Tag Archives: partners

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
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Adrift

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It always happens this time of year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I should probably sleep.

Yours, restless

-Rene

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

 

Picking Up the Pieces

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Hello, my loves. I am so sorry I almost let January go by without an entry.

But I have yet to miss a month..and dammit I won’t let it slip by without an entry.

The last month has been.. difficult to say the least. Since I got back to California I’ve been picking up the pieces of my life as my Master has been doing the same. I’ll be moving incredibly soon, I’ve started a new job, and I have a car to get around.

At the same time the time with the car is limited. It has too many mechanical problems and can’t pass smog.. so I’ve got about 65 days to make up enough money for a new car. The new job is dependent on a vehicle..and I’ve been so sick lately that typing, no matter writing, has been difficult.

I’ve been battling a viral sinus infection for over two weeks now..it took me over a week to figure out what it actually was. I just got proper meds yesterday and will hopefully be feeling better soon. I have to pack. Frantically. Maniacally. And I’ve barely been able to move.

At the same time I’ve been ACHING to play. I’ve gotten quite a bit of time with Master lately… I’ve gotten to be his ride to a few events and of course see him every week at BaGG. But so many events he is working. He was sick for a while when I was well and wasn’t up to playing..and now the shoe is on the other foot. My body is tired and needs time to heal but godde do I want to be under his hand.

I’ve watched him struggle… with things I can’t necessarily help with. It’s hard. Your natural instinct as a slave is to want to serve. To give all you can. To fix things for your Master when they are broken. I can’t do that right now. I can only watch and support and fix my own life best I can.

You cannot pour from an empty cup… My cup was not only empty for a time but it almost shattered. Not from Master.. and not from my other partner either.. but from the rest of the world. From money and work and illness and the universe seeming to continually push me. From my grandfather passing away and my Master’s car dying so soon after mine did.

I have been blessed. Very blessed. My relationships, both with my Master and with the man I call sir, are good. And strong, And such a comfort when the world feels like it’s trying to destroy me.

Chris is so much more financially put together than I will ever be.. His support and help has kept me going in a lot of ways. He’s sat me down and helped me financially plan, showed me next steps in how to survive. How to really pick up the pieces and keep going..because when he was my age he was exactly where I was.

I am picking up my pieces, slowly but surely..and keeping the parts of my life that matter in tact as much as I can. I will be okay..Master will be okay.

We will all find a way to pick up the pieces and keep going in 2016.

As always, I am still yours

-Rene

 

Too Much

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It’s Christmas Eve.

When I was a child, this was my favorite day of the year. My Grammy would hold court at my Grammy and DadDad’s house and all the family would go up for Italian Christmas Eve. The cousins would receive gifts from the aunts, uncles and grandparents. We would eat the best food we would have all year, play with our new toys, and go home to quickly scamper into bed before Santa came.

As I’ve gotten older, it’s morphed into something else entirely, a grotesque mockery of the happy day it used to be. When my Grammy died, my aunt took over holding court. When she passed away… I stopped wanting to go. My cousins and I have no relationship. I don’t know my uncles at all. I went for my DadDad, because Christmas Eve was when he told the best stories. I would sit and drink coffee with Sambuca and Baileys with him and listen to him reflect. It made the Christmas Eves bearable.

The last month… the last week… has been hell for me. It started with my DadDad’s death… and then a couple weeks later I totaled my car in a stupid accident because I hadn’t been able to get my breaks done. I found myself without my income, and scrambling more than ever because that night I learned my rent was going up $200 the next month. I had nothing in savings, living day by day as I did… and I knew my parents would be no help. When I told them about the accident my dad called me stupid, and said he didn’t know what to tell me. My mom just cried. The car had been hers first, and was her first new car.. and me without income meant I couldn’t send them student loan money, which meant that they would have to cover my loans again this month because I “can’t get my life together and don’t have my priorities straight.”

