Relationships go in cycles, or so it seems. At least, mine always have. Those who are meant to stick around in your life cycle back around in one way or another.
One of those that has cycled back for me is Cal, the person who started all of this. I still chuckle when I think about how I was when I started this journey. Monogamous, green, terrified of pain. Spankings were far from enjoyable for me and knives terrified me.
Now, most of that is the opposite.
Cal and I have danced around each other for years now… and we’re still dancing. It’s never been the right time. Things have always gotten in the way. He hasn’t been available. I haven’t been. And so, I swallowed the bits of desire that remained after his last breakup and told myself, over and over and over, I would be a safe person for him. I would be a friend.
What I didn’t factor in was that nothing about Cal is safe. At least for me.
I have several people that have always been kryptonite for me, just on a visceral level. James is one of them. He gets to me on every level. His voice, his smell, his presence… Cal is another one. When I was his mentee I would sleep in tee shirts that smelled of him. I think I still have one of his old green shirts stashed away that I sleep in on colder nights (I don’t normally wear shirts to bed. I get strangled by them). He figured out how to fuck my mind before he ever got to my body, which hardly helped things when I was first starting out. And he was protective of me. All things that give me a lady boner.
He started coming to BaGG, on and off, a couple of months ago. He saw James again (James doesn’t like him), met my Daddy and my Sir. BaGG… is a work in progress for Cal and I. The first time he got me shit faced on scotch and left me before saying goodbye and after making out with me. Several times. And telling me that he would be there long after James was gone, and we would end up together because we’re both too broken not to. The second was similar to the first, only I was more sober and stuck him on a stool for the last hour of the night to sober up while I rubbed at bruises he left on my neck. He’s into breath play, which is something I also love, but when he’s drunk his hands are very rough. And I was afraid.
Still. There had been kisses. And hugs. And he called me little one.
I found myself protective of this man, broken again by a relationship that I saw going down in flames long before it did. And I found myself terrified of him as well. He apologized for the incidents and promised to try and manage the alcohol more. He’s hurt, physically, and not eating as much as normally, and so alochol is affecting him more strongly than it normally does.
There is a war in my head when it comes to Cal. There is the good, protective friend that kinda wants to guide him back into our local scene and then there’s the submissive chomping at the bit to prove herself to him. To show what he missed. It’s the submissive that gets me in trouble, in ways that I didn’t see coming. And it’s the submissive that still.. can’t help but react to him. Smell. Voice. Presence. ESPECIALLY when he milks it. When he purrs my nickname after too many drinks and I tell my brain to shut up for a minute so I can enjoy.
He’s gotten better. We both have. Thank godde for time, firm boundaries, and bunnies. He has a new love that has slowly wrangled a lot of the darkness he has been carrying..and it means he’s behaving a lot more. And she is lovely.. Full compersion here. She’s the right age and the right temperment to actually be GOOD for him after his string of lemons, and I’m happy for him. I truly, honestly am. I just…have brain squirrels.
Last week, Cal came to BaGG. I was freshly back from a trip east and felt like absolute shit. I now know I probably had a fever..but I was determined to go. My friends wanted to see me. My meta wanted to talk about her trip and mine. I wanted my time with James. I was getting there.
I spent a good portion of the night on my knees, which were so sore they could barely support my weight. I didn’t think about this, until Cal saw me do it in the back of the smoking alley.
His hands were in my hair before I could warn him not to. He pet me gently, and I purred. Daddy was right in front of me. I knew it was safe, and Cal kept saying it wasn’t sexual. He was careful not to call me my nickname. I was careful not to call him sir. We were Cal and Rene and it was just a few head pets when I was in pain.
Later in the back room, he hugged me hard. He gets emotional after a few drinks and has a habit of thanking me for still being around.. which I appreciate. The hug captured my head. He had his hand in my hair and pulled, hard. I whimpered and reached for Daddy’s shirt, tugging just as hard. It was a signal we had agreed upon earlier in the evening that I would do when I was scared. Daddy interviened, gently pulling Cal off of me while my meta calmed me down. I blamed the last double he had and tried to shake it off.
It’s just with alcohol that I find myself on edge with Cal. When four or five drinks are removed he’s a safehaven. I crashed at his place after a play party last weekend, grateful for the couch and a day when I didn’t have to pay a bridge toll in order to get to work. He hugged me hello and I smelled him and immediately knew cuddling was out of the question. I put a big, fat blanket between he and I on the couch until he went to crash for the evening.
The next morning I tried to sneak out, dressing quickly for breakfast with Chris and scampering out the door. I dressed quickly before tossled hair and a furrowed brow stumbled outside, slightly confused. He was adorable. Bits of me melted that had been holding firm, and I smiled. He hugged me goodbye a beat too long. A dangerous beat. I wanted to kiss him.
But. I also want his head on straight. I want him established with his new parter. I want him happy and mostly whole. I want him to know that I am safe, and stable, and honestly pretty fucking close to poly saturated right now. I want to see more than one BaGG in a row without me getting scared of him physically harming me.
I want time, that lovely balm that heals all things, to finally decide the course for Cal and I. I keep telling myself that we are going to be friends. Friends are safe. Friends are good.
And all my instincts keep wanting more.
Yes, Cal is my teacher from a world ago, but lately we’ve been teaching each other. We talk daily, reading one another and keeping each other in check. For now, this is healthy.
