Archive | November, 2011


30 Nov

i just realized what’s wrong with my new blog look.  i can be kind of dense, cause it just now clicked.

“aisha” is capitalized.

It’s in all-caps.  And apparently it can’t be changed.  Damn it.

i made the whole thing smaller, and that looks a little bit better, i think.  But still.  


Does it look like i’m AISHA THE DOMME?

It does, doesn’t it.

What?  You wouldn’t have noticed if i hadn’t said something?


Well, when i went to my settings, it was actually wrong there and i changed it, so maybe it just takes it a while to show up on the blog.  Maybe by the time you see this it will be ok.  

i made the print smaller, that helped a little bit.

Maybe i can do a big sticky post that says “aisha,” so it looks more submissive.  

Maybe i should quit obsessing about it and write a real post.  There’s nothing much i can do about it this morning.  i’ve tried some stuff, but it didn’t work.

If i have to change the whole appearance again to fix it?? Nooooo.  i don’t think so.

i feel so out-of-sorts, still.

So, here’s the thing.

My church is going through some more changes that make me think that’s not my spiritual home anymore.  That makes me really sad and angry.

My work is going through some changes that make me feel like the soul of my vocation is being crushed.  (Ooooo, that’s pretty dramatic, isn’t it?  i know that’s not true, it just feels like it.}   That makes me really sad.  And angry.

At work these days, there is often a sense that we’re being attacked by upper level management.  No, of course that’s not the actual truth, but it sure feels like it  So we’re in a pretty constant state of wanting to run or fight.  It’s fairly miserable.

And i have a huge good news/not so good news in my family.  Good news first ~ get ready to cheer ~

My younger daughter is pregnant!  Yay!!!

Not exactly planned, but very wanted, and she’s happy and her significant other is a good guy, and i’m delighted about being a grandmother again, and ~~

~~ here comes the bad news ~~

after the baby’s born, they plan to move.  Out of the country.


Really far away.

Not as far away as Hidden Slave is.  But still.

When i think about it, i want to cry.  i want to stamp my feet and say “NO!!!”   Or throw myself on the ground in a big ole tantrum and just wail.

i feel like i’m carrying around so much sadness.

Even though ~ moment to moment i’m fine, moment to moment i’m ok.  And believe me, i’m an expert at being ok in the here-and-now.  Really.

But underneath are these layers of sadness.  Weights on my heart.  



My baby.  And my baby’s baby.

i just want to cry.

So yesterday i was looking for quotes for my FB page and found this one on change:

‎”Unless you are prepared to give up something valuable you will never be able to truly change at all, because you’ll be forever in the control of things you can’t give up.”
~~ Andy Law
Creative Company

And that seemed to carry some important message, at least as far as church and work are concerned.  Not sure exactly what it will mean, how it will play out in my life, but it feels significant.

And as for my daughter and the baby…


i don’t know  When she was 18, it looked like she was going to live in Ireland the rest of her life, and i was all blues’ed out.  So i guess these last 10 years of her being mostly here have been a gift.

And she’s been away often enough that i know i can get through Christmas’s and such without her.

And i can go visit.  

And there’s Skype, right?

And if i get hit by a bus tomorrow, then all this angst will have been for nothing.  Right?  



i’m better now – thanks.

And tonight, i get to see my Sir.  And i can lose myself, and all of this, in the world of intensely sensual bliss.  Or just have dinner with Him, that would be ok too.

Smiling again… 

In My Head

29 Nov

i was talking to Drew, Ms. Constance’s slave, at the munch Sunday night.  He was telling me about some of the woodworking jobs he’s doing right now.  

One of them is a spar for a boat.  So he’s talking about masts and booms and all kinds of nautical terms that sound fascinating and mysterious.  

i get this mental image of Drew creating form and substance, something like this:

and then i picture him finishing it, sanding and polishing, and fitting it into place, and it seems so solid.  So concrete and real.   Like baking bread, or making quilts.

It makes me realize how abstract and un-hands-on most of the things i do are.  Even my writing isn’t done with pen and paper, but through a machine that saves the words in cyberspace, where they could totally disappear one day, without warning, rhyme or reason.

