Monday, August 23, 2010

Takin' it Back

Music. Besides smell, music is one of the biggest triggers for memories of your past. As of recently, I considered this a curse. It seemed every time I got in the car to drive to work certain songs that to express everything I was feeling at the time kept playing (of course, logically, I know that this is why Linkin Park was so popular during my 'teen angst' years, it expressed what *everything* is feeling at the time). It's been no secret that I haven't been in a good place lately, not for lack of trying. However, through a series of events surrounding songs that brought on negative emotions, I came to a conclusion or two:

It all started the first time Mdin617 came to visit me.

I plugged his iPhone into my radio to charge--it plays whatever playlist you were on/listening to last.

All I needed to hear was the first couple of notes and I *knew*. Frozen, tense, I asked, "What song is this?"

"Great Gig in the Sky-Pink Floyd" he answered, looking at me. I closed my eyes and swallowed, the song being confirmed seconds before it started really going into instrumental intro.

As Clare Torry started belting out her wordless lyrics in ways that have always made me feel near orgasmic, I wrestled with myself while lying next to Md.

"I may have to change this," I announced simply, every nerve in my body going haywire as the music continued. He looked at me, concerned, but not saying anything. I met his eyes finally and explained, "It's a *thing*".

One word was all I needed to say to describe that this was something special between me and an ex--namely one that I was not over at the time--and still had an affect on me.

I will spare the who, what, why's for all other parties involved, but rest assured knowing it was kinda a REALLY BIG *thing*.

At that point, a few months ago, I was tired. I was tired of still feeling pain, I was tired of the depression, and I was ready to move on. There's only so much healing you can force, but you can help a lot. I'd been proactive about it after the initial shock, I tried to put myself out there as an educator, loaded myself up with modelling gigs, purged things through writing, focused on framing things in a positive light, stood on my own two feet, and at that point, started gradually dating again. I really did not *want* to stew in those negative feelings that I still haven't seemed to shake completely. I'd been *doing* something about it since day one.

So why, now, was I going to let my emotions become victim to a song? I had very little control over how that *thing* played out. I couldn't control that the song came on *now*. The one thing that I could have some sort of control over (just a tiny bit)? Well, my response of course.

I leaned into Md. "Let's make it not-so-much a *thing*. Let's make it a *new* "thing"," I suggested. Like that, my blood pressure slowed, my near-hyperventilation halted and I was (almost) able to lay there and enjoy the song with him. I'd taken control. I'd taken it back.

I applied this new-found epiphany elsewhere. For a while, I couldn't hear a minute of Jakob Dylan's voice, namely from the album "Bringing Down the Horse". Why? Well this may give you a clue: (though, I'm not sure how long that link may be up since it's A.) a blog from YEARS ago B.) not my website C.) Perspectives on certain things were different at the time). Abridged version: at 13, I was raped by my best friend's dad while he was driving me home--it was that album that'd been playing over and over at the time.

I remember the last time I'd heard that particular song. I was with my S.O. du jour at Sporting Goods store trying out jump ropes to maintain my physical fitness and to aid in his. It was some time after that blog was written and posted.

It started playing over the loudspeaker and without explanation, I'd run out of the store, lighting up a cigarette in the safe silence outside only to have to scramble to explain why to him after. He didn't get it at the time.

Which is why, about a month ago, when that freaking song played on the radio, I went to change it--and the instance in the Sporting Goods store was part of the memories that had flooded me. In fact, while part of me relived the horrors of that night those were a bit removed, as if I weren't reliving them, but watching a movie. What really stuck out in my mind was the feeling that had me jettisoning out of the store that day-- and how that feeling of fear and might *just* be something I did have control over. By catering to it and changing the channel or running away every time I heard that music, I was continuing to be a victim. I was reinforcing that idea, in fact. Yeah, I was a victim of something horrible, but I was choosing to *continue* to be a victim to this day, 11 years later.

I wrote that blog 3 years ago-- that last line: "And here’s me, going on with my life, but I won’t be the victim anymore..." a half-truth. Until now.

I stopped myself from changing it, I focused on my workday ahead, my plans for that night and (nearly) jammed to that song.

