Tag Archives: love

Taking it, Blindfolded

8FEFBF46-7578-4997-891F-E2B3F3E09BB4Last Saturday was one of my favorite parties, Master’s Den. I was going with Ryan, and more than a little excited to get some serious 1 on 1 play time in before the holidays hit. He hasn’t been able to come to BaGG and I’ve been in serious need of owies… though I’ve needed more than that as well.

The night before, I decided to go check out Taboo. It’s a party at the Citadel known for edgier play; sacrilegious scenes, dark age play in public, blood and cutting play… It was one of my favorite parties when I first entered the scene but I had mostly stopped going because it’s not a party James has shot. But, I knew he was going to be there. A dear friend of ours had said they were coming and he was going to give them a massage, and honestly I wanted to watch.
Fast-forward through the evening and the friend ended up bailing. I poked James about playing, but he wasn’t exactly in an impact mood, and he and I both need to be in good headspaces to play in a healthy way together. Right now…impact is somewhat safe, but sensual play, intimate touching, things like that.. not good for either one of us. We are starting from the ground up kink wise and trying to do it right. I got into trouble elsewhere, a light impact scene that was essentially a warm up for the night to follow. A friend used my ass as a punching bag (quite literally.They practiced different style punches on me xD) giving me just enough thuddy impact to silence the worst of my brain squirrels. Brain squirrels silenced, I went to investigate and see what trouble James had gotten into.
He had his big knife out and was trailing it down a friend’s thigh, the one I’ve continued on a three year long love affair with. The knife, not the friend. The friend is a very safe human that I know well, and so watching the scene of the two of them didn’t bring up any negative emotions. They’ve played before, and I love to watch. I sat, eyes fixated on the blade as he trailed it up and down, forcing squeaks from the bottom as he guided them with eyes and hands, not saying a word.
I am a sensation slut. I’ve said this many times. I’ve also said that the cruelest thing someone I care about can do is withhold touch from me. I sat, mesmerized by the scene as James pulled out various blades, his punch dagger, his claws… all things that my body remembers so well. I shivered with each touch as if it were on my own skin. I wanted the cold steel on me. I LOVE sharps. And then James did a thing.
He flipped our friend over and grabbed them by the hair, slowly raising their head before slipping the blade underneath their chin and touching into to the soft flesh. I let out a sigh and noticed an ache in me that hasn’t been present for a while. My brain went back to a long time ago, when a rough voice used to growl in my ear, ‘you are MINE.” There was no hesitation in leaving marks or bruising me; in using me to pull others into the back room by slamming down onto me and making me scream, moan, and cry. There was and is a primal edge to the play with James. The way he pulls hair. The way he claws into skin. The pain of rough hands slamming into an ass. And I found myself not necessarily missing him, but missing THAT. That primal claiming and marking and wanting and… rawr. To the point where I had to step away from the scene and breathe for a few moments, the longing for that kind of primal possession was so strong.
It was a bitter sweet feeling, walking out of the citadel that night knowing that I may never get that feeling again. But at least I had once known it.
The next evening I was there with my Daddy. We got there late, which had me stressed, and so my need for a good beating was amped up even higher. I changed into an outfit made to die a glorious death; a beautiful piece of lingerie that Chris had gotten me during my birthday in Santa Cruz the year before. It had seen many parties, and sadly had many holes in it to prove it. I had asked Ryan ahead of time if it could die a glorious death and was thrilled by his enthusiastic yes.
When play time came he chose a spot all the way in the back. I would be facing the wall and therefore be less distracted than normal. Our scenes have become rather routine. I strip off all that isn’t going to die, he ties me to the cross, he beats the shit out of me and teases me. We go home. This scene..had mostly the same formula, but with some twists that I didn’t know I needed until I felt them.
I had expected to be pulled to the cross once I stripped. Daddy surprised me by grabbing me right away and beginning to tear apart my outfit several feet from the cross. After man handling me a little bit, forcing me to the floor with his boot on top of me. More please..yes… I like the idea of being conquered by Daddy. Putting up just enough of a fight that he uses force to pin me. And I love his boots. And I love that with the boots, and the man-handling, there were also giggles. There’s almost always laughter in our scenes, and I love that so much.
Once he got me upright again he sliced apart my pretty one piece and literally ripped apart my tights in a way that was so satisfying I wanted to purr. At one point as he shredded my clothes with both hands and pointy objects he stuck my own tights in my mouth as a gag; something that at one point would have been a hard limit for me. I was a brat and spit it out several times. But I did not red.
 He has new pretty knives for blade bondage…They are sharp, and shiny, and bite just enough when propped between my inner arms and ribs, blade pointed inward into my side. Ryan does this thing.. He will hit me hard, or do something particularly mean, and whisper in my ear right after. His voice sounds like its dripped in honey..it’s just a wee bit deeper and smoother, and it makes me squirmy as FUCK. As he secured the knives into my sides he did his honey whisper; “Don’t let them drop, kitten.” And the knives did not stop There.  No. That’s when it got interesting.
You can’t be afraid of what you can’t see. Daddy brought some very scary toys to use on me. And so he blindfolded me with my own outfit, using one of the bigger strips that remained as a blind fold to tie around my head. Suddenly I couldn’t see the toys, or the dungeon, or Daddy.. Everything was sensation.
When I say that I was chomping at the bit to play I mean I was squirming for so many sensations I couldn’t keep them all straight. What amazes me about Ryan and our play at times is that even before I vocalize a desire or a want it’s somehow happening. He’s picked up on it, or was following the same wave length.
Blindfolded, still not touching the cross, I felt blades against my skin, and a need was sated. I felt a hand in my hair, pulling, and another need was sated. And then I felt rope against my skin and I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.
Ryan has tied me a handful of times, including our first date. He’s made rope feel safe for me when for a long time it felt claustrophobic. He’s even suspended me once and yes I would do it again.. I have begun to enjoy the feel of rope, especially when it’s tied around me but not restricting me, in a harnesses with these intricate knots. It makes me feel beautiful.
He didn’t tie me to the cross that night, as he has so many times before. He tied me and then wove the throwing knives through the knots, so that if I moved right the blades poked me. At least I think he did. At that point I couldn’t see a damn thing. I just felt. It was..perfect.
I am an exhibitionist little slut. I like to show off, and to be watched, but that is often a double-edged sword for me. I get easily distracted by what’s going on around me and who’s watching me, and if I’m making the right faces, the right sounds.. if I’m putting on the best show I can. The blindfold removed that distraction, and is honestly something I’d like to play with more. I was hyper focused on what I was feeling, where Ryan was, and not on the people and scenes around me. I felt everything MORE. On top of it I wasn’t able to watch which toys Ryan was picking up. It took away any fear aspect I have associated with some of them..and there are quite a few of his toys that I am actually, actively afraid of.
The evening before, before the play and before watching James, I had watched a brutal impact scene. The Dom went hard on their submissive, to the point of legs buckling and screams filling the dungeon. As the submissive became overwhelmed, the Dominant would grab their face and touch a point between their eyes and their eyes would close. A dreamy smile would replace the pained face. Erotic hypnotism is something that Ryan and I play with a lot, and something that I thoroughly enjoy, and I noticed the button easily. Every time the submissive became overwhelmed by sensation or wasn’t able to take anymore the Dominant would put her into trance again, calming them down.The Dom would also snap their fingers and their bottom would flinch, signaling another button.
We’ve woven my buttons into play before. I have..a lot.. The two easiest that are typically Ryan’s go-to’s are when he snaps his right hand I have an anal orgasm. When he snaps his left, I have a vaginal orgasm. So, he’ll be a big meanie and give me a huge amount of pain and then snap his fingers and make me cum apart at the seams (pun intended). We’ve also played with me entranced before which is.. an odd, heady feeling. I’m awake but I’m not. I know what’s going on but can’t quite stop anything. We’ve also put buttons in place right before scenes too, to up my pain tolerance or make my body more relaxed upon impact (I tend to go up on my toes if something REALLY hurts).
Ryan managed to take what I shared with him about the scene I had enjoyed so much and make it work for us. There are a few of his toys that are hard for me to take a lot of. After a few whacks, even if I can’t see it, I’m dancing, I’m on tip toe, I’m screaming. Each time the pain became too much I would feel arms around me, or feel his scruff near my face before the honey voice would whisper in my ear that I could take more for Daddy, couldn’t I? That this was nothing and I’ve taken much worse. That I could take all the pain for Daddy.. And I was lulled just enough to think that I could. To feel that I could.
I faced a metal cane (a thick rod that I DESPISE), a dragon tongue (soft limit), an evil asshole paddle made out of a beer mat by an evil asshole (that I adore), and a curry comb as a finale. The curry comb was the only part that I actually got to see. Daddy slipped my blindfold off after the dragon tongue left pretty welts on my ass.
I have a history with dragon tongues. I…despise them. A single tail one can gain my trust with in time. Canes are the same way. A dragon tongue cut me up so bad at one point I had to go the ER. I never wanted to face one of those things again. Ryan seems bound and determined to have me face and take every toy I’m scared of. He started slow with it, whacking me when I was partially clothed to lessen the sting. Blindfolded and bare, there was no way of knowing when the dragon tongue was going to hit and where. He could have ripped me up easily. He could have harmed me. He didn’t. And I stood there, clinging to the cross for dear life, because I knew he wouldn’t. I trust Ryan.
You would think the perfect ending to all of this would be me facing my big fear and then Daddy taking me home to cuddle..but I did say that I got beaten with a curry comb, didn’t I? Those round metal brushes used on horses, with the mean teeth? yeah. That thing. On my ass. Our play with it has changed the more times that we’ve used it. The first time was rather timid, with Daddy using a paddle to leave imprints of the teeth in my ass and barely cutting the skin. Tap, tap, tap. That tap, tap went away a long time ago. Now he used pure force, swinging the curry comb itself and slamming it into my ass, leaving dozens of bloody circles in his wake.
I could see the windups to each one, but there’s no hesitation with the curry comb like there is for the dragon tongue or the canes. I love marks. I love sharps. The curry comb is a way for me to get both without being overwhelmed but that one sensation point where the knife blade meets my skin. This is dozens of little knife blades taking delicious bites out of me and leaving marks in a way that is much easier for my body than a basic impact beating.
I felt liquid sliding down my ass and grinned, proud of myself. There’s an odd turn on for me when Daddy makes me bleed. I earned it. And I don’t yellow when I feel the blood trickling down my legs. I wait for Daddy to wear himself out. He’s good at letting me know when the end is close and I can finally fully relax. The warning is usually, “Alright princess, I’m going to give you two more hard ones, one on each side, and then we’ll be all done, okay?” And I take them knowing that I get to rest after.
There were blood spots on the floor of the cross by the time we were done, as well as blood still trickling down my legs. We were safe, of course, spraying everything down properly with cavicide and alcohol respectively (my poor ass…oww.) before flopping over together in an aftercare couch.
We played again when we got home, my ass still sore, my body tired, when I thought we were going to just curl up and sleep. I remember bits and pieces of the sexual play.. I remember lots of orgasms, the honey coated voice, and I remember Daddy putting me into trance, but while he normally helps me out of it at the end of the scene this time he didn’t.. Even clean up was done in trance as I crawled into bed with him and snuggled into the nook of his shoulder. I don’t remember falling asleep. I do remember getting an incredibly good nights sleep as a result..
It was.. a lot in one night, and the ‘a lot’ was exactly what I needed. I’m breathing for now. I don’t feel like I’m starving, even knowing I’ve got about a week until any sort of real play.  And I feel incredibly guilty for wanting more. More rope. More impact, more boots and body play, more hair pulling and more of that honey coated sadist asking me to take all the pain for him. Cause, gods, will I. Happily, and eagerly.
The catharsis of an impact scene is incredible. The za za zooo it can spark or re-spark between two partners is also fantastic as well. But..getting to please my Daddy in a way that only my body can, taking the pain he asks me to take, doing it to make both of us smile? Yeah…that’s the main pleasure button for me.
Please, more, Daddy..
yours, as always
-Rene
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Three Necessary Pieces

