Monday, May 24, 2010

Goodbye My Friend


I’ve never been a fan of the Beatles, but while I was taking a walk last night, I got a phone call from a friend. He’d given me the news I’d been expecting, but typically (for me) had also been in denial about. The Beatles popped into my head and all I could hear was “I heard the news today, oh boy”. I suppose, that Meredith would have smiled and told me to think of something happier. Probably tickle-me-Elmos.

Meredith and I met a couple of years ago. We’d hit it off amazingly well and as we found out, had a lot more in common than we’d first thought. We’d spent a ton of time together, and during one of our early conversations, she’d told me about this small operation that she was going to have. We had no idea that that small operation would turn into an 18 month long battle with colon, liver, and lung cancer. Between the time she’d told me about the problem, and the time she went into the hospital for her first operation, we’d had less than three months. But what a three months it was.

We spent a lot of time at vanilla events, shopping, and eating at Denny’s. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to eat french toast again without thinking of Merry. And my winter coat...the one that I fought against buying because it was so long...that was Merry. She’d seen how frozen I would get with my heels and short skirts, and when we were shopping for a new winter coat for me...she picked that one out and insisted that I buy it. We went ‘round and ‘round with that one. I called her an old fuddy duddy. But the more I fought, the more she insisted. So to keep her happy, I bought the damned thing. And it’s the best winter coat I’ve ever had. She was right.

We spent time shopping for heels for me. Merry couldn’t fit into most heels available in the stores, but we spent hours with me trying them on. She’d carefully pick out all kinds of shoes...and I’d put them on and model them for her. She lived vicariously through those shopping trips. And I remember when I’d bought matching skirts for us. I actually hated the skirt, but it was the only one I could find that had both our sizes. We wore those the last time we went anywhere together. The night I met Sir.

There were many things that she’d told me. Things that she wanted to do. At the time, I didn’t realize it was sort of her “bucket list”. I just thought that she’d found someone to play with and who was a pretty willing participant in any crazy thing that she’d come up with. I also asked myself pretty frequently during those three months “is this really worth it”? And by worth it, I meant that I was doing things that I really didn’t have any interest in, simply because it made Merry happy. Hindsight being 20/20, it was worth every second of it. Every second of her driving me crazy, not hearing me, and ignoring what I was telling her. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so hard on her for that. After all, I’d been ignoring what she’d been telling me during those three months.

That that was all the time we’d ever have.




Goodbye, my friend, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that the spring is in the air
Pretty girls are everywhere, think of me and I'll be there

Monday, May 17, 2010

Wants v Needs: Is there Really a Difference?

I've spent a couple of hours this morning reading. Mostly some of my older blog posts and emails. I tend to do that when things aren't the most wonderful. Those things are like photographs. Keeping the memories of happier times in the forefront so that the self-doubties don't overwhelm me. It's also why I keep this blog. It started out as a way to examine feelings in my own life. What it's become, is a way for me to remember the wonderful things about my life with Sir.

This morning, I went looking for a particular email. It was one that I sent to Sir very early on in our relationship when he asked me about what I wanted. I didn't exactly know what he was asking me, but I did my best to answer him. I remember when writing my answer, I'd finally admitted to myself that while my wants would probably change over time, my needs were pretty set in stone. I also remember wondering at the time whether or not Sir could meet my needs, and enough of my wants, to be in a relationship with him.

I took a long time to get to know Sir. And I was pretty confident that as long as I was able to express to him those wants, he'd do a damned dandy job meeting them. My needs are harder to define and therefore much harder for him to meet. I think that when looking at what a person needs to be happy, the fear to express them overtakes good sense sometimes. My personal opinion is that's because if your chosen partner is meeting most of your needs, but maybe not quite all of them, there's a self-moderation of sorts. That, and there's a fear that you just don't want to hurt the one you love by saying "I'm happy, but maybe just not happy enough".

So I started wondering, especially given the joke that Sir made last night about whether or not I'd go looking to have my needs met by someone else should he not be able to, just exactly what it is that I need. Are wants and needs the same? Do we only want what we need?

My wants are vast and I won't bore you with a list of them. Most all of them, I can take care of myself. But the difference between needs and wants is the difference between taking a bus and owning a Ferrari. I need to get from point A to point B. A bus meets my need. A Ferrari would be overkill.

My needs are basic. Sleep, food, air, sunshine, a purpose for my day and contact with people. Take any of those things away and I know that I just can't be happy. I need something to do, I need to talk to people. I need to touch another human being. I need to to feel connected to Sir. And that's the one I'm having the most difficulty with.

I love the feeling of anticipation when I turn the corner to our house. I love knowing that he'll be waiting for me, with a smile, a hug, and if I'm lucky...a lip bite or hair pull. I love walking through the door, being wrapped in his hug and knowing that (for the next several hours at least) I don't have to think of anything else but connecting to him. So it always surprises me on those rare times when that connection doesn't happen easily.

