Another Letter to You

Dear Master -

How does it feel to know you hold my heart in your hand? To know that with a small word or phrase you can shatter me in to so many pieces? What does it feel like? What does it mean to have that kind of power over someone? And does it mean more than your power is over an intelligent, strong woman? Does it mean that much more?

You see, I sit and blog and contemplate my feelings and the things I get out of being your pet, your whore ...

But often, like today, I ponder what is in it for you. I am neurotic, over sensitive, and generally a pain in the ass a lot of the time. And quite frankly, I wonder why you even bother. You have so much more in your life.

I am so grateful for all that you've done for me. You are an amazing person, and I'm lucky to call you friend, as well as Master. You have taught me how to feel the most amazing things ... even now, when I haven't even heard your voice today, just the thought of it, makes me tingle. Your laugh warms me, your intelligence lights my life, and your command sends me toward ecstacy.

With love beyond reason -

~your pet

On being a burden

It is one of the feelings I struggle with most. I often feel that if I express a need, or make a request of someone that I'm being a burden.

Funny how I don't feel the same in reverse. I don't think of my friends (except for 1) and loves as burdens.

But, I absolutely cannot ask for something for myself without feeling like 1.) I don't deserve it 2.) that I'm being burdensome 3.) that I don't deserve it ... oh wait, I said that twice.

Selp help books and guru's say that you should take time to express your desires, your wants, and needs. That everyone needs something that is there own in the world.

Why does it seem so impossible for me to do that? And yet, I can give others that for themselves.

Empathy & Pain

"You, my dear, cry for the pains of a thankless world. That makes your tears both all the more precious and all the more wasted." - The one I call Master & Friend

It has been said about the sign of Pisces that we have an innate ability to feel immense compassion, to the point of feeling another's pain, and being able to place ourselves into that person's shoes. To, me, this is certainly true. There is no real pride in that statement, or bragging. In my life, its just a fact. I can feel another's pain. I also take it on myself as if it were my own.

The idea of pain as a release has been clunking in my brain a lot lately, and I realized something ... a brief ephiphany, if you will.

I've always thought of pain given to me in a sexual situation, be it physical or emotional sense as something that let me release any pain I harbored inside. As the years have went on, it seems that I crave this more and more.

It occured to me that maybe my need for this type of release is not just to release my own pain ... but to release the pain that I take on for everyone else too. And, it made perfect sense to me.

You see, as much as I don't want them to, my tears all too often feel wasted. As if my compassion & empathy are used and then discarded. But it doesn't stop me from caring, and trying. I hurt for the people I love, and don't take time to feel my own hurt. Then when I do, I shut down completely.

This is turned into more of a ramble than I wanted it to. Maybe I need to think it through some more, but I do know that I'm tired of wasted tears. I wish for someone to find them precious.

Halloween

When I was a kid, I loved Halloween. Looking back, I know it is because it let me be anything other than what I was. I could be prettier, stronger, more glamorous, and as I got older sexier.

It let me be a fantasy. Escape into another world. One where I wasn't shy. Wasn't the kid with the out of control curls, and the hand me down clothes.

My list of costumes certainly reflects that ... Snow White, Princess Leia, Cleopatra, a Cat, and of course, being the 80s, a fabulous punk rocker.

I realized when I woke up today, that I still love Halloween. I wish that today I could shed myself and become something else. Something ... well, the same things I wished when I was a kid.

I suppose its sad really, wishing to be a fantasy. But somedays, its better than looking in the mirror. So tomorrow, maybe I'll try to wake up and accept who I am, maybe even appreciate who I've become. But today, I think I'll lose myself in a fantasy.

Letters to Mon Maitre

Dear Master,

Ah, but you did not know I would write directly to you ... surprise.

I wonder if you get tired of this, of me. Of how much I want you. Especially, these days when my cunt is throbbing for your voice. Your thick hard cock. When my day is interrupted by thoughts of being your utterly depraved whore.

Do you tire of that? Of hearing it? Should I keep it to myself?

But, it is so delicious and terrible. That feeling of being utterly devoted to waiting until you say so. That delicious twitch in my cunt that is begging to be scratched. That terrible feeling of wondering what you are doing, and who you are doing it with. Of hoping that you spare me a thought ... or a dream.

The longing to be anything you want me to be. Wanting to beg, and plead. Needing that pat on the head for being a good girl.

Yes. Delicious + Terrible = Bliss.

With my love,

votre putain

Pain, redux

E. Edward Grey: Why do you cut yourself, Lee?
Lee: I don't know.
E. Edward Grey: Is it that sometimes the pain inside has to come to the surface, and when you see evidence of the pain inside you finally know you're really here? Then, when you watch the wound heal, it's comforting... isn't it?
Lee: I... That's a way to put it.

From Secretary

I've never seen this movie, though I want to. This quote smacked me across the face in a very real way though.

I'm not a cutter. Never had any inclination to be. I also never thought I would find myself shoving a needle through my flesh and at some point finding it pleasurable.

But this makes sense to me more in the sense of real emotional pain. Why do I crave to be debased to the point of a babbling idiot?

Maybe because it allows me to feel the pain that's already there, and let it out into the world. Give it a life outside of me and release it.

But, the crucial point is finally releasing it. I think maybe that's where I fail too often.

Feeling

“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.” Anais Nin

Right now, reality doesn't impress me whatsoever. I want to escape into life. A life lived creatively, without bounds. Where imagination and dreams are lived to fulfilment, not shoved into a back corner of my brain.

I do not want to be told how to feel. I want to feel, and feel everything. Pain, hurt, love, ... all of it.

What I am Not

It's not who you are that holds you back, it's who you think you're not. ~Author Unknown

Whoever wrote that, wrote it about me.

Every day I wake up and remember all the things I'm not. And it renders me stagnant. Forward motion stops because of all the things I THINK I'm not.

I'm not good enough, smart enough, tall enough, skinny enough ... Enough is enough, really.

And until I can tell myself what I am with authority and believe it ... I'll still be standing here.

Love

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up a whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love. " Rose Walker - The Sandman by Neil Gaiman

My Grandmother, God Bless her, always said, "Love goes where its sent, even if its up a pig's ass". It always made me laugh, because I always wondered if that's how she felt about her 50+ years of marriage.

But, Love, that great motivator of Life, does do exactly that. It doesn't choose based on predictable measures, or quantifiable qualities. Thus, people find themselves in love, or loving in the oddest of times, and in the most unlikely of places. Thus, it goes where it will.

Love causes Pain. Not pain. Pain, with a capital P. The most intense pain. No one that has ever felt the pain of a love lost, or unrequited love would tell you any different. It really is a "soul pain". When you give someone pieces of yourself, its as if you lose those parts of you when that love is gone, or unreturned.

And so the question becomes, is it worth it?

Of course it is. Everytime you give out a piece of yourself, you make room for something new, and exciting. It isn't an empty void, its just a place that is ready to be filled. So maybe you do lose those parts of yourself that you were .... you've just emptied out spaces for who you will become.

I have never loved, and not gotten something in return. Even unrequited love has given me something, even if it was an appreciation for what I did not have, or what I ended up not missing.

So, no, unlike the quote, I do not Hate Love. I don't always understand it. And over the years, I have shed many tears for its loss. But I have never regretted it. It has always left me feeling stronger in the long run. It has shaped me into the person I am. And will shape me into whatever I am to become.

But, that's another blog.

Fear .. .part two or three ...

I'm sure I've written about fear before. It seems to be a common thing for me. I imagine it is for many. I'm not sure when fear became such a powerful motivator for me. Or rather, not a motivator, but the thing that kept me from reaching ...

I wanted to teach. I was afraid I couldn't find a job, and took the first one I could find ... 12 years later, I'm still there.

I was a great musician. I should have played in College. I should have at least minored in music. I didn't. I was too afraid to audition.

I want to write, and yet, I'm afraid that I'm not good enough.

Always this persistent fear that I will fail. Be not good enough.

The things that I am confident that I can do well are not things I do for myself, but for other people. I'm a great friend. I can edit like a whip. I give great advice. And I have the uncanny ability to give people exactly what they need at the time they need it. I love this about me. I love that I can be a great friend.

However, when will I stop being afraid to say that I'm worth as much as the people I give to.
I deserve to think better of myself. I deserve good things. I deserve to live life free from the overwhelming fear that I will fall short.

Recognizing these things is the easy part ... but am I too afraid to act?