The work i do doesn’t yield anything tangible.  

i’m not saying it’s not valuable.  i know it is.  My clients value it.  But i work in relationship, which can’t be seen or touched and is open to being redefined at any moment.

Yes, it’s real, i know it is, but there is very little that’s grounded there.  And it’s very subjective.  Open to changing interpretation.

i remember learning:  “The best predictor of lasting change from therapy is if the person, the client, attributes the changes they’ve made to themselves.  If they say, “Well, that counselor didn’t really have to do anything, I just needed someone to talk to,” they are more likely to maintain whatever progress they made.”

And i’ve always loved that ~ the idea that if i’ve done a really good job, the client won’t even know i did anything.  Like magic.

But ~ in a world of outcome measures, i don’t know where that idea fits in.  In a world of objective and measurable goals and expectations of progress from one session to the next, what does that even mean?

Besides, it’s some old research and i don’t know if it’s held up.  i could be believing that all these years, and it might not even be true at all.

Twenty years from now, Drew’s spar will still be a spar.  No one will be saying, “Well, we thought it was a spar, but as it turns out, that was an error in the data.”

Sigh.  i don’t know.

The other point is that what i do is disembodied.  There’s little connectedness between my body and my work.  

Thomas More, the psychologist, talks about this, how the modern era separates us from our physical self, traps us in the abstract.

Drew’s work, on the other hand, feels very grounded to me.  Very real.  Secure and solid.

i was talking to my friend jade about this yesterday morning.  She says:

You know, the idea of wood working as a meditative concept makes sense to me.
But…here is a thought.  Perhaps the concrete is less real than the abstract.
Thoughts are things. Real things.  And that is what you work with every day.
The energy from your mind is just as real as the piece of wood Drew works with.
This may sound New Age-y but it’s based comfortable in science. 
i think it’s the 3rd Law but i could be off since i’m on my first cup of coffee.

And she may be right ~ well, i don’t know about this 3rd Law stuff, but maybe she’s right.  But ~ but ~ but ~

~ there’s some elusive point here that i can’t quite grab.   

Maybe i’m just feeling a little lost in my own head.  Changes coming at work, changes at church, changes in my family.  Trying to wrap my mind around what they all mean.

Flying in subspace, sliding down into sub-drop, all unseen.  

i don’t know.  Maybe i’m rambling again.

But i was feeling all this last night, and i emailed Sir a little of it.  He emailed me back pretty quickly.  He said ~

o, wait, i need to tell you this first.  He emailed me the other day to tell me He’d come across this:

and that He thought with a little work it would make an awesome bondage bench.

So when i emailed Him last night, He responded quickly, not with a lot of words or ideas.  Partly, He said:

“I’m looking at this table/bench thing I have in my dining area, planning on how to finish it out, deciding where to put tie points, and what kind, and I imagine your body lying across it in various configurations and imagine where the tie points need to be for different postures.” 
And i could feel it, my body stretched taut, bound securely….   Mmmmmm.  
That was exactly what i needed to hear.

Monday, Monday…

28 Nov

It’s raining – again – still.  Better than snow, but good grief, it feels like it’s been grey forever.


This is going to be a potpourri of thoughts and ideas.  

i went to the Fourth Sunday munch last night, which was fun, but i had two cups of coffee.  That gave me lots of late night energy, not that i got anything constructive done, but i was up late.

Didn’t sleep well.  Didn’t want to get up.  Don’t want to exercise.  Don’t want to go to work.


But i had a good time at the Munch last  night.  Sat with Ms. Constance and Drew, and enjoyed talking to them.   Drank coffee and had a spinach salad.

Ms. Constance is talking about starting a blog, which would be very cool.  i hope she does!

i talked to Mr. Michael some too.  He runs the munch these days, which is a challenging task, i imagine.  He and i are Facebook friends now and he posts links to many articles connected to kink and BDSM.  Interesting stuff.  

Here’s one that links to an article Midori wrote on “What Every Submissive Needs to Know Before They Play.”

It’s interesting, and well done, and i wonder if it would have been better if i’d read something similar back in my early days of kink.  On the other hand, a certain amount of wandering directionless is actually ok with me.  And fortunately, i was just old and mature enough that i didn’t make any irremediable mistakes.

