Tag Archives: understanding

NRE

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New Relationship Energy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I most certainly have a type.

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

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

Yours, enjoying the new and the shiny

~Rene

 

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Who’s On Top

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emily, Emily, Emily.

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

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

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

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

“I feel as if I belong to her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours, still very much alive and kicking

Rene

 

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

 

Daddy’s Girl

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I am sitting on a plane back to San Francisco after one of the most painful visits to New Jersey I have ever had. We buried my DadDad on Saturday… Something my brain still hasn’t really processed. His failing health ended up eclipsing the kinky fuckery entries that I started, and then stopped and put off to the side until I could emotionally handle them.. For that I am sorry. I am going to try to start writing more frequently again. I miss the outlet of writing. It honestly helps when shit hits the fan to process it through these entries… And I admit my voyeuristic side greatly enjoys sharing my journey with all of you.

Today, two worlds met in a surprising way. I’ve mentioned before that I am very close to my dad. I still call him daddy (and no, I have never called a partner that, even when I go into little space..), and at 24 still consider him a super hero and partner in crime.

My dad is no angel. He went to art school in Soho in the 70’s… He’s told me stories from getting drunk in the darkroom of the photo lab to fucking one of his professors and still only getting a B in her class. These aren’t exactly normal dad stories.. But as I’ve grown we’ve become friends as well as father and daughter, and his stories have always been a way to illustrate that. They’ve also been an outlet for him, I think. My mom and him have had a rule since they got married. Their pasts don’t exist. They don’t talk about exes or past lovers. In nearly 30 years of marriage they never have. It works for them… And so I get to hear all the stories of my dad’s past so that he doesn’t blab them to my mom.

That being said, my parents are pretty vanilla. My dad has always been a one-woman man and my mom has only ever been with my dad. She lost her virginity to him. She doesn’t own a vibrator outside of a little bullet I bought for her (the big ones scared her…) that is still in the box. They don’t have toys. There’s no cross hidden in the closet. They, in the past couple years, haven’t quite known what to make of me, or what questions were safe to ask. They were curious.. But anything kinky often fell into the third category of knowledge (1:need to know. 2: don’t need to know. 3: DO NOT TELL ME UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE EVER).

So, imagine my surprise when on the way to the airport tonight my dad goes, “So… What exactly is the scene?”

Ho boy. How to explain.

“It’s a lot of things, daddy.. And different for different people. For me, the kink scene is BaGG nights and parties at the Citadel. It’s when a group of us with shared interests, usually influenced by BDSM, get together and do our thing.”

“And what is BDSM?”

I knew my dad was vanilla. I didn’t know he was THAT vanilla.

And so I broke it down for him. I explained my world to him, best I could, in a way that wouldn’t make him sick to his stomach while He was driving me to La Guardia.

There was no disgust. No, “I forbid it!” Just a series of questions I could tell he had been wanting to ask for a long time. Most I had the answer to. Why do I have to wear a collar. Why do I want to. What exactly is a play party. How does this scene relate to James and I.

Some questions were harder to answer. Like, “Do you get hurt? Or is it just play?”, and, “Will you continue to live this lifestyle when you get married? Do you still want to even get married?”

It’s hard for someone who has only known monogamy (with a VERY possessive wife) to imagine wanting more. I could see that when I explained poly play, my other partner Chris, and what happened at Surrender. He didn’t understand why I wanted to do what I did. Didn’t understand why it was a need. I saw him wanting to understand. Saw him struggling.

My dad is afraid of heights. He gets a tone in his voice when he gets scared while we drive over bridges. As we talked, his voice took on that tone. His responses got shorter. His breath came heavier.

“You get why this is hard for me to understand, right kid? You understand why this is all hard to hear?”

Of course I do. I’m daddy’s girl. I was the first one to sit on his lap. I was the one he would read stories to every night growing up. HELL I have the female version of his name. We both have the same initials, and both go by our middle names.

What father wants to imagine their daughter having sex with multiple partners, or asking someone to hit them or bruise them? I doubt there is any protective father out there who would enjoy watching their daughter accept the kiss of a whip. If anything I know a few that would throw themselves between the whip and their child.

Still, even with this struggle he listened. He asked questions. He tried to understand. He would rather hear about this side of myself that he doesn’t know, one that’s hard for him to know, than have me hide myself. Would rather squirm than create distance between us.

I have always talked about my boyfriends to my parents. I have gushed many a time about my men, and usually they respond. With James, however, it’s been different… And that has made me a little sad, I’ll be honest. My parents know how we met, how we know each other. It took them a little time to process the wheelchair, and after that it took them a lot longer to process the rest. Any time I would share something of what James and I were doing (always vanilla. Comforting me after DadDad died, excursions to the movies or Black Bear Diner) the retort was always the same. “That’s nice, honey.” They never asked questions outside of how he ended up in a wheelchair. They never wanted more information, when they always had before.. And they never trusted I was safe with him. My parents never out right said that last part, but when I was with previous boyfriends for the night they would leave me alone. When I spend nights with James they make me check in.