I am blessed in other ways… my friends, my chosen family, and my partner have been incredibly supportive. One of my best friends, a firecracker named Annie, helped me get a gofundme together and told me over and over not to be ashamed to ask for help.. that big girl or not, life happens to the best of us. She’s kept me going, helped me with the car shopping process (my credit is shit, so I needed cheap and fast..which often means fixer uppers. She’s also a mechanic, and a lifesaver in so many ways). Another friend, Brian, came out and looked at my car after the accident and gave me options as to what to do next. The gofundme itself has raised over $1000, giving me a little bit to work with when I have no new income coming in. So many people have hugged me and told me it was going to be okay. Others have said if I’m still short when it gets closer to rent day to come to them. They will help. At home, I feel supported, and loved. Person after person has slowly been convincing me that it’s going to be okay.

My partner Chris has been incredible support, from little things like making sure I’ve been eating and that I wasn’t alone to bigger things like helping out with the gofundme. He’s kept me smiling, and I am grateful…

And then there is James… my Master, who is far too much in the same boat that I am in. He’s helped in ways that have honestly meant the most.. Giving me time he didn’t have to spare, arms to curl up in, kisses that make me feel adored and wanted. He’s held me when I needed the safety of being swallowed in his arms, and when I’ve started dropping caught me before I fell. He’s known when I needed pleasure and when I’ve needed play without me asking… without me even knowing. The man can read me like a fucking book, and I’ve been more grateful for that in the last week than I can properly express in words.

Tuesday was my last night in the Bay for two weeks. The trip to New Jersey for Christmas was pre-planned and pre-arranged by my parents. I couldn’t get out of it. I couldn’t say no when my mother was clinging to me being ‘home’ for Christmas. It was also my last day watching a child that I’ve been caring for for over a year and a half; an adorable two year old that has made a huge impact on my life. Knowing my emotional state leaving this little girl, my Master invited me along to a game night up in Napa. I love his friends, and have felt so accepted by all of them, so of course I said yes.

I’ve been using Getaround cars to..well… get around (yay smart phone apps. The Bay Area has certain advantages). I had a rental expiring that evening, and so made a plan with James to rent another car just for the time in Napa, drop the car back off in the city after the game night, and then James would drive me the rest of the way to my house. He would spend the night, we would get much-needed intimate time together before I disappeared for the holidays, and he would bring me to the airport in the morning before going into the city for BaGG that evening (which I was regrettably missing because of my flight time… The holiday flights were so expensive I didn’t have much choice in that matter).

We never made it into the city. The game night was fabulous, and brought me a lot closer to his friends. I gave each of them a tarot reading that I think did some good…and even gave one to my Master himself which revealed a few things.. I’m still not sure I’m ready to face or process. He was going to bring his best friend home and then follow me into the city.

Master’s car has needed to be serviced for a while. The poor thing has had its check engine light on for as long as I can remember.. he just hasn’t had the money to fix it. On the way into the city that night the poor car finally broke down… Smoke coming out of the engine and all. I got a call for him while I was driving ahead saying that I would need another ride to the airport tomorrow. I turned around to find him, scrambling as to how I was going to get back to my place all the way down the peninsula. Bart wasn’t running anymore and the rental had to be back by 6 a.m…

I found him finally, pulled over by the entrance to a bridge whose name I still can’t remember. He was distant… trying to think of all that needed to be done now. He had to get down to BaGG that evening. Had to figure out how to get his car up and running so that his life didn’t end up on hold. He’s a paraplegic, so it’s not so simple as it is for me of just find a cheap, running car and move on. Hand breaks are expensive. Life is expensive.

It was freezing… my cold is now back with a vengeance from waiting around for a tow truck for two hours. But it’s two more hours I got with him. There was a little cuddling… and a slightly devastating conversation with him where he told me there were similarities between his relationship with me and his relationship with his ex wife (someone I never want to be like, ever). There are ghosts I can’t shake from his past..and they are impacting my relationship in the present… Combine that with him just being so far away, me losing that night with him, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get to the airport and get home and general and worrying about him getting home, about his car when I know he’s in a worse financial state than even I am in… I was, and am still, a mess. I was of no use to my Master, my boyfriend..and only proved to add to his plate, because on top of his worries he was worrying about what I could do to get where I need to go safely.