And that feeling scares the hell out of me. I lived for a lot of years without that sort of anticipation and connection. I got used to it. So used to it in fact that when I met Sir, I fought against letting him get close to me. But he pushed back and forced his way though my invisible wall. He forced me to look at myself and what I'd done by pulling away from that anticipation and connection. He made me realize what I was missing. And once I'd found that with him, I didn't want anything else. I started out wanting him, and found that I needed him.

I'm just not sure right now if having that need is a good thing. I sometimes wonder at 2:30 in the morning, whether or not I've made a huge mistake by allowing myself to need someone like that.

But mostly what I think scares me, is that knowing my need for him, if that one isn't met, if I'll end back up as I was before.

Used to it.

Monday, May 10, 2010

The Anti-SafeWord

I had a busy weekend. One in which Daddy said that I’d found the Anti-Safeword. And by that it means, that it’s a word used to ensure that the “things, already commenced....will continue in earnest”.

Saturday, I attended a couple of classes put on by NEDS. The first was a CPR/AED Certification class and the second was an Anatomy and Physiology class. Jay Wiseman was the instructor for both.

It was a long day, but I learned a lot. Jay was funny, informative, and a heck of an amiable guy. Since he has a legal background, I listened to a lot of what he said regarding legal responsibilities of CPR with a different outlook from most of the people in attendance. I also enjoyed hearing about some of his trial work, expert witness work, and his take on lawyers and judges. I also paid particular attention to his “you might be a California bdsm-er if” spiel. One in particular I saved in the back of my mind. I giggled at it so much, I fully intended to use it. It had the benefit of being “just bratty” enough to work, without being rude. All I had to do was remember it, and wait for the perfect time. Oh...and not spill the beans to Daddy before then :)

We attended a party on Saturday night. Because the last one was so difficult personally for me because of the rope thing, I tried to go into the night with a couple of things in mind.. Things that Daddy has said to me time and time again. This time I was determined to remember them. It helped that we had a nice dinner before the party. It wasn’t exactly “quiet” because the restaurant was a bit loud, but spending time together talking, and connecting was a great start. I can’t recommend that highly enough. And it seems that makes a bit of a difference for me personally.

Even before the party started, I’d had a bit of a let-down when my contacts were giving me a HUGE problem. I had to remove them and wear my glasses. Something I’ve never done at a party. Also, I’d made a bit of a mess with Daddy’s rope while cleaning the closet. Either of those things could have started me off on the wrong foot. But I was feeling pretty good and instead of berating me for the rope, he just let me clean it up and helped to put it properly.

At the party, things didn’t exactly work out to plan. We’d wanted to use a particular piece of equipment, but it was snagged before we could get to it. We tried to substitute another, but that wasn’t going to work out well. This is where things could have started to spiral. I was ready to play, but we really didn’t have anywhere to do it. I took a deep breath and said to Daddy...”it’s ok...we’ll just have to wait for a bit”. As soon as I said it, I realized that simply saying the words gave power to the idea.

We didn’t have to wait long though. We started with the St.A’s. He tied my hands to the cross, got his toys ready and we started. He flogged me, and the music was horrible. The beat was so slow, trying to flog to that was difficult. The second flogger got stuck on the cross. And that’s when I started to giggle. The giggling let the brat out and I’d remembered what I promised myself earlier. It occurred to me then that while the beat of the music wasn’t conducive for flogging, it wasn’t bad to dance to. So I began dancing my ass while Daddy was trying to aim for it. He finally hit me a few times and stopped to ask “does that hurt?”. And then I remembered what Jay Wiseman had said. In the back of my head....that little devil escaped and I said the words that made Daddy laugh: “fer sure, dude!” He stopped for a second and asked me what I’d said (I’m sure it’s because he couldn’t have imagined those particular words coming out of my mouth). So, I just repeated the words......and he started laughing.

From there, it was only a matter of time. He tickled, I laughed. My shirt got stuck around the cuffs, I laughed. The tawse got stuck under my shirt on the cross, we both laughed. The ridiculousness of my foot in his crotch while he was flogging me, the dancing ass that he was trying to hit, and the crop in my mouth that I took out to scratch my nose with all contributed to a fun scene where, despite things not being as intense as we play around with at home, worked out better overall.

It occurred to me then, that perhaps this was the problem.

The most successful public scenes we’ve had have followed a predictable pattern. Not that the scenes themselves were predictable, but that there were patterns that seem to work out better.

It goes something like this:

a) I’ve had a day where I’ve done something that I like to do. Simply being at the CPR class, not feeling guilty I was taking time away from Daddy, and doing something that was important to me led me into a place where I was able to focus on making sure Daddy had something of me later on.

b) Spending time together before the party. Quiet time, talking, laughing and connecting outside of a kinky environment.

c) Eating a decent dinner with plenty of water (or in my case, iced tea) and no alcohol for me.

d) Having enough time to get ready, take care of last minute issues, and plan for the things that I’ll need that night.

But the biggest one is that I held onto one thought, one idea, and had a singular focus for the night. That I was determined to not allow anything come in between a fun time for Daddy and me. And that included my own penchant for beating myself up over “things that go not-so-right”.