I was having a rough time of it last Wednesday, so much so that I decided that going to BaGG that evening would be too much for my fatigued body.

I was hitting drop from all angles and just needed to go home. At that moment in time, however, I couldn’t. I didn’t have my wallet. Foolish me had forgotten it in a jacket pocket back at the apartment and I was waiting on my roommate to bring it when she came to BaGG. On top of that, I hadn’t gotten to duel with James yet.
He rolled in when I was lost in melancholy thoughts and pulled me out of them, slamming me with a new brutal deck that I both hated and loved at the same time. There was no way that he didn’t see how eager I was; that he missed my eagerness when I begged for a duel. It remains our play; as safe as it can be nowadays. We are incomplete, he and I. The story isn’t finished, and forcing chapters to completion hasn’t helped. Because of this, we’ve mostly just left it be. I push back when I need to. Like with Surrender; I begged for photos of my partners and I and pressed how important it was that they get captured (an entry for Surrender shall follow later). And he did as I asked, often taking shots when I was too far gone to notice where the camera flash was coming from; piqued in an intense orgasms or being shocked by a violet wand. He’s good like that; capturing those unfathomable moments, but I digress.
I’ve been through four Surrenders and seven cons total; con-drop is not new to me. I knew to pace myself, to give myself Monday off from work, to sleep in and self-care. What I hadn’t expected was the whole separate drop when Ace left.
At the very beginning of our dueling a dear friend, Sage, joined us in our little corner of Wicked Grounds. She passively worked while commenting on our game from time to time, chuckling when James made me curse or when I begged for mercy. When his alarm went off to go over to the club James pulled me into one of his REAL hugs and humored me; he let me bury my face in his hair, relax in his arms for the briefest of moments and let the tension leave my body. There is still something about James’s scent that drives me bat shit; I’ve never been able to figure it out and I’ve never been able to shake it, but in moments when I am at my limit I am grateful for that fact. I’m grateful for the knowledge that a hug and a moment of touch from James is usually enough to calm me down.
Sage remained behind after James rolled off to the club, worried eyes on me. She asked what was wrong and I explained that I was just feeling… off. That I was tired and feeling at my emotional limit and just wanted to go home. A call to my roommate had informed me that she was still 40 minutes out and I was done, so very done. And frustrated without enough gas to get me back.
“And it’s been..how long since Ace left? 24 hours?” They had met at the con when Ace was on security duty and I was curled up at his feet. She had seen him throughout Surrender and began singing his praises when I told her it was his first con, ever.
The truth is, Ace had blown me away that weekend. I hadn’t expected him to take to Surrender like a duck to water, and he had. He made new friends with ease and giggled each time he mentioned my name to find that these new friends knew me already. He excitedly gobbled up information from classes, learning for himself, for me, and for my dear meta (his nesting partner) back home. He even got in a little pick up play and was a good, brave boy and bottomed to me. He paced himself well, ate when he needed to, and blended into my crowd as if he had always been there. And it had felt like he had. My Ace, my constant anchor, navigated my world with shocking ease that there was so much reluctance to give him back. I knew I had to, and know that I always will, but it was not easy.
Ryan, on the other hand, struggled more. He attempted to make new connections but I saw him drifting back to knowns. He circled back to me whenever I was working and spent more time messaging me on shifts than socializing with new people. Another bottom he plays with was also at the event, but with restrictions that prevented him from playing. He kept me going and pleased me to the best of his ability, but having never been through a con didn’t know how to pace himself. He was burnt out by early Sunday evening, unable to do the final scene that he and I had talked about. And yet still, even while he was burning out completely, he took me to the hotel restaurant to make sure I was fed and not crashing with five more hours left that evening.
And then there’s James.. Balancing Ryan and Ace, while also remembering what Surrender was, what it meant to James and I, was hard. There was an ache there when it reached late into Saturday and I hadn’t quite connected with James yet… It’s hard, with Ryan around. The two butt heads at an almost toxic level at this point and don’t particularly social well with one another anymore. When Ryan left early on Sunday it was.. a slight relief. I drifted upstairs to a cigars and chocolates social and found James playing with the cigar cutters up there. We talked, joked, even flirted a little, and I made a point in saying that I would be there till the end and I wanted to say goodbye (the year before I hadn’t had the chance to because of my security shift and it..bothered me a great deal). We talked, shared stories, smiled…and I felt better.
I relayed all this to Sage when she asked about my Surrender, and she smiled as I voiced my frustrations over James and Ryan. “You know why they fight, don’t you?”
“Because they’re two Dominant assholes in a pissing contest?”