His friends came through.. two women who are slowly beginning to feel like sisters to me. They met me in the city (when they also live in Napa) and drove me all the way back home. Last I saw my Master, he was getting into a tow truck. We’ve texted briefly…but he’s been busy…

I got home at 6 a.m… finally fell asleep around 7, only to wake up at 11 to pack. I couldn’t bring my cat with me like I’d planned, and leaving Poe for two weeks, even in the hands of people I trust, is hard for me. I left the meager gifts I was able to get together for my roommates (I haven’t Christmas shopped at all and have scrambled and scrounged instead) on the kitchen table, took a Lyft to the airport that I couldn’t afford, and boarded a plane that stayed on the tar mat for two hours before finally taking off with at least six screaming children on board.

I have not Christmased. I have had neither the energy nor the heart to. With all that has happened my mind is three thousand miles away, with my family and my Master. I didn’t know we would be doing Christmas Eve at my DadDad’s house when my parents picked me up last night… my mother sprung it on me today. We are going up to a house that has already been picked clean by spiteful siblings, a last hurrah before its sold. A house my DadDad built with his two hands, that his children and grandchildren grew up in, is an empty shell, a mockery. I will be asked over and over to explain myself. Explain my life. How I’m doing. I will be judged and picked apart by strangers I share blood with.

My parents are trying to put on this charade that they’re all excited for Christmas… but none of the traditions have happened that have happened in years passed. For the first time in my life the gifts are under the tree before Christmas morning. There is no surprise this year because my mother just doesn’t have the time to wrap and arrange them tonight. Santa Clause and the mystery around him is dead. My father is exhausted, my mother has just been going on about how much she’s been working and how she has no time off while I’m here. And I have been crying.

There is no safe place to cry in this house. I broke down in the shower and my mother came in to ask me what was wrong. How do I say everything? How do I say this Christmas is hell and I just want to go home, when she expects the house I grew up in to still be my home? How do I tell them I feel like a stranger, intruding on rituals I don’t understand.

The cherry on top of all of this is that my parents have figured out that my lifestyle isn’t a phase. My dad noticed the slave ring on my left ring finger, a gift from Master. A day collar. Both of them have problems with it, and keep asking what I lacked in my childhood to want to walk this path. I can’t be who I am anymore around them. I can’t talk about what’s bothering me. I can’t be open and honest. I can’t even cry safely, because when I cry they expect an explanation for it.

Why am I crying? Because it’s all too much. Because I feel so very broken.. so lonely. So isolated from everything that I love. Because I desperately miss my Master even though it’s only been a day. Because I haven’t heard from  him today and worry that spam texting him will only make him go further away and not want to talk to me when I need his voice, his touch, his presence.

He dropped me off at the airport when I was going back for my DadDad’s funeral… That morning, he gave me a pendant of his. A geeky, Harry Potter pendant that I love. A part of him that I could have on me, so that even when he wasn’t here, he was. I have been clinging to it like my life depends on it… that and a tee shirt of his that I’ve had for so long it no longer smells like him (I was going to get another on Tuesday night..but…).

It’s too much. It’s all too much… I’m hurting so bad and I can’t cry because if I do I’ll get asked fifty thousand questions I can’t answer. I don’t want to hurt my parents more than they are already hurting. Better I be the one that hurts. At the end of all this I get to go home. They have to stay here.

I want to go home for Christmas. I want my Master and my friends… I want to feel safe, and wanted, and loved. Who gives a shit about gifts and charades.. I don’t know how much I can act tonight. How much I can pretend that I give a fuck, or don’t when they rip into me. Because they will. They always do. I said I was done with them at my DadDad’s funeral..and my mother is making me see them again. Making me pretend, for her sake, that we’re a happy fucking family.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

They say home is where the heart is. I can never tell my parents that my heart just isn’t here anymore. It’s with my Master and my family in California.

