my daddy, my superhero, is flawed is hard, but he starts a million things that were always supposed to make things better and never finished any. I finish things as a result, I just need a kick in the ass to start most of the time.

Regardless, just getting by is all I’ve known. I never felt like I went without; if we couldn’t afford something one year we would do it the following year when we had more money. I was just taught that this was part of being a starving artist. This is why you got a real degree, because art is unstable and hard to make a living at.

I am at a place right now where I am just getting by. I got strong-armed into quitting my job, and while I finally have income coming in again I am back in survival mode. Five dollars is a lot for me to spend on something that isn’t essential and every last rat cent goes to rent until I can securely pay it. Once rent and bills are taken care of then I can enjoy extras.

A good job, one with salary and benefits, is looking like a distinctive possibility in the near future, which has me very excited, but until then, until I’m back to a secure amount of income my existence is very solitary.

I have not gone to the dungeon in two months. I hate it. HATE IT. Those are my friends, that is my social outlet, but i can’t afford over thirty bucks to park and play once a week. Kane mentioned loaning me the money for this week’s play party…but it’s not one I’m comfortable going to without him. I’m technically too young to get in without him, as weird as it is to say… and I hate loans. i remember all of them. I know I still have 500 I need to repay to someone and 230 to another. I would rather not go then have MORE loans to pay back.

And so I stay home. I throw myself into cleaning, and in working with art materials that I have. I have been popping out chainmail pieces like a machine, and that has felt good. I’ve been leather working and loving the familiar ache it gives my hands. I go to work, I come home. Until I feel better about my finances that’s all I feel comfortable doing. Gas costs too much.

I am okay. I find myself chanting that over and over in my head. I hate the timing of this financial slump because it’s October. It’s my favorite time of the year. Halloween is my Christmas. Give me pumpkin everything, sweaters, hayrides, apple picking, hot cider, candy, and costumes.. If I could still get away with it I would so Trick-or-Treat. Being cut off from so many of those traditions geographically and others financially sucks, I’m not going to lie, but there will be other Octobers. Hopefully I will be home for Thanksgiving and get that last taste of colorful, crisp fall that I love before winter takes over the east coast.

The only thing that makes me feel bad in all this is Kane… I get him maybe 30 minutes a day when he can drop by because his wife is home. It’s hard on him, and me, and he constantly apologizes for our situation. I remind  him that i agreed to this, because it’s better than the alternative. I didn’t go in blind. I knew this would be hard. it’s also hard on him to see how I live when he doesn’t take the reigns and I’m not under his roof. I tell him stop feeling guilty. I’m the one that quit my job. I put myself in this situation…and I would rather live exceedingly lean than ask him for help.

In truth I am lonely, but okay. I get to walk by the beach in Pacifica twice a week thanks to my job. I have a man that loves me and parents that are proud that I’m making it work. I have a roof over my head and food to eat. I could be in much worse shape, and have been before. I would rather be here than where I was in May, in a shoe box surrounded by strangers with no privacy and achingly alone.

I am a work in progress, a starving artist, and for now I am okay with that.

-Rena

Growing Pains

Motherf*cker. OWW

Sadly, this post has very little to do with me being a submissive and everything to do with me being in my 20’s. These are not the fun sort of growing pains.

I knew they were coming. I think it was a combination of things that set it off today. One was the warm weather. It feels like home this time of year (well, normally. Jersey’s had really wacky weather this year. They got slammed during the winter). Another factor was lack of decompression space. I work an 8-5 job, a job that I adore, but a job that involves being around people all day. After work me getting the chance to have some time and space to myself and breathe is.. kind of important. I went from work to a sardine-packed hot bus, to an apartment crammed with roommates and ALL of my roommate’s painting supplies and giant canvases (she’s an amazing painter..but I no longer have a floor. Or hallway). Near my breaking point and recognizing that, I ran outside. We are blessed to have a back deck, and it was such a beautiful night I thought I would sit and read.

And then the neighbors came outside and started barbequing.

