The Edge of Desire

Whereupon Your Beloved Author is Dealt a Swift Gut-Punch by the Universe

2012-01-29T11:02:00.000-08:00

I got some rather startling and disturbing news a couple of nights ago, that Mistress and her husband are moving across the country to take care of his elderly parents. The talk at first was doing the move thoughtfully and calmly over a long period, like a year. That was a bit easier to swallow... but now she is saying she wants to do it expeditiously, time frame 2-3 months, because the more time that passes is just more chance for something bad to happen without them there.

I have been trying to process this since Friday night and I didn't allow myself to cry, but last night, I finally broke down and I haven't been able to stop.

I am very reasonable and understanding and of course someone should go take care of their parents. But I have to be reasonable everywhere else, so I just want to be selfish for a minute here and say that it's so unfair. So unfair.

They are moving back to their home, which is, ironically, about an hour away from whence I fled. So many reasons why I can't go with them, not the least of which is that I vowed never to move for a girl again (which is what got me stuck across the country in the first place and sort of became a pattern of behavior that my friends now tease me about).

I just fought a 10-year fight to move back here, my home.. I went through so much hell, living away, and it was terribly difficult. I had to rely on the kindness and charity of family to even get me where I am now. I just can't... I want to, of course, but I can't and I shouldn't. I need to finish school and try to get my shit together finally.

It's all so sudden. I can't wrap my head around it. We had had all these plans.. neither of us ever foresaw our relationship or my service ending so soon or so abruptly. It's too abrupt.

I shake my fist at the universe for the unfairness of it all. I feel like we just met. I feel like we were incredibly well-suited for each other. She has been a mentor, a dear and close friend, and the gatekeeper to so many new and wonderful things.

I'm crushed.

Happy New Year!

2012-01-02T15:25:00.000-08:00

The last day of 2011 was pretty awesome. I had agreed to volunteer as a roving ticket-seller (à la cigarette girl) at The Citadel's Wonderland fundraiser, which, being shy, definitely took me out of my comfort zone. I was quite proud of myself, though; not only did I throw myself into it, I was massively successful! Apparently, I am exceedingly charming when I want to be and I managed to work the crowd out of a lot of money. In fact, I sold the most tickets of any of the girls, by far -- I even had to go back to drop money and get more tickets. Total ego boost!

In addition to that, I contributed to the cause by buying myself a spanking (from two ladies at once, lucky me!), as well as a lap dance. I'm not usually one to get excited about strippers or lap dances, but the girl doing it was the first person to buy tickets from me, before I knew she was one of the booths, and we had chatted a bit. She was super nice and personable, not to mention gorgeous. So, when I saw her doing her thang, I knew I had to get in on it. It did not disappoint.

To round out the fundraiser fun, there was also a silent auction of an awesome variety of toys, books, services, shoes, art, and so on. I put my name down on a bunch of things, hoping I would win something, but was completely unsure as to what would happen.

Somehow, magically, serendipitously, I managed to be the only bidder on this set of leather spankers -- I won them for $10. $10!!

I never win anything, so I still can't believe my luck! However, I am seriously jazzed, as I have almost nothing in terms of a toybag, so this is quite the score.

After the fundraiser, I debated whether I wanted to attend the Citadel's NYE party. I did have a lot of fun at the fundraiser, but ultimately, I decided to pass on the party because I don't really know anyone. Instead, I texted my friend to see what he was doing and he happened to be free, so we met for a drink and dinner, then proceeded to party our faces off until dawn.

Canes on the Brain

2011-12-30T14:21:00.000-08:00

I have lately been delving deep into the subject of corporal punishment canes. Much research and reading has happened as a result of an assignment I was given a few weeks ago, to research 'a short, thin little carbon fiber cane'. This mini cane turned out to be what most people referred to as an 'evil stick', a term I'd heard before but had no clue as to its definition. So, yes, Mistress wanted an evil stick to do evil things to my poor, innocent boobies. This activity, snapping a thin rod against skin, produces some really neat stripes, so while it hurts like a mofo, I love the marks!

In researching evil sticks, I discovered that it would be relatively easy to make one, and just in time for Christmas! I told my friend (and fellow kinkster), Ollie, who quickly got on board with the crafty project. She wanted to make one for her girlfriend, too.

I ordered carbon fiber rods from an online RC plane shop and the rest of the materials were acquired at Home Depot. Feeling very much like characters out of Harry Potter, awkwardly fiddling with these very wand-like sticks, she and I got a hands-on lesson in evil stick making.

Our first tries were definitely ugly and I swear mine looked like it was made by a 4-year-old. I got much better by the second go and the third one was nearly perfect! Definitely good enough to give as a gift:

The handle was about 5", total length about 11". I say "was", because Evil Stick #1 is no more! Sadly, Mistress' new toy broke on its first outing. She said she had bent it back at about a 90-degree angle and it cracked. Well, damn! So, it turns out that carbon fiber is not the material for this application because it splinters. Back to the drawing board!

Someone's suggestion of kite spars led me to fiberglass as a material and I feel as if I'm nearing the point of figuring this whole thing out. Subsequent research (check out Art of Caning to the right) has led me to a much better idea of cane diameter, whereas before, I was only guessing. I have fresh supplies coming and once I conquer this project, I am going to try to sell evil sticks and possibly canes, too.

Sensuous Caning How-To

2011-12-29T13:21:00.000-08:00

Hey, y'all. Sorry for the lack of real posts.. but life and holidays and whatnot. In the meantime, here's another interesting article on sensual caning (as opposed to hardcore owie caning).

INTRODUCTION
Canes have a deserved reputation as The Victorian Terror Weapon. To most submissives, they mean severe punishment; to sensation-seeking S/M bottoms, overload. If we have care and patience, however, canes can be used in a loving and sensuous way. The very stiffness of a good cane, that makes a hard stroke so intense, allows the lightest taps to be given with perfect control. And a light canestroke is easy to aim, unlike a flexible whip that sags and flops at low power. In the kind of sensuous play I'm describing here, light strokes are far more prevalent and important than heavy ones.

This style is a matter of trust, patience, and finesse. If you can't gain, maintain, and deserve the bottom's trust, the whole thing is probably going to fail, or fall far short of what it could be. As for patience, don't even start a scene like this unless you have at least an hour available, and two is better. Finesse? Well, on two occasions bottoms have gone to sleep while I was caning them. They woke up black and blue, and giggling. That's finesse.

I'm not bragging, and I'm not saying I'm some kind of Caning God. It's learnable. That's why I'm writing this.

(click here to read more)

-- Sensuous Caning by Conrad Hodson

2011-12-08T12:27:00.001-08:00

Seven (random) Suggestions for Dominant Types
by Mollena

There is no one rulebook for how to do this thing we call BDSM, Power-Exchange, Master/Slave relationships, etc., etc. One of the things I most enjoy about perverts is our limitless capacity to forge our own damn path, thank you very much! I’ve done a lot of weed-whacking through the jungles of kink in order to find ways that work for me.

I have observed many successful and many more unsuccessful forays into power exchange relationships. And I can report back with a few nuggets of wisdom on which you can nibble as you see fit. You may even dunk the wisdom nuggets in the sauce of sagacity. Whatever.

And yeah, the fact is, all of these can be applied to you regardless of which side of the slash is yours. Top or bottom, dominant or submissive, master or slave, owner or owned, you can twist these tips around to suit you. Think of them as launch pads, if you will, for your own explorations and discussions.

Yeah yeah, I know each and every one of you D-Types are special snowflake lone Alpha-wolves, running along the dark paths of kink , howling at the moon, sniffling the tender flesh of nubile submissives, and doin’ your own thang. Respect. Mad props to ya. But keep in mind? With power comes responsibility. You can call the shots all you want. But without humility, discipline and flexibility, it’s not likely you’ll be the boss of anyone for very long.

Over my years involved in kink circles, I’ve noticed that some dominant-types take pride in not taking advice from anyone, insisting that they make the rules and it is the responsibility of the submissive to adjust themselves and adhere to their world-view. And ultimately, yes: the master masters, and the slave slaves. But without negotiation, compromise and compassion? The stage is set for breakdowns, conflict and the corrosion of resentment.

Feel free to add your own off-the-cuff recommendations and thoughts of helpful hints in the comments! I’m always looking to hear what works for other kinksters!

Insist on having your submissives tell you what is really going on for them…and listen without defensiveness
It can be amazingly difficult for us submissive types to open up on tough things. One of the ways that you, as the one in charge, can facilitate a safe space is to not only let us let you know where we are emotionally, but to make it our responsibility to do so. If you create safe space, encourage and insist upon hearing the feedback, keep it flexible; being encouraging and supportive means that the lines of communication are healthy and open and strong.

I’m currently in a long-distance relationship with one of them dominant type guys. One of the hardest things I had to do, when we were initially seeing if any of this would work out, was for me to share with him my overwhelming doubts about the likelihood that this relationship would work at all. We don’t live in the same state, he’s quite poly, and happily married. I’m...not really poly. I enjoy playing with friends, sure, but I only find myself opening up for love and deep connection with one person at a time. I swore I’d never do an LDR (long-distance relationship) again, and the whole thing just seemed a fool’s errand. He acknowledged that it was a challenging situation, and that the only way it could work is if there was a high degree of emotional transparency. This meant talking about the hard feelings as they happened. Not letting resentment pile up and miscommunication become fodder for issues down the road. Directly ordering this sharing was a way for me to tap into the reflexive obedience I felt toward him and ensure I was set on a path to become comfortable and feel safe telling him how I was doing. Not only when I was feeling lost, adrift or unsettled, but also when things were working. This is reinforced by his consistency in hearing what I have to say, and respecting me enough to try his best to provide me with answers to my questions and to remain candid when there were NOT tidy, clear-cut answers.

Apologize specifically for your fuckups and missteps, and talk about how to avoid repeats
Too many people have this “the dominant is always right” attitude. You are human. Humans are fallible. Putting yourself on a pedestal only means you have that much further to fall. Taking responsibility for yourself reinforces that you can take responsibility for us as well. There is an inherent risk to this level of maturity, and that is that you are indeed partnered with someone who sees apologies or acceptance of poor decision making as a sign of weakness. Or some such bullshit. Fact is, you have a right to be wrong. And you have a right to be forgiven for your mistakes and to lean from them.