Written in the Stars

From Pisces.com: They have an uncanny sense of perceiving what a person wants or needs, and delivering it.

Astrology made be a load of bullshit - but I've never seen anything written about a pisces that wasn't me. And when I saw that line, it creeped me out.

Is this why I am submissive? Or can be with little effort? Was it written at my birth?

Of course they also say that Pisces can be needy little bitches too.

Oh wait ... right again.

Fantasy

It's just a fantasy

It's not the real thing

But sometimes a fantasy

Is all you need

Just a Fantasy - Billy Joel

Ah, the crux of the situation. Am I real, or a fantasy?

Worry & Control

"If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself but to your own estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment." Charles F. Kettering
Its that old adage about having control over your own reactions to events in your life. Nothing has the ability to cause you pain unless you allow it. To me, to a certain extent, this is bullshit. People will experience pain. To say that the pain of grief is something we choose is ridiculous in my estimation. What we learn from it, what we do with it, and where we go with it is the thing we can control.

Life causes pain. Death & Loss are unavoidable. Pain is unavoidable. Choosing how to deal with it is what we are given to do.

If I look back at the things that have occured in my life that have caused the most pain, they are also the things that I learned most from. The death of my T-Man, so young, taught me that life is precious, and we never know how much time we will have.

Maybe its a lesson that I need to keep in front of me, because I spend way too much time dwelling on things that I have no control over. Over the years, I have learned to let small things go that would have normally turned me inside out. Whether the car gets dinged, or the raise doesn't come through is not something that tears me up for days on end. But there are still things in life that I should spend less time worrying about. Is this person mad at me? Does this person love me? Is there something I should have done better? Is there something I can do better?

Its like I'm missing out on what the greatest pain in my life has taught me, and I put myself through all these little pains as if they are the greatest.

I don't know ... maybe I ramble, but I'm tired of watching my life go by with me worrying over the small things, when I know from experience that the pain can be so much worse.

Chasing Desire

Have you ever really wanted something? Desired it? Yearned for it? Felt it within your capacity to reach and as quickly as it was there, it disappeared into nothingness.

You ache for it. It is just as real to you as something you possessed. You feel the loss of potential. Unrealized expectations. It is not even a memory, but an impression of what could have been.

It is rarely things that fall into this category. Rather, it is things that hold more value. These are the crushes, friendships, lovers, and dreams.

Why do we feel pain for that which we have never had? Is it a sign of weakness? Or is it that part of us that is consciously seeking more? More love. More value. More worth.
Is it this ache, then, that keeps us from reaching? After time, is the accumlated ache to much for us to overcome? Does it burden us so deeply that we stop yearning for that new dream, that next love?

But who am I to ponder this? Just another casuality? Do I have the courage to stand and face that desire head on, and actually feel it in my grasp? Or will I watch it disappear into nothingness. Another dream drifted.

Dark Places

Everyone has a talent, what is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads. Erica Jong

I hope I have a lot of courage, because I plan to follow my talent to wherever it leads. I imagine when I get to that dark place, there is where the light will shine the brightest.

Now if I can just make up my mind what my talent is, or hell, even that I have one ... we'll be all set.

Slave

Being your slave, what should I do but tend

Upon the hours and times of your desire? ~ William Shakespeare

Is this me?

Broken

The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe. - Joanna Macy, writer and teacher (1929- )
Maybe in that quote, in those few words, I may have gotten it.

Horror-scope

Pisces for Sept 22:
There are a few old ideas, abandoned dreams, and outdated philosophies that need to get cleaned out of your mental closet. Many of these things feel necessary from an emotional point of view, but from a realistic point of view (which is much more important to consider today), they could be holding you back. It's time for you to get some fresh ideas, come up with some new dreams, and explore revolutionary philosophies. Spend this day feeding your mind.
Is this true? Have I held on to dreams, ideas and philosphies that are outdated or holding me back?

Sometimes, a dream is all I have to hold on to. Abandoning a dream is like ... giving up hope?

Or maybe it doesn't need to be abandoned at all. Maybe it just needs to be overhauled. A dream extreme makeover.

Masochism

[Rex has just told Bree about his masochism]

Rex: For God's sake, you promised to be supportive.

Bree: What do you want me to say? My husband likes to wear metal clamps around his nipples. Hooray?

Yeah, its not something you just bring up at the PTA meeting is it? If someone would have told me about 7 years ago that the feel of a clothespin on a nipple, or the slap of a metal belt, or even a needle puncturing skin would send me into an orgasmic spin, I would have looked at them like they grew two heads.

But it does.

And its not just the physical. Oh no. Abuse me in anyway, and I get wet. I mean, absolutely, I'm going to cum at any minute wet. Maybe abuse is a strong word. Abuse implies I don't have a choice. But I do. I choose to be subject to pain.

Pain becomes the catharsis to let a world of anguish go. To release all of the pent up worry, stress, terrible feelings, etc. out. OUT.

I am a Masochist.

Wait.

Hi, I'm X, and I'm a Masochist.

Hi X! Take a seat over there on those thumbtacks.

Don't Let me Get Me

Everyday I fight a war against the mirror
I can't take the person starin' back at me
I'm a hazard to myself

Don't let me get me
I'm my own worst enemy

Pink - Don't Let Me Get Me

And it is oh so terribly true.

I look in the mirror
and what do I see
nothing but average
staring back at me
Nothing remarkable
Nothing Unique
Nothing worth even a peck on the cheek

Such a silly little rhyme. From a silly little brain.

Don't let me get me. Indeed.

Dependable

When T died, besides the overwhelming sadness of having lost someone I love dearly, I felt this very real sense that in his short life, while I was always there, I never did anything ... special. Everyone had all these "special" moments. I felt like I wasn't really all that instrumental in his life. I was just ... there. Somedays I still feel like that.

Most of us go through life wanting to make some impact on a life. I'm really afraid all that will be said of me is that I was always there. And maybe that is special, but sometimes all that feels like is ... dependable. I don't want to be remembered as dependable.

On Hiatus

I heard recently, I think on TV, that making mistakes is easy ... its the NOT making them that's hard.

With that, I'm going on Hiatus for a few days. Today was tough, filled with happy memories, and sad thoughts that they will forever be in the past.

Its time to look forward.

With that, I'll be back. With bells on. You decide where the bells are.

Sorrow

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. ~Kahlil Gibran
We weep for the things we have loved. True sorrow is based on the fact that we have lost something that was integral to our lives, our happiness. Sorrow is selfish. Even in the face of losing someone who suffered greatly, our sorrow centers on the fact that the "I" no longer can have that person in their lives.

I've lost four people in my life now who suffered greatly. All integral to my life and happiness. Three were old. They had lived full, rich lives. Each expressed readiness, if not eagerness to get the hell off planet Earth. They were tired. For one of them, I was given the gift of being with her when she passed. The pain I felt was not for her, but for me. For her, I felt relief. I felt her joy.

One was young. So very young. And had suffered as well. In many ways, he had lived an even fuller, richer life. He taught me so many things about love, compassion and courage. Not with words, but with his outstretched arms ... his big cheesey grin. He loved unconditionally. With no expectations other than you love him back. Oh, and maybe some gummi's.

We can wrap ourselves in a blanket of sorrow, and pine for that we've lost. And that's ok. To allow yourself to feel the pain of a life or love lost is to be human. But it is when we remember why we feel the pain in the first place, that we begin to understand our live's truest loves ... our truest joy.

Fear and Uncertainty

Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can't help but ask myself
how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer.
It's driven me before, and it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal.
But lately I'm beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel.

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there with open arms and open eyes,
Yeah Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there..I'll be there

Drive - Incubus

My Grandmother at age 21, with a 5 year old son, left her hometown, divorced a louse of a husband and got a job making bomb sites. All circa 1945.

She always said she was too stupid to be scared.

As for me, I think I'll take that brand of stupidity any day.

Part deux, tomorrow .........

Selfish Clod

“The true joy of life [is] being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one ... being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown to the scrap heap ... being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish clod of ailments and grievances.” George Bernard Shaw

It is a wonder to me at times, when we can fight so hard against something, to realize we've become the thing we are fighting against.

To be beaten down by the demands of others is a refrain I hear myself repeat often. I bitch about being used, being a doormat, ... blah blah blah. I often find myself praying for solitude, wishing that everyone would go away for a moment so I could breathe ... think.

