“Good Girls” and the Shaming Voice

My upbringing was filled with the rules and rites of being a “good girl”. I never questioned that I wanted to be a Good Girl and I knew, without a doubt, that being a Bad Girl was the worst thing I could be. I was terrified of being bad, and so I paid attention when Grandmother would launch into one of her good girl monologues.

My story is not all that unusual, sadly. Many of us were raised with the shame of needing to be a Good Girl but discovering that many of the rules were beyond our ability to enforce. “Be a good girl” was a phrase that caused me intense shame, for so many years.

I learned that I needed manners, because that was certainly part of being a Good Girl. My sisters and I were so polite that strangers made comments to Mother about it, “What beautiful manners for such beautiful girls!” “Good Girls say please” I was told, as I watched Nick (my uncle and older by 2 years) grab the cookie I was denied for my lack of manners. Grandma swatted at him with her baking spoon and missed, causing them both to share a giggle. He still got a cookie. The time spent writing thank you notes, wistfully listening to Nick and his friends romping outside. The time spent in a corner or being scolded for helping myself, not saying thank you or daring to be anything but smiling and pleasant, while watching Nick do all the things I was told were not Good.

“Good Girls don't yell” Grandma scolded, when she had giggled just yesterday when Nick slammed his fist on the counter, yelling that he was angry (because he called it horny instead of angry, ahahaha, so cute he was)! Mother yelled all the time and I dared to wonder out loud if that meant she was a Bad Girl, to which Grandmother came unglued.

Good Girls print neatly, though goodness knows I never could. I spent hours trying to print with the flowery neatness of what Good Girls should be able to do, and realized I was not really good at being Good. Good Girl's never lie, they don't argue or say anything 'untoward'. They smile sweetly and are calm, able to cook, clean and be 'pretty'.

As a young girl I would solemnly study my reflection, wondering if I was pretty enough to be a Good Girl, or if my nose was too big, my mouth too small. I did not say mean things to friends, and when they hurt me I would walk away, silent. I did not tease, name call or prank. I did not play, really, either.

Good Girls stay clean, unless they are told to go romp with their uncle and his friends. Scoldings for grass stained socks, then sent outside to play guns with the boys. The boys who barked at me, then joyfully teased me and bullied me into playing rough, taking dares and so it goes.

I was terrified of boys, who I told were rough and mean because they liked me. Bjorn, he must have liked me a lot, as he held me face down in the snow, throwing my book bag up in the tree, while I cried softly, hoping he would let me go before I died. Grandmother and Mother both assured me that throwing the bat at me, tackling me in gym (we were playing mash, not football) and the snow smothering were all just because he liked me. I stopped telling them about boys and their demonstrations of love.

That Bjorn, he never stopped. He showed me he liked me every day. He must have loved me as he gripped his hands around my neck, leaving a ring of blue. Funny, but when Mother took me to the doctor and he asked about the bruises and I told him, he didn't think it was my fault. He didn't tell me that Bjorn, who happened to be his son, liked me. He did yell at my parents, which scared me greatly though. After that Bjorn never touched me again. That was grade four.

I tried so hard to be a Good Girl. I said please, helped Mother and looked after my sisters. I tried to stay neat and to not let anyone see me as anything but sweetly smiling. I let mother do my hair and held my sisters close when the parents would fight.

Good Girls don't have secrets from their Mother. When I told Mother that Nick was always playing games that included naked privates and touching and that I didn't like those stupid games she told Grandmother. Grandmother had her call me to the phone where I was told to apologize to Nick. I did, because Good Girls apologize.

To be fair, mother made some small efforts to not let me alone with Nick after that, for a few months. The next summer though, I was back at Grandmother's cabin for a new round of Good Girl talks and trying to deal with Nick and his grabby friends. My grade 5 summer was spent trying to navigate the world of mean boys during the day and listening to Grandmother tell us about boys and their urges and how Good Girls don't let them touch, and Good Girls stop them from making bad choices.

When Mother moved us away I was told that Good Girls help their mothers. I tried. I worked to help buy food and babysit the sisters in the evening. I cleaned house and even rolled mother cigarettes. When Mother brought men home I was a Good Girl and figured out how to make the meal feed them too. When those men would eye up me and my sisters I would do what I could to make sure the girls were hidden away.

Good Girls protect their sisters.