Well, not yet anyhow.

“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.”
~~ Bob Marley

Hmmm.  Am i just a wee bit sub-drop-y here?  Or maybe it’s just Monday morning blues after a long weekend.

Besides, now that i think about it, i did read articles like that.  i just didn’t quite know how to process the information.  Or maybe i did… Whatever.

i read an interesting blog post here  by acquiexence on burnout with the world of kink.  i can certainly understand how she feels, although i don’t think i’ve gotten too lost in it all.  But “too lost” is awfully subjective. 

i think that when i’m interested in something, i tend to get lost in it.  Wallow in it.  Wander aimlessly.  Almost get swallowed up.

Then i pull back.  Try to assimilate the things i’ve learned.  Reclaim who i am, separate my self back out.  It’s a process.  Maybe that’s the same process acquiexence is going through.

There’s a book called Go to the Widowmaker by James Jones that i read when i was in college.  That book helped me learn to recognize that process in myself, which has been helpful over the years.

Which is not to say it’s comfortable when i’m in the middle of it.  Or even that i remember it’s a process.

And, i think this is a very rambling, unfocused post, and i should stop now before it gets any worse.

Maybe definitely some sub-drop here.  Damn, i hate that.

Ok.  i’ll be better tomorrow.  Probably.  If not tomorrow, the next day. 

If not the next day, someday.


Laughing…  i know, i know.  i need to remember:


27 Nov

i sent Him my poem, just a few hours before He came over last night.  

i got His instructions ~ He was coming here, i should have my mat ready, and wear “panties and buttons,” which clearly means a shirt with buttons and nothing else but panties, instructions that are easy to follow.

He said He wanted to fondle me right away.  It seemed His mind was working on the same lines as mine, so i sent Him the poem.

He may have already planned every thing He did last night, or He may have tweaked it after He got the poem.  In either case, here’s a little piece of what happened.

i’m on my mat in front of Him  ~ He’s on the couch.

The collar is first.  When He attaches the padlock, which lays cold on my chest, i feel that first lovely slip into submission.  Thoughts, worries, the rest of the universe begin to disappear.

“Give me your hands,” He says.  He wraps them in rope, a metal ring in the middle, between my hands. He’ll attach me to the door with this ring later, pull my hands  high above my head, while He spanks me.  

Now He plays with me for a little bit, teasing my nipples, stroking my hair, touching wherever He wants.

Then He gathers my hair, pulls it together into a little ponytail, high on my head.  He fastens it with a coated rubber band.  

My hair is bound tightly.

A short piece of rope is next, wrapped securely, knotted into my hair.  A metal ring is fastened into that as well.  i don’t know if i’m to be attached to something or ~

~ if He just plans to use it to direct me.  A slight tug on the rope moves my head back quite sharply, raises my chin immediately.

i whimper, slipping deeper.

He has me put my hands behind my head.  Tied together, i don’t have to remember to keep them up, they’re quite secure.  Not uncomfortable.

And i’m fully exposed.

Nipple clamps are next.  

They have a metal chain between them, and He’s attached a piece of rope to the middle of the chain.  He has me hold the rope in my mouth while He fastens the clamps.

 i think He’ll have me open my mouth and drop the rope, and the chain will pull, and omg, it’s not tennis shoes, but i’m a wimp about nipple clamps, and i think that will hurt enough.

But o, no.

He has much more diabolical plans.

Yes.  Diabolical.

Once He gets the clamps securely fastened, He pushes my head down so my chin is lower, toward my chest.  Then He adjusts the rope in my mouth so it’s taut.

It doesn’t hurt, i can feel it a little bit, and of course i can feel the clamps, but i’m ok. i’m fine.

Head down, hands fastened behind my head, clamps on my nipples, rope in my mouth, and i’m fine.

He goes on to other things.  

A rope harness for my hips, the rope running between my legs, rubbing against my clit.

He checks often to see how wet i am, and i don’t disappoint Him.  He is pleased.

But at some point, my neck starts to get stiff.  i raise my head to stretch it, with the rope between my teeth, attached to the chain, attached to the nipple clamps ~~ and it pulls.  