Today I got a good hard look at myself, and realized I'd become those I wish would go away. I've become "a feverish, selfish clod of ailments and grievances."

For someone who prides themselves on being compassionate, kind and standing up for those in need, I've sure been acting like a selfish, spoiled brat.

If my joy in life is truly outwardly focused, that I truly find happiness in being a compassionate and giving person - then turning my attention inward isn't going to make me happy.

And bitching about the people who I feel use me, is a bit ridiculous.

So what is the issue? Finding the balance.

Somewhere there is a middle ground. Somewhere where I don't lose myself - I can remain the compassionate person I believe myself to be - and still be able to take care of myself.

I don't want to be someone who rails at the world for being unfair, and then takes no stand to make my existence any better.

And I cannot expect someone to do it for me. If I do, then I've turned myself in to the same people I complain about.

Letters to Master - Day 6

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat. Anais Nin

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman. Anais Nin

Dear Master,

Today I did something I didn't think I could do. I stumbled, fell, pulled myself up and instead of falling all over myself to make it right ... to write endless emails, and mad emotional outbursts ..

I wrote a story instead.

It wasn't purely altruistic. I wanted to prove to myself what I am capable of.

Because you have never doubted my courage or strength even when you've rendered me on my knees, sobbing.

What use would I be if I was weak? I want you proud to own not just a whore, or a pet ... but the strong woman I am.

I ache for you. I want to make your cock hard with my howls and sobs ... and utter willingness to debase myself completely .... but maybe I finally understand that I can come away stronger.

I'm finally understanding the person you own so completely .. and she isn't so bad really.

I'm still jealous. I'm still going to fall. I still utterly crave being at your mercy. And I still dream of the day I turn around and you are there...and we have our moment ... the one we will never forget.

Dreaming of you ...

Love,

yours

Letters to Master - Day 5

Dear Master,

I laid my submissive heart bare for you. I harnessed the pain and torment the best I could, and tried to make it wonderful for us both. And then ... in that moment, when release from it all was emminent, I failed. I failed immensely and completely.

I feel more lost, more pathetic, and more desperate than I ever have in my entire life. Begging to know ... so sure you would let me in because I'd been a good girl. And then the knowledge that she was on her knees before you, by her own choice, after I myself had failed ....

it just ...

leaves me feeling broken ...

but God help me, I ache for you still.

Love,

Your pet

Letters to Master - Day 4

Dear Master -

No quote I could find could ever sum up my feelings today. I've tottered from the brink so many times today that I can't even count them. I feel as if I have ridden the roller coaster continuously since you said I would suffer this weekend. And when I heard you this morning, and you made me squeeze my nipple ... it took every force of will to not cum immediately. The message you left made me feel...incredible.

I put on a brave face for family while my pussy dripped down my thighs. Soaking panties, feeling the ball push against the walls of my cunt. I am beyond need, beyond ache, and approaching the desparateness that you so love to hear in my voice. I was a good mom, a good wife, and a good daughter in law. All the while humiliated by feeling like a crazed cock hungry whore.

I'm tormented about what I may find out. I am tormented by what is to come. And maybe, I'm afraid of this all ending. The torment indeed has become a centering force. If it ends, I may just be afraid of where I'll be.

In the meantime, I'm desparate for you. Completely.

With my love,

your whore.

Letters to Master - Day 3

Renee Pelagie: Can I impart to you his cruellest trick.

Dr. Royer-Collard: Of course.

Renee Pelagie: Once, long ago in the folly of youth, he made me love him

Quills - 2000

Dear Master,

Day 3. I woke trembling with need after dreaming of you. Dreaming of you and her together. Even in my sleep I am haunted by thoughts of you. I crave you in ways I never had, nor ever expected.

I love you. It occured to me that this makes the suffering what it is. I ache for you in the ways that I do, because I love you. I love you in a way I've not loved anyone else. I have shared with you things I've never shared with anyone, and never expect to share with anyone else. You know me like no one else has. You have heard me at my lowest point, and used it for your pleasure.

You truly own me. This is a fact I have acknowledged for a long time, but I believe my understanding of this rather simple fact is changing.

If you didn't, if this was a game - the craving would not be the same, I think. The ache that my heart and cunt is experiences would not be as intense ... would not be as affecting, as it is.

Today was a long day. It started with trembling, and progressed to full blown "My God I Can't Take Anymore" very rapidly. I caught myself starting to cry ... and I forced it down. I choked back every tear that wanted to be shed, and made the torment my anchor. I let the pain and ache course through my body and heart, and used it to send you perverse messages that I hoped would please you. I used it to shed my lack of self esteem and buy myself something pretty that I felt good in, felt sexy in ... and I spent time with my little girl.

The torment didn't go away. I had to fight for the composure to be with my family. My imagination is still actively imagining your weekend with her. What is happening with her, what you are doing with her. I see soft kisses, and touches. I feel your heart beating faster. I feel your breath against her skin as if it is my own. The what ifs have not ceased. My curiousity has only increased with your refusal to let me know what is happening, which is of course, your right. They continue to push their way into my existence and make my heart beat faster ... my pussy twitch, and my nipples harden. I feel like a complete whore. Humiliation is my constant companion.

Underneath it all .... underneath the humiliation and aching, is the fear of what is to come. The unknown both scares me ... and excites me.

with a love beyond reason,

your whore

Letters to Master - Day 2

"At times it is strangely seductive to know the extent of your own powerlessness." Erica Jong

Master,

The extent of my utter powerlessness with you is evident. If I knew before what it meant to suffer, I've been sadly mistaken. My heart is breaking, and I fear never being whole again. At the same time, my body aches for you stronger than it ever has. Part of me wants to run from you, screaming, tell you to go to hell ... and the other part wants to beg you to save me from my own hell. The hell of knowing that you are with her, and she is beautiful and lovely and young. Things I will never be.

You have said not to compare. I try. I fail. I fear never being the person you fear losing. I fear that I will no longer be the favorite toy. I will cease to be your pet. I will forever be the stupid whore, begging for your attention ... begging for your cock. Begging to suffer, fearing not to, and aching for it always. Wanting and dreaming for things that I don't have.

All day, I waited. After your initial communication, which rocked me to my core, and made me feel as useless as I've ever been, I waited. I clutched my phone for any word that you were thinking of me. There was nothing. My house is cleaner than it has ever been.

And then you told me you decided to not, that you wanted me to suffer.

I wanted to scream. To yell "the fuck do you think I have been doing for week's on end when I know that she is the only thing on your brain". Then comes the guilt I feel because it seems so god damned selfish.

I almost went too far. Until you said you were getting annoyed, and I realized that this is who I am. This is what I signed up for. I am yours, and I will take what you have to give me. All the pain, and all the torment. I will do it for your pleasure and I will thank you for it. I am crazed for you. My body is on fire. My nipples are hard, and my clit. I'm aching for you in a way that I never have.

And its only Day 2 of the weekend, and its going to get worse. You've promised to make me suffer, and so I shall. All I can do is wait and endure, and try to be the best pet/whore/submissive I can be, and give in to what you want.

Even as I write this, my daughter sitting on the floor next to me, I'm trying so desparately not to cry. I am humiliated in a way that even several days ago I could never have fathomed.

I feel useless. I feel powerless. I feel inferior. It fucking hurts.

And I love you.

your whore

Letters to Master - Day 1

Mon Maitre,

I have to be strong for many people in my life. My daughter ... my family, and friends. Thank you for allowing me to both feel stripped of power, yet find the strength to endure.

After many days of torment, today you executed a well thought out plan. You brought me to the edge of ecstacy using your will to do it. You fed my humiliation and brought out my tears. You fucked me to the edge, and then drove me harder and faster. Closer, and then ...

Made me stop.

It wasn't the stopping that caused the pain ... it was the goodbye. I couldn't face it, and so I begged. I begged for you to stay with me, even for a moment, so I wouldn't be alone. Even though I throbbed for release, and still do ... I didn't beg for that ... only begged for you to not abandon me. Feeling merciful, you granted it. You calmed me and then left me. Alone and aching for only you. My pussy dripping down my thighs and my heart in a knot, because now I know you will be turning your attention elsewhere, and I will exist in torment for the next few days.