No one told me what Good Girls could do when men 'dropped' quarters on the floor so they could look down my sisters shirt when she bent down to pick them up. No one told me what Good Girls do when Mother's men friends would shove their hand down my pants, clamp a hand over my mouth and whisper awful things to me. No one told me what Good Girls do when the date Mother arranged tried to have sex with me, or what to do when Mother 'gave me' to a guy as a 'companion' for his delivery trip up north. That was grade 10.

Now I know. My Daddy has taught me what a good girl really is. A good girl doesn't hide the truth to save your feelings. She is not responsible for anyone's actions but her own. Good girls can get as dirty and sweaty as they want, they can scream orgasms through a mist of tears (and he even encourages them to!) Good Girl's don't have to sit silent and frozen, accepting abuse. Nor do they need to feel shame for their feelings, their thoughts or their natural body.

In fact, my Daddy tells me that Good Girls are the same as Good People, with all the same rights and responsibilities, qualities and faults.

I am a Good Girl, because I am a good person. I don't smile and pretend I agree with you, but I don't say things to you just to hurt you. I don't give a flying fuck if you think I am pretty, or sweet, or demure and I own my sexuality, my successes and my mistakes.

When you touch my heart

When you touch my heart

When you touch my heart for a moment, I value you.
If you did something that touched my life in this way I likely told you so. I would have messaged you/told you in person/emailed you or somehow said that what you did or said touched me.
When you connect with me, be it with rope, whips, hands, paddles, etc during 'play', I adore you. If you have played with me and we connected during play, I told you so. I thanked you. I told you what about it touched me.
When you are there in a time of need, I am humbled by you. I told you how much it meant. I used my words and thanked you. I wrote you a note, or a letter, or an email. I may have hugged you and with tears glittering but not falling, told you that you are amazing, and that I am grateful.
If you touch my life I try to touch yours. I really do try to let those around me know how much I value them.
If you are part of my life, sometimes I may fall out of contact. Remember those times when I shared with you how you touched my life. Know that it is not a personal decision when I don't reach out, when I fall out of touch. It is school, grandkids, classes, house projects. This has been an insanely busy year, even for me. But the truth is... the truth.. is...
I treasure those moments. Those moments get me through the darker times in life.
Even when you don't hear from me, you don't see me every day/week/month or hell even every year-if you touched my heart in some way, that moment is forever, even if we never connect again.
(If this was facebook I could Tag you all in this post. If you connected with me at some time and EVER doubt that I remember how, message me and ask, I am always happy to share positive moments. )

I give, but you can't take

I give-but you can't take.

Warning this is a bit of a rant

I am venting about the very few individuals that seem to feel entitled to my time, my friendship, or my body.
I give my time to the community on many levels, when I can and where my Sir and I see fit. I try to ensure that I am adding value to the community, not just sucking up all that it has to offer for my own gratification.
I gift my time to many things, from volunteering at events to sharing my time and knowledge in other ways.
You can't take my time from me as you see fit.
I give my knowledge (what little I have) in workshops, one on one, via conversations, videos, pamplets, stickies, you name it. Demanding I mentor you is not going to work. Mentoring is a relationship and relationships cannot be forced.
I love to play. I give of myself to those I play with. You cannot play with me unless I also want to play with you. My not wanting to play with you is not an insult. I have the right to form my own relationships without worrying about your ego.
I enjoy meeting people. I accept friendings from those I have met or share a passion with. Even if you are one of my Fetlife Friends, you cannot force your way into being my intimate friend. I have the right to keep you in the 'acquaintance zone' if I don't feel the connection. You have the right not not feel the same about me that I feel about you.
I give passion freely to those I am intimate with. You cannot take that passion, it requires trust, connection, love. These things do not form out of guilt, manipulation, lies or force.
I give touch, cuddles, caring and support to those I care about. You can demand this, but it won't be given to you unless I am comfortable touching you, cuddling you, and I care about you.
I don't demand that you love, hug, fuck, touch, teach, play with, demo for or hang out with me, don't expect me to do this with you.
I am glad that there are so few that need to have this spelled out. The majority of those I meet in the community are amazing at boundaries and communication-I love all that I have learned so far while on this journey.
xoxo

How about bottoming from the Top? Hmm?

At a gathering recently I was asked to weigh in on the phenomena known as "Topping from the bottom".

It's a subject that has always annoyed me a wee bit, as i just don't see what all the hullabaloo is about. Wasn't it Eleanor Roosevelt who said that no one can have power over you unless you give it to them?