It pulls my breasts up by the nipples.


He smiles.

i put my head back down pretty quickly, marveling at how diabolical a plan He’s worked here.  Stretch my neck ~ immediate nipple pain.  Avoid the nipple pain ~ aching neck.

But if i thought i could avoid the nipple torture by keeping my head down, no matter how stiff my neck got ~ which really, i couldn’t have anyhow ~ but even if i could have, it wouldn’t have worked because ~

There is the hair bondage, and the rope attached to my hair ~

~ and He tugs it slightly ~

~raising my chin, lifting my eyes to His smiling face.

“Feel that?” He says casually.

“Mmmpft,” is all i can really say with the rope in my mouth.

“Yeah, I imagine that hurts a little bit,” He says.

“Uh ittle it?” i mumble.

“O, more than a little?”  He asks. 

i grunt “‘es ir, ~ uh ot,” meaning “a lot.”

“Does it now?” He says, tugging a couple of more times before He releases my hair.

“mmmhmmm” is about all i can say.  But i’m laughing at the same time, He’s so calm about it, so gentle.

And then He just casually goes on to other things!  

i lose track of when He lets me drop the rope…  was it when He had me pressed to the door, ass out, spanking me?  i know the clamps were still on, can’t remember if the rope was still in my mouth…

i don’t know.

It doesn’t matter.

He did things to me for a long time, interspersing it all with orgasms, pain and pleasure so mixed…

and thinking about it now,

nipples sore,

my whole body tingling still,

all i want is to do it all over again.

i am a greedy slut.  

And He is a diabolical Dom.

i Need

26 Nov

i need to kneel at His feet.

Feel my mouth on Him

to lick

teasing with my tongue

to take Him deep

feel Him slide down, down almost choking

i need to feel His arms around me

holding me firm

Feel His hands on me



Feel His hands

rise up and smack down hard

leaving my ass pink and tingly

His hands in my hair,

stroking, tugging, directing

His hands on my breasts

the caress that becomes

a pinch

pleasure and torment

leaves me gasping.

“This is gonna hurt,” He says,

smiling sweetly ~

and makes me cry out ~


Mmpf – that hurt!”

still smiling sweetly, He nods,

“yes, I said it would.”

i need to kneel at His feet.

The Friday After..

25 Nov

Lots of people are out there shopping like mad ~ i’d rather take a beating.

O, wait ~ yes, of course i’d rather take a beating…  i mean i’d rather clean my house or do laundry, or just about anything else!

i didn’t see Sir yesterday, He was working, and then spent time with some friends, i was doing my traditional thing at my sister’s.  Our approaches to the holidays are going to be very different, that’s clear.

i LOVE the holidays.  Thanksgiving is great, but Christmas?  Christmas is the best.

My decorating is simple {i’m not Martha Stewart} but everything has a story and memories attached to it.  i like shopping and picking out gifts, and am delighted that i can do a lot of my shopping in bookstores.

i like baking cookies ~ ok, most of them are from a roll, but still.  This year i’m coming up with a great recipe for the cookie exchange!  Read about it here if you bake ~ or if you just want to get in on the fun.

Anyhow, you get my point, right?  i love Christmas.  

i don’t think it’s about the circumstances.  Everything around me doesn’t have to be smooth.  i’ve had plenty of Christmases that didn’t go the way i wanted, and i’m convinced that i can find the joy in the season.

i don’t expect this Christmas to be any different.

Laughing… and i just deleted the rest of this post ~ i had written a whole long thing predicting what barriers there would be this year, certain that Sir won’t be present and won’t celebrate with me ~ and really?

That kind of predictive angst is just unnecessary.  It’s a great example of how {sometimes} i’d rather live disappointed than take a chance on being disappointed.  

i was trying to find the video i posted the link to about that, about how we avoid the uncertainty of hope, but can’t find it… can’t remember the name of it, or the name of the woman who did it… damn.

Anyhow.  It doesn’t matter.  The point is that there’s no point in anticipating disappointment, in resigning myself to it ahead of time.  Walking around with my hands in front of me, braced for a fall.

Better to live with uncertainty.  It’s gonna be whatever it’s gonna be.