Days earlier your promised to break me when you finally let me cum. You have taunted me daily about possibly letting me cum, or possibly not. The days ensuing have been filled with dread, but also with a newfound appreciation for the sweetness of torment. Knowing that I will cum, and you will break me is ... well, the only way I can express it is sweet torture. Not being given a choice or having choices made for you is freeing in way that not everyone can appreciate. But in my life, where I have to be responsible for so many things, having to not make a choice is a freedom I relish.

Tomorrow you will be with your little kitten, and I, your whore, will be miserable. I will imagine your hands on her, her sweet kisses ... where you will touch her, and if you will give her the release that you denied me - and will you enjoy it more, and will I cease to exist for you in that moment. The what ifs in my brain will spin their infinite web.

And this pattern will repeat itself as the days of the weekend drag on ... and I wait until you are ready for your whore.

Until then, I will ache for you. I will find ways to distract myself from my throbbing cunt ... I will catch myself staring into space wondering what you are doing ... I will text you perverse thoughts with the hope that I stay in your thoughts even while you are caressing your kitten. I will document my thoughts as the weekend hours drag on.

And when you are ready for me, after enduring this sweet torture, I will beg you to break me.

With a love beyond reason,

your whore

What am I?

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling all that I am capable of doing but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding." - Anais Nin
I am not dumb, nor incapable. I am an intelligent strong woman. I am not a doormat (well, I try not to be). I am the cornerstone of my family, the friend that never gives up on anyone. I am loyal. I can lead a meeting, and I can wrangle a classroom. I can present to executives, and hold my own with my Military counterparts.

But, I am submissive.

I will give him what he wants. I will accept his will. I will accept the pleasure and pain he gives me, and I will thank him for it. I will be his whore, his pet, his dark angel ... his savior if need be.

But it will be for him.

My mind and soul lay naked before him, and I will obey.

Not because I am weak. But because I am strong.

Humiliation

“Your worst humiliation is only someone else's momentary entertainment” ~ Karen Crockett

Wow, I know I've only been blogging for awhile, and I still doubt that anyone is paying any attention, but I can't believe I don't already have a post titled "Humiliation".

Being that I don't understand why humiliation is something I crave now, its hard to write about. It is akin to the dichotomy between pleasure and pain. Maybe it feeds in my own self perception, ... I suppose that I could get all psychological about it, but the bottom line is that it just trips my trigger in a big way.

To be stripped down to bare bones, and left as just someone's amusement? ... Yeah, hot.

Dream a Little Dream

Stars fading but I linger on dear
Still craving your kissI
’m longin’ to linger till dawn dear
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

Dream a Little Dream - Louie Armstrong

I've always been a dreamer. From probably my teen years on, I wove fantasys in my head. Probably to deny the reality of my existence. I, like many a young girl before me, dreamed of the romance that would come and sweep me off my feet. Take me away from the gray existence I was living.

I guess I haven't changed that much. I'm still capable of conjuring fantasy. Still able to dream of things I don't have. If I could channel that in to something, my dreaming would be a blessing.

Other times, my dreams just haunt me.

Some day, as with everything, I'll get it right.

What can I say?

No really .... tell me. Cause I just dont have the words.

Clumsy

Seems like I can find a song lyric for any situation, huh?

I get so clumsy
I get so foolish
I get so stupid
And then I feel so useless

Clumsy - Chris Rice

I seem to trip and fall over words I haven't said. I used to think I was a good communicator, but the last few months have found me tripping over my words more often than not. I find myself struggling to be clear, to make my feelings clear. I fail to do that, and then feel foolish.

Maybe its because I feel a bit lost. A bit unanchored. A bit unsure of where I'm at. That unsettle feeling leaves me feeling lost for words. And instead of being quiet, I overuse words. I let them spill out, and then can't take them back. What I am thinking can't be deciphered from the diarrea of the mouth that I'm having.

Maybe its time to just shut up, and wait for the coherency to come back.

Aching

Hear me
Take me
Mold me
Break me,
oh God
Just fill all of me
As i fall into You

~~Fall Into You by Evanescence~~

That exquiste pain of anticipation and unknowing. Sweet torture. The ache that starts deep inside and spreads outward until my whole body arches towards that release that is ... withheld. Knowing that as it grows, you will do anything...be anything to Him.

Sigh. Yeah.

Torment

I've already told you: the only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure. Marquis de Sade

Sigh. A dichotomy for sure. Torment and ecstasy. Somewhere in my ramblings I posted a quote about one of life's greatest luxuries is to be so turned on that you want to screw a hole in the wall.

Color me screwed.

I want him so badly, I can taste it on the tip of my tongue like a sweet wine that lingers there. Mixed with that is the knowing of his want for someone else. It makes the ache that much more intense. My brain wars with itself between lust and sadness. Ecstasy and torture.

It builds with each passing moment, and will until the ache can be met by the person who creates it.

Only for it to begin again.

Imagination

Imagination
Writer(s): van heusen/burke

Imagination is funny
It makes a cloudy day sunny
It makes a bee think of honey
Just as I think of you

Imagination is crazy
Your whole perspective gets hazy
Starts you asking a daisy
What to do, what to do

Have you ever felt a gentle touch
And then a kiss, and then and then
Find it’s only your imagination again

Imagination is silly
You go around willy nilly
For example I go around wanting you
And yet I can’t imagine that you want me too


Having a vivid imagination can be a blessing or a curse. The imaginative mind can produce writing so alive with detail you can feel the event happening. But for every wonderous moment that an imaginative mind can produce .... it can produce an equally horrific moment. Combine that with a mind that dwells on the what-ifs of life, and you can begin to see where the curse part comes in.

For example

I can see them together. He is standing behind her, his hands at his waist that move slowly up and under her shirt, until he is cupping small soft breasts. His lips finding the skin of her neck, kissing her soft scented skin slowly upwards. Reaching her earlobe, and whispering to her.

"You make me hard."

I can feel her sigh reverberate through him as if it were my own. Her shudder against him, that resonates through his body, and stiffens him even more. I can see her turning in his arms, her small hands resting on his biceps. She tilts her face to kiss him, and he laces her fingers behind her neck, keeping her close. I can feel my own heart beat in rhythm with his, running faster.

You see? These are the thoughts that occupy me as I sit alone working. It grabs my mind and my heart. It feeds my jealousy. My own desire of wanting to stand in your arms.

And then:

For example I go around wanting you
And yet I can’t imagine that you want me too

That's where my mind leaves me. Spinning in infinite circles.

Unreasonable

Hate has a reason for everything. But love is unreasonable.

- V. Raiuhes Ahaefvthe

I really can't say that any better. If you think of the things you hate, you come up with many reasons. But sometimes, the love you have for something or someone can't be explained other than that you love it/them.

I find that the love that I hold has no boundaries. Though, that makes it tough to take care of myself.

Maybe I should give myself some love too.

Fuck it

I sat down to write something happy. Maybe introspective. Maybe something that would just delight someone to no end.

But you know what? I'm just so fucking tired of taking other people's shit, that I'm just going to say fuck it and go to bed.

I'm not a fucking rude bitch. And holy fucking hell I don't need to be dumped on by the people that profess to love me. I've got my faults. I can be jealous, and passive aggressive. And I know I have low fucking self esteem. But I am kind, and I am compassionate - and I am a good fucking person. And no one has the right to treat me like I don't have feelings, just because I am not aggressive.

No whining. No self pity. No fucking playing the victim. I'm just going to fucking take care of myself.

Dichotomy

Anyone perfect must be lying, anything easy has its cost
Anyone plain can be lovely, Anyone loved can be lost.

Falling for the First Time - Barenaked Ladies

Such is life, yes? Things that seem easy, have incredible cost. Things that cause the most pain can have the highest reward.

Yet we rarely stop to see these dichotomies in life. We see easy, and expect easy. We see beauty and expect beauty inside and out. We see plain, and don't expect the poetry within.

We are given pain, and don't expect pleasure. Yet, I've experienced pain that has become pleasure, and vice versa.

Shedding our preconceived notions is what allows us to find out these things. That shows us that the edge of a knife can be as pleasurable as the softest of kisses.

And for this lesson, I will be eternally grateful.

Stress

“Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven't fallen asleep yet” ~Anon

What ifs crowd my mind. Eventually, when my mind cannot hold not one more "what if" my body takes control and says, "enough, everyone out of the pool. The deep end is getting too crowded."

What can I say? I'm there. I'm tired. My body decided that my mind needs a vacation, so it forced it to shut down all major functions, and just exist for awhile. The what ifs settle to a dull roar, while my body takes the rest that my mind didn't want to give it.