I don’t know. Time will tell. Time always tells. For now, I have brain squrrels and he has a bunny. And this is how it should be.
So, what have you got left to teach me, teacher mine?
She wanted to own him, for him to want to own her, but he tread lightly around her. He didn’t want to mark her. She wanted to be branded; a red, raw wound.”
-The Piano Teacher
‘In an Open Relationship since May, 20, 2015’
“WHAT THE FLYING FUCK.”
It was the cherry on top of an overly-saturated emotional cake today, full of feels I am still processing. I agreed today to walk into a situation that will end up likely breaking a large part of me and force me out of my community for a while. It will be the catalyst to something that I have been chewing on for a while. Facebook just took the time to remind me that even when I think the ghosts are gone.. sometimes I miss a spot.
The status wasn’t linked to James. That has long since been gone..but it was there. Our anniversary staring at me. Mocking me, as the loose end that said ‘you haven’t walked away yet’ while his details say single. I can’t do that. I’m not single. I have partners, though no primary. I can’t draw that clean line like he can..but has it ever been clean?
We’re getting James a car. The wheels are in motion, no pun intended. It’s what I sat down to figure out today. Will it be possible. Can it be done? Yes.
This passed weekend I watched him break. Again. I saw him on Friday at a play party and barely recognized the stubborn man I know and love. I saw… a broken, exhausted shell of a man that is so far beyond the reach of those who love him. I was afraid. Unsurprised, and afraid. I asked if he wanted a ride home, and of course he said no. He can get himself home. I wasn’t surprised when he posted a status the next day saying that he was going into full hibernation mode and would be back in a few days. He needed it. I knew that, watching as an outsider looking in that knew way too much about him. I don’t have a right to know anymore, but I do. I know his body ticks. I know the look he gets when he’s hit a wall.
I can’t watch it anymore.
There’s a selfish element. I realize that I can get certain gears rolling for him, connect certain people together, that others can’t. It’s why I’ve been pulled in. I also realize that in doing this, my usefulness to him will be removed. I’m his ride. Removing that factor severs our necessity in one another. It removes a huge way in which I passively serve him and reduces our interactions purely to choice.
I’m not sure what either of us can choose. Will choose. But I would rather give up the choice to be around him than watch him kill himself. I… can’t. I love the asshole. To actually be permitted to pull my resources and do some good with them for him… It’s one last hurrah. The last act of real service I can give him before I am completely rung dry. Before I am used up emotionally and break myself.
After the meeting today I came home and let myself trip back down memory lane, digging into the Dark Odyssey photo albums. I let myself look at the old shots he’s taken of me, vs the ones he takes now. I let myself register the disconnect and distance. I found the Facebook slip and while it stung on top of everything else I feel relieved to have remedied the error. I know I’m going to put way too much into this, both time and energy… and then I will finally rest. I will walk away, explain why, and see what happens next. If he comes after me I will honestly be shocked. If he notices what I’ve done I’ll be doubly shocked. I don’t expect anything in return for all this. And I know I’m being way too vague in this entry, but I can’t talk about details.
I have to do this. One last time.
And then… I will probably disappear for a while.
I don’t have a choice. I won’t disappear from here. I’ll still have my partners… but James and I are so tightly entangled. I fear after he gets his wheels..even before, now.. that entanglement will become a strangle hold. If it hasn’t already. I will suffocate under the weight of our connection, unable to move forward and forbidden to go back. Whether I go or stay, it will break me..it’s just the damage that must be calculated. The recovery time. The risk and reward.
I will step back from BaGG. From the Citadel parties I love.. I know the ones he works. The ones he doesn’t. I won’t cut myself off completely from the community but…
If I am useless and unwanted, I need to hear that. If I am wanted and needed, I need to hear that. And I don’t know if I ever will.
So now I lay sleepless on my couch with a snoring dog and a cat desperately trying to flatten my chest, attempting to see which end is up.
There is a lot about my various kinks that I have embraced over time. The further down the rabbit hole I go, the more I discover about myself. Some of it stopped me short when I realized it was a part of myself… That there is an aspect of myself that is very much a slave to the proper Master, that I just can’t do pick-up-play. That there is a part of me that is a pain slut when I’m in the proper mindset.
That I very much have a little side, and that that little is sexual…
My first discovery of my little side was with Smith…and when that blew up and bit me in the ass my little went into hiding, DEEP hiding. That aspect of myself was a core part of our dynamic. He was the first one to expose me to phrases like ‘princess parts’, who made me stop squirming at the idea of calling someone ‘daddy’. He helped show me that taboo can be attractive, erotic… that the fetish could be done in a healthy way and can be incredibly fulfilling. And then our whole dynamic exploded and I was cut out like cancer, my little discarded because his partner was severely triggered by he and I… Not even James could coax her out again.
For two years, my little hid. Unfulfilled. Slipping out in spirts of a bubbly voice and an obvious love of stuffies; a side of myself that filled me with severe amounts of shame because when she finally came out she was told she was horrible and wrong.
And then I got to know Ryan.
Ryan is a BaGG regular who I’ve known for over a year now, in some capacity. For a very long time he was the rather attractive fellow that James gave rides to from time to time. Then he became the rather attractive fellow that was always at BaGG. Then he was the attractive fellow with the REALLY pretty partner. Like. Really pretty.