Tomorrow, i’ll be back into some kinky posts.  

Happy Thanksgiving

24 Nov

i’ve been doing gratitude’s on Facebook this month, and i have so much to be grateful for that it would take more than a month to name all my blessings.

The blogging community has been a tremendous blessing in my life, and i’m grateful for each of you.  For those of you who i know from comments, from reading your blogs ~ you’ve enriched my life immensely.   i can’t tell you how much i appreciate the reflective feedback you give me ~ things that make me think, and laugh, and understand myself and TTWD better.

i’m grateful for the people from blogs who i’ve gotten to meet in real life.  Mick and Molly, Sfp, ‘Nilla, Donna and Bill.  It was sooo much fun, and i want to do it again!  {Is it time to mention the Kinky Bloggers Convention?  Just saying…}

Of course i’m grateful for having met Sir X.   Getting to know Him is ~ fascinating, fun, enthralling, exciting, thrilling, interesting, and enlightening.  All that and more.

i’m grateful for the BDSM community here.  Still feeling my way around it, but glad that it’s here, and deeply appreciative of the people i’ve come to know.

And of course i have a ton of blessings in my vanilla life.  Family, friends, work… so much.

Hoping that your day today is full of blessings too, and joy, whether you’re celebrating the holiday or just going about your regular life.  Sending you many hugs and lots of positive energy… 

Following Instructions

23 Nov

He sends them in parts ~ the first one comes as i’m on my way to work.  i’m to text him when i leave work.   He’ll meet me at my house.  i will only need a t-shirt and panties.  

A second message advises me to turn up the thermostat.

O, my.

i text Him about 12:30.  His response says i should have a light lunch.  He’ll be there at 2:00.  More instructions will be sent at 1:30.

O.  My.

At 1:30, i get the next message.  It starts:

“Get the dildo of your choice.  Lie down on your bed.”

It goes on from there, with a string of directions that involve touching myself and pinching my left nipple {not the right one} in a variety of ways.  Cumming is not included.

It ends with me lying on my bed with the dildo inside me,  while i “relax and wait” for Him.  i am to leave the door unlocked, and He will be there between 2:00 and 2:10.  

{Yes, it’s perfectly safe to leave the door unlocked in my neighborhood.  Really.}

So i do it, i do it all, going to the door to unlock it before i get started.  It’s an odd sensation, deeply arousing, lying there all turned on, waiting for Him.  i have chosen Big Blue, my vibrator dildo, because The Phallus is too unwieldy to use myself.

i hear the car door slam.  My heart is racing.  Then ~

~ knocking.  i hear knocking.

Knocking???  Why is He knocking?  i left the door unlocked.

Why doesn’t He just come in?

Why is He still ~~ i know i unlocked ~~ ok, ok ~~

so i get up, dildo still in place, holding it with one hand, i waddle to the door and discover ~

o, yeah.  i had locked it.

i can’t help giggling as i open it, mostly at the sight i must present, with Big Blue held between my legs and, lucky for me, He has a sense of humor ’cause He just shakes His head.

“You locked the door,”  He says.  

“i know, i  know, i didn’t mean to, i don’t know how i did that!  i know i unlocked it, i must have just locked it back when i closed it, it’s such a habit, i didn’t mean to!”  And i’m still half-giggling.

He’s holding His bag and He sets it down in the doorway and kisses me before He adds, “Get back in the bedroom where you’re supposed to be.”

So i hobble back to the bedroom, and in a minute He joins me, still shaking His head.

Also lucky for me, He doesn’t hold a grudge, and He spends the rest of the afternoon playing with me.  Yep.  Just playing with me in all kinds of different ways.  There was spanking and rope and orgasms ~ and i won’t share most of that here, but ~

~ there was the nipple thing.  The thing with my nipples.  The right one being pampered and spoiled, the left one being tugged on, bitten, and pinched.

At one point, He’s twisting it ~ the left one ~ like He does before He pinches it really, really hard, and i say ~ anticipating the pinch ~ “This is going to hurt,” which is what He always says before He does it.  That amuses Him, and He gently corrects me,

“No, I tell you when it’s going to hurt.  You don’t tell me.”  And He’s laughing indulgently.  “See?” He says.  “It doesn’t hurt right? I mean, not really.”