“Well, yes. But there’s more to it than that.” She paused. “Who has your collar?”
“But that doesn’t matter! The collar is null-en-void. It’s been discussed that if we restart we restart fresh and-”

“And you’re right. It doesn’t matter.. The restart, that is.” She smiled, sadly. “You love each other. It’s very apparent, even in small things. That love is very there, and very apparent to anyone with eyes. It’s only a little threatening to someone who wants to be important in your life, especially when you love the other person more.”
I sat, gobsmacked for a moment. I had been wrestling in my own head for months with my feelings for Ryan and James, trying to tell myself that those with Ryan were growing while those with James were fading.
“You two aren’t done, you and James. You aren’t in your final form yet. Right now, what you two are in is limbo, and it’s driving Ryan crazy. You two are either going to grow closer together or further apart, but until then the two are going to fight over you like open game because they both see you as their’s. Whether or not a certain red head admits it.” She smirked. “You are still his, Rene, and that’s okay. You’ve learned to live with that in a way that is much more healthy for both of you, but it’s a different type of love than what you have for Ryan.”
“And I do love both of them! I love Ryan very much!” And it’s true, I do, with a depth of feeling I didn’t think myself capable of.
“Oh, sweetie, I know you do. It’s just different.” And then my wise friend told me about three crucial love figures in ones life, and about how I was blessed to have all of them, whether or not they worked out.
There’s the one you learn from, the one love stories come from, and the one that stays.
Ryan is the one I learn from. Since being with him I have truly learned what self-care is, and how to better take care of myself and set my own limits. I eat better, sleep better, and I honestly relish being Daddy’s little girl. I feel taken care of, loved, cherished…but not claimed. It’s a soft love, a nurturing love. I enjoy doing his dishes, helping to tidy around the house, and yes, I enjoy the fantastic sex.. but even our rough is not too rough. There is a softness and a sweetness to Ryan that I cherish; a rarity that  you don’t often find in tops. There is also sometimes a cockiness about him in that Father Knows Best sort of way that often rubs me the wrong way.
“I had a Ryan for YEARS”, Sage shared with me. “He taught me so much about myself; how to live, how to be, how to help me be more me. I’m incredibly grateful for the time we had together, but it’s not the kind of mind blowing, bone-deep soul connection love I had with my James.” She locked eyes with me. “And you know exactly what I mean by that.”
She’s right. I do. James is the one my love stories come from. It is a bone-deep love that I can’t shake, no matter how I try. It’s why his scent gets to me, why I’m hyper sensitive to him being in a room. Why my loyalty to him just..doesn’t sway, doesn’t go away. Because those moments of sweetness exceed any others even as the sour moments destroy unlike anything else. He has the power to rip me in two; he always has. He almost did once. There remains this pull between us; this interaction that goes passed friends but doesn’t know where to extend beyond that. I can see why that’s a threat to Ryan; because if that gets re-established, then he gets bumped from spot one, and he knows that. Then James gets all the power again, and Ryan doesn’t want that. Right now, I don’t want that, but I miss sweet kisses and brutal hands.
“And then there’s your sweet boy”, Sage said, smiling wistfully, “the rarity we all search for. A gods honest everlasting love.”  The one that stays.
My Ace, my beautiful rarity. Without him, loving the other two would be impossible. He has been my anchor, platonicly and otherwise, for a decade now. When my engagement ended he was a text away. When my first boyfriend broke my heart I could call him. We Skyped to make each other laugh through the tears when his wife and him had a fight or I broke up with yet another partner. He’s always been there, the carrot dangling in front of my face just out of reach. While I may not be able to share a bed with him every night, and while our lives are in many ways very separate..they have always included the other. Even when we weren’t actively engaging with the other. When we lost contact I thought about him, and he about me, and we both knew that eventually one would reach out to the other and all would be right with the world again.
And so it was. And so it always will be.
If I didn’t have my Ace, I would not survive Ryan and James; the ebb and flow, up and down intensities of love. My good, sweet, mellow boy that takes to my world like a duck to water… because he’s always been there, and was always supposed to be there.
“You have what so many of us search for, especially those of us that are poly. You have managed to find an actual love of your life, and hold on to one another for all of this time.” She got tears in her eyes as she said this, and I smiled. “Is it any wonder that you’re dropping, honey, with all these moving parts in your life?”
No, it was no wonder..and after the talk with Sage so much more made sense. There is a lingering of guilt there, for James being the one I write love stories about…but I can’t change my nature, and what I am instinctively drawn to is..him. The edge of him, the gruffness, the growl with a hint of sweetness… What I knowingly go to are soft, kind hands that hold and caress and teach. What I’ve always known, always wanted, and will always gravitate to is an open heart that constantly wishes to learn more, see more, do more, and sees all of it eagerly and wide-eyed with an innocence I don’t think I’ve ever possessed and a nature that is truly… good. No ego. Just good.
Willow gave me gas money to get home when I collapsed in the chair across from her, more emotionally exhausted than I was at the start of all of this. “Go home. Rest. And smile.” She grinned. “It could be worse. Your soul mates could be boring, complacent partners instead of the pains in the ass they are. Now where would the fun be in that?”
Where would the fun be, indeed?
Yours, piece by piece
-Rene

