It’s been a year

… since I’ve written anything new. There are several reasons for it:  my work life exploded into a flurry of activity and deadlines. Also, I find it more difficult to write when my own mind isn’t quiet and it’s been that way for a long time.

I sometimes fear I’m becoming vanilla.as my thoughts and wondering aren’t about D/s much anymore  I’m not sure why that is. My HMB and I are happy… content… settled.  The big frustration for us is not finding enough time to spend quality time together and yet it is something that isn’t causing a rift between us; it’s just a matter of us against IT.

It was the 3rd anniversary of the King’s death and birthday without Him present. I find that HBM pulls away at that time.  It is a time of reflection. There is a saying in my language which, translated, roughly means: The death of one’s ensures the daily bread of another.  I think it has truth to it, and however much that truth feels like betrayal, it isn’t. I believe this. I also realized that I can’t discuss my feelings on the King at all. Not because I’m scared of them or anyone’s reactions to them, but simply because I don’t seem to have them. Feelings, that is. I’m not sure why that is but I think that, until I can quiet my mind from work things, i won’t find those feelings.

I think I’ll come back to write some more soon. I’m finding that I suddenly have a desire for this sanctuary again.

Excess Baggage

Another post from my BDSM Library blog of years ago. This post is from August 2013. Read more here.

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I love traveling.

O.K. I am not the most wold-weary traveller. In fact, I am still excited at each new airport and every aeroplane meal.
It didn’t take me long to notice a few things: Not all suitcases are created equal. Seeing the suitcases going around and around, waiting to be claimed, it gives a glimpse into the lives of the other travellers.
Of course, one of the certainties of airport life is that despite the label on your bag, whether it be Samsonite or Cellini or some generic make, it will be weighed. I still get that breathless feeling inside when I think of those moments of doubt right before lifting the bag onto the conveyor belt to be weighed. Did I pack correctly? Would it be over? No surely not? And if you are… you better know you will pay for it and at R14=€1 it hurts badly to hand over the piece of plastic to atone for the sin of excess baggage.
I remember when we were getting on a smallish plane that would take us from Gardemoen in Norway to Amsterdam, the three suitcases sitting on the tarmac beside the plane. It’s a small airport so we walked out from the building and the three solitary smallish cases were a clear message…THIS is what happens when people don’t “get it right”.
Imagine sitting in the plane and knowing every person boarding sees your bag…judges it… (it’s not Samsonite after all) and then judging you.
You.
Owner.
Packer.
The-one-who-doesn’t-know-that-the-case-is-too-big-to-be-hand-luggage.
Does anyone ask how much time you spent to pack it right? That you perhaps had a very special gift for a loved one inside?
No. Its excess baggage. It gets judged simply because it IS.
Of course you never stop and think of the others walking past and saying to themselves: Oh I have been there before! Poor passenger, I hope she gets her luggage back without trouble. No, you are never as kind as that to yourself.
It is EXCESS. Extra. Surplus. Left over. Horrible. Terrible. You should be ashamed of yourself. Don’t you know the rules? Common sense is not so common, is it? Have you checked the risks involved in what you did? Perhaps you deserved it!

*****
When I was younger, I prided myself on not having a life filled with baggage. But I have lived long enough not to have those delusions of grandeur anymore. Recently I realised that some of this year’s bad experiences lands me in the Excess Baggage category. Your internal dialogue is an enemy. Telling yourself over and over you deserve this even when you know in your mind it isn’t the truth.
So this weekend, I allowed another close enough to look and see me. I didn’t hide even the excess baggage. I owned it. Every single lesson I learned, every stupid decision made…

I was breathless with fear, knowing I could be judged harshly and this person would have every right to throw those judgements before my feet.
And He looked. And I held my breath.
Then He smiled at me. And told me how beautiful my submission is in His eyes; praised me; made me blush.

…and took my breath away.

On being an Online submissive

Another post from the BDSM Library. This one was posted almost a year after the first one.

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Inside the wall, there are people who believe that online-submission is pretend and only real-life could be considered ‘real’.

She knew that online was the only way to feed her craving and still meet all the responsibilities she had outside The Wall. She hadn’t made up her mind yet: was all this pretend or real?

She met Him online. Soon there were private messages. He enthralled her. She was in awe of Him. The One who taught her to kneel before Him. To present. To offer.
They had no choice. Online was the only way they could be together. Continents seperated them. And very soon she realised that this was not pretend. The feelings He awakened in her was not a game. Real lives were touched, influenced, changed.

She tried her best to shield her heart. But how could she keep her heart when every fibre of her body and soul was given to Him? She was not strong enough. He possessed everything…all…but maybe never realised it.