And then I found out the attractive fellow thought I was also attractive. Meep. MEEEEEEEEP.
As my squirly brain often does, it had labeled Ryan as ‘crush’ and therefore ‘untouchable. I found out that was very much not the case sometime in the late summer months. He was established with his partner, and I was slowly creeping back into dating after my release..and I was restless. I liked his voice, calm and soothing with a ‘sadist with a smile’ quality. I enjoyed his calm, easy going nature that was a balm on frazzled nerves. I especially liked how well we had begun communicating.
The first time we played he tied me up, giving me a pretty chest harness with bottlecaps underneath the rope for the edge of pain I craved…and then he fucked me into oblivion. Holy crap, that man scratches that particular itch for me in a way that will have me sated for a good few days afterward (a rarity with a libido as active as mine). It was good, comfortable. We played well with one another…though the dynamic wasn’t mind-blowing, it was fun. And I found myself much, MUCH more attracted to him than I thought possible… He has strong arms with just the right amount of muscle, a fit body, and his legs… Yum yum yum yum yum….
Another date followed, this time at his place, and then the weeks went by. We talked, both at BaGG when we saw one another and online when we didn’t. I don’t quite remember how it started, but somehow the topic of me being a little slipped out.
He was interested. He liked the idea of it. More than liked it.
Part of me was hesitant. Yes, it had been two years…and yes, this was a stable play partner that I trusted… but did I trust myself not to fuck up again? What if my little was just bad, and not in the good way? What if it was the rotten part of myself that I just couldn’t show?
…If I didn’t try, I would never know.
And so, I dressed up. I wore a frilly pink shirt, my ‘little’ underwear, my hair in pigtails. I brought stuffies and let myself slowly, slowly relax into the dynamic as I drove to Ryan’s house.
I love when risks pay off. He spanked me, of course.. He pulled my hair, played with my ‘princess parts’ and made them feel ‘funny’ and ‘got me all wet’. He had me cumming so many times I lost track, and seemed to all but purr every time I called him ‘daddy’. That magic switched that existed when he called me ‘kitten’ or ‘sweetie’ worked both ways..and the dynamic went from good to pretty fucking fantastic. We found a very natural niche for both of us to play in, a need that others weren’t sating at the moment, and so we played through taboo whispers of mommy not finding out what we were doing, and the little girl begging for daddy’s hard cock in her bum and princess parts… I let myself go, let myself enjoy.
The dynamic has developed over time, and now our play dates are some of my favorite things. They are catharsis, release, whether he simply fucks me into oblivion or beats me with a hairbrush before. It’s fun, and easy. There is something about Ryan that from the beginning has felt incredibly… safe. Our relationship isn’t romantic, but I do very much love and care for the man, and his partner. I know he’s protective of me, that he has my back. I know that I can run to him and his lovely at BaGG if I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. I also feel so free to talk to him about my headspace, how I’m feeling and what I need from play on a certain night. I don’t feel on edge, or ashamed, or in need of censuring myself with him. Our negotiation skills are kinda top knotch, and there’s an ease to he and I that I respect and enjoy.
Some of my favorite parts of our playdates are our ‘games’. I have a wee bit of an oral fixation, as I’m sure has become quite apparent in my entries.. I love sucking cock. We developed a ‘game’ a couple of dates ago. While daddy is on the phone ordering take out, kitten kneels in front of him and sucks his cock. This usually continues until long after the phone call is over, much to my great pleasure. Ryan is not small..and I take great pride in being able to take all of him down my throat, even if it’s not for long yet.
Last date he led me into the bedroom by his cock, starting with me sitting on the couch. He let me suck him for a few moments, and then took a step back, forcing me to my knees chasing after him. Step by step, he backed toward his bedroom. Inch by inch on my knees I followed, eagerly bobbing my head after his cock in an attempt to keep a steady rhythm as we moved. He’s one of those that I always love the taste of..male and musk and..mmmmm.
He pushed me down onto his bed and thoroughly beat my ass, literally punching into me. I remain very much an impact slut and absolutely love rough body play. I can take a lot of thuddy punching, especially with two or three fingers shoved up my pussy as a fist slams into my ass. I get off on the impact, asking for more, begging for it…and I did beg. Asking daddy for more and begging to be allowed to cum. Sometimes he makes me wait… He gets me there so easily. Other times he forces the orgasm out of me, having figured out on our first date that I can cum on command. By the fourth or fifth orgasm I am spent, screaming and begging daddy, daddy, daddy over and over as fingers fuck me, and then his cock. He’s not one to relent, to let me off easily, and I enjoy the play even more for that. He stretches me, pushing me through orgasm after orgasm, his cock going so deep it hits my back wall more often than not and sends me spiraling even more often. If I’m a good girl, if I ask nicely, he’ll toy my ass. If I’m really good daddy will have me spread my bum and slide his cock, inch by inch, inside, pausing just for a moment before picking up a punishing rhythm that gets me off so quickly I can barely see straight. All the while I cling to the blankets, begging for more, trying not to scream..
Afterwards, there is tobacco (he smokes. I don’t, though I will at times steal a drag after sex). He more often than not will offer his house coat and slippers to me over real clothes, a touching gesture and ritual I’ve begun to enjoy. I like the fuzzy texture on my skin when it’s still buzzing with aftershock goodness. I love it combined with cuddles, the smell of tobacco and man and sex, and the ease in which Ryan and I communicate both in and out of scene.