And if the dual personality thing sounds confusing, it is.

Think of Me

Christine:

We never said
our love
was evergreen,
or as unchanging
as the sea -
but please
promise me,
that sometimes
you will think
of me

Think of Me - Phantom of the Opera

Sometimes I think that all of humanity operates on the simple principle that we wish to not be forgotten by those we hold dear. We seek to leave some sort of mark. Not a footprint, for footprints are washed away, or scattered to the wind.

And so these lines ring more true to me right now than ever before. Because this is my fear, that I will be forgotten in the tests of time. That whatever imprint that I have been able to leave on someone's soul will fade, and I will, like a footprint left in the sand, be washed away.

Maybe I should just start wearing cleats.

Seeing Yourself ... in Spongebob?

SpongeBob SquarePants: Hi, Kevin. I'm your biggest fan.
Kevin the Sea Cucumber: That's nice. Security!
SpongeBob SquarePants: No, no! I'll do anything you want!
Kevin the Sea Cucumber: Go jump off a building. [SpongeBob jumps off building, returns] SpongeBob SquarePants: Anything.
Kevin the Sea Cucumber: Punch yourself in the face. [SpongeBob punches himself with a boxing glove]
Kevin the Sea Cucumber: Doesn't that hurt?
SpongeBob SquarePants: [Puts on a metal gauntlet with spikes] Do you want it to hurt, Kevin?

I saw this episode last night. And while I've seen this episode a hundred plus times, and laughed every time, I never really applied it to me. Last night though, while I laughed myself silly, I realized that I could have uttered those exact same lines.

Would I do anything? I suppose anything is relative. Everyone has limits. But, when it comes right down to it, there isn't a whole lot I wouldn't. Even when it is painful. Or maybe, especially if its painful. That's the part I haven't quite figured out yet.

Until then, maybe I'll just keep watching Spongebob. Maybe the meaning of life is in there somewhere.

Smelling the Crap vs the Roses

Don't the hours grow shorter as the days go by
You never get to stop and open your eyes
One minute you're waiting for the sky to fall
The next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all

Lover's in a Dangerous Time - Barenaked Ladies

Life sneaks up on you. One day, you are 21 with your eyes full of light and wonder, and the whole world is your playground. The next day you are 35, and you wonder where the days have gone, and begin to realize that things are neither as wonderful or as terrible as they seem.

So much time I have spent waiting for the sky to fall. Worry upon worry piling up until it is an insurmountable mountain.

Too few times have I been dazzled by the beauty of it all. Not that I haven't seen it. I've seen a little boy become a little angel, and I've experienced the joy of parenthood. But not enough have I looked around and seen the beauty in life's moments.

I've always had this weird ability to stand outside myself, and record events for later recollection or use. Almost as if I am storing things for a later biography. Not really an autobiography, because I can almost see my life as someone else may see it.

If I indeed were to take stock of life thus far, I would say that I need to spend more time finding those moments of incredible beauty. So that when the sky does fall, I am not burdened by its weight.

Later in the above quoted song, the lyrics say:

Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight
You gotta kick at the darkness till it bleeds daylight.

Life has its periods of darkness, indeed. But with the tiniest bit of hope, there is light.

Happiness

"We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.” - Frederick Koenig

It seems as of late, I have been consumed with the things I don't have. And I have been unhappy. That is unfair not only to those around me, but to myself as well.

I am a blessed individual. I have a beautiful, independent, intelligent daughter, who will more than likely grow up to be stronger than I ever hope to be. I have a family, that while neurotic, sticks by each other. My parents have been married 40 years on Sunday. I have a home and a good job, and reasonable skills that would ensure that I keep said job.

And the bottom line is that I would never intentionally take away someone's happiness for my own sake. Quite the opposite is true. More than likely I will facilitate away for that person to stay happy.

Only I can decide to be happy. No one can make me happy, and I have plenty of reasons to be happy. It is not a bad thing to dream or reach for things that you want. After so many years of denying myself and ignoring my needs for the needs of others, I think its acceptable to dream and hope for things.

Growing up Catholic, I attended St. Francis of Assisi Parish. Obviously, given the name of the Parish, we prayed the prayer of St. Francis constantly in my youth. The entire prayers sticks with me to this day, as it is something I truly try to live by. But the part that really zero's in for me is this:

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned

The prayer recognizes that selflessness is a mean to an end. By loving freely, we are opening ourselves up to joy. But it never says that we shouldn't seek to fulfill our dreams.

Today I choose to recognize and appreciate the things I have, to love others completely and to not feel selfish about the things I desire.

Trust

Trust only movement. Life happens at the level of events, not of words. ~ Alfred Adler

Is that just a pretty way to say that actions speak louder than words?

Someone I love told me that my tears are wasted on an unkind world. I'm not sure what to think of that. I put everything I have into caring for the people I love. Is that wasted?

I'd like to think it wasn't. I'd like to believe that my compassion and love is not wasted. But I'm not sure that I do.

I don't want to pity myself. I love because I love. And I give because I give. But everyone has a limit. How often can you put yourself out there before you want to scream "ITS MY TURN"!

I don't know. I want to believe the nice things people say, but the tears I've cried stops me. They leave me feeling insecure, and unsure.

Self Sacrifice

And it's no sacrifice
Just a simple word
It's two hearts living
In two separate worlds

Sacrifice - Bernie Taupin & Elton John

What is a sacrifice? What is self sacrifice? Is it a sacrifice if you gain something?

I would think that the definition means that you gain nothing. But what if you gain emotional benefits. The knowledge that you have sacrificed something for someone can be uplifting, and acutally be a downright satisfying feeling.

Maybe it all hinges on whether the sacrificer really feels its a sacrifice.

Maybe I just think too much, or have taken too many Advil.

Me

“If all my friends were to jump off a bridge, I wouldn't follow. I'd be at the bottom to catch them when they fall.” - Anon

And not just the first time. Time and time again, I'll stand there and wait with arms opened, ready for the catch.

Sometimes I don't even drop them.

Beyond Reason

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. ~Nietzsche

I love you for many reasons. For your intelligence, sensibilities, capabilities, and wit. For your creativity, philosphy, and support. I love you because you love animals. Because you would stop to help a woman on the road. I love you for many reasons, and for no reason at all.

I love you because you are you, and I know no other way.

I lay my heart bare to you, and offer what I can. I can only hope that it is enough.

Perceptions

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are. ~Anaïs Nin

As hard as we may try to be objective, its near impossible to see the world without wearing the glasses of our perceptions. We view the world through our experiences, emotions, and personality.

Empathy can teach us to stretch ourselves. To put ourselves in another's world. But until you experience that pain for yourself, you won't truly feel it.

Tears

Tears are words your heart can't express. ~Anon

It seems I've cried a million tears, for a million different reasons. And for every time I thought that they were for naught, this quote has shown me otherwise.

For every tear I've shed there has been a reason. Happiness, sadness, pain, agony, suffering, grieving, joy ... each tear shed was an expression of me that I couldn't communicate any other way.

Doubt

Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.
~Kahlil Gibran

I've come to the conclusion that doubt is addictive. Doubt in capabilities, in abilities, and in worth. It swirls in the back of my mind always. Rushing forward to cloud any glimpse of light.

My doubt is greedy. It wants it all.

Ache

"It's a matter of instinct, it's a matter of conditioning, It's a matter of fact.
You can call me Pavlov's dog.
Ring a bell and I'll salivate- how'd you like that?"
~ Brian Wilson ~ Barenaked Ladies

It is a matter of conditioning. It is definitely a matter of fact. And it is absolutely my instinct, that tells me that I have a submissive soul.

Its an ache that starts deep inside. The response may indeed be conditioned, but the ache is mine. Its an ache to please. To lay myself bare in his eyes, and give him whatever he wants. Be it pain and suffering, or tenderness. Needed or abused. To be only for him in that moment, any moment that he wishes.

To surrender all that I am. The strength that I carry. The load that I bare. The love that I hold in my heart. That is not conditioning. That is me.

And I'm at the very beginning of understanding that Me, isn't so bad afterall.

Dreams

"The other night dear
as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
when I awoke dear, I was mistaken
and I hung my head and I cried"

~ You are My Sunshine

Ever had that dream that is so real that it stays with you for the day? It is almost tangible. Its presence lingers, until you aren't quite sure if it really happened or not.