Taking the stance that your errors are simply to be accepted by those in service to you and you owe them neither apology nor reparations for your mistakes is not going to serve you well. Humility and humanity are vital facets to being the type of dominant or master who commands loyalty out of love and respect rather than fear and intimidation.

Say “Please” and “Thank you”
No you don’t have to. But doing so is a gracious gesture. And a gracious ruler gains the hearts and minds of their followers. Emotional largesse will gain you faithfulness. It sure as hell can be fun to be dehumanized, taken advantage of, reduced to chattel property and treated like a piece of meat. Like, really REALLY hot...to be treated like a slatternly, desperate creature, fit only to be used and then carelessly tossed aside, shuddering in a corner, awaiting the caress or cudgeling from a stern-eyed slave-driver...

...but I digress.

Yeah, the fantasy can be hot. In reality, keeping that up all of the time is taxing and actually not the way many of us want to live. If common courtesies are not your cup of tea? Awesome! Specify that. But respect, courtesy and gratitude are very, very sexy. I find it of profound beauty when someone who could order me hither, thither and yon without second thought actually takes the time to extend to me those small courtesies. Treat me with respect and courtesy and I’ll go to the ends of the earth for you.

Acknowledge your submissive’s service to you
Again, you don’t have to. But again, being seen by the people we serve is a precious emotional jewel that we hold close to our hearts and that feeds and sustains us as we grow in service. For me? Hearing “good girl” is its own unique reward. It is so very, very important for me to hear positive reinforcement while I am in service. Plus, frankly, it makes me wibbly in my nibblybits. And believe you me, when my nibblybits are wibbly, I am putty in your hands.

If correcting missteps is the only time you give us feedback? You’re setting the stage to place the people in service to you in a particularly vulnerable position. Rather than coming from a place of self-assurance and positivity, it can generate an atmosphere of mistrust and fear.

Many people strive to provide what is commonly known as “anticipatory service.” This means being able to look ahead and see what will be needed before the person you’re serving has even realized that they have the need. This isn’t the purview of mind-readers, and it doesn’t happen overnight. One of the ways that dominants and masters can facilitate this flow is to let those in service to you know when they’ve pleased you. From there we can extrapolate what else along those lines may work in service, and those strokes to our submissive and slavish souls go a long way in solidifying the power-exchange dynamic!

Be consistent
It might seem less than exciting but consistency in your behavior provides the structure that many of us actively seek. I have a seemingly endless amount of mental and emotional energy. I can drive myself like a pack-mule for weeks... hell, months and years at a time. However, focus and direction isn’t something that comes naturally for me. One of the things I struggle with is consistency and structure. I look to external sources for this structure. Not because I am weak and can’t do for myself, but because I am strong enough to realize that I flourish in a place where my energy is harnessed and channeled by another. I value emotional consistency. I need to trust that the person to whom I give authority over me will maintain boundaries, continue to provide guidance, and be there for me... for us... regardless of how the winds may blow.

Consistency in behavior is also important! If you insist on certain protocols, follow-up. If you set up an expectation, maintain that connection. One of the common issues I hear from submissives when they experience frustration in their PE relationships is that they are given a set of expectations, assignments protocols, rules and regulations...and then there is not accountability. In my first d/s relationship, I was ordered to keep a daily “service diary.” I was advised that my dominant would be checking up on it, that it would be a place for me to safely share my day-to-day, so that he would have access to my thoughts even when I wasn’t necessarily able to communicate them in the moment. Weeks, months...eventually 2 years passed and never once did my dominant ask to see my service diary. This generated feelings of resentment, and I felt like I wasn’t valuable to him, and that this assignment was merely busywork. Knowing that you will follow through of that which you give us to do, and value our effort, is priceless.

Tell us what you’re feeling
Yeah the big tough dominant thing is a hot and sexy image. But knowing about your process and emotional state creates intimacy and lets us trust you with our intimate thoughts and feelings as well. When you are involved in an intimate relationship, sometimes you don’t even have to hear the emotions of another spoken aloud to know when something is amiss, or when they are simmering with joy. Regardless? Letting those in service to you or owned by you in on your emotional state is absolutely necessary. Lets say you have a rough day at the office. You come home, you’re in the mood to just flop down and be left alone, and Mother Theresa herself, bearing a plate of fresh-baked cookies or an icy cold beer or whatever couldn’t cheer you up. In comes your slave, eager to serve you and unaware of your preexisting mental state. Your energy is ruffled, you dismiss them, and you know what the first thing is that goes though their head?

“What did I do wrong??”

Yeah yeah, the world doesn’t revolve around us. But when something goes off-kilter? It often can feel like it does. Believe me, I have worked very fucking hard to shed that thought process but I still feel shadows of that reaction when I am not connecting well with someone if I am in service to them.

Letting us know when you are feeling off, of stressed, or ready to kick-ass and take names, or thrumming with joy means we have a window into your world. We can be better prepared to give you space when you need it, and share in your life with a healthy respect for your feelings. And it assists in us being able to not take personally and absorb difficult emotions when they have nothing to do with us.

Laugh
Humor goes so very far in salvaging tough times and makes good times even better. BDSM can be serious, heavy, challenging, and tough. It can also be silly and fun. Remembering your sense of humor and sharing in laughter, even through tears, is a beautiful way to keep joy alive.

And yanno what else?

Laughing at yourself once in a while won’t kill ya either.

2011-12-05T15:02:00.001-08:00

For the submissives, what makes you interested in service, what do you get out of it, and how does it tie back into submission for you?

When I think about it, logically, I find it amusing and nonsensical that I would enjoy things like doing chores and housework for other people... but I do! I'm such a sicko. :P

I love doing things for the people I care about and I really enjoy being useful. I am very driven to do... The way I was raised, I just can't stand idly by if things need to be done, or if other people are working/doing things. I get a great deal of happiness and fulfillment from making people happy. I'm finding, particularly, that I really like making dominant ladies happy and that I deeply enjoy things if there is a D/s dynamic.

Service-oriented submission is a safe outlet for me to be myself, to give, to do, to pamper, to please, to go above-and-beyond, and to surprise and delight (if I'm lucky). These are all things that bring me great satisfaction. I can think of few things in this world I love more than the feeling that comes from successfully reading someone and providing what they need/desire without them having to speak a word, or a person's reaction when they realize that I've remembered their preferences. Making other people happy makes me happy.

It's "safe", at least in my current situation, because of the D/s dynamic. I serve a really kind and wonderful Mistress, who is appreciative of the things I do, rather than taking them for granted. In past vanilla relationships, my temperament has led to my being walked all over or taken advantage of. In my D/s relationship, Mistress makes sure that that doesn't happen; she makes sure that others using my service are kind and appreciative, as well.

Being the D in the relationship, it's her house, her rules, her standards... and I'm quite happy to do things as she prefers because not only is she usually right, it all comes right back to the fact that I love her and I want to make her happy and her life easier. She is Captain of the ship and I'm quite happy that way.

Rearview Mirror

2011-10-03T20:41:00.000-07:00

Written Dec. 2004 for publishing on a lesbian community writing site.

No one likes to speak about the physical, sexual, and emotional abuse that occurs within relationships in the gay community. For some reason, we’re afraid to acknowledge it, even though what few studies have been done show it’s just as prevalent in homosexual relationships as in heterosexual ones.

I’ve always been intelligent and rather cognizant of the world around me. Even as a teenager, I knew I was lucky to have mostly escaped physical and sexual abuse. My upbringing was not status quo, nor can I say I feel I have escaped emotional abuse by my family. The difference is that I don’t feel that said abuse was maliciously or even intentionally intended, and overall, I think I turned out all right. However, I should have been paying more attention, because I never expected to find myself in an almost fatally abusive romantic relationship.

I took a drive today
Time to emancipate
I guess it was the beatings made me wise
But I’m not about to give thanks or apologize
I couldn’t breathe, holdin’ me down
Hand on my face, kissin’ the ground
Enmity gauged, united by fear
Supposed to endure what I could not forgive…

My relationship with TheGirl and everything that occurred therein would take me days to tell. It truly was that bad, and I nearly didn’t make it out alive. Fortunately, the abuse she inflicted upon me remained purely emotional, only coming close to blows once or twice, but emotional scars tend to be deeper and more difficult to recover from than physical ones. When I say our relationship had more drama and conflict than five soap operas put together, I’m not exaggerating. Because our story is so long and sordid that it’s impossible to relate in one sitting, I’m always forced to truncate the things that happened, to summarize them in many fewer words, and yet the response to my tale, each time, is shock. Shock that I stayed for so long, shock that I put up with these things in the first place.

She was 25, I was 23. I didn’t know any better. During this period of my life, I had only been in one brief, intense, and ultimately heart-shattering relationship. I had never had anyone try to harm me within a romantic relationship, and even today I still have problems recognizing it so that I usually let it go on longer than it should. I was inexperienced, lonely, and because of my weight at the time, my self-esteem was non-existent. I wasn’t ugly… but always found myself a little astonished if anyone was interested in me in a non-platonic way, and this time was no different. I lived in San Francisco, she lived in North Carolina. The things she shared with me even as friends should have raised red flags, but I was too ignorant of these things, too lonely and desperate to care. I may have purposefully ignored some of the signs and red flags in my rush to be loved and in love again.

After a whirlwind cross-country courtship, she made it clear she would never move away from her family and that the only option was for me to give up the only life I’d known in California. Stupid, this I know now. I wish I could go back and tell myself then to not do it, but I’ve always been a stubborn person hell-bent on doing things wrong the first time, so I doubt I would have listened. So I sold my car to rent a moving truck, packed it up, and drove four days straight across the country by myself.

Of course, she’d gotten fired from her job days before I was to leave. She made this out to be at least partly, if not entirely, my fault. I should have paid attention to how everything became my fault; she rarely, if ever, admitted she was wrong. We would stay up very late each night on the phone with each other (made 3 hours worse by her living on the East Coast), as she was living with her parents and younger sisters and the only privacy she got was after they all went to bed. I was unable, unwilling, to give up my nightly phone talks with her, so I guiltily accepted the responsibility for keeping her up until the wee hours of the morning.