Then it started to interfere. Life…responsibilities…illnesses…technology.. . Overwhelming problems. Health reasons, family responsibilities. She understood it all. But very soon it fell apart. Not her feelings…no, those stayed.

And then, one morning very early… ‘I cannot be your Master anymore’……she thought it would happen. She hoped she heard wrong. She hadn’t. She shattered inside. She understood His reasons, but it didn’t make her pain any less.
What hurt the most, maybe, was that her all simply was not enough.

The pain that seared through her heart… Not real? Her desperation to be His…? Not true? The tears that would overwhelm her day and night….. Who dares stand before her and tell her that it is pretend? Who dares say to her those ties forged in submission to Him are made of spiderwebs and not of steel?

How can the submission of the heart, soul, body and mind be considered inferior by some, when it was given so utterly and completely? When she held nothing back.

But there, beyond the wall, she learned the power of the unconditional support of her fellow Wall-dwellers. Of the healing properties of crying, sleeping and keeping busy. The neccesity of dealing with the disbelief, the anger and the hurt, allowing herself only 5 minutes a day for missing Him.

But she learned that the submissive is a rare breed of person. By the same inner strength it takes to submit to the will of another…by that inner strength she pulled herself up, dusted herself off and started smiling again.

Sometimes, the tears still run down her face. But then…..giving all was not easy…. It came at a price. Having her all given back to her, naturally would be at a price too.

But, as she stands, surveying The Wall she asks herself: If she knew the pain she would experience, would she have scaled The Wall?
She wishes she could answer in an unequivical YES. But sadly, she can’t. She is practical…she is honest…and she is unsure of the answer.

But what she does know is this… This experience has taught her, her own heart, her own weakness and her own strength.
And isn’t that, in itself, more than alot of people learn of themselves in a lifetime?

About Scaling Walls

This week marks 8 years since I first learned about BDSM. As I was telling HBM this morning, it changed my life.

At that time, I visited a site called the BDSM Library. It is where I first met other subbie and learned about the dynamics. It is also where I wrote for the very first time outside of school.

Recently I was scared that the site would close and I would lose these memories. Therefore I will post them here.

This is my very first blog, posted 3 December 2010.

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Scaling walls takes time and patience. The wall has to be studied, contemplated. Strategy needs to be worked out and carefully laid plans must be in place.

But first the wall must be found…

There once was a woman, so unsure of her own sexual needs…no wait, lets leave the sex out of…but only for now.

There once was a woman desperate to…Mmm. That exactly was the problem. She was desperate, but for what? She didn’t know. The nearest she could come to verbalising her need was with the word “more”. More money? Cars? Friends? No, something infinitely …more. It was a need without a name.

One fine day, she was walking through green pastures in the land of the internet. She looked and found something… It was only a spark but it resonated within her. In her heart and …no, remember? We are leaving sex out of it for now.

But that day she discovered The Wall.

On her side of the wall were the expectations, rules and regulations of a very conservative culture. Years of ‘do’s and don’ts’. Years of repression. Others’ needs surpassed her own, daily. Noble…praiseworthy even. But it had been killing her slowly. She wasn’t tending her own needs. It should have been done. The soul demands it.

But on the other side of The Wall were soulful moans. Sex. Rough. Hard. Orgasms. Multiple orgasms (gasp) There was no shame. At first the woman only peeked. Invisible to all. Then, she started walking around The Wall. Looking, dreaming, wondering. Laying plans. For 18 months she contemplated life behind The Wall.

Then one day, she took a brave breath, picked up the hem of her (of course, conservative) skirt. And scaled The Wall.

What she saw there, gave a name to her need. Her need was to submit. To have a Dominant take the control out of her hands. She realised that many shared this need. Many gave in to that need and were infinitely happier.

She had never before heard of BDSM. Or D/s or M/s. Never thought that pain could bring pleasure. Never knew about play or munches. But she instantly recognised the echo in her soul.

Standing there, looking at everything and everyone, she was speechless. And she realised she didn’t even have the correct vocabulary to ask questions.

But she learned. She experienced…Oh…did she experience…(ok, now we can talk about the sex)

She learned that her body needed, no, craved a Dominant’s hand in her hair, around her throat. She learned she craved the pain of His bites. She learned she could exprience the most mind-blowing bliss and still crave…more.

You see, the ‘more’ was not more sex. Or more orgasms. She thought it might be. But the very first time He commanded her to kneel before Him …offering…That day she started to understand. It wasn’t getting ‘more’; it was giving ‘more’. To Him. For Him. The Dominant. Always about Him.

In fact, she learned that giving ‘more’ wasn’t enough…You see…When more is given, accepted, nurtured and fed, it grows.

It grows into…’All’.

He tells me to kneel…

And I fall to the ground.

Posture perfect:

legs spread wide

sitting back on my heels.

back straight

hands open and turned upward on my thighs

head straight

but eyes down

And in those moments when He stands before me, the world stops.