I get those now and then. These days, its seems I am blessed (or cursed) with them more often. Maybe they are a product of my imagination, which I've been told is quite, um .. well, imaginitative.

And just like in the lyrics to the song, you have to awaken from these dreams. Even if thing linger with you, eventually they slip away. The absence of the dream leaves a hollow spot, and the memory echos through it. A warm breeze that dances over your skin, momentairly warm, and then chilly again as the breeze dies.

Cinderella sang that "Dreams are a wish your heart makes when its fast asleep."

I suppose that as long as I can dream, I can hope. Even when the dream dissapates.

Fear

And when you're feeling open

I'll still be here

But not without a certain degree of fear

Of what will be with you and me

~ Run Around - Blues Traveler

Fear is the basis of all anxiety. An anxious soul is never settled. It never quite finds peace, even in reassurance. It is always looking for the next worry. Always on guard for the latest and greatest threat. It lives in constant fear of the unknown.

Even the known is a threat to the anxious mind. Because what if the known is not what it seems.

The anxious mind questions everything, everyone, and all intentions. It never quite believes anything is safe.

It mistakenly believes that questioning everything leaves no room for surprises. It is a form of control.

What it fails to remember is that there is no control, really. Its an illusion. A person can only control their own actions and reactions.

Its a mind fuck. One that you play with yourself. If I worry about it, it won't happen - or if it does, I've anticipated the worse. In training to gain the peace you are so desparately seeking - you fall into the trap of never allowing yourself a moment to not think. To not fear. To trust.

Because the real mindfuck, is that the anxious person assumes they can only trust themselves - and they are truly their own worse enemy.

Someday - I'll get it right.

Younger Days

When I was younger, oh so many years ago, (at least it feels that way), I remember feeling like I didn't really fit anywhere. But like any young teen, pre-teen girl, I did try.

I made my bangs high. I made my bangs low. I wore short skirts when minis were in, and wore hammer pants (please hammer don't hurt me).

And yet, despite, my very girlish attempts, I never quite made it. I had friends, sure, but I was still the shy one. I didn't fit in any clique. I played in band, but played bass guitar. So I wasn't a band geek. I was scholarly, but not at the top of my class, so I wasn't vying for queen of the nerds. I wasn't cheerleader material.

But I got along with most everyone, and everyone called me friend.

Not because I was outstanding. Or lovely. Or had a sparkling personality. Or even because I was a damn good musician for a 16 year old.

People liked me because I was nice. Oh, and I was funny. Someone once told me I should be a teacher or a comedienne. I tried for teacher. Maybe I should have went the other route. So, I was the nice and funny girl. With big hair. Add shy to the list, and that would explain my stature in my teenage social world.

This is a combo that has never been on anyone's gotta have list.

And while we fight to overcome or get over our younger days, its true that they have a lasting impact.

So here I am. The nice and funny and shy girl - is still nice and still pretty funny, and not nearly as shy as she once was.

And she is still friends with everyone.

But even if the hair is a lot less big, there are still those days when she feels that the only reason she is on any one's list of favorite people is because she is nice.

And nice, is well, nice and all. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But there are days, when I wish someone would say ... you're magnetic, or soulful, or anything else but nice.

Because your Old Aunt Sofie is nice. The girl that you never forget isn't.

Healing

You know how the wound that is starting to scab over itches? Like you can't help but to scratch at it, and yet you will inevitably pull off the scab and the process will start over.

I'm trying desparately not to pull off the scab.

I had to breathe. To get off the roller coaster for a moment. Try to remember what it felt like with two feet underneath me.

Even as a concious choice, its hard. Hard not to dwell on where I'm not. On what he is doing. And with who.

Hard not to pick up the phone. To write the email. To ask what I don't want to know, and yet have to know.

And knowing who I am, tomorrow, I'm sure, I'll pick the scab till I'm bleeding.

Sidekick

I've come to the conclusion that I'm not really a supporting player.

I'm a Sidekick.

You know? The girl that hung with the sparkly popular girl in high school? The one that the boys talked to to get to the sparkly popular girl. And the sparkly, popular girl dug me not because I wasn't any competition, but because she knew that with me, she'd get the advice about the boys, and I'd be spot on.

And later, every friendship I've had, has been with someone who is more outgoing, more outrageous, or more exburant than me.

Its not that I go totally unnoticed. I just fall into typical sidekick mode. Supporting the superhero at every turn.

That's me.

Now I just need a snazzy sidekick name.

Strength

Many have said they admire my strength. The rock that holds her family and friends together through crisis after crisis.

I, wonder, though, if its strength, or if its really just some sort of strange defense mechanism that kicks in. Like my mind throws a shift in crisis, and shuts down parts of my emotional make up to deal with current events.

Who knows.

I don't know.

Sometimes, though, being the strong one sucks serious ass.

Ever feel?

Like you are destined to be a supporting player? You know what I mean? That terrific character actor that you recognize but can never quite remember their name? They support the whole movie through their range, and always let the stars shine.

I feel like that a lot. Sorta blending in to the scenery. You know that your role is cruicial to the whole, yet you also realize that your job is to support, and not stand out.

But the problem with that, is that its easy to be taken for granted. You end up playing your part so well, that it becomes expected of you. And its not that you don't want to do your part and do it well. You may not even want or relish the spotlight turned towards you - but you'd really like your fellow actors to recognize you for what you are.

Cause god forbid you flub a line.

Being yourself

The importance of being yourself is highly overated.

How many times have you heard someone say "Just be yourself"

What the fuck? Why does the world have self help books, motivational speakers, and weight watchers if its ok for us to just be yourself.

The world asks us to change on a daily basis. Drive this car, use this product, get thin ... blah blah blah. We are bombarded with with things that we are asked to change.

So we stop drinking coffee because its bad for us, even though we love it. Is that being yourself?

I color my hair, put on makeup, try on more flattering clothes ... all to be more accepted, to CHANGE myself. To make myself better somehow.

As if the color of hair and skin and eyes that God adorned me with are not good enough.

Just be myself. Yeah.

Loss

A year ago, I lost someone dear to me. I miss her presence in my life daily.

She always reminded me that I was strong, resourceful, and worth being loved.

I need to remember those things.

Hate

I don't like the word. I say it more than I'd like, but usually about some THING. But, it never sits well with me when its said in regards to a person.

Especially when its said about someone I really love.

I supress a lot of feelings. No wait, really, its true. I imagine I shall be standing on the bell tower one day, screaming something to the effect of, "the meeting went 34 mins over!!!"

Anyway, maybe its that supressed part of me that reacts so strongly to the torment. To that poking and prodding with a hot stick, till I break in two and I'm screaming and sobbing that "I hate you".

I don't know. Today was just one of those days. But I couldn't scream. I couldn't sob. I could just think. "I hate you".

So I did.

Jealousy

I'm a jealous person. But, only, when it comes to him.

I don't envy people, normally. I don't wish ill of people who have more than I, nor do I covet their belongings or success.

Why am I jealous of her? Of anyone that spends time with you?

I don't know, really. Maybe its because they get an opportunity I don't. All I know, is that with just a couple of words, I can seeth.

Maybe its just because you know how to push my buttons. You know exactly what to say to set me in motion. You know my triggers, and use them at your will.

All I know is that tomorrow, when you are with her. With all of them, I will be thinking of you. And I will be jealous. I will be tormented by what you are doing, or rather, by what my imagination will conjure.

Differentiating

"Don't compare yourself to her. You aren't not the same. There are things that she is that you will never be and vice versa. But that doesn't mean she is better/worse. Just different."

Sounds like the diversity class I took when I started my corporate bureaucrat job. All people are beautiful, equal...blah blah. Yeah, we are. I get that. We should celebrate diversity in people. But, yet, societal norms preach to us differently.

Look this way, walk this way, use this product, and you will be "in".

So when you are 35, a bit (ok, more than a bit) overweight, wearing glasses, with less than perfect hair, a bit of a odd shaped nose, stretch marks, and big feet - well, darlin, society starts to devalue you. And while everything I've been taught tells me that we should celebrate diversity - somewhere down the line, you start to feel crappy about the things you aren't. I have days when I look in the mirror and think, "hey, I'm not so bad, in fact, I look pretty good" and then there are days, like today, when I look in the mirror and think "I shoulda applied for extreme makeover".