In My Defenses

It’s amazing how people and habits shift as time goes on. You think yourself the passive observer, and then you discover that you’ve become something that you never thought you could be.
When I was being mentored, I was bothered by how Cal compartmentalized his partners, both past and present. We were all placed in boxes with different labels, and he would divy up his attention between all of us depending on how much value we had to him, and what priorty we had in his world. As someone new to poly, it bothered me horribly. He was never fully present when we were together, and compersion was a very new, unknown phoenomenon to me at that time. I felt neglected, but malliable. I morphed into what he needed me to be.
It wouldn’t be the last time I morphed; accomodated to suit the needs of partners. Ryan calls it resiliency. I suppose I am resilient. I survive. I go on.
I did it with Kane, attempting to adopt the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ mindset to function through the relationship and not feel like his dirty little secret. I’ve done it with Chris, sensoring what I share with him and put on him so that I’m not too much of an emotional burden when I know he’s going through his own emotional work. And Godde knows I’ve done it with James; walking on eggshells and morphing to his emotional means and depth, limiting myself to keep him comfortable. And my sweet boy, my Ace.. he has so many brain squirrels of his own, a world away. He.. did not react well to some of mine. Certain things just don’t need to be talked about between he and I, especially with so many other things on his plate for the time being. I’m in his life and I’m not all at the same time. Grey… pops up too sporaddically to really share things with. No one, romantically, has seen all my bits and pieces. Ever. Even when I was monogamous. Hell, even before I was dating, I morphed and adapted to be the shadow that followed my pretty best friend around through high school and middle school.
And that scary, scary thing that I’ve never done is the main thing that Ryan is asking me for. Uncensored, unboxed, unmorphed, me.
I’m. Not sure I know who that is.
I realized while Ryan and I were talking the other night just how much my poly practices began to resemble that of my former mentor. Instead of putting my partners in boxes, I put myself in them. I cut off certain aspects of myself that I deemed “too much’ for them to take, sometimes without asking, because I became use to partners like Kane and James. Loving, good men, but with so many stressors of their own they couldn’t handle mine. Kane saw one of my anxiety attacks at one point and absolute froze; he had no idea what to do. How to fix it. I remember the lost panic in his eyes… and knew I would never let him see one again.
There’s always been fear as to how easily Ryan has gotten under my skin.. Bit after bit, he’s hacked at my armor, dug out the holes of my past, and tried to heal what he could. He is.. a Daddy.. A caring balm unafraid to push and correct me when necessary. And he’s wormed his way deeper than I ever thought I would let him. There was a DO NOT PASS GO line when his primary partner was in the picture, but they parted ways a month ago and since then… That line has been erased. With that invisible barrier no longer in place, suddenly a lot more of me is aired into the light. I find myself showing him more, and more, and more…pieces of myself that no one has seen in years, if ever. And he still wants more. He hasn’t shrunk away from the danaged parts of myself. He tries to push me through them. I am grateful..and also overwhelmed. Terrified. Spent. Last time someone tried any sort of process like this… Well.. James had a tougher lover approach, but…
Yeah. You get it.
The last talk between Ryan and I got..intense, raw. I found myself much too bare underneath his gaze; he sees too much. I could be wearing a fucking parka and he would still see too much. He knows my manerisms too well at this point, and could see when I slipped back into old defensive habits. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I fidgited. I refused to touch him. I tried to put my walls back up while he asked me, over and over, what was wrong. The more I shared, the more he seemed to ask the impossible of me. The more got shook loose. The louder my head got and the harder it became to actually answer him. The more intensely he stared.
“I will nto let you think of yourself as a burden. I. WILL NOT.” But… that’s all I’ve ever been in my mind. A weight carried until dropped. Shaking an idea that’s been with me for twenty six years is… Is it even possible?
For the longest time, my nickname has been Shadow. My friend back in NJ, Dragon, gave it to me a world ago.. I think we were twelve or thirteen at the time? For half my life, I’ve been the little shadow. The reprieve for others but never for myself. The safe space without safe spaces that simply fades into the background when no longer useful. It’s a solitary existence, but it’s suited me relatively well until now.
Now, my Daddy is asking me to shine. And.. I don’t know how. I know in some ways.. I shine at parties, and at BaGG. I put on a persona and can perform like nobodies business. I kick ass in a world that so many fear entering.
But in the normal world? How do I shine in the normal world?
I have always been overlooked. I don’t mean that in a self-depricating way, just as a fact. I’ve always been the supporting cast rather than the star. The backup that keeps the others going, the supportive best friend to the pretty, sexy girls who dress girly and sexy while I tend to be plain. Even now, I’m sitting around in one of my dad’s old button ups, hacked up jean shorts that are two sizes too big, and an ill-fitting but comfy tee shirt from Surrender years ago. How do I shine, when I’ve trained myself so well to hide?
I.. I need help. And I’m so scared to ask for it.
If I let him in more.. if I show him all of me… then what? Ryan asks me often, what is it that I’m not telling him. What is it that I’m afraid to share.
Everything, love. Everything. You are the first, the only, to ask me to share so much… and I’m not sure I know how. I’m not sure I have words for the fear and panic in my belly at you seeing too much..at me loving you too much. At me letting myself fully fall.
If I hold myself in check, if I block parts of me off, he can’t reach primary-level closeness in my mind. He’s not one that practices hierachy, and for the most part I’ve stopped as well.. But. He was never supposed to get this close, never supposed to see so much.
Physical pain is so much easier for me to process than emotional pain. It acts almost as a relief, especially on days when I am feeling more masochistic. When Ryan and I were talking I got defensive and laid the bratty sarcasm on hard, hoping that would stop him from trying to dig deeper. He treatened to beat my ass with a broom handle and I almost jumped for joy at the chance. Yes, beat me. Make this horrible feeling and buzzing in my head stop. In odd ways.. it was a reality check.. The more in pain I am emotionally, the more I crave the outlet physically. The physical pain silences the emotional and buries it back down deep, and I can continue functioning.
He didn’t beat me. He continued talking.. and my loud brain spiral has continued.
There’s a familiar panic in my soul. It started when I sat with my parents, waiting for an event last week, and the subject of Ryan came up. My parents are trying their best to understand poly, and kink, and to their credit they haven’t run screaming yet. They have a rhudamentary knowledge of my world, and work with what they can of it.
“So,” my dad asks, a grin on his face, “is Ryan your primary?” The only question he could think to ask to try and explain the closeness between my partner and I.. To explain to himself why I light up when he walks into a room, or my body relaxes just a tad more. Why my dad saw me more and more with stupid, shit-eating grins on my face every time Ryan was mentioned. And the term triggered so much in my screwed up little head.
Brain squirrels. Horrid, rabbid brain squirrels. They haven’t ceased knawing on me since then. Because what if the answer is yes. What if it’s no. What does that all mean. Can I even do that?
…is it safe to love him that deeply?
If I show Ryan all of me…do I get the same level of transparency in return?
Do I take the risk? Or do I do what I’ve always done?
Do I run like hell?
I could run.
.
.
.
……
No I couln’t.
There is a part of me that loathes myself right now. I felt the changes in my yesterday; the armor that I had let fall away steadfastly being put back into place. We were outside Ryan’s work. He was talking to me.. and I only half heard him. He kept trying to meet my eyes (something I’m bad with in general with people.. I can only really do it comfortably with James and Ryan) and I kept looking at my heads.. I kept walking defensively, with hands in pockets, and hesitated to return touches from him and reach out to him when he reached for me. I could feel myself closing in. Backpetaling. Going “Nonono! You got too close! You’ve seen too much! You’re done now!”
… I don’t.. I don’t want to. I REALLY don’t want to… But something got shook loose the other night. My head is so loud… and I am terrified. And I don’t know how to tell him how I need him. How the fuck do I do this?
Yours, torn to metaphoric pieces,
-Rene

Same Dance, Different Steps

 

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The rhythm of routine is a comforting one in a world that no longer makes sense to me.

I see hate in so many places and cruelty where there once was kindess. I admit that I hade in the welcoming arms of my community. I mark, I protest, I growl with the rest of them, and then I run back to my land of misfits to dance another day.

My routines are simple, and exhausting. And I suppose, simply exhausting. I go to BaGG every week, managing to show up hours early to sit across from the stubborn asshole I love while he works and I work.. and then we dance.

We have yet to physically play, James and I. Not since he took my collar, slave ring, and pendant. I often wonder about the box they’re placed in. Is it plain, decorated. Does he take it out, along with photos and momentos, love letters and notes, and godde knows how many gifts, or does it stay locked away in some corner of his closet, another mistake he doesn’t want to look at? I don’t know. It’s eight months today, and I still don’t know.

What we do end up doing is dueling. Trading cards. An old game called Yu-Gi-Oh that he’s been into for eons, and that I enjoyed as a kid. I never played before him. I ‘built’ decks in the loosest of terms, with the childlike mindset of “Oh, this is pretty! Let’s put this with this!” and never had anyone to actually play with. Eons ago, a world ago, he tasked me with learning the game again. I did…and then the world exploded. And exploded. And exploded, and playing cards was the furthest thing from my mind.

After I was released, there was a time when playing cards was…all we ended up having. He shoved the fact that I hadn’t build a deck in my face during our breakup, and my rebuttle was to show up at the Citadel two days later with my skeleton of a deck, ready to duel. Since then, it’s been the only thing guaranteed safe to talk about. When he’s in a foul mood during a ride I bring up Yu-Gi-Oh. When he’s overly stressed and obviously needs a break from work, like he did today. When the dungeon is slow on a work night and I can seek him getting stressed. We duel.

It’s become such a lovely ritual as time has gone on. The banter has increased, to the point where there is quite a bit of sexual tension with our duels. There’s more joking, more teasing, more… comfort, and slowly, bit by bit, we have begun to feel like our old selves. He’s more approachable and less intimidating, and things like sitting in silence together have stopped feeling so uncomfortable. They are, in many ways, oddly comfortable. I know why he’s quiet some nights; I can still read his body like a book and can tell when he’s stressed, or sore, or in a mood.

That being said… the duels are all I get. I can’t touch him. I can’t snuggle him, or kneel at his feet, or go in for the big, long hugs that other can. I still am only permitted a hug goodbye most days, and I am touch starved. We spend so much damn time together that in certain ways it can be cruel smelling him, hearing him, being surrounded by him and yet being unable to reach him. There are times when he looks so damn fucking good… and I curse that he still pushes all of my fucking buttons. All of them. He always has, and I have no clue anymore what I push of him, if anything good.

Today, we dueled as always. He brought out his Blue Eyes deck, I my Lightsworn, and he destroyed me like he always does. He topped me through cards, because he could. Any progress I make he lets me do. I’m well aware of this. It’s always been that way with James. Any progress I’ve made, it’s because he’s let me. The banter, the dance, lasted until a friend mentioned that she played.

This friend is not a threat in any way. She doesn’t make me jealous, at all. She is safe, a beautiful soul who still calls James my person and is well aware at just how complicated she is. And the truth is, I love watching James duel. It’s fun sometimes when it’s not me. It wasn’t that they dueled… it’s that they interrupted the ritual that triggered some brain squirrels in my mind.

He doesn’t top me right now, in any way but the cards. That’s all I get. I don’t get swatts at BaGG. He won’t pull my hair, or bring me to my knees. I’ve forgotten, for the most part, what his lips feel like. I don’t get casual kisses or bites. He still won’t even just… poke me in the arm in a friendly way. Touch was so much a part of our love language that it was one of the main things taken away when we ended, and so I cling to the cards. I cling to the ritual of every Wednesday I get my dance with him. He will give me time, top me, and then go off to the others.

Today, that wasn’t the case. He played a few rounds with me, and then moved on to someone else. It was bound to happen. The nature of games is that you play other people. It’s a silly game; it’s fun. But… it’s our fun. It’s our thing, and for an hour I sat and watched while they played. I watched the bit of time I normally get with him tick away, and as it did I felt more and more invisible to him.