For the first time, once we had exhausted the uncomfortable part of our conversation, my dad asked questions about my parter. I told him about the geeky sides of James, about being wrapped up in a James burrito at night and Hamlet monologues, and 5 am conversations that turn into 8 am snuggles because we don’t want nights to end.

I also told him about James’s family.. And in doing so found myself grateful for my family. I haven’t gotten to know my boyfriend’s parents or siblings because they will dislike me without knowing me. His family wants to know nothing of the kink side of himself, nothing at all. That includes partners.

James constantly walks this line between respecting his parents and respecting me. Here is a man flourishing in the kink community, connected with some of the top names in the business, and he can’t share his success with his family. They don’t want to know. He takes beautiful photographs of fetish models, and even gets to be a staff photographer at an international BDSM convention. They don’t want to know.

He met someone. Someone he has feelings for. He’s in a good, healthy relationship for the first time in almost a decade and it’s going somewhere.

They don’t want to know.

My dad may have been uncomfortable. He may not understand. But he wanted to know. He wanted to try.. And while it’s not his thing he accepts me for who I am.

It’s possible to be daddy’s girl and a kinky, submissive slut.. If you dad will listen. I am lucky.. As much as I am hurting, I know I am blessed.

Yours, so ready to be home
-Rene

A Change in Title

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

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

Very rarely are the right paths the easiest ones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am yours.”

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

And it did.

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

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

I am his.

And I am happy.

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.

Mourning

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Photo by Michael Sundin

I don’t want to be writing this entry.

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

Instead I am writing an incredibly painful entry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours with a heavy heart and tear-filled eyes

-Rene

Day 25

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Are there items, objects or rituals that represent or help you express submission? If not, have you ever thought of adding or being gifted one? Is there a special significance to these objects or rituals?

The collar has always been a very important object to me.

I have been owned and collared once, and the feeling when I had that day collar around my neck 24/7 was… exquisite… Yes, I want that again someday. I loved the security of being able to reach down when I was away or a few days went by where I couldn’t see my Dom and have that confirmation of “Okay.. it’s here. I’m still his. I am his… yes…” I loved being able to CALL someone my Dominant. I love my Sir, but there is so much power behind that word… I also got so used to it that in the beginning with James and I, I had to bite back using the familiar term. He is my Sir right now. He dominates me, but he is not my Dominant.

What’s the difference? For him, it’s that he hasn’t completely collared me yet.

I do wear a play collar when we go to kink events. Most of the events that we go to are ones that he is at least partially working. I love watching him work, and love being at these events with him, but there have been times where he’s been in another room or in the back and a creeper has come up to me that just… doesn’t want to go away. The explanation of “I have a partner and he’s in the back doing his thing and I usually stay out here and watch and play and then he comes and takes pictures and everyone is happy.” sometimes takes too long.. I’ve out right run to find him a handful of times when I was very uncomfortable at the club and just needed my Sir.. No one is stupid enough to try anything when he’s near me. Chair or no chair, the man can be intimidating.

The collar does help though… And putting it on has become one of my favorite rituals. We started putting it on me for my comfort level in the clubs and parties he has to work.. but the intensity of our relationship changed when the collar became involved. I am owned by James, even though I’m not owned and collared 24/7, and having a physical reminder of that, something that he puts on me and takes off… Yes, it made things more intense between us.. In a good way.

On a typical Wednesday he and I get a little time to ourselves before BaGG. Sometimes we get food, sometimes it’s just snuggles in his car then snuggles in Wicked Grounds. Sometimes it’s snuggles and spanks and squeaks in Wicked Grounds.. (I love Wednesdays). Then his alarm goes off for when he has to go to the club and set up. While he gets ready to go I get the collar out of my bag, and usually hold it up rather shy and mew…

He motions for me to come closer, and I do.. on my knees. I lift my hair (usually down and pulled back, because the club gets hot but it’s fun to get hair pulled…) and he slips it around my neck and buckles it. I very quietly thank my Sir, knowing that when that collar is around my neck I won’t be able to call him “James”. Not because there’s a rule..but because that’s where my mind goes when that collar is around my neck. And after I thank him he kisses me…

I mean really kisses me.

I mean the world spins on its axis kisses me.

Taking off the collar has a similar ritual to it. I end up on my knees and I bend my head to give him access to the buckle.. and once it is off I say how sad I am, and he kisses me. And the world spins. And I am once again reminded of what a lucky little submissive I am.