The 3rd bout of my epiphany happened only a few weeks ago at a Goo-Goo Dolls concert. In the 6th grade, my two favorite bands were Goo-Goo Dolls and Aerosmith. I had a pretty healthy obsession with both, listening to the albums often. My fandom died out over the years, particularly after Dizzy Up the Girl. Most know the song "Iris"- that is one of their most popular. It's a gorgeous song with beautiful lyrics and notes. One I've loved since I lived out West.

A S.O. dedicated that song to me during the course of our relationship. It was my ring-back, so I heard it often. Soon, anytime I heard it, my thoughts drifted to him when we were apart, my arms drifted to him when we were together. It was *our* song.

That relationship ended as amicably as-- well-- let's not go there. I'm not angry, just sad that I couldn't salvage some sort of friendship. So whenever I heard that song, I got somber in remembrance of the good times: not because I regretted leaving, but because, while the romantic relationship wasn't meant to be, I felt a loss at the lack of any sort of relationship and even more hurt at this person's negative feelings toward me.

There was only so many ways I could try to salvage some sort of friendship. It took me a long time, but I realized that I couldn't force it and exposing myself to the ire was actually doing me damage. I eventually decided, no more. But there were still a few things that made me sad--namely, the song.

When the tickets to the concert were purchased for me, I knew that the Goo Goo Dolls were eventually going to play that infamous song. That's what made this epiphany very clear: I could A.) When that song played (most likely near the end) have it affect my entire time as it brought on the waves of "what if" and my pensive thoughts on how I could have achieved a better outcome or B.) I say "It is what it is, it's not my damn fault that things are the way they are now, and this has been my favorite song years before I met so-and-so".

I decided not to feel down/sad/bad/etc. DECIDED. And it worked.

The moral of the story is, bad shit happens. I couldn't control half of the things that I listed above. But I *could* control my continued reaction to them. Yeah, the songs will still inspire a knee-jerk sad, anxious, even angry response, hopefully one that will fade and mayyyybe even disappear over tim. But the more power I give them, the more power the hurt and those who caused it deliberately (example #2) have over me. Things can hurt you, but you can be proactive in whether or not you're going to keep letting them hurt you.

People say that you can choose to be happy. While I now ascribe to being an instrumental part in the formation of my perspective in life and realize I'd given that job to others for way too long, it will take a while until I can find my truly happy perspective again. That's how pain works, unfortunately. But I'm not going to just sit here and let it happen, I'm going to go and find my happy.

And I'm *certainly* not going to sit here and be a prisoner of my past.

So those songs? Yeah, I'm takin' them back.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Followup on Daddy Post

I received a message in response to my last "Daddy" post that made the familiar ball in my throat and the tears in my eyes come back. It read as follows


I just read your Daddy journal entry. I was sorry to read that you were so low. I felt like I could hear the tears streaming and the sniffles through your words.

You have a strength in you that I believe you have not yet been able to reach. Mere fragments sustain you at times. But I also know that deeper within lies the Little Ten. And obviously, that is the child that longs for the comfort and safety that Daddy always provides.

It is hard to manage a Little as strong - or perhaps weak - as yours, given the specific issues which surround her. And the strength that protects her is merely a strength suit of sorts. And when that suit is peeled back, the tearful child - afraid and exhausted from acting like a big girl and feigning strength that she knows she does not have - pours out and collapses every so often. It is hard for little girls to be strong.

And when a Daddy leaves his little girl, that creates an instant security vacuum which causes the little girl to have to hasten and put her suit back on.

He finished these words with an extension of support if I ever needed it.

Kind words, right? I felt a bit of gratitude... and a whole lot of shock and pain.

He was SPOT ON about the strong suit. It's the only way I'd been able to survive without being a pathetic puddle on the floor the last few months. But now he pointed it out, he unwittingly exposed it as somewhat of a farce. A defense mechanism, for sure, but what really lurks underneath?

Deep inside I'll always have that vulnerable little girl. Right now I hate it. She's like a tiny baby bird--so fragile and easily broken--she holds me back and gets me hurt to a degree that I never fathomed. I want to tell her to GROW THE FUCK UP and stop being such a fucking baby.

In a way, that's exactly what she is though. And is that my strong suit part of me talking to her so crudely so that I can stuff her back down again and not get hurt? Am I doomed to have this around with me for the rest of my life? Do I go seek therapy to deal with her once and for all and move on, because this isn't healthy?