I had sold my car for money to move there. Instead of buying a car with my left-over money, it was immediately needed to cover living expenses in the small house we began renting together. Soon, my cushion money, the car money, was completely gone. She refused to look for a job and would verbally attack me if I came close to suggesting it. Instead, she would spent around sixteen hours a day online, talking with friends, playing games, and doing God knows what else. As time went by, she spent a disproportionately high amount of time on the computer and almost none with me. If I wanted to talk to her, to share her company, I had to be on the computer too. We had two computers set up next to each other in the spare bedroom for this purpose – yes, we were both geeks – and soon the only ‘quality time’ I had with her was having about a quarter of her attention while she played on the computer.

She would stay up until dawn online, and requesting she come to bed only caused serious problems such as arguments. It was determined early on by her that she would be the sole winner of all fights and that, no matter the subject or cause, it was my fault. Even if it was something she’d done, she would find some way to twist it around and make it all about me. I soon learned to avoid all confrontation with her, because not only was it pointless, it made me feel like shit and totally did not solve whatever the issue was. Actually, trying to resolve issues the healthy way made things worse, as she made me out to be some monster trying to blame her for things when it truly was my fault.

I got a crappy job that I held only because it paid more than $8 an hour. She continued to refuse to look for a job, blaming depression and then launching into a rage if I pressed on to express my concern for our financial situation. We struggled for months to cover all the basics on my salary alone, an impossibility, and eventually an eviction became imminent.

Our arguments got uglier and uglier. We stopped being able to discuss important things normal cohabitating couples should, because any attempt on my part to bring up something she didn’t want to hear would be met with voracious screaming and name-calling. She was very smart and perceptive and thus easily ferreted out my weaknesses, my buttons, my insecurities. She knew how to shut me up, the right things to say to completely devastate me and put me back in my place.

She had this ‘woe is me’ attitude that made her the supreme victim in a universe that conspired to give her the shittiest end of the stick at every turn. If you believed what she said, she was truly the unluckiest person ever born, the way bad occurrences prevailed all throughout her life. From tales of anal rape by a cousin, suicide attempts, illnesses, to being struck by lightning, just about every bad thing that could possibly happen to a person had happened to her. Of course, I look back now and am aware of all her bullshit, but then, I hate to admit I believed her. In my defense, as she disclosed each new bad thing that she had experienced, my disbelief grew. I once told her she should never go swimming in the ocean because, with her luck, she’d be attacked by a shark. She didn’t find it amusing.

Kissing has become a tremendous deal to me, since leaving TheGirl. I already found it integral to a happy relationship, but now it is a deal-breaker. This is because, right after I moved to North Carolina, she bluntly told me not to kiss her anymore. She said she didn’t like it, and that was that; it didn’t matter that it left a huge gaping hole for me in the relationship. She would occasionally permit a peck, but any lingering kisses would be abruptly ended by her as she would pull back, glare at me, and retort, “Stop pressuring me!” I still can’t hear that phrase without getting pissed off, she used it so often. After that point, the only other time we passionately kissed was one night when she was drunk at a bar. I felt like shit that the only time she would kiss me was when she was drunk, and that part of me didn’t care, I was just so happy to get a real kiss. There was a period within the first six months that she stopped having sex with me and kept saying she didn’t feel sexual, that she was depressed. She offered me a relationship in which we were together as a couple but we would never have sex. I scoffed at her and told her that that was not a romantic relationship in my eyes, that that was my definition of a friendship.

She was obviously having problems but resisted seeking help or medication. Eventually we broke up, but occasionally slept together, which only confused things more. I think she did get medication for her depression, and things started to improve at home. We shared the same bed for the remainder of our stay at the house, mainly because that was the only room with air conditioning and the heat and humidity were unbearable. I was getting tired of the bullshit and wanted to leave, and my mom offered me a convenient means. I’m too conscientious for my own good and I didn’t feel right leaving TheGirl saddled with mounting bills and looming eviction. I decided to stay to help until the end, and then would go stay with my mom for a month to get away.

I started getting unshakably depressed. I’d lost weight before moving to North Carolina, but started eating again to cope with my home life. I put on the weight, plus some, very quickly, and soon even my ‘fat pants’ didn’t fit. TheGirl didn’t say much about my packing it on, thankfully, because I don’t think I could have borne her judgement on the subject. Because of my weight and that things with her were stressful and constantly rocky, my depression and self-loathing increased. I think I started believing the bad things she said to me about myself. I believed no one would ever want me after her, and even though I had her – sort of – at the moment, I became petrified of what I would do if we really broke up. I was alone with no family or friends, across the entire country from my life.

She lied to me constantly. Looking back, I don’t know how much of anything she said was actually the truth. She began flirting with a male friend of hers, and because I happen to be smart and perceptive as well, I could tell immediately that this ‘friendship’ was something more to the both of them. In addition, she’d finally gotten a job, but it required a good deal of traveling to various sites. She sometimes had to stay a night or two in a hotel, if the job was far away or longer than a single day. She had me come and stay with her a couple of times, but after that, she actually had this guy come stay with her at the hotel. At this point, you’re probably thinking I was very naïve and stupid, but I was aware that something fishy was going on.. after all, male and female friends generally don’t spend the night in the same bed in a hotel without something happening. However, she continued to look me in the eyes and assure me they were just friends and nothing more.

To make it worse, this guy was presented to me as a friend and potential roommate. We were getting evicted and needed somewhere to move. The two of them had arranged to get a three bedroom house in Richmond, and we would all split the expenses. I was flying to stay with my mom and would return to Richmond, they would move everything on their own. TheGirl had no qualms about reading other people’s email, IMs, journals, or personal effects. I am ashamed to admit that picked up the habit with her as sort of a defense mechanism; I knew she wasn’t telling me anything and I desperately needed to know what was going on. On our last night in the house, I discovered, by reading through an IM conversation of hers that she’d left open, that she had slept with TheRoommate. I had pretty much known all along, but because she voraciously defended her innocence, part of me had clung to the hope that it was true. I was devastated but quickly printed out the IM conversation so that I could pore over it on the plane. I held my knowledge until I arrived, when I point-blank stated that I knew she’d had sex with him. Her response was “Oh, please, Alena. You knew it all along.” Did I mention she never apologized, no matter how wrong she was?

We were still ‘broken up’ while I was at my mom’s and she ended up getting pregnant with him. At the time she claimed it was due to a drunken sexual encounter in which she hadn’t insisted on a condom. She didn’t break this news to me until after all our sweet-talking and making up. Yes, I got back together with her while at my mom’s. I shake my head now at the stupidity of it, and even more so as I pretended to be supportive of her decision to keep the baby. I knew then that, given her unstable and psychotic tendencies, she would be a horrendous mother, but I was trying to win brownie points and so I kept my mouth shut. Soon the crazy, hormonal pregnant lady emerged. She would snap and go off on me or TheRoommate for the slightest thing, her rages sometimes lasting days. I noticed a pattern in her behavior; she would be nice to one of us and hate the other, and in this way she always had an ally and someone to confide in about the other. We maintained separate bedrooms but usually slept together in her room. She began having pregnancy complications and eventually partially miscarried. She had to get an injection of a chemotherapy drug to finish it off, and this launched her into a depression that had her bed ridden for over a week. She wouldn’t come out of her room. I feel somewhat guilty for it, but I have to admit my relief at the outcome of the situation – this is not a woman who should be a parent.

The insanity just escalated from there, if you can even imagine that, but it all sort of blurs together. I remember being miserable and depressed; my life was a living hell. I cut myself for the first and only time, attempted suicide twice, and had three hospital stays (one involuntary). I hated myself, my life, TheGirl, TheRoommate – I seethed with particular anger for him – and I truly wanted to die. I was bitterly disappointed each time I failed; I couldn’t even kill myself to escape this misery. During this end period, a lot of things happened. There was an incident where if I hadn’t leapt to lock my door, she would have physically attacked me. Another time she called the police on me to get me evicted, as my name wasn’t on the lease. I’d been living there for almost two years, and showed the officer some bills to prove it. He was kind to me and said that he had seen my proof of residence, but that he thought it would be better if I went somewhere else for the night. I called some friends to pick me up, as I still didn’t have a car, and had to sit with another officer in the back of his cruiser while I waited. TheGirl and I had gotten into it before I left that night; the policeman remarked to me that she seemed crazy. I think I told him she was.

TheGirl and I broke up two more times after that, the final one was truly that; final. She started an affair with a married woman in another state, whose husband traveled and was apparently not disturbed by such an arrangement. Soon TheGirl began taking trips up there and eventually all but moved there, leaving me and TheRoommate together. Talk about uncomfortable. On top of this, she was alternately sleeping with me and TheRoommate, using our feelings to play us off each other. He had saved wisely and had parents with money, so she gave him sex and the illusion of a relationship in exchange for things she wanted. I believe she continued to sleep with me just to keep me on a string. She eventually cut me off after going through my journal and reading a particularly hate-filled entry aimed at her and her married girlfriend. She let me know she read it by taking a pen and writing a comment at the end of the entry. Somehow, she felt she had the right to lecture me on having too much anger.

I seem to look away
Wounds in the mirror waved
It wasn’t my surface most defiled
Head at your feet, fool to your crown
Fist on my plate, swallowed it down
Enmity gauged, united by fear
Tried to endure what I could not forgive

I know it took me far, far too long to get out for good, about two and a half years total. It took me several years to heal completely from this relationship, and I still have some emotional scarring I deal with. The weird thing is that it seems like lifetimes ago, if it even happened to me. How could I have allowed all of that, how could I have lived that for two and a half years and thought it perfectly acceptable? It feels like it happened to someone else.

Saw things
Clearer
Once you, were in my…
Rearview mirror…

I can’t help but feel anger toward her. I think through everything that happened and I detest her for each way she controlled me, how she used my natural desires and emotions against me to make me feel guilty and unworthy. When I finally left, I went and stayed with my mom, step-father, and sister for six months. I was so broken and fucked up, even thousands of miles away, that I tried overdosing on Lithium, my final attempt at suicide. I couldn’t break out of the mental cage into which TheGirl had thrust me, but I knew that I would never let anyone treat me like that again. It saddens me that my self-esteem was so poor that I believed I deserved that sort of abuse.