Often is seems to me that this label is used as a knee jerk reaction of disapproval to us brats who will do our equivalent of kicking Sir in the shin to let him know we'd really like some funishment.
Other people seem to be referring to a bottom saying "harder, softer, that wrapped, please no teeth" once in the scene.

Still others, a smaller group in my experience, also include a bottom who is clear about what they want in a scene.

To those of you from the first group... It is annoying, I am sure, to be Lord UberDomly Thunderpants and have your submissive glutton playfully brat you. Poor thing. If you are truly Lord UberDomly Thunderpants then you should be able to deal with this in an adult and leadership based manner. You could, perhaps, sit your submissive down and state clearly that you do not enjoy this behavior and it will not result in funishment at all, but time out. Or perhaps find out WHY your submissive is bratting rather than coming to you in an adult manner and stating clearly that he or she would REALLY like some play please. Or recognize that sometimes it is just fun to brat, and you could have fun sending them to a corner. Throwing the overused phrase "Topping from the bottom" is lazy. And in my oh so personal opinion, every bottom/sub/slave has the right to ask for what they need. Them asking does NOT force you to do a dang thing. If your sub is a SAM, (like perhaps I can be) and you don't care for it, again... Conversation. Leadership skills.

To those who feel that a bottom speaking up from within a scene is nothing but the bottom behaving like a Top, I respectfully suggest you hone your Topping skills. Or perhaps your pre-scene negotiating skills need work. If I am not getting what I need out of the scene, or getting something I do not need, I have the RESPONSIBILITY to say so. If you are bottoming to me, I EXPECT you to speak up. None of us are psychic. And Lord UberDomly Thunderpants? If you are EVER uncomfortable during a scene, you have the right to safe word and end the scene. So if you truly feel that your bottom is Topping, call yellow. Discuss it. Can't resolve it? End the scene, part amicably.

Done deal.

To those few who feel that a bottom negotiating a scene clearly is Topping.. Well no words of mine will help you. Good luck with that.

Perhaps someone can also explain to me why it is that we never hear complaining about those who sub from the Top. Why is it no one is assuming that some things that Tops do are actually submissive behaviors? Is it subbing from the Top when SirRespectful asks his bottom, "Would you like me to go harder?" Is it subbing from the Top when the bottom is asked to choose what implements? When the Top checks in with the sub to see if things are still ok? When the Top gets a buzz from what he/she is doing?

Is is subbing from the Top when Lord Confident Dom says to his bottom/submissive/slave, "I want to experience xyz, go grab the whatchamallit and use it on me."

My opinion? Not at all. But if we are going to shame a subby type for speaking up for what they need, or for trying to be playful and get playtime that way, it's only fair if any signs of respect, compassion, or desire for sensory play should be seen as subbing from the Top, no?

And that, my friends, is how I became addicted to the Whip.