I am battered, I am bleeding, but I am still yours.

-Rene

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 27

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27) Do you have submissive desires or fantasies that you have yet to be able to explore? Do some of your desires confuse or frighten you? Do they excite you?

I don’t know a single person out there than can safely say “I have explored and satisfied every sexual fantasy I have.”

I know I’m not one of them.

I am, as I’ve said before, blessed. I live in an incredible area with open minded people who encourage the type of sexual fantasies I have.

My desires…are strange. They shift from partner to partner. My main kink is service and submission.. From there it morphs, depending on how I would please that partner the most. James is a sadist. Therefore I become his masochist. I enjoy being his masochist, I want to clarify that… I love (and hate..and love..and hate..) what he does to me and serve willingly and happily…but I can’t go into that masochistic head space unless he’s around. It doesn’t have to be him doing the scene. But I either have to be focused on him (like at Fusion where my ass got spanked black and bloody blue so that I could have pictures taken of it to show him) or he needs to be taking photos of it or watching… Otherwise I’m a whimpy light weight.

From this it’s not that my desires or fantasies frighten me.. It’s that they surprise me. If you had asked me a year ago I would have been horrified at the idea of someone digging his nails into the skin of my chest and basically drawing with my raw flesh.. Now I love it. And hate it.. And love it. I love the results, I should say. The beautiful spiral designs that are currently on my chest. I curse him out as much as I can get away with when he’s doing it… Which isn’t much, but it does feel good…

I do have some sexual fantasies still unfulfilled… but that’s what Dark Odyssey events and dungeons are for.. There’s a list in my head… Threesomes, both mfm and fmf. Orgy…because why not? Sometimes I get in a slightly toppy head space and I think about fucking a girl I know with a strap on… I don’t know where that toppy place is coming from lately. If anything, that scares me the most.

Submissive fantasies… I want to be owned and collared again. I think about his hand wrapped around my neck too often.. He does it once in a blue moon, but I’m hungry for more of that…breath play. I love breath play…. And yes, I think about fucking him.

And no, we still haven’t.

I fantasize about little things too.. things I sometimes took for granted. Curling up in each other’s arms. Going out on dates. Sleeping next to one another in bed.

The biggest fantasy?

One uninterrupted day with he and I. No stress. No money worries. Just one day when I can get lost in the company of my Sir.

A girl can dream, right?

Yours…exhausted

-Rene

ps. I do apologize for how lax I’ve been with these 30 Days entries… I’m sure that you’ve seen that there has been a LOT going on in my hectic thing called life… But I finish what I start, and now that life is slowly returning to normal on planet subby, I plan on finishing the last three entries in a timely manner. Thank you all for your patience, and as always for glancing at my humble blog. I am, as always, grateful.

Day 19

19) How socially connected is your submission? Do you look for others to talk to about your submission for support or networking? Do you go to events or connect through another sort of social grouping either in person or online?

I am very lucky in living where I do.

I didn’t always have or want support, even though I live in kinky Mecca. The Bay Area celebrates BDSM and kink in a way no other area does, especially San Francisco itself. I type this with a grin on my face because Folsom is coming… The biggest day on the kinky calendar. And I can’t wait.

But I digress. This was about my networking with other submissives.

The first kinkster in the Bay Area that I was ever friends with is a man named ZebraJim. He is my favorite old perv, 66 and still kicking despite the universe trying to kill him time and time again. The man is a self-proclaimed dungeon troll in the Bay Area, helping out Alchemy, the Citadel, and Black Thorn. Meeting him was the beginning of meeting everybody.

I resisted the community for a loooong time. I was focused on my Dom at the time and saw no need for a community. This was one of the drawbacks of me throwing myself into a 24/7 relationship… I got lost in it.

When that relationship ended (which was a very long process…) I hermited a little while. I licked my wounds. I stopped trying to force myself to go to parties and waited until I actually wanted to be social and see people again. This.. Took a bit of time. I can be naturally antisocial, so being around others when I’m upset can be extra exhausting to me.