I gather speed from you fucking with me
Once and for all I’m far away
I hardly believe, finally the shades…are raised…hey…

I am a very private person when it comes to my emotions, and I use music as therapy to work out my feelings. After leaving TheGirl, I had somewhat unconsciously been on the search for ‘The Song’ that would exactly convey how I felt. I went on a mini-vacation while at my mom’s, and one sunny afternoon in a café, I heard it on the radio: Rearview Mirror by Pearl Jam. It wasn’t new to me, but I sat in almost shock as the music and lyrics poured over me, my skin raised in goosebumps. I didn’t realize until that moment that I had even been searching for it, but until that point, I was unable to feel any sort of closure. I heard the song today, and again I remarked how it exactly captures what I felt that afternoon; my rage and the sense of freedom, of being able to see her fade behind me in my rearview mirror.

Saw things so much clearer
Once you, once you…
Rearview mirror

It’s true what they say… hindsight is 20/20. I won’t let it happen again.

Saw things so much clearer
Once you…oh yeah…

Bodies in Motion

2011-09-30T14:29:00.000-07:00

Quite possibly the most difficult and constant struggle throughout my life has been my body issues (BDD), which, as Wikipedia says, has lead to social anxiety, major depression, suicidal ideation, and intense self-loathing. I try not to think about it, I avoid looking at photos and video of myself, and I try to stay under a certain weight; all of these help me keep the negativity in check, but it is a constant battle because I am convinced that I am unattractive, my body hideously so, and I can't imagine how anyone would not agree, much less actually want me or find me hot.

As a result, I am always incredibly, painfully shy and self-conscious when getting naked in front of someone. This can fade over time, particularly if it's a sex partner or, as I'm discovering, in the case of BDSM, where they've seen me naked repeatedly and with positive reinforcement.

With Mistress, originally, it was weird and awkward for me and I didn't love it. I did enjoy being told to undress (while she remained clothed, of course), but then I would be incredibly nervous and uncomfortable, at least until the session got into full swing. As an aside, one thing I love about playing with her is that, for a time, I almost completely forget I even have a body, if that makes any sense. I just become a mass of sensations and I'm not thinking about how I look, which is a marvelous relief.

Now that we've been playing for a few months, my body issues are no longer that present, at least with her, and I feel much more used to being naked in her presence. It's become normal and as time goes on, more and more comfortable. In the beginning, being asked to do things while naked, like fetching something or moving furniture or pampering her feet, it felt kind of bizarre, actually. I was recently marveling at that fact, that it felt so odd once, but now it feels pretty normal and comfortable.

But what does nudity in her presence do for me? I'm already starting to get into especially-submissive headspace as soon as I arrive at the house, but when the door to the room we're playing in closes and she tells me to undress... yes, it definitely deepens my feeling of submission. I'd say we always have the power exchange going, but that command really tips things into action. It also increases my feeling vulnerable, which is part of what makes things so hot for me, because I don't often trust or allow myself to be bare in most of my life.

In some ways, my exploration of these waters has been incredibly good for me. I have noted an increase in my self-esteem and more comfort with myself and my body. I don't expect BDSM to be a panacea, but I do owe a lot to Mistress for being so kind, gentle, and encouraging. It's at least a start.

Drought

2011-09-19T13:05:00.000-07:00

19 months.

It has been 19 months.. 19 long.. dry.. and very sad months. That is almost two years, people. Like a desert, I lie dry and dusty, awaiting even the barest sprinkle of rain. All life and hope shriveling in the absence of clouds, not a single drop to slake my deep thirst.

Okay, yes, I'm being intentionally dramatic here. However, for someone as sexual as I am, 19 months is painful torture. Don't get me wrong, I am pretty patient and I can go months without. It's far from my preference, but I can manage. It's at about the six month mark where I start to squirm a bit.

Oh-ho, the six month mark has come and gone.. three times.

My sex life, much like my romantic life, appears to be the universe's idea of a joke. Here, have this enormous sex drive, but not be able to do anything about it! Haha! Through much trial-and-error, I've discovered that it makes no difference whatsoever if I am proactive or if I am passive. It is 100% dependent on luck and, apparently, on whatever is meant to happen at any given time.

I'm pretty sure this is the longest I have ever gone without sex and, frankly, it's very much starting to wear on me. To my credit, I have tried to deal and to not take it personally. I have been patient and trying to send out the right energy to attract what I'm looking for. It's just, apparently, not meant to be...

I'm starting to feel a bit bitter about it, frankly. There's really only so much masturbation a person can do, you know? It's not at all a substitute for what I want, which is the slow and sensual touch of another person. Making love, kissing, savoring another person's body. Fucking. Mouths, tongues, skin, the taste and scent of a woman's nexus. Being penetrated by someone else, feeling them, the weight, the wholeness of both our bodies connecting, on top of me. I want to run my fingers over someone's skin for hours, to lick and bite their neck, to make them squirm, and to hear their breathing and soft moans in my ear.

On the humorous side, I'm actually a bit anxious about it having been so long because I'm pretty sure whoever gets me next is going to have something akin to a teenage boy on their hands. Like... the barest anything will likely set me off into ridiculous, overblown paroxysms. On one hand, that might be fun, but on the other, it might be kind of embarrassing.

Anyway.. I'll be the one over here in the corner praying for rain and contemplating doing a rain dance. Wish me luck...

Food for Thought

2011-09-11T23:39:00.000-07:00

BDSM’s Dirty Secret – The Real Risk of Kinky Sex
By: Midori
Published: August 15, 2011

As kinky folks, most of us have heard of the risks associated with certain activities we like: rope cuts off circulation, bruises invite suspicion and speculation, infected wounds or bites just plain suck and breath play can flat out be deadly... but there's more.

Kink and Sadomasochism come with a load of risks. The list is long enough to make your eyes glaze over. But, I'm not here to trot out the usual suspects. Yes, they're real and no, you shouldn't ignore them, but there's another set of dangers that often go unmentioned. They are intrinsic to kink and yet so potentially threatening to some that they do everything within their power, subconsciously, to avoid them.

That danger inherent in SM is….

(Cue horror movie soundtrack….)

Intimacy and human connection.

Yes, intimacy.

Because, at some level, SM demands participants to be true to their desires and hungers, vulnerabilities and savagery. Fully engaged kink insists on full presence without pretense and willingness to connect the raw humanity to another’s raw humanity. The elegant defenses and social rules of appropriate behavior are built up by civilization and maintained in culture to insulate ourselves from that dangerous primal state. SM, along with some sports, is one of the few remaining semi-sanctioned arenas where the raw emotions and connections are permitted and even celebrated. To engage in this behavior may lead to a flood of emotions, elation and even risk failure to achieve connection, with the added danger of feeling genuine loneliness. It takes guts, skill and personal risk to fly high with another person.

This is a mighty scary proposition to some people.

But there’s a solution for people who can’t bear intimacy or potential failure. Highly technical scenes with clear standards of tangible procedural success can minimize the risk of messy emotional authenticity.

Over the years of I’ve been to more than a few dungeon parties – big and small, public and underground, posh and sleazy. Usually the scenes I see make me hot, but a few would leave me troubled, cold or deeply sad. Were they too shocking or taboo for me? No. Were they technically incompetent? No.

Instead, they were highly technical, well-executed and fascinating to watch. Multiple floggers fly and spin, wowing the crowd, in a spectacular choreography of Florentine flogging. Single tails and bull whips snap and dance stunningly on the skin delivering subtle strokes and deep cuts. Ropes wrap around limbs suspending flesh in complicated mid-air acrobatic poses. We gather around for these and other skill intensive scenes to ooh and ahh. But eventually I’d walk away, wondering why I was suddenly overcome by sadness. As I step away, people get in line to be the next to bottom, as the top processes yet another through an exquisite set of maneuvers.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not watching two people sharing an experience, but rather two strangers having separate thrills over one activity. The top feels satisfaction in displaying competence in a set of measurable standards (The ropes go on. The person goes up. They come down and they’re still in one piece), while the bottom gets to have a self-contained experience delivered by a competent technician. The human factor of the other person seems irrelevant in either case.

When I see this, it feels like SM is reduced to an amusement park ride, and people choose if they’re the rider or ride operator. Or maybe it’s the bungee jump. When I’ve gone bungee jumping, I looked for a service provider with qualifications and a good reputation. I certainly didn’t expect, nor want, any raw human connection with the dude strapping me in. I wanted him out of my head and heart. I wanted a thrill and to be able to talk about it to my friends. Maybe that’s what some people are seeking in their SM.

Recently someone came to talk to me about the suspension he did. Breathless with excitement, he talked to me about the thrill of doing it. Never once did he mention the other person he tied up. There was that sinking feeling in my heart again.

The more difficult the technique is, the harder it is to establish that human connection. But the more technical the play is, the easier it is to visibly ascertain a level of success and external validation. Emotional and mental states are, by nature, nebulous and not easy to determine success. There can always be doubts if the other person flew as high as you did, or if they flew at all. “Was it good for you?”

The greater the technical demand, the further at bay you keep the risk of intimacy, vulnerability and disappointments. To experience emotional connection in highly technical scenes is truly challenging. I’ve seen it done and it’s hot, but their biggest expertise went well beyond the complicated ties or whips. It was their willingness to be naked to the soul with the other person. Sadly, the intangible emotional scene success seems rarely celebrated as we’re distracted by flashy and tangible skill standards.

Firmly establishing a set rules for play where disconnect is the norm in, effect lowers the bar, guarantees and redefines success. Super difficult techniques can protect the players from biggest risk of all in SM – intimacy.

But if you play hard with nothing more than the most distilled, simple techniques, with teeth bared, sweaty, breathy and entwined with your partner as you expose your darkest desires to them, leaving you exhausted and elated in one another’s arms, congratulations – you are truly a pleasure artist.

'What is it about service?'

2011-09-08T11:52:00.000-07:00

I borrowed this from a thread on FetLife, where the original poster, a dominant, inquired, "I would really like to hear other people's take on what makes receiving domestic service so fucking hot."

I liked the following answer from another dominant so much that I wanted to put it here.

It is, for me, this undeniable feeling of dedication to the one being served. Our distractions are stripped away.

Ego is absent.

It is the depth of our discipline to that that is able to remove these distractions. What remains is the sole focus of carrying out a complete and selfless act of dedication to that one's needs, wants -- to its completion. This act may be simple, but its simple gesture is likened to one paying homage.