We have other rituals that are less D/s related and more relationship related… One that he started early on that continues to make me smile even when I am feeling my worst is that we always end each night by wishing each other “sweet dreams”. Another that I began in order to make him smile is that each morning he gets a selfie… usually naughty, as the goal is to make the man smile, and I do aim to please.

James and I are still really new… It’s only been a few months, and rituals develop over time. But the rituals I have now, especially the collar..they make me happy.

Yours, smiling

-Rene

Day 24

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24) What are the emotions that most directly let you access submission? What feelings do they inspire?

You people do not ask easy questions, do you? Damn.. okay.

The emotions that let me most directly access my submission…

I need to feel safe. If I don’t feel safe I’m performing, I’m not submitting. I’ll moan. I’ll wiggle my ass to get it hit. I’ll go on with the show, like any good performer will. But I’m not submitting when I do that. I’m playing a roll. If I feel safe I’m not focused on the next step in the performance. I let myself go, let myself be, and live in that moment under my partner’s hand.

I need to trust you. Trust is HUGE for me.. If I feel any distrust with someone they’re not touching me, period. If I trust you… if I really trust you… I give myself fully and completely to you. I follow you without question, unless you order me to always question, always look.. And when you tell me that, I trust you even more because you are admitting that you are flawed and will make mistakes and that questioning your actions is okay as your submissive. It makes me want to serve you more.

To submit past a play scene I need to feel cherished.. Desired is fun. Sexy is fun. But I need to be something that you value. Something that you wish to keep safe. Something that you wish to protect.. If I can feel that I’m cherished it goes back to the safety thing.. I’ll let you push me more, take me higher, because I know you don’t want to break something that is precious to you. Only bruise it a little. Wear it in.

There are more nuances, I’m sure… Little things here and there that vary with each relationship I embark on… But those are my big three. If I don’t have that, I can’t play.

Wow… that was remarkably short.

Yours amused

-Rene

Please (A Request for Help)

A long time ago, I called myself an artist. My life was in the studio, covered in clay and content. The demons in my mind were quiet because I could express them through my hands. I was content. I was at peace. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Life gets in the way of artist dreams a lot. Student loans soon took priority over studio nights, rent payments becoming more important than food, no matter art supplies..

There are few people that I know that are brave enough to put their artist dreams first and try to live off of what they do.. and few people more talented than the stubborn brute I’m writing about now.

I have seen Michael go days without food in order to put gas in his tank so that he could drive to San Francisco from Napa (where he lives) for a shoot. He shoots at Bondage-a-Go-Go, an event at a club in San Francisco, every week where he will take any pictures anyone asks for, put them up for public use..and doesn’t get paid. He runs on tips for both that and Sinner’s Sanctum, a once-a-month club event in the North Bay. You can also find him shooting at parties at San Francisco’s Citadel, where debauchery is much encouraged..and also tips. Because, again, he doesn’t get paid for what he does.

The man goes above and beyond because he loves what he does. He stays up..and up…and up… putting social life and sleep on hold to edit shoots that have priority (even if it’s for trade and not for pay). He will overdraft his bank account to acquire the proper props requested for shoots, will spend days scouting for the perfect locations, and will put his body at risk (and often push it too far..stubborn bull) to get the perfect shots required.

In summary, the man is damn dedicated to what he does, often to the detriment of his own health, because he loves what he does that much. He doesn’t have much in the way of formal training, but he has what can’t be taught. A good eye and heck of a lot of drive… He reminds me what it’s like to love what you do so much that you live for it, that of course it comes before everything else.

Life gets in the way for people, even people as driven as Michael.. Maybe especially people as driven as him. And so I’m writing here, telling you what this man will go through to do what he loves, and saying that he needs our help and support. This talented man is in a bind, and knowing him he’s doing everything he can to get himself out of it. This means minimal food, driving only when he has to…because gas is an expensive thing…and just planning, and thinking and plotting. Setting up the next shoot. Seeing how on earth he can make what he needs to make the next shoot possible…

Help comes in the form of us, internet peoples. I get that everyone is pinching their purse strings right now. I know this well, and have been doing it myself to a scary degree… But finding someone this damn dedicated to what he does in this day and age is rare.

Please, check out his work: http://www.michaelsundinphotography.com/

…and even more please, check out his gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/5xkee8

He’s trying to get together $400 more dollars for a photoshoot that would do damn good for his business.. One he’s not getting paid for, but he’s doing for the clients to make them super comfortable before any sort of big paid shoot. I know we’re all pinching pennies.. I’m having to do it to a scary degree myself. This is one of those “anything helps” situations..where that spare $10 would make a huge difference.

If you can, please help support someone who’s a heck of a lot braver than me.

Thanks for your time. Normally scheduled kinky fuckery will resume shortly

-Rene