Being part of the community again really started when I began to go to BaGG, something that I had always avoided in the past because it was much more socializing than play, and play was always easier for me. It was a language I understood and could easily communicate with… But the social aspect of BaGG allowed me to, very slowly, make some very good friends.

James is much better in social situations than I am. He’s an actor, and can always perform when he needs to. It’s one of the things that both drew me to him and terrified me about him when I first met him… When we were getting closer he told me something that has stuck with me… And has proven to be true. He said that while we were together, for however long it lasted and whatever we managed to become, he would help me be more at ease with myself and unlock this potential that he saw in me. It started with him asking me to BaGG until I came, and then encouraging me to socialize at BaGG.

Now? I am incredibly lucky. Over the last couple of months I’ve come to find myself surrounded by a group of incredible kinky friends, Dominant and submissive alike. Some I met at BaGG… Some I met through friends of those friends. One amazing friend I met through my former mentor, of all people, and has helped to rekindle a friendship between him and me… Although I’m still not sure how he feels about me being best friends with his girlfriend :p Life is funny sometimes. Even my roommates are kinky now.

Community is a huge asset.  You can talk to someone in the kink world about things you can’t tell just any old vanilla person. There’s a frankness between kinky friends that is hard to find.

As I said at the beginning of this entry, I am blessed because of where I live. Finding a physical community isn’t hard here. I am well aware that others are not as lucky, and are seeking communities of their own. For that, the online world can be a huge resource. Fetlife.com can be amazing both for connecting to other kinkster and for seeing what events are happening around you. You will also find groups and forums of people posting discussion topics you are welcome to jump in on and take part in. For more anonymous kinky resources there is Tumblr, which has a huge amount of kinksters on it. There are also countless blogs like mine written by other subs. I can only speak for myself when I say that I never mind connecting with others. In fact, I enjoy it. Anyone reading this can feel free to e mail me directly with any questions and with more networking sources ^.^

Yours getting posts up when she can… I still don’t have computer access after my move on Saturday. Working on it! More entries to come more frequently!

-Rene

Day 16

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Day 16

Have you found your submission has changed with different partners/relationships? If you’re involved with partners of both sexes, does your submission relate or change based on gender or does it depend on the person?

Isn’t it that way with relationships in general, BDSM, kink, vanilla or otherwise? Different relationships have people interacting in different ways.

I’ll start with the second part of this question and then delve back into the first. When I was younger.. around 19 or so, I was in a very unhealthy relationship. It was an abusive rebound that continued for a year… I consider him part of my young and dumb phase. I’ve always been what I consider bicurious. I’ve always thought of women as beautiful creatures and appreciated the female form. I love pixie-like faces, sharp cheek bones and sparkling eyes. I am not immune to the charms of my own gender. It’s just only once in a blue moon that I actually actively pursue a female. I am a big, big fan of the penis. I admit this.

Back then, I was a bitch in the most unhealthy way possible. I was so angry at men for the relationships that I was in that I decided I was going to delve deeply into the lady pond and pursue that side of my sexuality without my boyfriend knowing (I was in Massachusetts and he was in New Jersey at the time, so this was not that hard). … This consisted of several one-night stands, drunkin hookups, me promising to call when I knew I wouldn’t, and all around slutty behavior. In six months I had managed to sleep with more women and burn more bridges than I had in 19 years with men.

It took me a long time to see that my attraction to women was a natural, healthy thing and not just something that grew out of my unhealthy relationship from back then. For a while I assumed I was a switch, because of how I had treated the girls I played with during that time period. I was a toppy douche, calling the shots and telling them when the relationship ended and what would be done… I thought I would end up topping all women.

… Not so. NOPE. It depends on how women approach me. Cal’s former partner, for instance, loved topping females like me. When I said I wasn’t comfortable with that she took this as a challenge and would bait me on a regular basis, saying she would love to dig her heels into my ass, etc, get me to kiss her feet… It made me challenge her right back and want to look eye level with her. I didn’t necessarily want to top her.. But I wanted to meet her in the eye and be her equal.