It’s taken more than words to make my little side feel safe, cared for, and like she isn’t…bad. Innately evil. It’s taken touches and teases. Cuddles, cartoons, and dozens of sweeties, kittens, and lots and lots of patience. Ryan has seen me cry, both in and out of little space, and has offered a safe space for me. He is honestly an incredible top and an even better friend… and I’m not sure my little would have ever been coaxed back out of hiding without him, and the encouragement and support of his epic partner. The combo platter of the two of them in my life as my people, my safe place, my friends… I am lucky. Very, very lucky.
The further I jump down the rabbit hole, the more I learn about myself. I continue to marvel at how kinks and preferences can change, and how relationships can be so meaningful and yet so different as well. A few years ago I never though I would be talking about poly pods and seeing someone I’m involved with not just as himself, but part of a unit. It would have plagued me with so much jealousy and made me feel like a third wheel. Instead, compersion is very much a thing, and my happy little side squees at time with both of them.
And so, further down the rabbit hole I go.
Yours, ever growing and ever changing,
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.
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
Purposeful misspelling, I promise.
Yesterday was Dore Alley, or Up Your Alley, or Leather Alley..whatever you want to label it as. I tend to go with “baby Folsom” because it’s the easiest way to explain it. It’s Folsom before Folsom. A taste of what is to come at the end of September. And going to it the last two years has made me very, very happy.
It was a harder day for me than it was a year ago. My sister, my best friend, is now 5800 miles away in Denmark. She left that morning, around the time that the event started…
I don’t really want to go into the details of my emotional state.. Rather the events resulting from it.
I found myself at Dore Alley, drying some tears after an intense last-stateside conversation with my sister. It seemed like just the therapy I needed.. I knew James would be there. My friends would be there. I wanted to be around my friends, out dressed in clothing that had me feeling more comfortable than any street clothing could.
It was right about then that I got nostalgic. I walked through the sea of half-naked bodies, assless chaps, and human puppies thinking about the previous Dore Alley, where Kane had met me after his wife left for the airport..
Kane and I have talked from time to time since we’ve split and had a habit of passively liking posts on Instagram, but other than that I had long ago stopped going out of my way to reach out to him. The year before Kane had been all that was on my mind. I took teasing photos for him at the event, begging him to come out and play, missing my boyfriend while I tried not to think about his wife.
Being the little show off that I am sometimes, I signed up for the naked dance contest. This, at the time, was extremely out of the ordinary for me. I still changed in the bathroom at the Citadel. I was never naked in public, never. I didn’t think anyone wanted to see chubby little me naked. I wanted to do something bawlsy and get lost in kink while I could. I had a vanilla job, Kane had no interest in the public scene, and the voyeuristic part of me that I refused to acknowledge most of the time wanted the attention of gyrating on stage in front of hundreds of people.
And so I stripped with Kane watching me, looking at me with the ‘I will fuck you later’ look. He held my bag and my clothes while I ran on stage, terrified and thrilled all at once. I stood in back, found him in the crowd, and danced like an idiot.. But it was fun. I kept locking eyes with him. I shimmied my hips and my ass and stuck my tongue out and just…enjoyed myself.
Somehow I ended up shoved in the front. I don’t know how. I still don’t like being in the front.. I like being the support, the background, but the spotlight and I still aren’t on speaking terms. I couldn’t find Kane in the crowd and wasn’t sure I wanted to still be on stage at all.
I looked down and locked eyes with my worse nightmare, a camera.
I vaguely recognized the person behind it. He took photos at some of the play parties I had gone to, and usually had a naked Asian woman in his lap. He was loud, with a big booming voice and over-the-top personality that scared the shit out of me. He had an easy power to take center stage, to make others notice him.
And he was watching me.
I kept dancing. I still couldn’t find Kane..and so I kept my eyes on the red headed camera guy. Saw the smirk on his face, the look of amusement as he took photos of everyone. I was attracted to him.. to strong hands, to the look of intensity he got when he worked, to the blue eyes I somehow hadn’t noticed before and the scruff… I have such a weakness for scruff.
Eventually we all stopped dancing and my viking collected me. We waited around to see who won the big prize, and I remember the red headed photo guy won even though he hadn’t danced. He knew everyone, was talking to everyone when I went home with Kane.
It’s amazing the difference a year can make. I ended up running into Kane amongst the latex and leather of Dore Alley. We talked..caught up, touched on why we ended and what we had become. He told me he was still pretty single. I finally told him I wasn’t. I confronted him about me being a secret..about him never fully letting me in his life. I wanted to meet his friends and his family, and he always kept me at arms length. I was never fully one of his people.
He looked started when I told him that, and then he smiled really sadly.
“Rena… I didn’t keep you from meeting my people. I don’t…have people.” He shrugged. In the middle of this clusters came over and chatted. They hugged, we talked. There were people from the Citadel, from BaGG, people I see week after week that I would call friends. When there was finally a break in the people and conversation he smiled. “Clearly, Rena, you have people now. You needed it.. It’s nice to see you finally happy.”
He’s right. I am happy.
We parted on good terms with plans to do a studio night together and hang out, just as friends. He went off to explore the rest of the festival, and I ended up kneeling next to my favorite red head with a camera. Yes, the same one that I finally noticed a year ago.
The same one that, during my conversation with Kane, was never too far away.