Homage is very intimate.

This act builds the dynamic. It is an opportunity to display, with grace, what has been practiced, whether it be in boot blacking, formal tea, food service, or holding grace through stance and postures.

Why is this so important? Why the dedication and small rituals when presenting service? Partly it separates us from simple acts one would receive as courtesy (say, from a family restaurant or the grocery kid at the supermarket), partly because in our vanilla lives we don't often get that opportunity to be in a space to fill that empty vessel.

We are starved and for those moments, the act of service and receiving it restores that balance. We are kings, we are gentlemen and ladies, courtesans, cicisbeos, and chevaliers. whatever part of the spectrum we play in, we are cherished and valued.

We are fed.

Handing someone a cup of coffee is just handing over a cup of coffee, but present that with genuine grace, structure, poise and you separate yourself from a whole group of others. This is the difference. This is what makes genuine service, service.

I am afforded the opportunity to sit back and breathe in, to anticipate the service, to really receive it, as I witness it. I am able to see distinct motion and see that what is expected or shown, has been displayed correctly.

Receiving a feeling of genuine care from service, displaying it in a flawless manner, having needs be the focus, stripping away one's vulnerabilities and distractions and seeing that person thrive from their act, this is the reward for me.

-- TheDisciple

Vulnerability

2011-09-04T15:26:00.000-07:00

My goal at the start of this year was to work on caring less about what others think and, to that end, I have made great strides. Still a work in progress, to be sure, but I'm pretty pleased with myself. Recently, a new theme has presented itself in my life and will take over my personal growth focus: vulnerability.

I could write a book on myself and how I defend from displaying even the barest hint of vulnerability. How I find being vulnerable to be unbearable, terrifying, and excruciating, so I avoid it at all costs. The result is that I live in my own personal kind of hell, with everything locked in tight, to be dealt with quietly, alone, in the dark recesses of my own personal fortress.

I had a dream the other night, about running into JC, which brought up all of those related emotions and which has given me food for thought over the past few days. She and I were together for two and a half years; by far the healthiest relationship I've had to date. Our break up was devastating to me, then I healed, then I saw her again and the wounds were ripped open, then I spent an embarrassingly long amount of time trying to re-heal and trying to stop pining and wanting something that never really existed in the first place.

I did succeed and I did get over her again. That is why this dream took me by surprise, but it was very interesting. In the dream, we flirted while we caught up, but there was no desire, really, to be with her in a romantic way. There was, however, a real desire to be with her sexually. That, I feel, will never go away entirely.

JC and I will always have a deep and caring friendship to fall back on. Our split was highly amicable, just both of us admitting that as romantic partners, we weren't a good fit. One of her chief complaints about me is my inability to be emotionally intimate, especially in a verbal fashion. She has a PhD in psychology, so talking about feelings is obviously huge for her.

I just... as much as I trusted her and loved her.. I could not bare myself like that. I would draw a blank in discussions and have no idea what to say. In some ways, it's very frustrating because the feelings are there, but I can't manage to get them out in words or in ways that most people expect. Not to mention, I have a legitimate personality quirk (alexithymia) that makes it difficult for me to find the words to match what I'm feeling, so that combined with the person sitting there, staring at me, waiting with bated breath for what's to come out of my mouth next... it's terribly nerve-wracking, full of pressure, and not at all conducive to my opening up and sharing the most tender and sensitive parts of myself.

On the other hand, what made our sex life so hot, was due greatly in part to the fact that the only time I was able to be completely bare, open, and vulnerable with her was in bed. We had loads of mind-blowing sex and I was over-the-moon delighted to discover what a dirty, experimental, and sexual creature she was. I think about all the various moments we had together and the biggest thing to stand out was how open, giving of myself, and completely vulnerable I was. And, subsequently, how fucking HOT that made things.

My feeling that comfortable to be so bare with her is absolutely why it was the hottest sex either one of us had had to date. JC is still my benchmark for 'hottest sex ever' and while I did have one experience after JC that surprised me by coming close, the lack of vulnerability, love, and caring was what kept that experience from being as good.

I had hoped, in a small part of my heart, that my vulnerability during sexual intimacy would be enough. That she would see that I was completely open and giving her everything that I had. That she would be able to see how deeply I felt and cared and wanted her, and that that would be enough. Obviously, though, sexual intimacy is generally not enough to fuel a real, healthy, adult relationship.

A lot goes on in my head and most of it I keep to myself. I'm going to be working on courage, which is living with my heart. Vulnerability is one of the keys to happiness.

(If you are on a mobile device, you probably can't see the video above, but you should come back and watch it. It's a superb and funny TED talk on the subject of vulnerability.)

Safety

2011-08-18T13:14:00.000-07:00

One of the most unexpected things I've found while exploring this whole service thing is how comfortable and how safe it feels to be fully myself. Not just the parts of me that are silly or dorky or that I often keep to myself for fear of judgment or whatnot. I mean that I'm free to fully be myself, in the broadest sense. Most surprisingly, what I'm finding is how freeing and safe it feels to be as giving of myself as I want.

It's 'weird', but I have a deep need to give and to do. I need to feel helpful, useful, and wanted. I'm someone who really enjoys giving, making others happy, and, honestly, I enjoy putting others ahead of myself. I don't know how to describe it, other than it just doesn't feel right any other way. Not to mention, I have difficulty expressing my feelings, so the primary way that I show people I care for them is to do things. I realize now that I am a service-oriented submissive; I love being helpful, useful, needed. I love to make the lives of the people I care for easier and I want them to know that they are loved and appreciated.

The problem has been that it has, historically, been extremely unsafe for me to be this way in most of my vanilla relationships, including my familial ones. It's tough being a person who thrives on the things I do, particularly when people can be so selfish and so easily take advantage. I've spent a lot of time trying to please the people I care about, but never without danger and rarely in a healthy manner.

I started this life very idealistic and naive and I've had to harden myself up quite a bit. I learned that I had to withhold things and to stay guarded. I look back over my life and there's a lot of being taken advantage of or being taken for granted. Being manipulated or even abused by those who recognized the right buttons to push. It took me way too long, but after all the shit I went through in my last romantic relationship, I finally reached my limit and found the balls to stand up for myself. I am honestly totally fed up and no longer willing to take shit off of people.

So, it's ironic to me, that after becoming so guarded, that I suddenly feel really safe being open, giving, and totally myself.

I don't know why I'm this way, but it gives me great pleasure to make other people happy. I love showing people I pay attention to them by attending to their desires. I particularly love if I can read someone and provide what they want or need without them even having to speak a word. The reward of someone's delight, the awe of my remembering their preferences, is so worth the time and energy!

I have worked in the service industry for a very long time and I don't think it's any coincidence that a) I am drawn to this line of work or b) that I'm pretty good at it. Being thoughtful, anticipating someone's desires, remembering the things they like or how they like them, going a step or two beyond what is expected with the hope of putting a smile on someone's face... all of these are things I naturally do for those I care about. It's just that it hasn't always worked out very well for me.

Perhaps it's because I have empathic tendencies, but another thing is that I can't be happy if the people around me aren't happy. It also feels selfish to put myself ahead of someone else and I just feel much more comfortable if I let another person have first pick over me. I do have self-sacrificing tendencies, in that I'm happy to put myself second if I can be of service for someone or something greater than myself. I'm drawn to service, to helping others, and I'm most happy when I can do that.

A couple of my friends have cautioned me to be careful, afraid that I might get taken advantage of. I assure them that they don't understand because if they did, they'd see there's no worry at all. Mistress is so wonderful and has only my best interests at heart. She is extremely giving, kind, and thoughtful, so it is my absolute pleasure to look after her. I know that I can approach her with any concerns and I also know that she has my back and is looking out for me.

What they also don't understand is the amazing feeling that comes from being fully recognized. For the first time, I'm free to be myself because someone finally sees who I am and understands my need to give. Not only that, but I feel like Mistress knows that what I have to offer is given of myself as a gift. It's this difference of perspective -- gracefully accepting someone's gift, rather than taking what's on offer without any thought -- that makes all the difference.

It's really the most marvelous feeling and so freeing to be able to be totally myself! I can do what I love -- giving, doing, putting others ahead of myself -- and feel totally safe and comfortable.

Favorites

2011-08-15T15:16:00.000-07:00

Mistress gave me an assignment this week, to write about what, in our sessions, that I'm finding that I like most and least. The issue for me is that this is not at all a simple question with an easy answer. There are a great many variables to take into account. So, much like when she asked me this question, post-beating when I was feeling stoned and spacy, I ponder this question and find it really difficult to answer simply.

I think the conclusion I've come to is that, so far, there isn't anything I don't like. I enjoy all of the different sensations and I like that she switches things up and varies them. There are things I don't like as much as others, but it so happens that those things cause her obvious delight and I like hearing her laugh and have a good time much more than I dislike any activity. So, no complaints and nothing I want less of. (that is my honest answer and not a cop-out to avoid answering the question)

On the other side of the coin, there are way too many things I love -- haha... -- and I will try to narrow it down..

While I like all of the implements and sensations, if I had to pick, I think my most favorite thing is when she pulls my hair and spanks me at the same time. There is something super hot about that and it feels really good. I do so love to have my hair pulled...

Barehanded spankings are at the top of my list, but I do enjoy the differing sensations of the other weapons and I enjoy not knowing what's coming next. I love being bound, tied or held down, the various cuffs and restraints, being blindfolded. I also really love when she banters with me throughout. I love the marks afterwards and the sore nipples, my private souvenirs, especially when she makes them on purpose. I love her awareness of the senses; the scratching, the caressing, or the deliciousness of well-timed application of ice on very red, hot, and sore skin.

I really have no complaints whatsoever and I pretty much enjoy being on the receiving end of whatever she feels like doling out at the time. It's all so good, so masterfully orchestrated, I always leave feeling seriously bowled over at how fucking amazing things were. I wander out of there spacy, floaty, high, more than satisfied, and deeply grateful to her for her skill, time, and energy. Also a little bit of wondering how I got to be so lucky, because I really am!

