Remaining Vulnerable

Today HBMan seemed different right from the first message He and I exchanged. 

I can’t say how different.  I just knew immediately He was different. 

So, I asked whether He was ok. He replied that He was. 

What followed can described as a disasterous conversation.  It ended with His frustration levels rising while I sat and cried. 

I knew I wasn’t to blame but I could also see His effort to not hurt me. And so I gave Him an ‘put’ saying I needed to go and do something. 

A short while later, He replied with a wry little joke, I saw it as the effort to come closer that it was and we got to the heart of the matter. All is well and we realised how sensitive we are to each others moods.

But it showed me more. 

I’ve always maintained that the hardest part for me in a D / s dynamic is not obedience. It’s not limits or tasks. It’s being  vulnerable. Being open. 

Actually, it’s more…Remaining vulnerable when you can see the Other is off-kilter; not shutting down to try and protect yourself.  That is what is difficult. 

And while I felt myself closing, and telling Him that it’s OK and that I’ll sort xxx out myself,  feeling very alone and vulnerable, the second He showed a hint of wanting to right the balance, I didn’t hold onto it. I believed that He really wasn’t going to hurt me. And I could embrace it.  That is progress, isn’t it?

It might have stayed a disasterous conversation, but it didn’t.  

Why didn’t it? 

Because He doesn’t want to hurt me and I don’t want to shut down. 

Slow steps. Solid. Important. 

To Drown

I am experiencing life as if through water. 

Sounds muted and far away.

I fear that what I am holding onto is only grasses and weeds, not the sturdy branch I had hoped. 
I can know for certain, but I choose to just let it flow over me like water for now. 

 I can see light. I can hear words. I can ever recognise danger. And yet, for now, under the water seems the safest place to be. 

One of those days. 

Today I had a meeting; a watershed moment in my business.

I arrived home feeling ill. Perhaps from the release of pressure that came with the conclusion of the meeting. Perhaps because I couldn’t eat before the meeting and I was way past hungry.  Perhaps because the meeting was just that intense. 

Thing is…

There is only one thing I truly want to do.

I want to sit at His feet, with my head on His lap. I want to breathe free and throw off the weight of control.

I want to get lost in the sensation of His hands playing with my hair.

I want to ask to be held closer and feel His skin on mine, His breath in my neck. 

My head swimming in facts and figures and strategy and contracts. Yet my desire is for the silence to be found kneeling before You.

I miss You very much right now, my dear Sir.  

It’s not…

​my Dearest Sir
It’s not when You make me orgasm until I can’t any more…

It’s not when You make me beg and beg and beg…

It’s not when You make me cry out in pain… 

It’s not when I float in subspace, held to this physical world only by Your strong arms…

It’s not when You push my boundaries and I submit that I feel Your power and control over me most. 

It’s when I kneel in front of You.



Back straight. 

Legs spread wide. 

Eyes down.

Palms open on my thighs.

Breathing mindfully.

Offered totally.
That’s when I know Your Ownership most acutely. 

People-ing overload. 










I’m done. 

I need quiet, preferably dark, and no means of communicating with me. 

I’m done with fragile ego’s and complaining divas. Done with greedy people, stealing my time to make themselves feel better. Done with office politics and prejudices. 

Give me nature and frest air. 

Or a room.

With a lock.

And the key.

Past in the Present

Years ago I heard this story:

Years and years ago, there was a merchant who, with his faithful horse, would visit farms to sell anything from pots and pans to medicine . Year in and year out, he would travel around and bring the farmers the bits-and-bobs that the nearby town might not have stocked.  He always followed the same route, and after so many years, he didn’t need to tell his horse where to go and which farm they would drive into next… the horse knew the way. After the merchant died, a young, poor farmboy bought the horse for visiting a pretty girl in town.  To his amazement, the horse wouldn’t stay on the road but would take every farm road, following a path that wasn’t his to take anymore. Habits of years gone by was so deeply ingrained, he simply followed the path he knew, despite having a new owner and a new mission.  

I often use this story to illustrate how our perceptions and deeply ingrained thought patters follow the same road over and over again. Even if we have changed.  Even if our situation have changed. It is so deep inside of us that, when put on the spot, it once again becomes our ‘default. 

I had such an experience this weekend:

I love my mom and generally we get on well. My dad’s death had shaken our dynamic slightly as, to a great extend, he helped he translate the world and kept her able to relate to people. 

OCD, borderline Agoraphobia make her a challenge to deal with for a long period of time, however, she had been harmessing those tendencies really well and helping me in this business, where an obsession with perfection is a huge plus.  This has done wonders for our ability to accept each other.  

This weekend I made arrangements for her to come and visit me.  I had avoided it for years and years. Probably close to 12 years, made easier by the fact that she lives a short drive from me.  But this weekend she was to sleep over. 

At first we worked together and it was such fun, I actually considered that we could do this often.  Then night fell and I was tired from working, and all I wanted to do, was to relax a bit. It is here that things began to unravel.  Critisism over what I watch, about the puppy I. The house, about this, about that, silences and sighs, and I was on a knife’s edge before 9pm.  

I had been the accomplished daughter, hours ago. She was proud of me. She admired me for my grit and hard work. And suddenly I wasn’t woman anymore. I became everything I felt was wrong with me I her eyes.  My house is cleaned, but did I clean here?  Why am I so lazy? Why am I not disciplined enough? Why do I need to take a breather after working 16 hours the past 6 days? Sitting down while the dishwasher is unpacked? Why do I even have a dishwasher? Good women washed with their hands! Why do I want to sleep in on this Sunday? 

She didn’t say those things.  Her eyes, and my own internal dialogue of the past 42 years was clear enough on it.  I stumbled into bed, wounded. I slept badly and the pup woke her, not me, to take her out early morning. I felt an utter failure on tooany fronts.  

Then I woke to a message from my dear BM this morning and I was so happy to chat. But I was off, and He noticed. Yet, I didn’t have the words inside of me to explain any of this.  We started again, and again it wouldn’t flow. And then He asked me what was wrong and where my sense of humour was this morning. And immediately my mind went on the paths it had visited for years and years.  

I was failing to myself. He noticed. And it made me feel like I failed… again. Instantly my mind went back to an internal dialogue of years ago and I felt I was…….just not good enough, despite my best efforts.  

So, my mom has left, I’m alone again, and recognising that much of internal hurt is due to my own thoughts. I didn’t expect these to be so strong after so many years… but I was reacting like that darn merchant’s horse. 

About being Committed

This week I was asked a question and my answer was something I didn’t know-know. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes you know things without being aware that you know them. But deep inside, you actually do have the knowledge, it’s just never really been said. 

It sometimes happens when you articulate a core belief that you never spent much time thinking about it and the moment it is said, you know it’s is an authentic expression of yourself.

She asked my opinion on pain play intense enough to leave scarring, however minimal, but not from your significant other. 
I felt that it isn’t ok for me.  Others may feel differently and I respect that. I explained it this way: When you are in a committed relationship, you belong with and to each other. To have someone else’s scars, not bruises, scars on my body, doesn’t sit well. If He okeyed it, perhaps then, but…it doesn’t feel ok for me. 

After I said it I was struck again by this Owner/property mindset that I have embraced. And what really struck me deep to my core, is that I am His. Property. 

But at the same time He is mine.  Not in a property sense…but that commitment pulls us close into a tight circle. 

Because we both came to a place where we made a commitment to each other and to ‘us ‘. 

I am His and He is mine.