James still scares me.. but for entirely different reasons than that day I first noticed him. The chuckle doesn’t scare me..or the smirk.. The nails digging into my chest don’t scare me, and while I flinch when his hand comes down to hit me that doesn’t scare me either.
It’s when his voice gets soft and tender and his touch becomes feather-light that I become afraid. When he pulls me into his chest and kisses the top of my head so softly, so sweetly that I feel so entirely cherished and safe.. That is when he scares me.. Because this man has slowly captured more and more of my heart.
My life is changing.. for the better I think. I’m slowly getting myself un-stuck. Creatively I’m working again, financially I’ve collected another job that is slowly taking the place of unstable funds. Social wise I have friends… I go out, I see people. I smile a lot.
Romantically, he’s got me. I trust him, completely. I am his.
…It really is that simple
I am his. And I am happy.
Sometimes, doors closing can be an incredibly healthy thing. It can make you even more confident about your choices to open others.
I haven’t written in too long.. I’ve been going through a lot, but that is something to write about another time, when I am able to.
For now, I will write about something that did happen, what feels like a lifetime ago.
I was living in Boston trudging through the last year of my undergrad. My aunt was sick, but I didn’t know she was terminal yet. I had a credit card I didn’t pay the bill for, big dreams, and an itch to explore.
My sex life was…limited. I was single but not. Jason and I had broken up the previous May; it was October and we hadn’t seen each other since, but we were calling each other and Skyping regularly, in this weird limbo of sometimes we were friends, sometimes we were more. Feelings were still there, as were whispers of a maybe-future.
I’ve mentioned before that Halloween is my favorite holiday, and October my month. Living in Boston I frequented Salem on a regular basis to frolic with witches, and October in Salem was Halloween central. On one of my trips I noticed flyers for a Vampire Ball at the Hawthorne Hotel the last weekend in October. It was my last year there.. I was in.
I dressed in, for the place and time, what was a racy outfit for me. The shirt was see through, I remember, and the jeans were blacked and hugged my ass without giving me pudge. I put on makeup, a set of fake fangs, and was out the door.
I was a good girl. I called a cab ahead of time to pick me up when it said the ball was set to end, at 1 a.m. (Boston’s mass transit stops around midnight) and psyched myself up for a good time, and whatever awaited me. What I ended up finding was somewhat… disappointing. I was hoping for some spice, for people to give me the occasional double-take. For someone to desire me somewhere.
As the night wore on I managed to make a couple of friends. The place was full of couples, and those I was talking to were amused that I had come on my own. One couple I found to be rather striking entertained me for the majority of the evening.
They were polar opposites. Her head was shaved and completely tattooed. She wore an over bust corset with gaps in the lacing that was one size too small, so that when she was dancing occasionally her nipples would pop out, and you could see the glittery spider web design she had attached to them. Her breasts were quite obviously fake, but they balanced out her otherwise curvy figure. She was covered in tattoos from head to toe. Her arms were completely sleeved. Even her fingers were covered. As she drank copious amounts of wine she pulled me onto the dance floor multiple times, grinding with me and one or two other females that dared to join us.
Her partner was completely silent and dressed sharply in a suit with a blood red tie and white undershirt. I remember being puzzled by him; he was quiet, barely said a word to me all evening, and yet filled up the room more than any other person there. He was older than her by at least ten years, with a military style buzz cut of salt and pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. Not a tattoo in sight. Comparing him to his flamboyant partner and attempting to see their compatibility boggled my mind for the rest of the evening.
From time to time the man would beckon his partner over and whisper in her ear, a hand on her hip as he spoke. She then would run off to one person or another and speak with them.
Eventually, she came to me around 11. “We’re going to go outside for one last smoke break and then head upstairs to our room, want to join us?” (they were not locals, and because of this rented one of the three hundred dollar rooms for the evening). I nodded, curious, and also a casual smoker at the time (I blame art school). I had my camera with me, a new Nikon D3200 that I was slowly learning to master. I took several portraits of them under the Hawthorne Hotel’s back entrance light, puffing on my bummed cigarette the whole while. I still have the portraits, backed up on various hard drives.
When we got to the room the couple motioned for me to get comfortable. She was slurring her speech at this point, and I myself was giddy on a few glasses of wine. They were from out of town, the man explained, from the midwest. He traveled a lot for work and brought her with him when he could. They had two sons. It had been so ling since they last played with others.
That last bit was where they lost me..and where I apparently lost my top. I remembering laying on the bed with the woman on top of me transfixed by the man as he shed his layers. When his suit came off I saw what it covered.. He had a body suit of tattoos under his suit, all traditional Japanese style. When he wore long sleeves and slacks you had no close. He crawled onto the bed next to me and showed me where, in all the ink, his wife’s name was hidden.
As if on cue she proudly stripped and showed me where her man’s name was on her, right above her lady bits. “He owns me.” she told me. “I’m branded by him over my most intimate area. I am his property, to do with as I wish.”
…That’s about where vanilla me’s head exploded.
The man ordered the woman up to mix drinks for all of us..not that I can remember what I drank. I liked how he smelled, the musk of his scent, and didn’t resist when he pulled off my bra and underwear. They asked what my limits were..
Here I was, extremely attracted to these two people and extremely confused all at once, and I started rambling on about Jason, about how I loved him about the weirdness between us..