Or do I embrace her as someone that is always going to be a part of me and find that ideal relationship where my Significant Other can too?

I said in my last post that I can live without Daddy. I really can. But maybe I was wrong about the fact that I'm always going to want Daddy.

Maybe it's she, the little girl inside me, that can't live without Daddy/Mommy/other safe Big of sorts. And until that person or people come out of the woodwork, maybe I have to keep her behind this suit.

However, she obviously doesn't exist too far beneath the surface if one can point her out so easily.

So what the hell to do with that? (rhetorical, as I'm babbling out of my ass right now).

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

What (not who) Daddy is...

*I want my Daddy..."

I burst into tears on the way home tonight as this thought permeated my brain and rested there. It was a pervasive chant that the vulnerable little girl inside of me kept uttering.

I tried to figure out why it suddenly popped into my brain and why I was so effected by it.

In spite of my previous writings, this wasn't about an ex-relationship. This wasn't about my real father dying. This wasn't about any of the men in my life, past, present, or perhaps.

For once, "Daddy" didn't have a face.

An epiphany struck me.

"Daddy" was no longer a person in my head. None of the "Daddies" of my past came to mind when I suddenly longed for "Daddy". "Daddy" was and always has been a concept for me.

Since my real Daddy was taken away at such a young age, I think I superimposed all of the things I was missing as I grew up, but longed for, onto my Daddy--or at least associated it with a father-figure role. All of the things I've yearned for I suddenly felt like I could find in one place--in Daddy.

Daddy= security, safety, acceptance, unconditional love. Basically Daddy= a sense of fulfillment.

This explains why I suddenly dissolve into tears and feel an incredible sense of destabilization when one of the things named above drop out of my life (mostly in the form of a sudden detachment with people I used to feel attached to). With one central symbol (my Daddy) of all of the things named above I don't crumble nearly as easily when I feel those things are shaky with someone else like a close friend or even a lover who is not Daddy-- much like a slave may touch his/her collar and feel security and fulfillment in the D/s relationship he/she has with his/her Dominant. It explains why, when I don't have that relationship, I nearly fall to pieces at the first sign of abandonment by anyone I've let in. And finally, it explains why, when I have that central Daddy person that is supposed to embody things like unconditional love and security and they leave for whatever reason-- it nearly kills me emotionally.

While I don't think wanting all of those things (security, safety, acceptance, unconditional love, fulfillment) is necessarily unhealthy-- my reactions to people (potential future Daddy's or not) because of the lack thereof are not healthy in any way, shape, or form. And to call someone "Daddy" without them knowing those expectations is asking them to fall short.

I honestly don't know if "Daddy" will ever become a "who" again. I do know that I can live without-- and will try my damnedest to find a healthy way to do so. That is what I will be working on for the time being. However...

I'm always going to want my Daddy.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010


"You know why you don't have a Dom, Ten? You have to take them seriously. They need to be taken seriously. You're too flippant."

Someone said this to me after observing my behavior over a series of hours as I volunteered at TESFest this weekend.

I -had- been flouncing about being my usual cheeky self to those who know me that way. That's social Ten, however. That's not relationship Ten. Unless you're a play partner and the dynamic we have is me constantly challenging you--because it's something we mutually enjoy.

I was not thrilled with his judgment, delivery, or the tone in his voice. I don't even recall the statement I made to spurn the comment and at that moment, I could care less.

"Well when I find someone I can fucking take seriously, I'll take them seriously", was my retort before I walked away.

Right now in my day to day relationships in the scene are merely 'PLAY'. Hence my PLAYfulness. Whether my 'bratting' crosses the line into annoyance is a matter of opinion, but I'd like to think it's not for the majority of those I encounter and play with. That's why they continue playing with me.

I don't lose that playfulness in D/s. That does not mean I don't take MY Dom seriously.

However, an encounter on a another social media website got me pondering.

I'd only pointed out to this person who said that a "true submissive" does this and that that being submissive means something different to everyone. This person was relatively new to the scene and used such bonus words as "topping from the bottom" to describe my relatively harmless statement. Said person even went so far as to ask Dominants that I don't even know to "keep me in line".

This experience brought two different thoughts to mind. First, this poor naive girl seems to think that just because I identify as submissive, that I should behave a certain way (sort of the same way the person who called me "flippant" did)and and that any Dom can and will put me in line.