Emotions rarely have logic, and unfortunately for me my emotions are almost always written on my face. If anything, I’m sitting and writing this all out to get the kicked puppy expression I know I’m wearing to disappear. I am posessive of the few points of connection that I consider mine with him, logical or not, and I don’t think I realized how posessive until tonight. I felt.. inferior. Our friend is a better duelist than I am, with more experience. She was more of a challenge for him, and he and others commented that despite having months of practice now, she played better than I have. She lasted better.

There was a moment, hearing all of this, that I realized how easily replacable I could be. I wonder what value I still hold to him, this man that never seems to want to know his own heart. Over a silly game of cards that have been our safe-zone.

Maybe it’s the time of year; that Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, and I remain without a primary. Maybe it’s looking around and seeing other people valued by partners, and finding myself at war with my self-imposed loneliness. Maybe it’s that fear that… I’m just another background piece for him now.

None of this is logical. Time is gold to James, and more than anyone else I get his time.

Except, for when I don’t.

When the dance gets interrupted, the partners changed out, and you find yourself doubting if it was a dance at all.

It’s time for BaGG. Perhaps I will be brave and approach him for a different type of dance.

Yours, in routine

-Rene

 

NRE

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New Relationship Energy.

Everything monumental in my life has always started with an “oh shit” moment. It’s just how it’s always been with me.

The big relationships in my life have been a dance of avoidance vs submitting to my own desires. It happened with James, who I felt immediate chemistry with and then hid from for a year afterwards because the amount of chemistry terrified me. It happened with Chris, who I watched scene from afar for over a year before I friend pulled me in to play with him. And now, it’s happened with Grey.

I’ve known Grey for over a year at this point. He was a BaGG regular who disappeared for a time..but when he was there, he and his lovely fiance were two of the people who helped make me comfortable with being at BaGG. They pulled me into a group, a clique before I had a clique, and made me feel safe and desired when there was a sea of people around me that I didn’t know yet. The play with Grey was always…toe curling, but it was never much. I was collared, and I honestly didn’t ever know he was interested in me. He played..plays..it’s confusing with a mutual friend of ours who is GORGEOUS, and his lovely fiance has curves in all the right places. And then there’s me. I never saw it. I played with his partner more than him, and then they disappeared for a bit.

And then they came back. They finally came back, and I was thrilled. And surprised.

That first night that they returned to BaGG I found out just how interested Grey was in me. He’s a vocal one, something I am not entirely used to, and is not afraid to express how he feels. Another thing I am very not used to.  I was upset about something.. I can’t even remember what anymore. He was walking me back inside when I heard him whisper in my ear, “You know I’ve got you, right, little one? You’re mine.”

My knees buckled. In a good way. As I said..he’s safe. He’s not trying to claim the primary spot. But he will claim at least part of me..

The night was laced with play with him; intense play that resulted in some lovely bruises on my chest. There were whispers of all the things he would love to do to me if we weren’t in a club. How he would love to hear me scream around his cock while his beautiful fiance did wonderfully evil things to me from behind… Followed by how he loved me, how gorgeous and beautiful I was. How he adored me.

It was a balm over so many sore areas in my life. And I felt myself melting.

The truth was, I had had a crush on Grey for some time… But the logic of ‘he is my crush and is therefore untouchable’ remains in my warp, twisted mind. Suddenly, my crush was showing he wanted me..in a very big way. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such an overwhelming rush of feels before. It terrified and thrilled me.. Terrified, because love scares the ever-living shit out of me. Thrilled because at least part of me understood the feels were safe with him. That they had always been safe with him.

We started texting back and forth..and realized just what derps we had been, each having feelings for the other but imagining the other didn’t feel the same. We played at yet another BaGG. Finally, we went on a date.

Oh my goodness… It has been so, SO long since I’ve had a first date like the one Grey and I had. I felt that zing, that ‘oh fuck’ zing of this is going to be something. And I cursed internally as we drove to our lunch destination, trying to process all that I was feeling. The last time I had zinged so intensely on a first date had been James..I didn’t know if I was ready for another James, or Chris. Casual play, yes..but this would not be casual, this would be intense.

We’ve spent more time together since… I have neither asked, nor expected intense or emotional. Neither of us did. I don’t think he was looking for a new partner any more than I was..and yet here we are. There is a bitter-sweetness to it. Chris and I have continued to have bumps, where Grey and I have a natural ease when we’re around one another. “I like us”, he has told me, over and over. And I have to agree. I like us too.

The NRE is so strong with this one.. I forgot all that comes with a good relationship. The missing. The craving the presence of the person hours after they’ve left. The fantasies that spring to mind late a night, when I’m alone in bed and left to my own wandering hands and thoughts.. And the play! GODDE, fresh play again! Bliss is the simplest way I can describe the feeling of his hand wrapped around my throat. He has big hands; hands that know how to work and that are not without their scars.

I most certainly have a type.

I have missed new adventures. It feels as if Grey was this piece that I’ve been missing. He’s slid into my life so seamlessly that it feels as if he was always supposed to be here. Of course, this is my partner. And his partner? What a joy she is, and how amazing she has been in sharing the man she is going to marry.

After so much struggling, being in a relationship with good, safe poly where I don’t feel threatened and I know someone isn’t trying to fill James’s spot… It’s a good feeling. I let myself revel in it, and I look forward to more adventures with Grey.

Yours, enjoying the new and the shiny

~Rene

 

Who’s On Top

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Hello, lovely internet world. Yes, I still live. I’ve..been through quite a bit since my silence, and I will get to what I can, when I can as time goes on..but I am back. I hope some of you are still around, and willing to continue to read my thoughts as my journey continues.

I am very much active still in the local San Francisco scene. James is still in my life, though we are..complicated (as if we have ever been simple). I remain unowned and uncollared for now, but I am far from single.

For now, I’m not talking about James. This entry will be about another partner that I’ve mentioned before, Chris.

Chris and I have had our bumps, but even through me being released we’ve managed to stay together. For a time I was..terrified. There are still times I feel unbalanced, not having a primary and remaining in a relationship that would be considered a ‘secondary’ relationship. Right now, officially, I belong to no one. Emotionally is a different story..but I’m digressing.

It was about a month ago that Chris and I hit our biggest bump in the road. One of the reasons being with him was always so easy was that I felt like I was on an even playing field with all of my met amours. For the longest time, Chris preached that he did not believe in hierarchy, and that he did not have primaries and secondaries. There was no worry about who came first. We were all even, and would be what we would be.

For the most part, I get along with my met amours. Some I want to play with. Some I enjoy a sort of sibling relationship with… there’s a kindred spirit feel. I work to maintain these relationships because these people matter to me, and matter to a man that I call my Sir. I enjoy the family feel that I have with the majority of my partner’s partners. There is..one, however, that does not fit this mold.

Emily, my partner’s parter, is a force of nature. She is a polarizing, creative soul that has frustrated the majority of us from the very beginning. She wants nothing to do with any of us, and that (for the most part) is okay. It’s her personal choice and not something any of us can really impact. Not even Chris can. Their relationship has been..turbulent to say the least, and the only time the lack of contact with Emily has bothered me has been when I’ve had nights with Chris a day or two after a drama-filled visit and my partner was visibly distraught. She has effected him emotionally unlike any of the others; the highs with her are the highest for him and the lows are the lowest.

I suppose, knowing this, I should been able to predict what would happen next. I got a call from my partner informing me that he was going to choose a primary, and that it was Emily.

There were many emotions associated with this decision..still are.. I was so angry at first. I felt betrayed. Hurt. Confused why he never communicated any of this to me. We had just had a very intense, connection-filled camp at Dark Odyssey, and during all of it he could have easily opened up to me. Out of all of his partners, I was one that understood hierarchy and the complicated emotions often associated with it. I felt like I had been slapped, backhanded. Not only had he not trusted me enough to open up and tell me what was going on, he had chosen for his primary the most unstable relationship in his life. One that I had seen almost destroy him emotionally multiple times.

Slowly, the other partners have adjusted. I have as well. I am now the closest partner locally that he has. Emily is next, at a couple hours away from him to my half-hour. I see the little changes the most..and some have them have hurt me.

This world of hierarchy is wildly new to Chris, and I know that… and I’ve watched him struggle with navigating it. For the majority of the summer Emily got all of his weekends, which cut off most of the time he could have spent with two partners that were long distance and only are able to see him about once a month each. The bit of time I got with him was almost always good, especially when we were out and away from his place.