“Right,” i agree, watching Him tug and twist a little more.  He looks at me, pauses, and says ~

“NOW it’s going to hurt.”  And He pinches really, really hard, making me squeal.  Then He adds, “See how that works?  It hurts when I say, not when you say.”   

“Yes, Sir,” i gasp, “i think i get that now.  Yes, Sir.”

So i appreciate that little lesson, as i should.  But as He continues, my poor, neglected right nipple just feels ~ well, neglected.  And of course He keeps talking about it, comparing the treatment each nipple is getting.  

The tender kisses and licks He gives the right one are nice enough, but really, she wants a little pinch too.  So i say that.

Ok, no, i’m not thinking clearly, but you wouldn’t have been either.  So, yeah, i say she wants to get pinched too.  

At the moment i say that, the left nipple is being firmly held erect by a clothespin, so really, i don’t know why i think He’ll give the right one a little squeeze.  A tug.

But no, He starts rooting in His bag.  “Well, since you ask,” He says, “I think I might have another clothes pin in here.  Let me see…”

And i say, “O!  Clothespin?? O ~ i didn’t mean, um ~~” and He looks surprised, “But you said she wanted  a little pinch, and I think I can do that…”

And of course He finds the other clothespin, and the next thing i know, the right nipple is no longer feeling neglected.

Laughing… we had a lovely time, and then we cuddled for a long time too, and talked about all kinds of things.

This morning, both my nipples are a little sore.  Sore and happy.


22 Nov

i see Sir X today.  i’m taking off work early, He’s off work, we will have some time together.

i have no idea what to expect ~ other than spankings, and i look forward to that.

i didn’t hear from Him yesterday, and i notice how quickly my heart sinks, how little it takes to become afraid.

So i trust Him to tie me up and beat me, but not to miss a day of messages?  Funny, isn’t it?

He told me a while back to expect there to be about one day a week that i don’t hear from Him.  i don’t know how He came to that proclamation.  i just know that He said it, and so far it’s been true.

i was reminded in the comments yesterday that it takes time to build trust.  That it is the heart of D/s relationships ~ and any relationship, really.

He’s a man who thinks about his actions.  i imagine Him making sure that He follows through with that standard just as carefully as He would a promise to contact me every single day, if He had made that committment.

He is mindful.

i’ve been reading these discussion on fet lately that speculate on what our kink is about.  Is it therapy?  Is it sick?  Do we do it because there’s something wrong with us?  Because it’s healing?  

TTWD.  It’s fascinating.

It’s not therapy ~ not psychotherapy.  That kind of therapy is processing, making meaning out of TTWD, in kink and the rest of our lives.

Of course, i think all of our lives are partly directed toward healing.

It’s funny.  Today would have been my mother’s 89th birthday.

i was thinking about her yesterday, when i was talking about movies.  The first movie i remember seeing was 101 Dalmatians.  With Cruella deVille, of course.  Here’s a link to the trailer to that movie, the one i saw, back in 1961.

i was five.

i was terrified.  

My class went to the movie, and i was home sick that day.  So my mother took me after i’d recuperated.  i don’t remember if i wanted to go, or if she just thought i wanted to go.  Or if i thought i wanted to go?

But once we got there ~ i was terrified.  Cruella deVille, bigger than life on the screen. And EVIL!

That was the thing.  Here was this happy home and happy puppies and she was going to destroy that.  And the parents – the people parents – didn’t even recognize that she was EVIL and they couldn’t protect the puppies ~ and ~ and ~

it was just too terrifyingly awful.  

And i was hiding my eyes, and my poor mother kept saying, “Watch this movie!  We didn’t come down here for you to close your eyes ~ watch this movie!”

It sounds mean, to my ears now.  But my mother was not one to tolerate hiding from anything.  She had survived World War II in Italy, facing one’s fears was mandatory.

There’s a part in the book Peter Pan, which i love, where the author says something about Peter being the only child who had not quite learned that life is not fair.  Barrie says that the rest of us have that one, horrible shocked moment when we realize that life is not fair, and we are never the same again.