But also, it was relayed to me that her most recent Dom left her, which, seeing as her defensiveness made her lash out at me in several very not cool ways, not limited to making fun of my appearance and suggesting violence happen to me--her behavior might have had something to do with that. Also, in her words, it was 'because he couldn't tame her'.

I personally find the whole idea of "breaking" or "taming" a sub unnecessary and part of unfair expectations. Logically.

However I've been pondering whether my own behavior is the reason I'm still without anything but a "maybe" D/s relationship at the moment. Am I subconsciously "testing" potential Dominants by positing a bit of a challenge for my submission? Am I placing unfair expectations on suitor Dominants? And if so... why? Is it because the last D/s relationship I "took seriously" slipped off into the night and I'm too afraid of that happening again? Am I just not ready for a new Daddy?

Or is it because I really just haven't found someone I can actually take seriously?

In the D/s sense of course.

Life is too short to be serious all of the time.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Chasing the Dragon

No, Dear friends, it's not about drugs

Pure, exhilirating, scintillating emotion.
Never went away, was just forced out
Like a campfire not quite finished
With it's purpose, not quite through
Spending it's kinetic energy
Yet they pour dust on it
Stifle it
It's served their purpose after all

Chasing that fire night and day, day and night
Trying to find that beautiful inferno that was
Tiny conflagrations here and there
Don't serve their purpose quite like they used to
Keep searching for that feu de joie
The pure
The absolute
But you can never re-ignite the blaze
And bask in the incandescence...
Quite like the first time.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Hurts So Good

I have long been fighting off the label of "masochist".

My profile used to state that I was more into the the "D" aspect of BDSM, dominance and discipline, not the "M" aspect. I don't physically enjoy pain. However, I get lumped into this category of "masochist" all of the time.

It's been suggested lately that I'm more of an emotional masochist. Not that I like to feel emotional pain, but I like the feeling of being able to take that pain. I love the adrenaline. I love to feel "tough". In fact, so much so, that the first time I ever cried from corporal means was because I yellowed on the man giving me my first "real" beating and he said "awww, I thought you were tougher than that". Cue tears-- because I am damnit!

I can 'take' a lot apparently. You know how I know? When I shot with PD (of Insex famedom) and Sister Dee on and they were constantly commending me for how resilient I was that I could take the strenuous positions I was put into and the beatings that were doled out. PD has worked with, yes, models who aren't really into this sort of thing... but also some of the most notable masochistic women of all time. So to hear that kind of praise from him and know he wasn't blowing smoke up my ass cemented the idea in my head that I've got one tough bottom.

I first started actually embracing my masochism as more than what I can 'take' at the Connecticut GRUE. There, DaSade and others used me as the demo bottom for how to properly paddle someone. I swear this was one of the longest classes at the GRUE as several people lined up to 'properly demonstrate proper technique' in paddling my ass for two hours straight. OR people just couldn't stop beating my ass. Either way I liked the way it felt. I actually enjoyed the sensation of the pain at the time. This still happens, but very seldom.

That's when I started to grudgingly accept that there's a little masochist inside, but it didn't come out often. I still rejected the notion that I was a MASOCHIST through and through.

The next bit of food for thought came at Bound in Boston. Many of you remember the scene I had with Lqqkout where he played the trucker and I played the innocent little commuter. He put so much effort into planning and executing this scene, including making a special paddle with a metal mudflap lady fastened to it. (See Fet pics for illustrations).

Near the end of the scene he was using a black bandana that was part of his costume to wipe the blood off my ass after every few smacks of this paddle. That was one of the many tokens (mostly the clothes that were ripped off me) that he told me to keep from the scene. He did it on purpose. So that I could 'flag' black. Meaning-- Heavy S&M bottom.

Really? I'm in that category now? Even after my many experiences I still had a hard time believing that this gentleman (I say the term loosely) who'd only met me the day prior to our scene had just assumed that I should be flagging that way. Fingering the bloody bandana, I guess he'd figured right. But when did the girl who began her journey by simply fantasizing about over-the-knee spankings and a taken-in-hand relationship become some kind of hardcore bottom?

And did that make me a masochist?