Somehow this led to me making out with the man as he fondled my top and the woman fingering me. I remember her murmuring “You’re so fucking beautiful” over and over, the man agreeing, saying I would make such a nice little pet.
“Look how responsive she is.. It’s like a living squeaky toy..”
Part of me wishes I had been much more sober for this experience than I was..and part of me wish I had recognized them for what they were back then so that I could write this all down sooner, before the details got blurry.
I vaguely remember them having a conversation about me; saying they would like to see me again when I was free of hang ups, that they wish they were closer, that they wished I could fully play. At the time I had only been with three men, so penetration was a very much no-no. It was taboo. You didn’t have sex with strangers! Whores did that.
…I wanted to have sex with him.. really badly. I liked her too..but I wanted to fuck him. Quiet, brooding, and calling the shots.
My cab called me right on time to say he was outside of the hotel. I quickly dressed, despite the protests of the couple, and went outside to go back to my boring college life, trying to process what had just happened and what I got myself into. I had willingly gone to a stranger’s hotel room to fool around with a couple. They saw me naked. She talked about being owned by her husband and seemed giddy when he asked her to make us all drinks.
…So imagine my “DOH!” reaction when I dove into the world of BDSM and remember all I could of this event.. He owned her. She was a submissive to his Dominance, and from all appearance they had a 24/7 arrangement. Throughout the night she had mentioned rewards for things, like her breast implants and tattoos being gifted to her for this, this and this.
Very few people know this happened. I never shared the experience for fear of judgment, only telling that I was propositioned, not that I went upstairs with the swinging couple.
You think that would have gotten me to figure out what I was sooner. Whoopsie?
I, like many others, struggle with my weight.
It’s taken me a very long time to be able to look in the mirror and think the person looking back is beautiful. It started when I was much, much younger with a mother built completely different than me. She used to get me kids jeans three sizes too small and would tell me I couldn’t wear jeans until I fit into those. I went to a nutritionist for the first time when I was eight years old, started doing Weight Watchers for the first time when I was ten (complete with the meetings), and at this point have it so engrained in my head that I automatically calculate the points of food, and have never seen the single digit side of clothing sizes. I’ve come damn close. At my “skinniest” I was a size 10, and I was fabulous.
I was also bulimic, so that helps, though I am trying to get there again the healthy way. I haven’t slipped with my binging and purging in a whole year. I’ve been more active (though I’ve been far too lazy today and need to go take my walk after I write this..), eating much better food, and slowly watching the scale go down, pound by pound, week by week.
The number still bothers me..but it’s bothering me a little less. I don’t like seeing a 2 in front of my weight. EVER. I’m small, all of 4 ft 11, and I am damn curvy. I am blessed and cursed with a body that hides my weight extremely well..blessed because if I told someone I weight 206.4 as of last weekend they would gawk at me in shock.. cursed because it’s not those annoying five pounds that sneak up on me. It’s those annoying twenty pounds…
I do think I need to lose weight. My goal over time is to get to 150 (at my thinnest I was in the 170s). I don’t think I’m gigantic. I know I’m sexy. I know I look good in a corset and thong, and I know what lingerie makes me look fantastic.
I am confident around Kane, more so than any other man I’ve been with. I know he doesn’t see flaws when he looks at me. I know his perception of beauty is different than most. I know he thinks I’m beautiful.
But I want to curl up in a ball and hide every single time he asks me to get on top.
I’ve NEVER liked the position. Ever. Because I become twenty times more self conscious about my size. I notice my tummy, my thighs; everywhere that I hold weight. I get self conscious about how I’m moving or if I’m keeping a proper pace… or if I look like this slow, sluggish beached wale impaled on top of a man. No one has ever called me that, mind you, and those that have gotten me on top have appreciated it…but my little warped mind sees this disfigured creature in place of myself.
I’ve enjoyed it twice that I can remember, and only twice. Once was with Jason, one night where I actually topped HIM while we were still dating. For some reason it turned both of us on… He was also on his sofas sitting and for some reason that position made me more comfortable than in bed.
It’s the only position that’s a mind fuck for me. Turn me upside down, sideways, lift my legs, spin me around..it doesn’t matter. Ask me to get on top, cowgirl or reverse, and I freeze. Any sexy I have just shrivels and I become this scared little girl… AUGH.
It’s frustrating, because I know it’s one thing Kane very much enjoys. He took me to task about it last night before some very intense (in a very GOOD way) sex, listening to my fears about the position before responding. As far as rhythm and movement, he reminded me that he would be dictating how I moved and how quickly those movements were carried out…and as usually, he assured me about my figure. He likes the position because he gets access to all the parts of myself I want to hide.. my waist, my thighs (he is the only man in the history of EVER to like my legs, which I think are stubby). He loves that it gives him open access to my breasts and free hands… a dangerous combination in all the right was.
Kane isn’t small. My beloved Sir is a sizable man who has picked me up with little effort and tossed me onto the bed before. Logically, I know I won’t squish him. I’m not too big for him to handle. So why does my mind still flinch at the idea when he’s attempted to ease my worries one by one? What is it that his words can’t get through to ease my worries?
Looks like I have some mental picking apart to do… case I wanna ride with the best of ’em, dammit!
Yours frustrated.. and not looking forward to the self-imposed psychological evaluation.
Sigh. I get myself into sticky situations on a regular basis. Along with tripping over air and crashing into objects that I swear to Godde weren’t there a second ago I consider it one of my special talents.