The noise fades away.

Problems dissolve.

Everything is into crisp, clear focus:

I am who I am meant to be, when He is who He is meant to be.

Always and Never

my HBM.

Sometimes His thoughts turn dark. Sometimes His past hurts His present.

Sometimes He tells me to go as He isn’t good company.

Sometimes He tells me about it, most often, not.

Always He moves past the past, back to today.

Always He comes back to me, always moving forward.

Always He loves me.

❤

Of holidays, travels and anxieties.

The day I realised the power of embracing my submissive nature still stands out in my memory. The great strides I’ve made in becoming authentic in my life as a whole is one of the great joys in my life. I like that I like myself and feel comfortable in my skin.

This week, however, was a challenge. But first some context:

my HBM and I have had a really challenging time since early December; not in our commitment and love, but in finding time alone. Holidays are never easy but this time it is feeling way longer than ever before. Being with family really shook me in ways I am still processing. Perhaps the aspect I still carry the heaviest on, is knowing that they simply aren’t interested in knowing or understanding my choices. I always think that people accept things when they understand them. But I realised they aren’t going to be willing to make an effort any time soon. I am working on accepting that.

Adding to that internal processing, I had to undertake a business trip to an area I haven’t been before. Easy right?

I need to add here that my mom suffers from OCD and more than a touch of Agoraphobia. I knew I had one or two issues, but this trip highlighted the extent of my own anxieties. Something as seemingly simple as appearing at the correct gate at the airport had me double checking the boards and boarding pass not once or twice or even six or seven times.

Working out the time to arrive at said gate was even worse and although being absolutely sure of the time, it was all I could think if, working out the times over and over and over again. By the time I arrived in the new city I was emotionally exhausted. This has been my past two days and in a while I will find my way back to the airport.

Add that level of anxiety to what I am feeling as the loosening of His control as a natural outflow of the lack of time together and the after-effects of the holiday-family-realisations. I am feeling quite anchorless, as if the peace and acceptance and liking myself that I had before is stuck behind a clear glass wall and I’m unable to access it.

It worries me that my method of trying to find some solid ground is needing pain and the desire to cut is the strongest it’s been in years. I haven’t but I am constantly aware of its siren call.

An untangled ramble. Writing it helped somewhat to untangle it. Soon it will be ok. I know this. I can see I have some work to do before I get back on sure footing. But I will.

 

Reflection

Today, is another anniversary of the day my partner lost His life to cancer.

A sad day.

A day of remembering.

Of celebrating His life and mourning the loss of Him.

It is complicated. my HBM was His best friend.

During His illness, He told me wanted me to find Someone worthy.

I did.

He told me to find Someone who will care for me and keep me safe; treat me as someone special.

I did.

He told me to find Someone who would nurture me as a woman and a submissive.

I did.

So, while His death leaves me with sadness and loss, it also brought me my HBM.

Complicated feelings.

So, I imagine myself floating above all of this and feeling only the simplest and most honest of emotions. And it is of gratitude. He left me. But He left me my greatest treasure… His best friend. My Dominant. My Lover. My best friend.

Fears and Disconnect.

Disconnected, except for one tender strand. Not by choice and in our control to change right now.

My biggest fear?

That He will see life is less complex without me. And that He prefers that.

I don’t doubt His love. I don’t doubt His care.

I worry that He will have the energy to continue as we were before the holiday.

I feel anchorless.

I’ve been here before after such a holiday. I know my HBM isn’t like The Ruler, and yet, I have exactly that same feeling in the pit of my stomach I carried around for a year before the end finally came. I called it. He assured me there was no way my worry would come true….i believed Him, but the feeling didn’t go away and a year later it was done… a slow decline.

And, like then, I have no idea how to remedy it, or how to be … less… more… better… whatever it takes not to repeat history.

Shaken but Strong.

Arriving home from a three week holiday with family and without my HBM, I feel rather worse for wear.

I am privileged in that I am usually surrounded by people who supports my decisions, believe in my dreams and loves me unconditionally. I spend time with my HMB, and count His as my fiercest supporter, never faltering, even when i do. I realised again, these past weeks, how extraordinary the people I have around me daily are.

Constantly needing to protect my heart and my thoughts… needing to tread carefully and weigh my words, and stand back, ignoring the jibes has taken its toll.

I feel needy and emotionally drained.

Perhaps part of growing up is recognising these people for who and what they are, and knowing that their criticism and harshness is not the go-ahead to start doubting myself, but rather a sign that their insecurity doesn’t allow for a world in which other people can be successful in ways they don’t understand.

And that’s ok.

So while I feel shaken, my core is healthy and strong. I am strong because those who is close to me in heart makes me so.