The Arsenal

2011-08-08T11:22:00.000-07:00

So, Mistress has this 'toy bag', as she calls it.. which is really a big black rapier bag. She pulled it out and sat it in her dining room, where it sat for a week or more, making me insanely curious as to what was inside. Finally, we had a session last Friday and she instructed me to bring it so we could go through it together. Do you know what was inside? KINKY CHRISTMAS!! Holy crap, I'm so lucky. :P

Here is her personal arsenal. After our last session, I was instructed to take the bag home and to organize it. There wasn't much to do in that regard, so I think this was mainly so that I'd have some private time to check everything out. I took the opportunity to photograph the cornucopia of weaponry...

Service

2011-07-20T00:20:00.000-07:00

My sessions with Mistress... I am a bit overwhelmed with emotion and I really don't have adequate words yet. They are simply amazing... intense, so deliciously sensual, and she gives the best spankings ever. I feel so lucky that our paths crossed, both in terms of the kink and also because in our developing a more personal relationship, I've come to discover that she is super sweet, kind, intelligent, and all-around very wonderful.

After my first session with her, it was all I could think about for weeks -- I have a kind of highlight reel of my favorite moments that I like to replay to amuse myself. I couldn't believe how good it had felt, how tender and kind and sensual she was; it completely exceeded my expectations and I knew that I would have to go again!

The second session was amazing, too.... she is masterful and superb at what she does. I'm sure I'll eventually write more on the in between, but for now, I need to carry on so I can start talking about the present. After our second session, we chatted a little bit and I asked if she might be willing to trade spankings for service. Super, super lucky me, she agreed. :)

I guess I've been in her service for a month or so now. This situation is new to both of us in different ways (obviously, less new to her) and we've been just kind of playing it by ear. I started off working in the garden and am gradually taking on more and more tasks as time goes on.

I'm finding a tremendous amount of joy in all of this, much to my surprise. While I was very drawn to it and while a part of myself was filled with a deep yearning for this sort of thing... as much as I've thought about it, I didn't have enough experience to be certain that serving a Mistress was something I really wanted. In hindsight, I see that this was unfounded: I worry a lot unnecessarily. I guess I was most afraid of disappointing her by getting involved in this and finding out it wasn't a good fit. I mean, I thought that I would enjoy it, but until you experience something, how do you know if you'll like it?

Sure, I experimented and played at D/s, but never seriously and only once before with someone who had previous experience. For a long time, it was a fantasy, something my girlfriends and lovers would do to turn me on, but never its own thing. I spent many years thinking about BDSM, fascinated by the width and breadth of people's interests, pondering my own, dreaming, fantasizing... wishing I could meet someone with a natural dominant streak that would see and appreciate my submissive side. Not only that, really, but who would know what to do with it.

As much as I was drawn to it and felt that I wanted it, I had very little luck coming even close to what I was looking for. Honestly, I wasn't even sure what that was or how to articulate it. I started to think that I was chasing a pipe dream, that what I desired didn't exist and/or that it was one of those things that are simply much better residing in one's head as a fantasy.

I have a confession, which I hope you find as ironic and amusing as I do: I usually hate to be told what to do. I'm incredibly independent, dislike being ordered around, am not a fan of most menial tasks, and I generally am most happy doing things when they are my idea. I also generally can't stand being micromanaged and corrected.

So, obviously, knowing this about myself, I had some concerns about whether this was a good fit, whether it was what I really wanted, whether putting myself directly into this kind of situation would tweak my rebellious, sassy streak. I didn't really have much experience to draw from, so I wasn't sure what it would be like or how it would feel.

The truth is, none of these worries were very huge, just little niggling doubts. When I stopped and listened to my heart, this was what it wanted and so I was driven in this direction. Plus, I also just had this feeling that Mistress was extraordinary and I was very interested in getting to know her better. I am so grateful that she was open to giving me a chance because this has turned into one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

What's surprising to me is not that I'm enjoying every minute of my service, but that I find myself thriving in the biggest way! I'm really, really happy and I find it extremely enjoyable and fulfilling.

I love being asked to do things and I love being put to use! I don't mind the menial tasks, really, because it's for a very pleasant purpose -- making her life easier, maybe making her smile. I live for that smile.. it's just about the best thing ever.

Often, in other situations, I'll see something that needs to be done (say, the dishes), not want to do it, and then avoid the task (at least for a while). With Mistress, I'm eager and sincerely happy to do it. I feel a real sense of responsibility and duty, and I am always aware of my place, which is also satisfying in a way I didn't anticipate.

Weirdly (for me), I really enjoy when she asks me to do things. I feel a deep sense of happiness and satisfaction, that I'm being useful, and it's also a nice reminder of my place in all of this.

New Chapter

2011-07-10T22:23:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened in the past few months and suddenly, my life has taken a most wonderful and magical turn. It all started with finally finding a job after several desperate months of job searching. At my new job, I met a really cool girl -- who for this blog's purposes, we will call "Ollie" -- who very quickly became my best friend. She and I are so alike, it's both scary and ridiculously awesome.

Right around the time Ollie and I met and were starting to get to know one another, her girlfriend answered a Craigslist ad and was interviewing to become a mistress at a local house of BDSM. I was immediately intrigued, of course! Visiting a professional Domme was on my bucket list and something I had thought a lot about, but I never expected to be able to overcome the intimidation and anxiety regarding the process, particularly the simple act of picking one place or one person. I wasn't even entirely sure how to articulate what I wanted, so how could I be certain that I'd be able to find it?

Over the next couple of months, I was in rapt attention any time Ollie offered bits and pieces of information regarding The House where her girlfriend was being trained to be a professional Domme; eventually, my curiosity got the best of me and I started to pepper her with questions. The knowledge made it a bit less scary and I grew closer and closer to the idea that I might be able to actually DO this. I justified the cost to myself by allowing myself an indulgence for hitting the 6-month mark of quitting smoking.

I often get overwhelmed to the point of paralyzation when faced with too many choices. It's like, how in the world do you choose? All of the women are gorgeous and powerful and intelligent... without some sort of guidance, it's practically impossible to pick one over the other. Seeing that I was lost in indecisiveness, Ollie's girlfriend recommended someone, who I then took a closer look at. Immediately, I was rather intrigued. I mean, she hit a bunch of my big turn-ons: beautiful, fair skinned, tall, curly red hair, obviously intelligent and well-spoken, physically powerful... there was also an allusion to sensuality, or at least so I hoped.

It took me two or three weeks to wrap my mind around the whole thing and to get comfortable enough to where I was able to call to make an appointment. By that time, I kind of knew the low-down, but I was extremely nervous and intimidated by the whole process. I knew from reading the website that, as a new client, I'd have to call on the day on which I wanted to book an appointment. This was a bit difficult for me because, ordinarily, I'd call ahead, make an appointment, and then spend the rest of the time mentally preparing for it. This time, I had to wonder what was going to happen all the way up until I worked up the balls to call. Ha.

Honestly, the process was not that difficult and the ladies I spoke with were very nice. I just am such a huge dork that I only make things worse for myself through my shyness, anxiety, and awkwardness. I'm grateful that a lot of people see it for what it is and are amused by it and that some of them even find it endearing. Anyway, after about a month of consideration and discussion, I managed to work up enough courage to book an appointment.

The lengths to which we go...

2011-01-06T15:12:00.000-08:00

My life would make an excellent black comedy. I can only laugh at all the stupid things that I've done in the name of love or lust.

The most memorable (and expensive) mistake I made was getting involved with this crazy girl, JS, who was in love with my ex. I knew she was crazy and I knew she was just using me to make my ex jealous, but because I knew this, I thought I was one up on her and that I had the situation locked down.

It started out with a completely random phone call, where she wanted to know my ex's favorite flower. I was at first confused and surprised that JS was even calling me, considering I had never given her my number, but apparently my ex had. Once I gathered my thoughts, I had to tell her that I hadn't dated my ex that long and I honestly had no idea.

After that, she stepped up her game and started flirting with me hard at the bar. This game was completely transparent and I knew exactly what was going on. However, I was really bored in my life and in need of some distraction, so I decided to play with fire, especially since crazy girls seem to be wicked good in bed. I totally thought that, being fully apprised of the situation, I had a handle on things and that I had JS's number.

Well, tragically, she was horrible in bed, like... in my bottom two experiences ever... so it wasn’t even worth it. She had what my ex and I would later commiserate and call "sexual ADD". She'd start out doing one thing, and just as you were starting to get into it, she'd switch and start doing something else. Rinse, repeat, over and over.. very unsatisfying and strange!

She was wonderful sober, but was also totally an alcoholic who turned into Mr. Hyde when she got drunk. I was out at the bar with my best friend and she was there, wasted, celebrating her cousin’s birthday. I barely remember the details, but I think she got snarky with me and my best friend stood up for me, and then they totally got into it. JS left the bar perhaps 10 minutes later. My friend and I left a couple of hours later and when I got in my car, I discovered JS had stolen my ignition. Yeah, you heard me right.

HUGE F-ING, EXPENSIVE HASSLE, let me tell you. I got dicked around by the mechanic, too, for a couple of weeks, until my friend’s husband called pretending to be my husband, then they straightened up.

Anyway… yeah.

I would like to say that I've learned to not play with fire, but knowing myself....

Spanking? Yes, please!

2010-12-31T13:45:00.000-08:00

There is likely a variety of reasons why someone might enjoy spanking (on either end of the deal). A spanker might be naturally dominant, enjoy power exchange, enjoy inflicting pain, enjoy the sensual, intimate aspects of spanking, etc. A spankee might be naturally submissive, enjoy handing the reins over to someone else, find the pain and the process to be physically arousing, perhaps they’ve fetishized childhood punishments, or something else. Some people may not be all that into the spanking itself, but find their partner’s reactions to be incredibly arousing, so they do it not so much because they love spanking, but because they are turned on by the intense physical reaction from the spankee.

As someone on the submissive end of the kink spectrum, I can say from personal experience that there’s something deeply satisfying and arousing about the dynamic during a spanking. I have issues with control; I have a tight rein on everything during my normal life and it’s difficult for me to loosen that up. It’s due to this control that I struggle with allowing myself to be vulnerable, even in good, trusting relationships, and even in bed. Being the submissive one in a “scene” is like having a weight lifted off me for a time.. I pass on that control and I feel a grateful bliss.

I do have a small dominant streak and I have tried my hand at spanking; I enjoy it when the mood strikes. I think what I like about it is being the one in power/control and being able to inflict a bit of pain that turns the other person on.