I find myself in one now. My 23rd birthday is on Monday. As I am a baby in this world, it is my first birthday away from both of my parents and all of my old friends back east. Last year I turned 22 in Chicago and spent the day driving through Iowa and Nebraska with my daddy on my way to California to start my brave new life. … Considering the lifestyle I now live, I would definitely call the journey worth it, but until recently very lonely.
Part of that loneliness was due to me trying to turn a romantic situation into something it wasn’t for much too long. Until March I was so solely focused on Jase and he and I moving to Portland for grad school that I didn’t think to attempt to make friends in San Francisco outside of the casual acquaintances I associated with from art school (none of whom I talk to now). Jase was my stability in California… Until he wasn’t.
If it weren’t for the series of events that led to Jase and I ending any sort of romantic relationship and Cal leading me into the BDSM scene I would probably still be a very lonely antisocial turtle. Now I have friends here.. Which is fantastic, and I know that many of them would gladly take me out for a drink and then give me proper birthday beatings. I am also blessed with an amazing boyfriend and Dominant that for some reason gets great joy in spoiling me and makes me smile at least 20 times a day.
Jase and I have definitely distanced ourselves from one another. His girlfriend has great issues with my existence and there are at least three Dominant men in my life that have issues with his face being in one piece.. Along with other parts of his anatomy. But we have old traditions that flair up from time to time, and one of those traditions is a birthday visit.
We always celebrate each other’s birthdays, though often months after the actual events. I go to him or he goes to me and we go out with friends. We drink. Until recently we’ve also fucked. And so, as my birthday got closer I got the text that I was expecting yet dreading.
“Hey so for your birthday weekend you’re coming down, right?”
Of course I am. Why wouldn’t i?
I talked to Kane about it and expressed the normalcy of he and I seeing one another. I also mentioned that I wanted to do something fun for my birthday. I wanted to go out. Drink. Be 23. All my friends here are wonderful, but in their thirties if not very late twenties… If not older. Normally that’s who I get along better with. But sometimes a girl likes to get stupid.
And that’s when I did a stupid. A big stupid.
Kane is very hesitant about expressing ideas sometimes. He doesn’t want to seem desperate or greedy for my time. I’m very bad at saying when I want something. It’s like pulling teeth. I was raised with the mindset that if you ask for something that you are selfish and greedy. You shouldn’t have wants, and should accept that what your partner gives you is all you need.
Essentially. I was raised to believe that all men have psychic powers.
The combination of all this led to Kane proposing an honest amazing offer for what he and I could do for my birthday weekend… And me thinking it was said jokingly.
I accidentally said no to Disneyland. For a weekend drinking on Jase’s couch. GAH.
Kane went so far as to lend me the money for the way too expensive plane ticket. We finally clarified what actually went on last Saturday and I wanted to cry. What an idiot I was!
Jason promised that we would have a good time, and Kane promised that we would go to Disneyland together the next weekend he is free. Okay. Crisis averted. Maybe.
Nope. I wanted to give Jase a chance. He promised us going out and that he would cover $100 of my ticket as my birthday present. He promised we would socialize with friends and wouldn’t be alone together. Well, he texts me today saying he has to shell out a lot of cash for a driving class. I go okay… Can you still contribute to my ticket. He says no.
I then freak out. And frantically text Kane asking if it’s too late for Disney. I was going to Jase’s out of obligation. Because this is what we do and because he promised a good time. I was sacrificing my birthday to him.
Rena a year ago would have gone “okay. Fine. I’ll cover all the ticket. You just pay me the hundred when you can and I’ll still come down and pay for anything I want to do.”
Rena now is going “wait. I have other options. Do I HAVE to do this… Or can I do what I want to do?”
I am capable of being selfish. I am capable of wants. I want to have fun on my birthday and not make myself go broke doing it. I told Jase that I had to talk to Kane. That if nothing else I can come down in a month on my own dime when tickets will be cheaper and we can do my birthday then.
Jase got territorial. Saying well he can give me 50 instead of nothing if I come. Saying that we wouldn’t be able to do much since he would have 10 bucks left to entertain me, but we could drink in his apartment and watch tv. Come see me. Do what you’re supposed to.
Kane said we would look at our options tonight. That he’s committed to a presentation at 5 on Friday but other than that the possibilities are endless.
Endless possibilities. A magical birthday maybe?
Do I do what I want to do, or what I have been obligated to do for so long? Will my guilty conscience allow me to enjoy myself if I go with Kane somewhere that’s 10 minutes away from Jase and NOT see him? Will I finally have a real regret if I go see Jase and postpone magic with Kane?
There has to be some sort of compromise.
I’ll figure it out. Hell. Kane and I will figure it out. I love that I’m not alone in this.. That I have someone to pick apart my brain and tell me when I’ve truly done right or wrong.
I’m determined to have an awesome 23rd birthday dammit!!!
I thought I would be staying away longer than I am from this thing… but it’s been an interesting and tough week so far…
I have nothing spicy to talk about. I wish I did. I would rather spicy over sad.
I’ve cut Jason out of my life for the most part… I told him a few days ago that I wasn’t coming down for his graduation. I wasn’t comfortable, and I couldn’t afford it, frankly. I need to get in the swing of things with my new job and finish school this week. He seemed alright with it, as long as I come visit in June once he’s back from his graduation trip to Europe. I said fine. If nothing else I would visit with my older sister when we drove my car out from Jersey. Nice, platonic. Quick.