I'm not young. (not old yet, just not young) I'm not a size 6. (never was, as a matter of fact, even when I was thin) But, our society's standards of beauty say that to be beautiful you indeed must be young, and thin. (and a nice rack doesn't hurt)

Most of society isn't young and thin. I don't think most of society really buys it. But its shoved in our faces (male and female).

So, yeah, we are different. Not better, nor worse. But if you put the two of us in a room and were forced to choose, society would choose her.

Maybe that's why its hard not to think I'm worse. Because I can differentiate. I know why we are different. And I also know that she is closer to the societal standard than I am.

And yeah, I shouldn't listen to society - I should only listen to you. But its hard to turn the world out.

Why

Does defending myself always seem so really fucking odd, and most of the time downright terrible?

Creativity and Pain

Sometimes, I think, pain brings out the best in me ... creatively speaking. What a cliche.

Somedays, I just get tired...

.... of being the "nice" one. You know that girl? The one who runs around trying to make everyone and their brother happy? The one who, rather that hurt someone's feelings, will poke out her own eyeball?

That's me. I am a perpetual people pleaser. Please don't get me wrong, I love doing things for people. I really do. I consider myself a highly compassionate and caring person. I don't get joy from the possible "thank you's" I may get. I really do find joy in the act of giving. But I just can't seem to draw that line between being a compassionate person and a doormat.

Just like Mikey, give it to me, and I'll do anything.

This is never so clear as in my relationship with the person I will affectionately term "psycho bitch".

Today I was accused of pitying her, and not giving her a break. I wasn't considering her feelings.

Yeah. That's me. Selfish bitch.

And I should just stop. I need to stop caring. Its like some awful obessive compulsive behavior. No matter how horrible she treats me, I continue to care. I know I should stop.

It just makes me tired. Very, very tired.

Sometimes something hits you

The truth in this statement, which I found on a message board I sometimes read, really hit me:

"And then you get into heavy absurdities, like the fact that it turns me and H on to NO end when I point out that he's out of his mind if he thinks I'd ever fuck him. We both want to screw a hole in the wall at that point, which is frankly harder to achieve than simply getting laid. Getting laid is easy, I've learned, getting so turned on you could scream is one of life's purest luxuries."

I can get off. My index finger and some double A's work just fine to get me off. I may even whimper a bit. But to get to the point that this poster so perfectly defined - that, dear reader, is a place not everyone gets to visit. To have every nerve in your body sparking at once, and to feel that, ache .... it is approaching ecstacy.

And becomes ecstasy, when you share it with someone else.

Me

I don't like Me, much. I'm not sure why. I think its because Me, has always been here. Me knows too much, and has seen too much. Me shares a collective history, one that isn't all happiness. Me seems to always stare back judgingly. Me looks in the mirror and sees plain, average. Sometimes Me sees Odd. Sometimes Me hates that reflection with a passion reserved for people that kick puppies.

Somedays I want to banish Me. Send Me off to some far off place where Me will never be found again. Set Me off to sail across some vast sea.

But what would I gain from that? That would just leave Me lost. I don't want Me to be lost. Me has feelings too, right? Me should feel treasured and loved. The same way that Me treats other people.

So maybe I need to look at Me again. Try to see Me as something other than the enemy.

Maybe I need to see the good things in Me. Me is very good at helping. Me is compassionate and kind. Me has uncanning perception. And maybe I need to see Me as someone separate from everyone else. Me doesn't just help. Me is intelligent. Me is sometimes witty. Me is good.

I don't know, maybe I'll always have a love/hate relationship with Me. Afterall, Me and I are stuck together for life.

Memory

It sneaks up on me. The day seems to going along, and then it is there. A thought that I have thought I have buried in my brain, resurfaces, like some mythic sea monster, raising from the murky depths.

Very dramatic, yes? Or possibly, melodramatic. Either way, it comes back. That description. A simple description of a kiss that broke my heart.

In my mind's eye, who's vision is not 20/20 by any means, I see you with her. Your hand on her hip pulling her close. The other cupping her cheek delicately. Every movement is careful and precise. My mind fills in the various blanks. How your lips must have felt across hers. How her breath must have caught. How she more than likely relaxed against you slowly, melting from the contact.

Its as if I feel your reactions. I feel your mind blank as you taste her for the first time. I assume that she tastes sweet. I feel your body hard against her. Gentle and hard at the same time. This is when it is difficult to know you so well. To know how excited you are, how this is a fantasy fulfilled for you, and yet it is more.

It is as if I am standing there, watching. Tears streaming down my face while I watch you treat her kindly, with gentleness, and generosity. And I know, that part of you, loves it. You love those tears. Tears that come from torment. They excite you.

Yet I wasn't there. In reality, I am so far from there. But, I could have been a world away, and I would have still felt it as deeply. And the memory comes back to me at odd times. Standing in a line, possibly. Or driving.

You've pointed out how we do not/cannot compare. And it has become my mantra over the days when I've tried to erase this memory. Each time that memory creeps back in, it hurts. Maybe not as much as on the first telling, but hurts all the same. Soon, I hope, as the mantra becomes rote, it will cease to hurt.

Yet when it does, I'll still be the one wishing it had been my kiss.

Love

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way - Pablo Neruda

And so as I look over the posts previous to this, I realize it may not be clear to the reader (if there is one) my feelings for the man whom I call Master.

Or even if it is clear that I call him such.

So let it be clear, now. That I indeed call him such. He is my owner. I am His. Despite my seemingly endless questions, and utter confusion of some matters. What everything eventually boils down to is that I am His. Even at times when I try to deny it, it remains true.

And honestly, I can't imagine life any other way.

Suffering

What does suffering for someone really mean? I have suffered in my life, but wouldn't count my suffering in the realm of holocaust survivors, or Martyrs for the faith.

But do the tears I've shed mean anything? Do they mean something because they are shed for the pleasure of someone else? Do they mean any less because I have consented to them?

And if I have consented, does that mean it isn't really suffering?

Have you noticed yet, that I think too much?

I suppose I should just look up the rote definitions of sadism and masochism. But I suspect, that rather than answering my questions, only more would be raised.

"That what doesn't kill you makes you stronger", they say. Who the fuck is "they", and why won't "they" answer these questions that pile up in head.

Surrender

The next night he's over and over and under
and after he's finished she lies there and wonders.
just why does she need him and why does she stay here
and then in the darkness she'll quietly say Dear,
you've never really known that when the white flag
is flown, no one no one no one has won the war.

`The Flag - Barenaked Ladies

Who wins when the white flag is flown? Does anyone?

Maybe I think too much. Today I surrendered. I gave in to the torment, and pain. I surrendered myself, and my control. I surrendered any perceived control I have over my feelings, my reactions, and my body.

And, I begged for it. I begged for the humiliation. And when he said that he broke me because he was bored, and it was something to do - well, being reduced to trivia was enough to throw me over the edge. The pain was set free and I surrendered. I was reduced to a sobbing mess.

Is this what it is about? Is humiliation the trigger that allows the surrender? Sets the pain free?

I don't know, but I still have the headache.

The In Between

When the pain starts to fade, and the future is unknown ~ how do you deal with the in between?

Suffering you can wrap around you, it holds you in its arms. When those arms begin to release you and you are left standing looking into what could be ... that in between place of knowing and not knowing ....

That's probably the scariest place of them all.

Roller Coaster

Maybe if I was an experienced roller coaster rider, I would already know the feeling. That rise of anticipation before a fall. The steady build. Each click bringing you closer to that edge. Knowing its going to happen, now matter how hard your heart pounds. You are now strapped in for the ride, and its taking you with it, no matter how hard you scream that you want off.

And most roller coaster devotees will tell you that they get back on every time. They crave the rush. The thrill. The unknown. The known.

Saturday, standing in that dressing room after speaking with him, I felt the ascent. That rush of unknowing the known. I knew that eventually I'd cease to exist and yet I'd be the one standing alone at the end of the day, waiting in that terrible anticipation of what was to come next.

Click

Who would I be tomorrow? Would I be diminished? Oh don't compare yourself, be your own person. Fuck, who is that again? Devoted Mother? Loyal Friend? Who am I again? Jesus, its hard to remember on the ascent. Who the fuck do I have to be again? Oh yeah, that one. The one who waits. Who does what she's told. That's right. I'll be fine. I'll be just fine.

Click.

What's he doing now? Did he kiss her? oh my God, what if he did? I'm going to die. Oh don't be so melodramatic you idiot you are going to be fine. You're loved, right?