My last two girlfriends were not naturally dominant (the last one identified as a submissive), but once they saw how my body responded to their taking control and spanking me, they really quickly got on board and both of them came to love doing it.

I’m pretty sure my draw to being spanked (amongst other elements, such as craving punishment, discipline, and enjoying some humiliation during spankings) is due to my father beating me with a belt on my bare butt when I was little. These beatings were extraordinarily traumatic to me at the time, and not something I would intentionally take along into adulthood. I mean, as much as I have been spanked and enjoyed it, I have always thought I would draw the line if my top broke out a belt. Too close to home, you know?

I make the connection because of the elements I mentioned above. Like, a spanking for no reason is great, but man, if you add in the element of punishment, it’s like over-the-top hot for me. I’ve long pondered my interest in kink, BDSM, spanking. I don’t remember when it began, when I realized that it turned me on. It’s just always been fascinating and arousing.

In terms of whether fetishizing childhood punishments is positive or negative, I think it depends on the individual. To me, it’s like someone who has been raped that has rape fantasies. You have your traumatic event, then you have to work through it. Part of me sees either situation as being dependent on some factors. If the person is relatively healthy and is not still devastated by the trauma, I don’t see that as being negative. Under the right conditions, I think exploring this fetish with a healthy mindset is a way of working through the trauma in a safe environment. If the person hasn’t healed, it may be cathartic as well, but I would be afraid that that sort of play might rip open the wounds, rather than being therapeutic.

Lastly, I will say that I have mixed feelings about my own abuse and later fetishes. I find it a little creepy and gross, in how it started. I mean, if I think of the abuse, it is not at all a turn on and it kind of makes me a little sick to my stomach. I guess it feels kind of weird when I analyze it, because I pretty much know where it all began (thanks, Dad!). However, I know enough psychology to recognize that it’s not a bad way to have processed this trauma. I could have gone other routes.. to become an abuser, or self-abusing through substances, or whatever. I guess my point is, in my case, that it’s probably not the most positive thing, but I’m trying to turn it into one by exploring the fetish in safe, comfortable ways.

Gender

2010-12-28T20:15:00.000-08:00

Gender is a topic I find to be endlessly fascinating, so you'll probably hear more about it in the posts to come. Exploring and experimenting with ones masculinity and femininity, with society's gender roles, it's exciting and fun. I love it when people buck the norm.. women doing things that are traditionally male and vice versa, for example.

I present as tomboyish and I consider myself genderqueer, in that I feel a good balance of both male and female exists in me. I'm neither one or the other, I am both. Both sides require expression and sometimes it feels so good to be really girly or really boyish.

JC and I were together for about two and a half years. Our sex life, the hotness level, was off the charts. We were just so bare, intimate, and connected with each other; both of us agreed it was the hottest sex of our lives. She grew up in a devoutly Catholic home and learned to suppress her sexuality. She was also a huge tomboy at heart, but had learned to present with a feminine appearance in order to fit in socially and to hide her emerging sexuality.

When we were together, JC would sometimes let loose and express her boy side. I encouraged this because seeing how it transformed her, how it made her feel, was a huge turn on. She'd sometimes pack without saying anything and then appear at my side and wait for me to notice the considerable bulge in her pants. She loved playing a boy and I found it really hot. Not to mention, she really owned her cock and boy, did she ever know how to use it!

I love a girl who owns her cock. Mmmm.

Her boi persona was on the dominant side. We'd talk dirty as I stroked her. She'd get top-y and push it into my mouth. She loved wearing that cock and she loved watching me worship it, which I found to be immensely hot and arousing. JC liked to focus and imagine what it'd be like to fuck me, were her cock real. Man, she was good with that thing and she knew how to make me feel amazing! I loved imagining she could feel me, wishing she could get off inside of me.

Love Hesitates

2010-12-16T17:03:00.000-08:00

The one thing I want most in life, my ultimate life's goal, is love. True love, of course, with my soulmate or some other non-sappy equivalent. Love. Alas and alack! Love has been such a cruel mistress; giving me a taste of my heart's desire and then dancing away with it, laughing.

Sex with someone you love is potent. It amazes me sometimes. Everything goes away, is erased from your consciousness, until the only thing that exists is that person. You become hyper aware of their every aspect; the warmth radiating from their body as they come closer, their smell, the subtleties of desire like their breathing coming quicker, their eyes darkening as their pupils dilate.

This kind of sex is religious to me. Or, at the very least, spiritual. There is no other time that I am so completely and totally present in the moment. It feels like the touching of souls. Like the closest humans will ever get to feeling, seeing, or experiencing the Divine.

The Best Yahoo Question Answer Ever

2010-12-16T16:38:00.000-08:00

Ok...Too Far: The Best Yahoo Question Answer Ever

Damn, it's cobwebby in here

2010-12-09T17:39:00.000-08:00

As is plainly obvious, I'm a bad blogger. Really, what happened was a relationship, an out-of-state move, and then it all went downhill from there for the next 5 years. What I've learned is that it seems impossible to blog while I'm in a relationship, whether that relationship is good or bad.

I did have one pretty good relationship, JC, who I dated and with whom I cohabitated for over two years. I revealed this blog to JC, but then came to regret it as she made it clear she'd like me to blog about us. I found it too much pressure and choked.

Then life. Focusing on survival. Not having reliable internet. Several moves. One really horrible girlfriend. Blah blah.

Anyway, I was reading over some of my old posts and found myself a bit surprised and pleased with my writing here. So, I will try to post more! I am single again, after all.

A Fantasy

2010-03-20T18:11:00.000-07:00

It's the end of my senior year, just weeks until graduation, and seeing that most of my work is finished, I've been finding it hard to care. I've been rolling into class late a lot, sometimes not bothering to show up at all. I had a feeling it'd catch up to me eventually, so I just roll my eyes and shake my head when I get called into your office.

I stride down the empty hallway toward the office, where your matronly secretary scowls and ushers me directly into your presence, then sharply closes the door behind me. You sit perched behind the 'Principal' sign on your desk and, judging by your cold, appraising stare from across your imposing wood desk, you are not pleased. I sit down in an ancient leather chair and and roll my eyes slightly as you begin to lecture me on my disregard for the rules and the importance of being on time. Irritated, you rise slowly and tell me that I've been warned plenty of times and since it's obvious that the niceties have failed, it is time for more serious punishment.

I raise an eyebrow, at least until you pull a ruler from your desk drawer, and then I blink. I look up at your face to gauge your seriousness as you slightly bend the ruler, showing me that it is rigid, yet somewhat flexible, then slap it quickly against your palm. It dawns on me what you intend and I swallow hard as I realize that that ruler probably is going to hurt quite a bit.

You look at me, eyes narrowed and say, "Naughty girls who flout the rules get their backsides reddened." You smack your palm with the ruler again, this time more forcefully. "Stand up and bend over my desk, this instant."

As I move to obey, my mind begins to race. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, knowing that you are going to spank me. I step in front of the desk and lean forward over it, my ass in the air and my breasts feeling the cool wood through my shirt. I hide my burning face and hear the swish of clothing as you move closer to me. I feel you lift the hem of my skirt over my ass and onto my back. My cheeks burn redder as I envision the now-clear view of my panties and everything underneath.

The intervening seconds feel like an eternity as I wait anxiously for your next move. I'm in the process of wondering, and then you bring the ruler down on my ass. I was right; it really stings and I grit my teeth. You raise your arm and bring it down in the same spot several more times, creating an intensely sensitive and painful spot. I cry out a little, involuntarily.

"Bad behavior does not go unpunished," you lecture, and bring the ruler down again, this time on the other cheek.

I exhale through clenched teeth, fighting a groan. The ruler comes down again and again, varying your ever-stronger strokes so that my entire ass becomes red. "Naughty girls who don't learn have to be spanked," you say.

With each blow of the ruler, you become more forceful and my ass more red and sensitive. It becomes difficult to stay quiet, and I begin to gasp each time the ruler strikes my skin. You pause a moment, place your palm on my ass, and lean forward to speak in my ear. Your hand lightly strokes my tingling ass as I feel your warm breath on my ear and hear you say, "I know this is what you need, because you cannot discipline yourself."

You lean back up and quietly ponder for a moment. I feel your hand on my ass, then up to the waistband of my panties. "Oh, God," I think, but it's too late because you're already sliding them down. You pull them down over my ass and leave them on just below my cheeks. I know my ass is bright red and I'm mortified to know that you can probably see how wet and swollen my pussy is getting. I can hear the lightness in your voice and know you're pleased with your handiwork so far, "Such a bad, disrespectful girl deserves a real, bare-assed spanking."

I whimper softly at the idea that there's more to come. You step back slightly and I brace myself, as you bring that wicked ruler down with a hard, stinging slap. You tan my ass with it, bringing it down over and over, causing me to jump at each blow. My ass is getting so sore and I start to wonder how much I can take. I hope each blow is the last, but you continue on bringing your arm down again and again, lecturing me. I feel each slap of the ruler more intensely and more painfully than the last.

Just when I wonder how much more I can take, you pause again. I hear you set the ruler down and can feel the heat of your body near my inflamed skin. You run your palm over my now bright red skin, which is radiating a lot of heat. The skin of your hand is a pleasing torture, it is both erotic and a painful reminder of your beating. You gently stroke the skin of both ass cheeks and my face burns more as I feel you lower your hand to brush over my wet, swollen lips. I am so tense and turned on that I moan shamelessly; your touching between my legs has sent another rush of wetness. I can't help but move my hips slightly as your fingers slide along my slit to rub my clit briefly, then back up to tease my opening.

I hear you pick up the ruler and I let out a groaned sigh of frustration. I am so wildly turned on and quivering with desire and anticipation that I can't help but cry out with each strike of the ruler. You strike again several times, hard, unbearably in the same spot, just to watch me writhe and beg you to stop with my cries.

*SMACK!*
*SMACK!*
*SMACK!*

Over and over, expertly covering my ass with strikes as you beat me, not a patch of skin spared. You continue to lecture and berate me for my bad character, but I can't focus on your words anymore. Each blow hurts worse than the last and my ass is hot, sore, and stinging. I don't think I can take much more and helpless tears spring to my eyes. Just when I'm about to cry or to beg you to stop, I hear you set down the ruler and come up behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief and sag on the desk, trying to catch my breath.