I think I may have gotten it right this time. Things begun will continue in earnest.

Fer Sure, Dude!

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Silver the Schleprock


I’m having a bad few days. It feels like a huge cement block is hovering over my head, and a mack truck is sitting on my stomach. Or maybe I feel like this guy. I have uncertainty, fear, and such a feeling of mental exhaustion that I’m about ready to just spend a couple of days curled up in a ball crying. It’s a wave that hit me pretty unexpectedly...although I really should have known it was bound to happen. I’ve made a major change to my life and despite appearances, I’m a creature of habit.

I can’t even explain what’s going on in my head....and as much as that annoys me...it really irritates Sir. So much so, that it’s another worry that I have added on top of everything else. At times like these, I’d normally find a way to hide for a few days until the feeling passes, but I can’t really do that with Sir. I’d make some plans with friends to spend time away from myself and more recently, I’d turn to Sir to help me focus.

Usually he’s seen the tail-end of the rough patches and I guess I’ve used him as a lifeline of sorts to get me over these shit-dumps. But he’s had a rough few days of his own and isn’t quite in the best place to help me deal with getting over myself. And I’m not in the best condition at the moment to help him. Which also adds to the feeling of exhaustion. It’s something that I hadn’t even realized until this morning. And perhaps that’s what really is at the bottom of all this crap. The more I rely on Sir to help me focus, the more I care for him, the easier it is for me to forget that I also have bad days. And the sneakier they seem to be when they show up.

I guess this is going to be one of the hard things. The time we spent together when we weren’t living together spoiled me. I got used to his attention, but not wanting to be a drain on him, I’ve gone in the opposite direction. I wanted to give him his space, but I seem to have done it by giving him all of the space, leaving myself nowhere to fit in. I think I took some of his remarks too literally in the opposite direction.

Yeah, so shoot me....I like schnoodling with Sir. I like lying in bed talking about anything and everything, and I like that he can drag me from one end of the room to the other in minutes. I like not thinking about anything except Sir and I like that he makes me feel loved and cared for. I really miss “something”.....I’m not exactly sure what. As much as I love being with Sir, something is different and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. I really wish I could figure it out. But then, perhaps it’s just that I’m missing seeing what’s in front of my nose. Nothing is different, except that other things have clouded my perceptions. That’s one of the hard things about feeling so dreadful. You can’t see where the circle ends in time to get off it. But one thing that I do know is that I miss the smiles. From both of us.

And that’s what I guess I really need right now. I need to laugh the tears away.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Back at the Beginning.

I’m sitting here wondering if I can ever find a way to love rope again.

Back at the beginning, I was annoyed so much with people forcing me to learn to tie, when all I wanted was to BE tied, that I’d almost given up trying to fit in with the kinky community I found. I tried to explain to anyone why this was so difficult for me, but everyone I’d met expected me to tie. And I hated every minute of it. Daddy understood though. I may joke about tying him....but it really IS just a joke. At least I knew where I stood with Daddy. He'd tie, I'd be tied and it'd work for both of us. But over time, we’ve played less and less with it, and so I’ve felt that the only way to keep a tenuous connection to rope was, at the end, to learn to do something that I loathed.

I’ve signed up for a five week class to learn to tie. I thought that if I could learn to tie, I’d find something from the other side to spark my own interest again. At the very least, I’d gain some appreciation for the work and skill that it takes to be a really good rope top. And that it has. Enough to know that despite the classes, I’ll likely lose everything I’ve learned for the simple fact that I’m not attracted to the dining room chairs.

In reality, the classes have left me wondering what I ever saw in rope in the first place.

Back at the beginning, I wasn’t “into” rope. Throw a pair of cuffs on me, and I was good. Rope seemed like it was just a lot of work. Nobody I knew was into rope and that was OK. But then I met some new people who were very much into it. It no longer seemed like work, but something that could be at least a little fun. Being tied was awesome, but something that I could live without. Until Daddy. Then it became awesome and something that just ‘felt’ like Daddy.

I have issues with learning from people standing in front of me. I get things backwards. My brain can’t turn the mirror image into making my hands do the opposite of what I see. Which is why I never danced to the song YMCA. I’m not comfortable tying. There’s too many ways to do the same thing, too many variations taught before I can learn one properly. And too, there’s the fact that while I’m learning these ties, I’ve also got one thought in the back of my head “who the fuck am I gonna tie”?

And sadly, the immutable truth is slowly dawning on me. I also don’t really care all that much about rope.

And this scares me. Shibaricon is three weeks away and my apathetic state about rope, which I’d hoped to alleviate by learning to tie, makes me scared about what will happen. I know what to expect this time at Shibaricon, but I’m still wondering if that sad feeling in the pit of my stomach will overtake my ability to smile convincingly. Or really, how do I make myself pretend to enjoy something that is bringing me so much annoyance? But I'll suck it up, be with rope people, and hopefully find some way of learning to love what I loathe.

And it occurs to me that I’m right back where I started, after all.