I wrote in here about my first experience being topped by a woman.. A good friend of mine named Ren. She is very sweet, and for a while wanted me to be her house pet..but I was never physically interested in her in that way. There are a couple that I am physically interested  in these days.. I have a small circle of friends at BaGG, women and men both, that I’ve somehow become entangled with… I want to kneel in front of one while helping her spank the other.. It is a welcoming, healthy feeling.

…That is as toppy as I get, with either gender. If someone asks me to help with a spanking I will.. but otherwise I want the spanking dammit.

As for my submission changing from partner to partner.. Absolutely. I’ve already talked about what I an absolute masochist I can be with James. I love poking the bear just enough to go home black and blue at the end of the night, knowing that we’ll both enjoy it. As sassy as I can be with James there are times when I can be completely docile if that’s what he requires of me. There is no question of who the one submitting is. There is absolutely no question of who belongs to whom. How sassy or sweet or over the top or quiet I am depends largely on my partner. He leads the scene, in every sense. He is an actor. He takes the stage, commands it. He shows me where our marks are. And I happily walk behind him, follow his lead, fall in naturally with the scene he is directing. It all feel right, and gives me a greater peace than anything I can imagine. James is the star… but I’m his leading lady and I know that. No question. No doubt. I love it. I love him.

Huh.. I think that’s the first time I’ve typed that here.. I’ve told him. He knows…but it’s the first time I’ve openly said it.. I’m in love with James. I love being his.

I have another partner that I formally met when I was at Fusion over the summer. He is a fabulous man who did a beautiful needle scene on my back. We hit it off talking before and after the scene and I ended up spending my last night at camp snuggling with him in bed. He is very different than what I am used to.. Older than I’ve played with before (double my age), but doesn’t act it most of the time. I love his energy. He’s put me at ease from the beginning, making friendship with him a very easy thing and not pushing me to to define the relationship between us in any way. He knows I am poly, but my focus is on James. He is KING of poly..has more partners than I can possibly keep track of and has nicknamed me ‘dessert’ because just when he thought his dance card was full I showed up..and there was somehow room. He’s been helping me slowly navigate both my interactions with him and also James.. answering any questions I have with the patience of a saint.

Playing with him is VERY different from playing with James. I don’t have the desire to push myself so much. They’re both sadists, but with Chris I am sassier. I can get away with more because while James reads as all DOM to me, (with the added dash of ‘this is the man I belong to and serve’ thrown in) Chris is very much a switch. When we play I call him sir, and of course I do respect him… but my most docile side seems reserved for James… The man that owns me also owns the part of me that absolutely submits, without question.. Chris does not own me in any way. I like pushing my limits more with him.. seeing if I can squirm away from him when he has me pinned, seeing what wiggling my ass in his direction will get him to do.. and after we will sit, and talk, and exchange kinky stories of the play we have done since we last saw one another. And I enjoy it. I am grateful for Chris’s company for as long as I am graced with it. He’s taught me quite a bit so far.. and reminds me often when I am in a rough patch that he was at one point as well, and that this too shall pass.

I am lucky, very lucky, to have the people in my life that I do. I don’t know how I got so lucky..but I am a very blessed submissive.

yours..and his,

-Rena

Day 11

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Day 11

Do you include service as a part of your expectations of your submission? How do you define service? What does it mean to you? If not, what is it about the concept of service that is not for you?

I consider myself to be a service oriented submissive… Now, what that means to me when I say that can mean something different to another.

To me, that means that when my Sir says “jump”, I already know how high he wants me to be jumping and instead I am asking him how long. If it’s a partner I truly care about, I try to anticipate his needs. I know what he likes from Wicked Grounds on Wednesday nights when we grab a bite before BaGG…but know not to order it unless he asks me to. I know how a play partner takes his coffee at this point and will fix it for him before I bring it to him in the cafe.