Your fingertips tease and taunt as they play over my sore, tingling skin. I can feel the wetness beginning to drip down my lips. You run your fingers down between my legs, and lean over me. I can feel the hardness of your cock through your pants, pressing into my hip. Your fingers begin to explore more aggressively, sliding through the slick wetness, feeling how swollen my lips and clit are, and I moan. Your fingers tease my clit, slide down my lips, then I feel one slowly slip inside. I can no longer hold it in and give a long, loud moan as your finger slowly makes its way into my pussy.

I give a groan of disappointment as I feel your finger exit. I hear your zipper slide down, a short rustle of clothing,and then feel the head of your cock pressed against my pussy lips. "Oh, God," I groan, as you take my hips in your hands.

In the next moment, you ram your hard cock all the way inside me. I give a deep-throated moan as I feel your cock parting my tight pussy, opening it up until you're as deep as you can go. You rest there a moment, holding your cock deep inside, enjoying the feel of my pussy and how it pulses around your cock. You comment on how hot to the touch my ass feels against your skin, with a small, sadistic chuckle.

Then, my hips in your hands, you make a point to pound against my sore, red ass, driving home my punishment, reminding me with each thrust. You lean forward and ask in my ear, "How does that spanking feel now?" You drive into me, slapping my ass hard with your hips. "Your pussy is so wet, you really are a dirty, dirty girl..."

All I can do is moan and work my pussy on your cock. I want it so bad and it feels so good to be taken like this. You reach a hand up under my shirt, push my bra up, and squeeze one of my breasts, making the nipple hard. You pinch it, which causes my pussy to squeeze your cock. You give a grunt of pleasure and continue to drive your cock in and out of me. I keep getting wetter and more turned on and I feel like I could take it forever, but soon your thrusts come faster and faster and I know you're going to come.

One hand squeezing my breast, the other on my hip, you drive your cock forcefully into my pussy, working closer to orgasm. Your breathing gets faster, your thrusts faster and harder, and I know you're close. Finally, the hand on my hip flies up, and you get a tight fistful of my hair, pulling my head back and holding it there. You let out a long, throaty groan, thrust a few times shallowly, then plunge your cock deep in me. You hold me tight against you as you ride out your climax in a series of breathy groans.

When you are finished, you slide out of me and give my ass one last hard slap with your hand and tell me to get dressed. You give me a stern look and say that you hope I've learned my lesson.

XOXO

Sex and the City, Part II

2006-03-16T23:28:00.000-08:00

I was 18, living on my own for the first time and just beginning to explore the limits of my new-found freedom and adulthood. My social circle almost entirely consisted of 'Netters' and during this time I dated, went to parties, experimented with substances like alcohol and marijuana, and started exploring my sexuality.

The BBS/chat system I used regularly would let members post event announcements. At some point, I took notice of an announcement for a bi-monthly pansexual orgy. All the details were explained: it was being hosted in a play environment with amenities such as a dungeon and a hot tub, it was bisexual, men and women welcome, safe play encouraged. I didn't know what 'pansexual' meant, but the idea of going to a sex party both turned me on and made me intensely curious. I really wanted to go, but there was no way I would go by myself. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anyone I could ask, so after I fully mulled over the whole thing, the idea got shelved.

There were one or two more announcements as the months went by, and while I still very much was interested in going, I still couldn't fathom attending alone and hadn't yet found someone who would be game for attending with me. I had been platonically hanging out with a Netter named John and not long after another one of the orgy notices had been posted, the subject came up in conversation one night at a coffee shop. Now that I think on it, I believe John was the one posting the announcements and I probably asked him about it. He expressed a desire to go, and I mentioned that I had been interested in going, too. After some discussion, we decided that we would go together and began to excitedly make our plans for the evening.

The night of the party rolled around and I was very nervous. I was still not properly relieved of my virginity and while I didn't entirely rule out the possibility, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be having sex that night. I was on the precipice my sexual awakening and still quite inexperienced and scared. I mostly wanted to watch. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but on the bus ride there, John assured me that the atmosphere was very relaxed and that I wouldn't have to do anything I didn't want. He told me I could simply say "no, thank you" if I wasn't interested in a play proposition, and that no one would be offended.

We got off the bus and as we walked the quiet lamp-lit streets, my heart was pounding. All I could think was, "What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?" I followed him a few blocks to a nice but rather unassuming house in a decent neighborhood. From the normal exterior, you would never guess what was going on inside!

John checked in with me as we ascended the steps and I assured him I was fine, but the truth was, my heart was racing and I was petrified. However, I am an adventurer at heart and I was absolutely determined to go through with this, if simply for the story I could tell later. So he knocked on the door, which opened and a man greeted us. There was a door leading to a side room behind him to the right, and several people milled around the hallway just beyond. The man was very nice and apparently we had chosen the right night to attend because he told us that the evening was 'two for one', and after splitting the cost with John, all I ended up paying was $10.

He ushered us through the door in the foyer into a small room that was crowded with a desk, cubbyholes, coat pegs, and people's clothes and belongings. The woman behind the desk took our money and handed us brown paper grocery bags. I glanced at John and tried to figure out why I needed a paper bag. He started to unbutton his shirt. I must have looked confused because the woman said, "Put your clothes in there and find a spot anywhere in here to leave them."

Immediately, I panicked. "Wait...what?! I have to be naked?!"

I'm a pretty shy person and I have never loved my body, so the thought of a cold-blooded strip-down and subsequent nude parading in front of strangers was enough to flip me out. I was so freaked out, I can't even remember the details of the discussion that followed my question, other than to say I was eventually assured I could wear a towel. Relieved, I calmed down and accepted my towel, then proceeded to self-consciously strip right there while getting as un-naked as possible. John was comfortable being naked and decided to forgo a towel, so by the time I finished, John was standing there in all his glory.

I should mention that, starting not long after we set off, John had been telling me throughout the evening that I was beautiful, something he had never said to me before and which struck me as fairly opportunistic. It seemed to me that he was hoping I might oblige him when we got to the party. As he stood there naked, the way he looked at me confirmed these suspicions. When we were properly undressed, the man that had greeted us gave us a short run-down on the facilities and where everything was located.

I can't pinpoint when exactly I started being turned on by kink, but I figure I must have been exposed to it during high school because at 18, the thought of an orgy was more arousing and intriguing than it was shocking. All I know is that my embarrassment and self-consciousness faded as my curiosity took over and as we stepped out of the room ventured deeper into the rest of the house, my eyes were roaming wildly in order to take everything in.

At the end of the hall, but just before the living room, was a cutaway square hole in the floor with a fireman's pole in the center that lead downstairs. I peered down there in an attempt to get some idea of what I had gotten myself into, while simultaneously trying to figure out the hows and whys of sliding down the pole. I also tried to wrap my head around the idea of sliding down a pole naked. Ha.

We came out of the hallway into the open kitchen and living room. To the left, in the living area, were a few men occupying the couch and chairs and watching a porn video playing on the large-screen TV. They noted our arrival, surveyed the prospects, and gradually returned their attention to the porn. There were assorted refreshments on the kitchen counters, which we passed as we walked closer to the glass sliding doors leading to the backyard. I was busy looking around and taking everything in, so I simply followed John's direction.

John stepped through the glass doors and we went down some wooden stairs. At the bottom of the steps was the hot tub, which a couple of people were enjoying. We turned back toward the house and went down another set of steps to the bottom floor, into 'the dungeon'. The basement was almost entirely open, save for a doorless room on the far street side.

This is the part of the story where my mind started to get blown. We stepped into the basement 'dungeon' and it was truly an orgy for the senses. So much was happening around me! There were probably 20 or 30 people there in total, and most of them were involved in doing dirty things with one another. As we came through the door, directly in front of us was a hip-height padded table upon which a naked man was kneeling on his hands and knees. I can't even remember the gender of his partner because I was so fascinated by what they were doing. I watched as the partner put on latex gloves, lubed up, and slowly began the process of anal fisting. This was the first of many things I had heard about, but never actually seen or tried.

Ahead of us to the left were semi-private partitioned spaces with mattresses on the floor. The partitions were the kind you use for office cubicles, made with enough space for other people to walk through and stand to watch the action. I figured it was for people who didn't want to have sex in front of everyone, but were okay with a few people as an audience. We took a quick tour through these, and John flopped down on a mattress while making some semi-joking suggestions. I was definitely turned on by everything at that point, so I have to admit that I considered fucking John at various times throughout the night. However, I didn't think it was a good idea to sleep with John and standing there in the cubicles, I just couldn't picture myself having sex in front of all those people.

I was eager to explore, so we wandered back out. There was a room I hadn't noticed when we came in, on the same wall and recessed under the stairs we had come down. Party lights lent an orangey-pink glow to the room and when I peeked in, I realized everyone in there was male. It seemed to be pretty happening; there were several men in there, some on a couch, some standing, some on the floor. All naked, all stroking each other's cocks. I felt another pang of desire. I admit I like gay porn, and watching a guy jerk off (or get jerked off) really turns me on. I wanted to stand there and watch them, but I felt kind of weird about it, like it was a boys' club and I was an intruder. They kept looking at me and I took that to mean they wanted to me to go away.

To the right side of the door we entered was an open area that might have had mattresses on the floor because people were fucking there. There was a loose group of people watching and slowly touching themselves. We walked toward the back, past the padded table and cubicle rooms to the room on the far end of the dungeon. On the way, I spied a leather sex sling suspended from the ceiling, so we went over to it and I made John explain to me how it worked. I definitely liked the idea; it turned me on and I made a mental note to try it at some point.

We went into the room on the far end of the dungeon and it was full of kinky bondage equipment. I'm sure there were other things, but I was quite fascinated by the cage and the rack, which apparently captured all of my attention because those are the only things I remember. John and I joked and talked a little bit about everything, and then for fun, he crawled into the cage and I shut it. I began to feel a little weird about playing with him in there, knowing he wanted more and knowing I didn't want to go there with him. When he got out of the cage, then asked me to stretch him on the rack. I agreed somewhat reluctantly and he climbed onto the contraption. I strapped down his wrists and ankles and then began to turn the wheel beside his head.

(To Be Continued..)