The last couple visits to his home, however, have felt like I was on a day with not just him, but with Emily too. The first real blow came when I walked in one day to see an art piece Emily had made up on his wall. Chris has artwork all over his apartment, including mine, and Emily’s was a rather big piece on a wall that had nothing yet besides it. It framed the wall funny, and I mentioned to Chris just shifting the piece over a tad.

He agreed, but only after going to his front door to look at it on the wall. “I want it to be the first thing I see when I walk through the door,” he said. I winced at the words and looked over at the piece I had given him; a painting I had done a lifetime ago that had meant the world to me. I never thought I could give it to anyone. I let it go to Chris because he had worked on me so much, gotten through my armor. Slowly, he had taught me how to love more than one person. That meant so much to met that I wanted him to have the 2D piece I was most proud of making. In one moment, with a single comment he probably hadn’t even thought twice about, he had thrown that out the window.

Another time I had opened the fridge to find it filled with food; a rare sight in the land of the Chris. None of the food was for him. It was all for Emily’s kids, who he loves. Over and over, throughout the evening, he mentioned how much he was enjoying the uncle role and how amazing the children were. I felt like a bitch, staring down at my dinner, upset about him loving something so much that I was unable to touch, or see, or fully understand.

There are many conversations about Emily being his number one, and wanting to be number one with her. Emily getting the most of his time, the most of his energy.

Emily, Emily, Emily.

I felt myself swallowing bitter pills more and more as time went on. Chris, this strong top who is quick to punish me for being five minutes late to lunch, let Emily get away with murder. Rescheduling and canceling things last minute, not showing up to something after a fight when she had made a commitment to, calling and having a fight with him in the middle of a date he and I were having.. More and more, I felt my territory stomped on. And there was always an excuse. If I pulled half the crap she did with him, he would have dropped my ass months ago. I couldn’t understand it. I was so hurt, so terribly sore, and yet even as he bent to her I saw him happy and fought being upset and jealous. I disregarded my feelings, chalking up what I could to a lack of primary and a need for more attention. I was okay, until I saw a photo of Chris wearing a leash and collar.

Chris is a switch, but his submissive side rarely comes out to play. It exclusively comes out with Emily, and I knew this. I was aware of this. But he is my Sir. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t understand it. I was..disturbed by it. Upset he didn’t give me any warning about it. Angry at the amount of power and control she had over him. Very human emotions.

I asked him to give me a call when he could. He was away, on vacation, and we could not talk face to face. When we did talk I shared what I could about how I was feeling; that I didn’t want to be a bitch and be bitter when he was so happy but that I felt neglected. Shoved to the side. Second fiddle. I am aware that Emily comes first. I don’t need it shoved down my throat. James always came first for me and I tried my damnedest to make sure that Chris was always sure and steady in his importance and his place in my life.

Chris said one very key phrase, and suddenly everything fell into place in my mind about their relationship. Why he gave her so much lee way. Why she could do so much damage to him and why the effects lingered long after a fight with any of the rest of us would have been recovered for. Why he was so greedy for as much time with her as he could get.

“I feel as if I belong to her.”

The moment I heard the words, I felt equal parts pain and understanding. The subby ache inside of me reared its ugly head, and I let a couple silent tears fall. Yes, I knew that feeling well. From the beginning I had belonged to James. I didn’t need a collar to tell me that. He has always been able to touch parts of me that no one else has gotten near.

Chris, as much as he was my Sir, as much as he was a sadistic bastard at times, was not the emotional top in the relationship. He was hers. Emotionally, he was submissive to her.

I had been looking at the whole situation from a top’s prospective. Why was she given special treatment that the rest of us never would have gotten long before she became primary? Why WAS she the primary when she was by far his most difficult partner? Why did he cater to her so much, when so much of what she was would be a deal breaker with anyone else?

Because he was emotionally in service to her, and probably had been for some time. Now, as their relationship develops, he is comfortable enough to be physically in service to her from time to time as well. She is the only one he can do that with; the only one that he can even begin to imagine doing that with.

In a way, I understand. I can call any man who tops me that I respect sir. James remains the only man I have ever felt the desire to call my Master. He is the only one I can be a slave to, as of now.

I don’t know where this relationship with Emily will go. I hope that Chris doesn’t end up hurt, and I’m going to do my best to help him begin to navigate this sort of relationship in a slightly healthier way. There are ways to belong to one partner and still not make the others feel like crap. Partners are partners for a reason. Relationships are hard work. You don’t continue them, especially through conflict, if they aren’t things that matter to you. And I know that, realistically, I matter to Chris. I know he absolutely loves me. I know that I am not Emily, that I do not touch certain parts of him that she touches, but I also know that we have other things in common, and that’s okay too. Other things is different… not ‘not as good’. It’s teaching him how to communicate that (at his request) that will be..interesting.

Poly isn’t easy. But honestly, at this point in my life I can’t imagine being monogamous. Even with the drama, my life is much better with Chris in it. He is a good man, and for the most part a fantastic partner. We’ll navigate this. Nothing is unchanging. Nothing is perfect. Life is change, and development, and growth; and there is so much beauty in that.

Yours, still very much alive and kicking

Rene

 

Closure

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The studio smelled of oil paints and acrylics, scents that have always made me feel at home.

I walked up the stairs in heavy black clogs, my bag for the Citadel held tight against me. Bent was in less than an hour. I wanted to get there around when it started, before it got too busy, so Master could properly collar me for the evening. I love having that moment with him, where I bend my head down and press my forehead to his leg as he slips the leather around my neck…

Kane had invited me to his open studios a couple of months ago, after the first time I saw his studio. Now, the studio was full of people. Wine. Snacks. When I had first been led up its stairs the entire building had been nearly deserted, outside of a few artists who were set on working well into the night.

As always, Kane was one of them. We had connected over artwork, discussing our pasts, our mediums, and our connection to the creative process long ago. He could get lost in his work, and a world ago when I was his I used to kneel at his feet and get lost in his world with him.

He led me through the winding studios to his little corner to show me the pieces he was working in. Big blocks of color, pops of playfulness and inspiration that he had reclaimed after a hard year for him. It was good work. Not my type of work, but good work.

It started with him scooting closer to me, slowly, our bodies swaying together like they were pulled by magnets. Somehow, our arms found their way around each others’ waists, and then around each other, so that we were holding one another. And then we were kissing in the middle of the studio, shy at first…

It was easy. Letting him touch me, letting him kiss me. It was so familiar, so nice. He whispered in my ear that he had missed me, pulling me against him so that I could feel him hard underneath his jeans. He told me every last little thing that I had wanted to hear a year ago. That he fantasized about me, that I was his one that got away. That it wasn’t just my body, it was the woman behind it. My body was nothing without my mind, my spirit, my fight. That he had hated me not being in his life. That letting me go was one of his biggest regrets.

I found myself transported back over a year. I was on my knees, my head on his leg, while he pet me and painted. He would touch me, kiss me, give me some attention, and then go back to his piece. It felt so easy… so easy I almost forgot that it was a year later. That we had ended horribly. That he had hurt me more than he would ever realize.

Eventually, the painted stopped. He ordered me to clean his brushes, a task I had once loved. Happily, I did so. He had me appraise his work; make constructive criticism as an artist that didn’t always see his creations with the kindest of eyes.

He mentioned that the bathrooms at the studio were very large and cleaned nightly.

“It would be very easy,” he said ” for a dirty little girl to get on her knees and take a cock into her mouth in there…”

I was drenched, and wanting, and hungry. I had lost track of time. James was working a party, and I was going there after Kane’s studio. My mind didn’t even register time as I watched the sun set from the studio window’s with Kane behind me, his hands inside my pants, feeling along my ass. He spanked me, hard and quick and unrelenting, and then toyed me ever so lightly. I moaned, missing him, wanting him, and then his voice brought me back to reality.

“I should tell you,” he said, “I sort of have a girlfriend. And I’m sort of supposed to be a good boy and be monogamous.”

I froze, my body growing cold at his words. Not again. I would not be the other woman again. I had been that for nearly a year, and had hated every last moment of it. I wouldn’t let him do that to me again.

“We can’t.” I said, quietly, sadly. The truth is, as wrong as it was I still wanted it. It was the farthest we had gone in over a year and it felt so good, so familiar. Pulling away from him and asking to leave, saying I had to get to the party… It fucked with my head. I hadn’t realized until that moment that there was a part of me that remained his. That longed to be his, to wear his collar and cuffs and greet him naked at the door on my knees as I used to. There was a part of me that so easily slipped into that role.