I anticipate and learn how best to serve the person I’m with… which for me can mean learning how to make his favorite meal to learning proper deep tissue massage to help with backaches..

I enjoy this. I get pleasure from giving pleasure, even in the simplest of ways. If that means they want me to clean up their place or cook them dinner then I will, but only if that’s what they want.

Cal’s partner and I both share a certain… erm.. opinion of his ex partner. Her and I ended up in a conversation about service submission the other night, and she expressed the irritation in how the ex would come and clean the house, do the laundry, and how her partner didn’t actually like that.. Those domestic duties are what a lot of people associate with service. Okay, yes, that can be part of it..but that’s not the first thing I think of when I identify myself.

Honestly, when I think about service in regards to myself I think about my relationship with pain.. My masochistic side developed because the person I belong to is a sadist. He enjoys digging his nails into my flesh, making me squeak and yip and whimper in the club and cafe and..wherever else he decides to hit me. The first couple times we played in any way I remember thinking “I don’t know if I can do this… I don’t like pain. I can’t take this. This HURTS.”

And then I saw the twinkle in his eyes.. I saw the sadistic smile that lets me know just how much trouble I’m in… The impishness. And I wanted more, not because I craved the sensation but because I craved that reaction from him.

I crave the look of pride he gives me when he’s beaten me to my limit and he has to all but peel me off of the cross because standing is hard… When he pulls me into his arms while I’m still trembling and gives me the feather light kiss on top of my head, and then the gentlest kiss on my lips.. Little, silent thank yous that let me know that I did good, that I made him proud. I love the look of delight on his face when he’s taking photos of me being beaten by another, the voyeur in him enjoying every second of it.

I get pleasure from giving pleasure, and that manifests in multiple ways… That is the best way I can define service for myself.

Yours, a content service subby

-Rena

Day 2

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Day 2
Describe who you might submit to and how. Are you exclusively submissive in marriage or just in the bedroom? Are you submissive only in the context of a scene or in a role or throughout your daily life? Are you submissive to play partners or only in the context of a relationship?

There are those dangerous categories on Fetlife when it comes to the amount of time you spend “involved” with kink. ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’, ’24/7′, ‘bedroom only’, etc. What is the line between ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’ and ’24/7′. It is not as if I am always thinking subby thoughts.. but it takes me almost nothing to get there. It’s a look from James, or his tone, or from other partners I play with.. It is definitely not just a scene or role for me. My submission is part of who I am. I fall into it naturally, without a fight… but I fall into it when signals from a Dominant man are sent.

I’ll give you a for-instance…both are playful, as I am a sassy little sub. James and I will ‘poke’ each other. I mean literally reach out and poke each other with our fingers. Sometimes this devolves into tickles, licks, and playful nips and both of us end up laughing hysterically. Other times he will look at me, suddenly calm, and just go, “Really? Really now? Are you sure?” The moment those words are out of his mouth I’m in sub mode, mentally bracing for the nail about to pierce my skin or the hand about to come down on my chest or thigh. I don’t fight him, I don’t question it..because I don’t want to. Because those words are the trigger that make me want it. I want the sting of warmed, reddened flesh and the feel of his nails digging into me…

It works in text as well as in person, at least for me. I have a play partner in San Mateo that will text me orders from time to time when I’m on the way to see him, simple things like “pick up chocolate on the way and I’ll pay you back” or “park in the space next to mine in the garage.” My automatic response is almost always, “Yes, sir.”

However, only people relatively close to me text me…and have that power to get that response out of me. If someone is a casual play partner that I see only at parties then I’m only submissive to them during our scene at that party. I belong to James. I submit to James whenever it is asked of me.. When it comes to playing with others they have to ask his permission, so it almost feels as if I’m on loan to them for those moments, and then I go back to where I belong.

And on a final note to today’s question: why does the phrase ‘marriage’ have to be used? The idea of getting married right now is terrifying… just saying.

Two questions down, 28 to go.

Yours, as always

-Rena