Most recently I had the opportunity to play/hang with Cyd Black at and after Brimstone. He, Wickedblueglow, and I were hanging on our porch smoking a cig when he called me a "smart-assed masochist". I continued to deny that I was a masochist, in spite of the fact that my ass was described as "looking like a crime scene" after I'd played with him and I was still asking for it by being a brat.

He just looked at me like I was stupid when I affirmed that I was NOT a masochist.

I explained that I did not (often) enjoy the sensation of pain.

He didn't even bite just said:
"You've heard of me."
"And how I play."
"And agreed to play with me, knowing this."

It dawned on me, then, that a masochist isn't someone who just enjoys the sensation of pain. That it is someone who intentionally puts themselves in the position being in pain because they enjoy some aspect of the situation. Whether it be that their inner attention whore needs feeding, their need to prove something by being 'tough', to explore self-destructive behavior in a controlled and consensual way, or needing the catharsis of being "broken", a masochist finds new and innovative way to put themselves in situations of enduring physical pain and NOT simply because they enjoy the sensation of it.

Yes, I am, still somewhat begrudgingly, an admitted masochist.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Slave at Heart

"You're not submissive, you know," he says from the passenger seat of my car. I rolled my eyes. I couldn't blame him. He'd just spent two seperate play sessions, one Saturday night, one Sunday afternoon whaling on me and I only gave in--just barely-- after at least an hour. Most of the scenes I spent being my regular smart ass self and tested him to see who would break first, me or him. I still think that particular outcome was a bit of a toss-up, though the scene that occured Sunday had me feeling a tad bit more of a docile and with a certain... affinity... toward him.

"But we'll get to that later..." he continued and then must've seen something in the look on my face as I met his eyes. "You aren't submissive," he repeated as I bit my lip and looked away in frustration. "You're a slave," he finished matter-of-factly as my neck snapped back for me to gape at him with my mouth open.

I've heard many people in my past criticize my submissive tendencies (or lack there-of). Something about my being the the strong-willed and opinionated brat who heavily enjoys resistance play in scenes and finds all that kneeling and protocol stuff tiresome might've given people the idea that I'd make a really bad submissive, much less a slave.

Part of me started to believe it. Especially since I ascribed to the Daddy/Little Girl dynamic mentality. A little girl doesn't always say "yes, Daddy, whatever you say" and get on her knees every time he walks in the room. But a Daddy, much like a Master, keeps his little girl in line when she needs it and is ultimately the boss, even if he has to show her so. So is Daddy/LG ultimately a M/s relationship?

Boy, this guy stirred up a tempest in my mind with just a simple comment. You see, in the past I used to say I had a "slave-heart". That eventually, I'd find the right person to give myself to. Then I ascribed to what everyone was telling me-- that I was too headstrong, too controlling, and, well, real slaves don't make a *trew Masteh* work for it, they'd simply recognize his Mastery.

Which is why I sort of gave up on the whole slave thing... until this man I'd met the day before had said this statement so matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

Thinking about my D/s relationships in the past, I reflected on whether I was always so ornery and the answer is no. Not at all. I used to actually be a pretty good girl.

Lately, I've had a penchant for take-down scenes, escaping from rope, being beat for hours on end before I break (if I ever did), and if I put all in the perspective of what my new friend stated, it's not because I'm not submissive-- I'm trying to find someone strong enough to be my Master. Once I do, while still opinionated and headstrong, I feel like I'd make a pretty good slave.

The last person who broke me had my complete devotion. He had the strength and patience and compassion (and sometimes brute force) to take down all of my walls one by one. Walls I'd spent a long time building. And while I was sometimes a 'brat', while I messed up sometimes and needed punished... I knew without a doubt who I belonged to and showed endless and unconditional love and devotion.

So yeah, when he left me without even the sanctity of my walls-- my need to be taken, controlled, 'broken', increased. Because the next one won't get that love, adoration and devotion so easily. Not by a long-shot.

But it doesn't mean I don't have a deep desire to give it. And like AA has the attitude that all you need to have is the "desire" to quit, I kind of feel the same way about M/s. My slave-heart beats deep down in my chest. It's there behind these reinforced walls brought on by distrust, pain and pure stubbornness. And it's waiting for someone with even more strength of character, body, mind, patience, with even more tenacity and not just good intentions to help me take them down.