They were quiet, unobtrusive, and whatever they were making smelled fantastic. It wasn’t that. It was the combination that formed the image in my mind of home during the summer. Normally this time of year my dad has just opened the pool. The water is ice cold, but my sister and I still go in and freeze our asses off. My mother comments on us being insane while my dad stands in front of the grill shirtless, with his swim trunks and ugly-ass Crocks on grilling whatever it is we will eat for dinner. It’s usually involving something fresh from our garden..

That did it. I started bawling. Not hysterically…just enough that my body shook. I gave myself a minute or two of just crying..and then took stock of myself, and emotionally dissected myself. Why was I crying? Was it really that bad, or was I worked up? WHY was I worked up? I texted Sir a bit, filled him in on why I was worked up, and told him I was fine, because I knew I would be. I just had to figure out why I got so damn worked up.

I grabbed my journal, the one Sir has me write in daily, and filled up some of the last pages inside of it. I come from an incredibly close family, so missing them is natural, but I also chose to move 3000 miles away. I chose to stay out here, because feeling like my whole self and discovering a side of myself I had often shoved away was more important than running home for familiar comfort. I want my life to progress, and there is very little for me where I am from as far as opportunities go, and friendships.

San Francisco is a clean slate for me, in certain ways, even though I’ve been here for a year. I’m diving into a new community, and for the first time trying to make friends that I don’t just go to school with or live with. You know, actual big girl friends. I have a real job. That means not being able to go home for a month and do all those “traditional” things I’ve done year after year, because I can’t miss work, but it means I can make new traditions. Okay, so I can’t run to the Jersey shore every weekend this summer, but there are beaches here, and they’re quite beautiful. I can’t go swimming in the pool ever night. But I will have at least a week home where I can swim all I want and get that fix. I miss my parents. Like I didn’t see that coming. That’s what webcams and cell phones are for, and it makes when I see them something special and cherished instead of something expected.

The hardest thing for me being here, I think, the thing that really pushed me over the edge was the lack of anywhere to just… decompress. I have no space that is mine. I don’t have a door to shut. Even the bed I sleep on (futon…) technically isn’t mine. I miss having a safe space to hide. I like the local kink coffee shop a lot. I can go hide there relatively frequently and curl up with a book. I get left in peace and get affordable food on top of it. I went there after I calmed down today and it was…packed. To the gills. No, no no no no no. No. TOO. MANY. PEOPLE.

I decided on my way back to my shoebox of an apartment that if I couldn’t have a stationary safe place to hide in I would do at least one thing a week just for me, and would start Googling my creature comforts that I had left behind in Boston, where I got my undergraduate degree and lived for four years. I used to love to swing dance, for example. A group from school ran West Coast Swing socials in a local restaurant once a week and I loved it. I was a damn good follower by the time I graduated with my undergad. Turns out, there are quite a few swing groups here…not surprised. That’s more people to meet and socialize with..and you know, dance and drink with (tequila before a whip makes the move fuuun…hehe). I used to belly dance as well… and found a studio near my apartment that has affordable classes.

Big girl shit sucks sometimes… It hurts, but everyone goes through it. It’s how you cope with it that matters, and how you grow from the pain caused by it that matters. I don’t want to go back to Jersey. I want an actual life here. I don’t want to have to run to my parents for support. I want to build a support network here, and also be able to stand on my own two feet and support myself. It may be hard at times, but I’m making it, both in and out of the BDSM world. Yes, I know I can turn to my Dom if I need him. I can tell him anything, but he can’t make this stuff better. Only I can. He did the 20something shit already. It’s my turn to trudge through it, and improve myself through it. Even if I shed a few tears along the way.

On a side note, I kind of wish personal growth led to actual growth… I feel like I would finally be over 5 feet tall if that was the case! Wishful thinking.

I also made one last important promise to myself, after a shit tone of Googling of activities. My next apartment will have a room for just me, and a door that I can shut. I don’t care if it’s in Oakland, as long as it has space in it that is MINE.

Yours always learning,

-Rena