He says that for Peter Pan, every time he encountered unfairness, it was that same shock over again.

For me, 101 Dalmatians and Cruella deVille fully brought it home to me that the world is a cruel and frightening place. That horrible things happen and there’s nothing you can do to stop them.

But the feelings i had at the movie the other night, 50 years later, were just about the same.  As if i am still shocked and surprised by our inhumanity to each other, as if i didn’t already see it every single day.

Weird.  That is just weird.

But at least now i know i’m not alone in this, thanks to your comments yesterday.

For most of my life, most of the people i’ve known have taken the same stance as my mother about me and movies.  A sort of “Omg, really?  It’s just a movie, I can’t believe you’re acting like that!”  Not everyone, but most people.

So the other night with Sir X was different for me, because of His reaction.  It was ~~

~~  a redemptive experience.

Yes.  That’s what we mean, i think, when we talk about BDSM being therapeutic.  That wasn’t a particularly kinky experience, but often it is.

Redemption occurs when we re-experience something that happened before – have the same feelings – but this time something’s different.  We act differently, or someone else does, in some way, the story has a different ending.


i think i might have more to say about this, about redemptive experiences and therapy and BDSM, but not today.  It’s enough to recognize, to fully see that going to that awful movie with Sir X was a redemptive experience.  But right now ~

~ today ~ i have to go shower and shave and prepare to be spanked…


Learning Submission

21 Nov

** i originally titled this post Schedules, cause that’s where i started.  It just didn’t end up there ~ and isn’t it cool how that happens?  

i’m trying to change my schedule so i exercise in the morning before i blog.  Otherwise, i get caught up in blogging ~ sometimes just checking the post excessively for the tiniest flaws ~ and don’t exercise every day like i need to.  

And i’m trying to get to work earlier in the morning ~ it’s easier to get stuff done before other people get there, and i can get off earlier in the evening.

But it’s hard to do.  i’m used to blogging first thing, but if i start, then i don’t want to stop.  And i have to drink some hot tea before i go exercise ~ i can’t jump out of bed and start exercising ~ and ~~~

~~ i don’t know. It just seems tough.  

i started a post this morning, continuing to riff off a discussion that Mr. Michael had started on fet.  If you want to see the  question, go here:

And maybe tomorrow i’ll get back to playing with the question.  But today i lost interest in what i was saying part way through and had to start over and now it’s getting late… so i’ll put that on hold and come back to it.

i get to see Sir tomorrow, so that’s exciting and something to look forward to.  There will be spankings involved.

He reprimanded me, mildly, for not having mentioned my little “going to the movies issue,” pointing out that he couldn’t have known that i “take a welp on the ass better than some Hollywood blood and gore.”  But He wouldn’t have put me through it if He’d known.

And i knew that.

But i wanted to go with Him, and i wanted to go to the movie He wanted to see.  i didn’t want to disappoint Him.  i didn’t want to be a wet blanket.

Can you hear me sort of stamping my foot and being willful there?

And, i didn’t want Him to know about this particular vulnerability.  Didn’t want to risk seeming foolish.  Didn’t want Him to think less of me.


So He was pretty gentle about it when He mentioned it.  But i think He’s beginning to know that if He lets me stew in my own head about it, i’ll end up where i am right now.

More fully aware that i was taking control there.  Not exactly being submissive in the way that i want to be.

i didn’t want Him to know about what i saw as a weakness on my part.  Didn’t want to be open and honest.


He said that He needs to know my limits ~ all my limits.  And of course i think i want Him to.  But it’s not as easy as it sounds.

With the stupid movie thing ~ i needed to give Him the information He needed to make an informed decision.  And i didn’t do that. i chose to keep it to myself to get my own way, and so i didn’t “look silly.”

i told myself i was doing it not to disappoint Him.  Bullsh*t.  i was doing it for me.


Ok.  i’m not beating myself up over this.  No point in that.  And i don’t think He is either ~ well, {giggle} He might BEAT me, but He won’t beat me up over it.

But it amazes me, as we move deeper into this relationship, how complex D/s really is. AND ~~

~~ i confess ~~ the idea of needing to give this control to Him?  Of trusting Him with this kind of control?  

It turns me on.  Immensely.