I walked away. We didn’t do more than kiss. I couldn’t do that to his girlfriend.. I knew too well what it felt like.

—–

Unlike last time, the studio was filled with people, wine, and music. I navigated the hallways on my own, pausing to look at work mounted on the walls as I wrestled with the idea of being there. He probably didn’t even remember inviting me back for the open studio. Who knew who else was here..

Eventually, I found him holding court with prospective buyers in his little corner. He was heartbreaking familiar and incredibly strange to me, and for a couple minutes I stood there simply absorbing a world I had never really been a part of. I let myself look at new work that he had finished after my visit. He came over, hugged me, and briefly we discussed his work. I was about to mention some paintings of birds on pieces of wood that I had surprisingly loved when a group came over and started chatting with him.

They remarked on the beautiful desserts he had at his station. Kane smiled. “My girlfriend made them.”

“Such a talented couple, the two of you! Well suited for one another.”

All the while I watched, smiling to myself. Yes. Such a talented couple. Right place, at the right time.

She came over soon after, and I tried to sneak away, to escape back to my world. My collar jingled in my bag.

“Rene! RENE!”

Awkwardly, I shook her hand. She was older than me, taller, larger, but her body shape was similar, as were her brown hair and eyes. She wore her hair similarly to how I always had, up in a bun unless Kane had ordered it down. He had loved my hair down. He told me once that he had grown up with straight blonde hair all around him and it bored him. He loved my curly, dark locks for being the exact opposite.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your medium is sculpture, right? Are you working on anything new? Have you been to the studio before?”

I was surprised he had told her about me.. although I wondered what he had told. I chanced a quick glance at Kane before returning my gaze to his lady. His eyes avoided mine.

Yes, I had been there before.
And I’m not sure I will ever be back.

No, I had no new work.
And I’m not sure what you would make of my old work.

Many things were left unsaid. As Kane came over and put his arm around his girlfriend I smiled, echoing what I had heard the group saying about them being a talented couple. His lady glowed and looked up at him.

“Oh, I’m definitely overshadowed by this one here.”

I recognized the look she gave him. I knew it all too well. That look of pure adoration. Love. Almost worship. I had given him the same time and time again when I was on my knees in front of him awaiting my next task.

Walking away that day at the studio had been the right thing. The ache, the last tinge of regret, faded as I smiled at the happy couple. I lifted my bag and mentioned to Kane that I had to get to the Citadel. There was a party tonight. James was waiting for me.

He smiled sadly. For a moment, we locked eyes, both our minds on a different time. I think we both saw the door close. Both knew that we had finally fully moved in different directions and that there was no going back, no freezing time. It was done.

“Have fun.” he whispered, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

I smiled, gave him one last wave, and ran from the studio back to my world. As I relaxed on the car ride over to the Citadel my hand slipped inside my bag to wrap around my leather collar.

Yes, I had made the right choice in multiple ways. It was a good thing, this door closing. It felt oddly nice to fully complete that chapter of my life.

Time to turn the page and see what’s next in store for me.

Yours, as always

-Rene

 

 

 

Goodbye

This entry is not kink related… This is life related… This is life and aging and loss…

A couple of years ago, my first grandfather died. He was my dad’s dad, a happy little elf of a man who was should have been canonized a saint for dealing with my she-bitch of a grandmother. He had dementia, among other health problems, and was the ripe ole age of 84. He had lived a full life, which is not something that could be said about a lot of my relatives.

Right after he passed my dad and I were in the back yard having a drink, something not uncommon for he and I when I’m home. On that balmy summer night he told me about the last real conversation he had with his father, and how they had said goodbye a couple of weeks before he died, when his father was still somewhat himself. They had had one of those very rare good talks that stick with you for the rest of your life. They talked about fatherhood, about what being a good dad really meant, and how much they loved each other and respected one another. Even though one is never quite ready for something like that, my dad said goodbye to his that night and mentally prepared himself for the actual physical goodbye to come.

I did that tonight, not with my father (thank the Gods) but my other grandfather, my DadDad.

I am the reason he’s called DadDad. He had wanted to be Grand Dad and I just couldn’t say it as a young child, and someone DadDad had stuck even though he was my mom’s dad. He always has been, and always will be, a superhero in my mind. He tried out for the New York Yankees back in the day, and would have played for the team if he hadn’t been drafted… He handled my Grammy, who is a force of nature. He tells the best stories about sneaking into his mother’s basement and drinking the house-made alcohol when he was much too young, and flipping a taxi over in Paris with his Navy buddies, and coming home with a baseball bruise so deep that you could see the individual stitches in his skin that led to my Gram SCREAMING at him.

His background is an interesting one..  Before he was even born his father was out of his life. The youngest of four kids, his father had managed to knock up his cousin’s wife and his wife at the same time and left my great-grandmother for the cousin’s wife the moment he figured it out. I’ve heard horror stories about this figment of a man, this great-grandfather that wasn’t so great that would chain his own daughter to a radiator in the basement for entire nights at a time because she gave her brother’s too much food, or would show up when it was convenient to him to see if the family was making money, and if he could get some when he didn’t know his own damn son.

My DadDad not only survived this, but thrived. He had four kids of his own, and then five grandchildren. He survived the loss of his wife and his eldest daughter, and until now has had minor health problems.

Now…

Now his confident, booming voice is soft. His blue eyes that normally sparkle with humor are dull. The man who used to lift grandchildren onto his shoulders with ease and run around the house can now barely walk. He used to love food, as any good Italian man does, and is now going days without eating and rapidly losing weight.

This is part of life. Humans age. They eventually die. My DadDad doesn’t have cancer. He has no deadly disease other than time, and he’s well aware of this on his good days.

Today was a good day. He was more coherent than he’s been in a couple years with me. Normally, he slips between past and present. He’ll call me by my aunt’s name, trailed off mid-story to stare into space, and repeat the same story time and time again. I never mind. I’ve always loved listening to his stories.

Today there were no stories. It was short. His girlfriend (yes, at 84 he has a girlfriend because my DadDad has always been a handsome devil) decided that he needed to spend the weekend with her, which resulted in a fight between her and my mother… While they fought I helped my grandfather into the car and took a knee next to the car door so that I could talk to him. I hadn’t seen him since June, a visit filled with stories about his mother and growing up.

He surprised me by locking his eyes with mine. They were clear, not foggy, and his voice was direct but soft. “Your grandfather’s getting old, kid. I’m not going to be around much longer. I’ve lived a good life though. 84 years… I never thought I would have lived this long.”

I put my head on his shoulder, trying not to cry. He kissed the top of my head and hugged me with shaky hands. “I know you’re being practical… Just try to take care of yourself while you are around, okay DadDad?”

He laughed. He hugged me. “I’ll try.”

We talked about me being in California. He remembered that I lived near San Francisco. That I had a boyfriend who was older but not too old. That I worked “too hard for someone my age”.

“Are you happy, kid?” I told him honestly, that I was. That I was tired, but I was happy.

He smiled, happy but tired in a different way. “Then that’s all that matters. You look good. I’m proud of you, of who you’ve become. I love you, you know that right?”

Of course I know that… I love my DadDad to the moon and back. I know he loves me too.. I’ve never had a fear about our relationship. Never. He’s been a superhero to me since I was a child. He protected me from the sea witch in the Little Mermaid when I was a child and from an abusive partner as an adult. He knew amazing things thanks to street smarts and protected his house and my parent’s house during Hurricane Sandy because of wiring work he had done thirty years before. He was, and in my mind always will be, invincible. Even with his body failing I see a quiet contentment in him that I hope to one day have. His spirit is invincible, untouched by age and decay, and the memory of his smile and that sparkle in his eye when he laughs will remain long after his body is gone.

I apologize for this entry being so long… This blog has become an outlet for honesty and emotion… and I can think of nothing else right now but this goodbye. Tonight I saw MY DadDad. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see that again.

Goodbyes are hard. They are part of growing up, of life and the passage of time…but that doesn’t mean letting go of a superhero is easy. They live on in legend though, always.

Yours with a heavy heart,

-Rene

A Change in Title

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I have identified as a ‘submissive’ since I entered the public scene. It’s a catch-all term, a word that was the easiest way for me to explain the pleasure that I felt kneeling in front of Sir, of having someone I care for use me how he sees most fit and gaining pleasure from it. It was the easiest term to use as the flashing neon sign next to my Fetlife tag. “Use me. Please. For your pleasure and mine. Mark me. Claim me. Want me.”