A couple days after that all of a sudden his relationship status changes on Facebook. He has a girlfriend. His girlfriend is a single mother who he has never met in person, who lives 3000 miles away. They’ve “Skyped a few times and he’s feeling good about it.” I have very little issue with the distance, which may sound odd. However, when he and I started dating we lived 3000 miles away. I was actually going to school right next to where his new ‘girlfriend’ lives. It bothers me that he would call someone his girlfriend when he’s never met her in person, and be so reckless with the relationship when there is a child involved who doesn’t have a father figure.. But it’s not my relationship. It’s not my right to be involved with that, and I let go of those issues as quickly as I could.
What bothers me about their relationship is she know nothing about what happened between Jason and I. For all she knows he hasn’t had sex in eons. Apparently they exchanged Valentines in February. Funny, since I was there for a very consensual visit over Valentines Day weekend and he didn’t mention her once. The messiness of the whole situation, the lies to both of us, this playing two part against the middle thing.. I don’t even know this man. I don’t want to know this man, who seems to be so unraveled compared to the man that I knew and loved two years ago. Ignoring the text messages has been hard… harder than I thought. “I think that you will find you will feel lot better when you let go of this albatross from around your neck”, Sir said. He’s right, I know he’s right. And I will feel much better once the pain actually stops, and that place that used to be his in my heart stops throbbing. I wanted to reach out to him today, tell him about what happened…
What happened spurred the knowledge and shedding of albatross number two. I got a text message from D, whom I haven’t talked to in about six weeks. A classmate of ours from high school had suddenly passed away, and it hit me harder than I thought. She barely knew him. They met up in high school and he was just a constant fixture at school. I had gone all through elementary school with him and had known him since I was five years old. We weren’t close… but he was part of my home town. A fixture. A homing beacon for how the place was supposed to be. Him being gone at just twenty-three has left me jarred, more so than I thought it would.
I got emotional. I was brave and asked if she and I were okay.
That may have been a mistake. But it also may have been the solution to a decade-old weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders. She told me “If you really loved yourself, you wouldn’t be in such an unhealthy relationship. You would pursue something normal.” I stared at the text message for a little while. I thought I would be angry, or really upset. Instead, I honestly wondered if she was talking to me or herself.
“I am happy” I responded “for the first time in over two years. I am just starting a job that I love. My work is getting noticed, and I’m starting to take real pride in it. I look in the mirror and I find myself dressing better and holding my shoulders higher, because someone takes pride in me being his, and in knowing me. Someone cares about me, genuinely, and is more open and honest with me than any man I have ever met. Even if he worries that what he tell me may send me running, he tells me. He genuinely wants the best for me. What about that sounds unhealthy to you?”
“The age difference.”
Blink. Blink blink. Really? She watched my entire relationship with Jason. She watched him jerk me around. Saw the ups, saw the downs. Saw when he broke me. I tell her that I am finally happy…and her response is well he’s too old for you? Is that all you can see?
D knows about my kinks. She knows the nature of mine and Sir’s relationship. There are many other flags she could have waved, and she chose to play the age card. I finally asked if she could ever just let my relationship be and be able to be friends regardless? After all..her boyfriend hates me, and I leave hers be. Sir doesn’t even have a problem with her, as far as I know. He doesn’t know her. I could just keep my Cali life in Cali when I saw her at home.
“No. I’m sorry. If you insist on something so unhealthy I’m not comfortable being friends with you.”
I wonder why I never had the courage to say something like that to her. All through high school and my undergrad, with all the issues she’s had in the past… that could have been my way out. I’ve known D for so long though. I thought she was a friendship obligation; someone I had to always take care of because I was the one that had stuck it out through school. I still reached out when everyone else had tucked tail in run.
It’s not just romantic relationships that can turn toxic and abusive. Friendships can as well. D and I have walked that line for a very long time.
It’s not going to be a “FUCK YOU” parting. I explode. D broods. She plays passive aggressive and is very good at head games. Whenever explosive fights happen between us it’s because I start them… and I’m not starting anything this time. I don’t want to fight. I want to be able to be happy, and for the people in my life to be happy for me.
It’s not just my relationship. D hasn’t been happy about my work, my school, my… life. I told her about my new job and she said she wished she could be so lucky, why hadn’t anyone caught her a break, etc…
I just won’t reach out anymore… I won’t answer the texts when Jason tells me about his girlfriend and their Valentines. I won’t answer the Facebook prompts when D tags me. I just..am going to live my life. And enjoy it.
Why did I hold on to this for so long? Why did I allow such unhealthy relationships in my life, and why did it take a loss to see that?
Purging! Purging of the old to make room for the new. I want an actual life if I’m staying out here in San Francisco for another year. I want friends. Actual friends. Not just people I live with or go to school with. I want to go out at night and dance and have fun and not have to be the old lady babysitting with all the damaged strays.
I want to be happy. And I’m getting there. Even if there’s some pain along the way I’m getting there. Bye bye albatrosses. Go hang off someone else.
Right now..back to the hell that is the last two days of classes. I have school shit to do. Before work. Which is before more school shit. Which is before more work…
You see the pattern.
Off I go! A little lighter, if a bit more fatigued