Click.

Fuck this shit, I don't care what he does. He can screw his Boss for all I care.

Click.

Well, I spent money. I feel better. Clothes look decent. Suppose that's a plus. The Kidlet has been a good girl today. Deb's always sweet to me. I guess things aren't so bad.

Click.

I'll bet she's soft. I'll bet she's sweet. Oh my god. Shake it off, girl.

Click.

Well that was fun. Kidlet made some new friends. Family seemed good. Got some stuff I've needed. Wonder how the day went for him.

Click.

Holy shit I can't breathe. He has kissed her for the first time, and now he's going to forget me. I'll be back to being ye old support system. Fuck me straight up the ass sideways, I'm screwed.

Click.

Time to go to bed. Tomorrow I'll know. It will be ok. I'll have a good day. Don't have to do much. Have to run out to the house. Come home and spend time with my kidlet. Plant some flowers. Blessed sleep.

Click.

7:30 ish. Damn it I can't sleep. I know its bad. I'm going to hurt. Its going to hurt badly.

Click.

Well, he's really wondering how my day went. When is he going to tell me damn it.

Click.

He kissed her twice.

Click, pause, scream. Down the hill.

I can't breathe.

Rushing

Steady girl, you've got the whole day ahead of you. Fuck him. Fuck him all to goddamn holy hell.

Rushing

What am I going to do now? I can't compare. I'm just me. I'm average. I'm just the smart one. I'm not pretty. I'm not anything really. I'm just the go-to girl.

Rushing

He held her cheek, softly. Oh my god, I can't take it.

Rushing

He doesn't want you to hurt. Yeah. Ok. I know that. I do. He loves me. He does.

Rushing

I slept and dreamed he made me watch them. I'm going to be sick.

Rushing.

I so goddamn horny from all the crying. Son of Bitch made me like this. Goddamn him.

Rushing.

Why do I want him more now than ever. I hate this. I hate me.

Rushing

Cumming, oh my god, the tears. I can't take it. The world is upside down.

Rushing

He still wants me, dear god, thank you. Thank you so much.

Slowing

He's yelling at me? What the fuck did I do to deserve that?

Slowing

Fuck this, I get a say in how I feel

Slowing

God, I still need him.

Slowing

I still want him.

Stop.



Wanna fuck?

Click

"Would you hate me if it happens again?"

And the ride starts over.

How do you Mend a Broken Heart?

How do you mend a broken heart? A cheesey song by the Brothers Gibb? or a very real pain.

So now I know. I know more than I did yesterday. I have more questions. All the while I'm struggling to make sense of why it affects me so, and why it hurts so bad, when you have every right to do what you want, with whomever you want. Lord knows I have my limitations and can't give you everything you need. The fact that you give me attention and love even though I have limitations means the world to me.

So why do I feel so bad? Simple jealousy? Possibly. She got what I have wanted and waited for six years for. And didn't have to do a goddamn thing but be young and beautiful, sweet and innocent to get it. You see that? Do you see that I feel like I've devoted myself to being your friend, you support, your confidant, and yes, even your lover ... and in walks a vision of sweetness and light, and doesn't devote anything, doesn't have to change herself, doesn't have to give till it hurts. She grabs your attention without lifting a finger. Without tears.

Even now I struggle to write what I'm feeling in deference to not making you feel bad.

So let me be bluntly honest for a moment. There are days when I feel taken for granted. Kinda like Mikey in the Life commercials. Give it to her, she'll do anything. And maybe I hate myself more because I can't stand up and say, enough of this bullshit. Its where being this perfect submissive personality collides with wanting a bit for myself.

And were does being your submissive fit in to all this? In those months were you so busy, besides missing you so much, was that feeling that I wanted to feel owned again. I know its a fact, and that dynamic is always in the background. But, there was something in me that wanted you to acknowledge it directly. I think that's why I literally begged you to help me. Which felt ridiculous. Absolutely and completely ridiculous. Still does. And I was honest, yesterday when I helped out at the house I wasn't directly going against an order in my head. I just simply wasn't thinking. But later, when I realized it, for moments, I actually felt defiant.

Do I hate what you did? No. Do I hate her? No. Do I hate you? No.

I hate what I'm not. Do you see that? Isn't it possible that I don't really hate you at all? But that I hate myself. I hate everything I can't be to you. I hate that I can't stand up and ask for more without feeling selfish and guilty. I hate that I look in the mirror and can't see anything but an aging, average Mom. I hate that the only person I trust right now is Danielle. I hate not feeling safe. And I hate that I'm making this about me. Because in the back of my mind, I think that if I did place my needs first, I wouldn't be able to enjoy or handle it.

What Ifs and Heartache

It starts as an "if". Once I heard worry described as the infinite web of "what if". I think in my lifetime I've spun some very eloborate webs. Once there is one "if" in my brain, it can't be stopped. I will keep adding them. Like links in a chain that bind me to some unimaginable fate.

So, its Saturday morning, at 6:43 am. And whether she ends up going with you or not, I know that sometime this weekend you will see her. And when you do, your mind and body will react. She will, of course, smile and hug you after being gone for so long. You will hug her back, and I will think of how you are loving the feel of her against you. Maybe you will pat her on the ass. Maybe you'll whisper something to her. A sweet nothing. Maybe she will purr in your ear.

Do you see how my thoughts work? Its not just one thought, like "Will he kiss her". It is so many possibilities, that my brain literally can not grasp them all at once. It spins itself in so many directions that I literally cannot stop it. I effectively become that mess of a person that you love to hear sobbing. But, I can't show it. The people around me have no idea. Everything is status quo, I continue to present that facade to the world, while my heart breaks. It is a pain that wraps itself around who I am. Who am I? I'm yours. And my mind struggles to wrap itself around the idea that I have to accept that this is what you want, and the fact that I hate it. I hate it with a passion.

So, that thought, like "He's touching her. I wonder what he'll get her to do next" literally becomes a thousand thoughts at once. Every one of them stabs me like a dagger. You know why these thoughts are so powerful? Because I know you better than anyone, and I know how you can get people to do what you want. I know if you really wanted to you could have that girl on her knees in flash. This is going to sound ridiculous, but I'm not a jealous person normally. Now don't laugh so hard you injure yourself. I don't envy others the things that they have. Usually. I do not know why I am a jealous bitch when it comes to you, but I am. I've always known that she was more than an acquaintance. I'm not stupid. I can hear that you care for her in your voice. I guess this should make me feel better. It doesn't. I think it hurts more. Do you really think I hate her? No. I don't hate her. I hate that you care for her. I hate that she is there with you. I hate that she is tiny. I hate that she is lovely. I hate that she gets you up close and personal, and I don't.

She represents everything that I don't have, everything that I want, and everything that I'll never be. She gets you in person. She gets to touch you. She gets to see your smile. She is beautiful, and young, and sweet. And you want to care for her, and be gentle with her.

Don't you think that there is part of me that wants that? That would like to be taken care of like that too? That wonders what it is about me that you want to make me cry, and yet there is someone else you want to care for and protect? I will feel very small, and very inadequate. I will feel like it will never matter what I perversities I attempt, or the thousand things I will do for you. I will never be the person that you want to be sweet to. Do I get that you give me something I need when I'm crying, yeah, I get that. But there is that part of me that when I'm finished crying, wants you to treat me with the care you reserve for her.

And what kills me, is that I could feel your dissapointment yesterday when you heard she probably wouldn't go. And I was dissapointed for you. What the hell? I should have been estactic. But I wasn't. Because I always will want for you the things that you want, and the things that make you happy. Even if they make me cry.


So today, or tomorrow, my thoughts will drift. I will be smiling to the world, while my heart breaks.

The Baring of a Soul

Its an odd thing starting a blog. Unlike the journal I sporadically write in, the one that sits by the side of the bed for the late-night ramblings of a dedicated insominiac, a blog is something that from the outset is started with the assumption that someone, somewhere may read it.

I have no delusions that I will say anything new. Anything that may be unique. But what I will say will be true to me. And maybe, if I'm very lucky, I will gain some insight into this soul of mine, while possibly writing something that may ring true for someone else. I suppose that is why people start blogs to begin with.

Who knows, right? Stranger things have happened. Hell, stranger things have happened to me - which if you continue to read this blog, you will find out.

Testing 1.2.3

Can anybody hear me?