For as much as I’ve played and explored, I clung to that title above all others. I’ve identified sides of myself that are little, masochistic, a wee bit switchy at times, hedonistic, damn slutty, and bratty to name a few… and it was easiest to just throw them all underneath the submissive umbrella. All were components of my service, and service meant submission, right? Different ways, different times, but everything I did was to serve my partners and bring them as much pleasure as possible, which in turn gave me pleasure. A great deal of it.

Very rarely are the right paths the easiest ones.

I am going to start with two short stories that seem unrelated, but then combine into one. One is that my primary has told me, from the beginning of our relationship, that regardless of whether or not we work out he’s determined to see me a better person as a result of it. He pushes me, not hard enough for me to ever come close to breaking, but hard enough that I question myself in a healthy way. If I say self-demeaning comments, usually out of complete reflex, he will catch me on it and ask me why I say that. He peels back layers I have safely hidden behind, my armor that keeps people from getting too close and knowing too much, and waits. Waits until I trust him enough to give him a straight answer which then unravels my behavior… And yes, I love him for it. I love him for his patience with me, for being understanding, and for being there to stop the negative spirals when it seems I’m falling too fast or too great.

And now, story number two. Not so long ago, Sir and I met a couple. We were at Master’s Den, one of my favorite events both for high protocol it is and because he doesn’t work..and so I get to play. Before Sir and I played, we watched this particular duo. The female, small yet incredibly mighty, took quite a lot from her Master in the exact opposite way that I do. I’m… vocal. Very. I will stay mostly still but I scream. She danced, and jumped, and wiggled, but remained silent. After their scene, Sir approached them both and asked permission to play with miss Small yet Mighty… Which led to a scene, and more scenes, and talk of photoshoots and friendships…

And thus, with a couple beatings, began a bit of a learning experience for me that I’m honestly still exploring. The couple have become fantastic friends, with an incredibly energy about them both individually and together. Watching them I was surprised at some of the similarities between their dynamic and my own… The fluidity they had between strict protocol one moment and laughter and giggles the next. The sassy playfulness. The respect all around when respect was due.

She was his slave. He was her Master. Two titles I had never considered in relationship to myself.. and yet…

I was always afraid of the label of ‘slave’. I was taught, early on, that slave’s were not allowed to say no. A slave gave up their safeword. A slave was used whenever, wherever, with nothing off limits.. As much as I’ve explored, and as much as I want to please, I do have limits.

…But I’ve also never let a man push my limits as much as James has. I’ve never trusted someone so completely to know my limits, and to listen to me when I express that we’ve reached one.

The lovely slave and I have met up a couple of times on our own and talked, about our relationships, our pasts, our current friendships..and the parallels continued to tweak in my mind an identity I had been so set on.. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know for sure.

And so, I did what I knew to do. I asked James.

We were driving back from an event earlier in the night..and I love those car rides, because we talk about everything from childhood road trips to future naughty plans to what he plans on doing once the car is in park… In the dark, uninterrupted, with no one else around and with a great night behind us, I asked the question that I had been asking myself for a couple of weeks.

“Do you think I’m a submissive or a slave?”

I got a raised eyebrow and a volley of questions back and forth as he searched for the origin of my question and why it was brought up. He answered some of my questions..and dispelled the last of my fears. Slaves, just like submissives, can say no. They can always stop it..and he will always respect my limits. And so, I asked again what my Sir thought I was.

“I don’t know.” Pause, a smirk, a raised eyebrow. “What are you?”

I didn’t think about my answer. I didn’t pause. I didn’t have to. It came out on its own.

“I am yours.”

He chuckled. “Well that answers that question, now doesn’t it?”

And it did.

Hello, my name is Rene. I’m a 24 year old kinkster living in the Bay Area. I enjoy submitting to people and playing in all manner of fun ways, from impact to sensation to fire and wax. I am polyamorous, though lean more to the realm of poly-play than poly relationships… I am a lover, a girlfriend, a little, a partner, a pixie, a squeaky toy..  And I am a slave. I am owned by an incredible man. I serve him happily.

As it was in the beginning, it is even more so now.

I am his.

And I am happy.

Mourning

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Photo by Michael Sundin

I don’t want to be writing this entry.

I had a whole post-Folsom entry planned out.. I was going to power through the last of the “30 Days” questions and then write about consent, and about why it’s such an important part of the D/s dynamic.. How it effects events like Folsom… It was all planned out.

Instead I am writing an incredibly painful entry.

The San Francisco community has lost one of our own own, unexpectedly, during a time in which the Leather and kink communities are usually celebrating the most. We mourn an incredible spirit, one that touched me directly and helped me a great deal when I was going through a very difficult time.

I met SwitchTendencies right after Kane and I truly ended, at the first play party that I was brave enough to go to alone and uncollared. He was the first person I did a scene with, the first person I trusted with causing real physical pain after going through such emotional pain.

I redded out. It was the first scene I’ve ever called “red” on… and even after that, he made me smile. During aftercare we talked and laughed, and I found his smiles and good humor to be truly infectious. His laugh is incredibly distinctive, a deep belly laugh that puts a smile on on my face even during my worst days.

As a Sadist, ST pushed me in the dungeon. Even as he made me cry, he would make me laugh with sarcastic comments as I screamed and squirmed on the cross. He was one of few people that I trusted to play with me but not cross any lines. He listened when I called yellow. He calmed me when I started crying and started each play session with a hug and positive energy. He ended each scene the same way. He loved to play. Loved to spank. Loved to make me and other little girls cry, in the best way possible. I am honored to have been allowed to play with him.

As a friend, he guided me back into a world that I had almost left behind. I will always be submissive. That is a part of my nature, as natural to me as breathing… But loving someone? Diving back into a poly relationship when the incident with Smith still had me burned? Trusting someone again? These were all things I didn’t know that I could do. ST was new to poly and trying to figure it out as well, with a very experienced poly partner that he loves to the moon and back. The mere mention of her and his whole face lights up. She taught him how to navigate poly, and he taught me. He was the first person to hug and congratulate me when he found out I was James’s. The first one to go “I told ya so!” when I said he had agreed to go on the date with me. He listened to me ramble about my crush on my now-Sir and slowly gave me the courage, through thoughtful conversations, hugs, and snuggles, to act when I was terrified of heartbreak again.

ST was part of so much in the Bay Area community. He volunteered whenever he could, went to more parties than I could keep track of, and always did it with a smile on his face. He was a constant figure in almost every area of kink in the Bay Area scene, from Wicked Grounds to the Citadel to groups like Society of Janus. He worked hard to improve himself, and pursued kink with a passion and openness that I envied.

On Saturday, there was a pre-Folsom party at the Citadel. As always, James was taking photos in the back and I was perched beside him to get whacked in between photos. ST came in and took photos, smiling with a partner and being goofy and giggly. Toward the end of the night he came and found me again, still on my perch, and we talked as we often did. He told me about the partner that he was with that evening. I told him about a new job I was starting and plans for Folsom weekend. We snuggled and hugged, both of us tactile and affectionate people. He was excited for Folsom, for being able to work at one of the spanking booths.

Before he left for the evening he hugged me tightly, longer than he usually does, and as he did I told him that I was always there for him, and that I loved him. He said the same back, with a smile on his face that showed his excitement for the coming day. It was to be a weekend of kink, and fun, and community. We were all together for Folsom, to celebrate what we were and what we loved.

My mind cannot process that this smiling soul is gone, so suddenly. When last I saw him he was doing what he loved, spanking pretty girls at one of the booths at Folsom. He was smiling, and laughing, and surrounded by a community he was such a part of.. My heart hurts. It is hard to remember how incredible the weekend was when such a tremendous loss was part of it…

My darling SwitchTendencies, you have left us far too soon. I don’t know what this community will be like without you, but I know that you will be remembered by many, for many reasons. When I think of you, it will always be with a smile… My writing cannot do justice to describing just how much of an impact you had on me, and on the community around you. There are no words to describe it, nor are there any to fully convey the hole that your absence from this earth leaves. Returning to the play spaces I love, knowing that I will no longer see you there… It’s a painful thought. I’m sure it’s a painful thought for many of us right now… You are dear, you are loved, and you are missed.

I don’t have the right words for this.. It is hard for me to write when I am upset, when I am mourning… But ST did so much. He cared so much. He is a good, giving soul… And this world is a little less bright without him in it.

Yours with a heavy heart and tear-filled eyes

-Rene