I hid in the hotel room shaking with fear, apprehension and excitement. It was already ten minutes past when I had agreed to meet, and I still wasn't sure that I had the courage to go through with it.
It had been over a month since I had sent my timid request to @Rufrider to provide me with my first whipping scene ever. My dear Sir and I had met him at an EOS function where he had given us an impromptu lesson in whip wielding. We came away from the meet with a drive to explore whips more.
@Firm-Hand-Buddha and I had discussed this at length before I messaged Rufrider. We frequently play with others but.. I have not really bottomed for anyone else since we became partners. All my gluttonous needs have been well met. I have been over a few laps-but not for a scene, and certainly not for a session.
We talked and talked. We both felt very comfortable with Rufrider. He is passionate about what he does (whips), and he certainly has skills. More importantly, though, was how respectful he is towards us as individuals and as a couple. So, with that in mind, I messaged him and we began to work out an agreement for a whipping session.
Now that the moment had come I was panicking. Whips are one of those BDSM tools that can be used gently or incredibly harshly. I had seen some heavy scenes. I wasn't sure I was up to it. Firm-Hand-Buddha was patient, letting me fuss with clothing and hair, reassuring me and yet never pressuring me.
Then my phone buzzed, with a text from the whip wielder himself, checking to see where I was at. I took a breath and down we went. For some reason or the other I ended up in the Dungeon before FHB. I spotted Rufrider and headed over.
In the way of a safe top, he sat me down and prompted me to provide more info on what we wanted from him. I was so terribly nervous. I love pain, I really do, but...
Rufrider gently led the negotiations, making sure he had all the information he needed-not just the physical aspects (health, injuries, intensity of play wanted, safewords etc), but to be sure that he understood where our boundaries are as a couple. When we were done talking, he reminded me that he was also going to talk to FHB.
I have no recollection of what the two of them said, as I was concentrating on just breathing. We picked a cross, and away we went.
I dawdled getting undressed, and the two gents chatted while I did so.
Then there I was. Naked on the cross, with FHB on the other side facing me, his fingers lightly trailing over my lower arms and hands. FHB was be there to recognize when I was getting to yellow/red, as sometimes I forget to verbalize.
I realized, as Rufrider explained that he was going to start slowly, that he would be touching my back, shoulders and hair to connect, that I was nervous about more than the actual session itself-I was worried about FHB and how he would feel about how I would feel as someone else topped me.
I asked him if he was ok, and he gave me that Buddha smile that fills me with such peace and joy. With that smile I was able to let go, to trust him to look after his own ego and to just be in the moment of the session.
And then the whip touched me. The gentlest of kisses. And before I could decide how I felt about that, the return stroke. The dance began.
The whip would caress and I would melt a little, it would sting and I would writhe. The heat and tingle built up, the harsh kiss of the whip muted by the trailing caress as it left the skin-a caress amplified by my Sir's fingers lightly dancing along my skin.
The pain was not pain, really, but more just an intensity of sensation. It grew and grew until I thought surely I was going to have to yellow. Then suddenly there was a soothing hand on my back, a roughly gentle hand in my hair, pulling my head back.
Then the fingers on my arms again, the soothing voice of my partner, as the whip smoothed against my skin again, building until those kisses were light pops, then the light pops were small cracks, the intensity moving my body as I processed the sensations. As the cracks started my Sir softly asked me to color, I whimper moaned-Green, loving the waves I was riding. Then the waves began to pull me under and I opened my mouth the yellow just as a gentle touch soothed my back, kneaded my shoulders, fingers on my face, soft words being spoken, dragging me back into that lovely space where everything is pretty and beautiful. Those hands left me, Sir's hands returned to touching my hands and arms and the whip kissed my skin again.
I have no recollection of how many times Rufrider paused and then rebuilt the waves up. I know that at least two of those waves built me to tears and gasps, moans and groans, with each wave stopping just as I became overwhelmed, right up until the last wave.
The last wave was different. Rufrider expertly built that up until I was sobbing, my body desperate for a lull, and he said my name, he said it in a way that demanded an answer. He told me to stay with him, just five more. I agreed. Just five. I can do five.
The sound moved my body and Rufrider counted it out loud. Just as I was thinking four more was ok, I could do that the second crack sounded, and the intense sensation from the First Crack filled me. I cried out with the force of it, felt it from my toes to my scalp. My mind was going fuck, not three more, fuck not three more fuck as the next crack sounded and my body responded, the heat flooding me, the scream leaving my throat, the sobs wracking me.
But it was incredible, FHB gently coaching me, telling me just two more, as Rufrider called out the third and then delivered the 4th.
That crack filled my vision with streams of colour. My body filled with vibrations of pleasure and pain, everything so intense. So much... too much.. not enough.
Firm-Hand-Buddha, that voice that anchors me, the presence that means everything to me, calmly told me one more.. just one more, his fingers holding mine.
CRACK
The last one exploded across my back and through my chest, everything in my body tightened and released in this amazing sensation of pain, pleasure and heat. Then hands touching me as I sobbed. Voices telling me I did an amazing job, arms around me, mascara running, I laughed, I cried, I was high as hell, wet to the knees, and not room in my heart for embarrassment or shame as I hugged the two amazing men that made this scene so incredible.
Thank you, Sir, my love, for encouraging me and being so amazing.
Thank you, so very much, dear Rufrider. Thank you for your time, your respect and for taking me on such an amazing journey.
And that, my dear friends, is how I became addicted to the kiss of a whip.

Can I be Vanilla? Do I NEED this BDSM stuff?

Can I be a girlfriend in a 'normal' relationship and still have this happy full cupboard feeling? Do I really “need” spankings and pain and tears and subspace to be content? Do I truly require the foundation of a power exchange dynamic to thrive in a long term relationship? Is this just a dopamine addiction?
I recently had a long hard look at my relationship dynamic, my beliefs, my motives, my needs and my kink filled world. I picked at every aspect of my life, realizing for the first time that BDSM is a main part off my day to day existence. My friends are part of my BDSM community. What family I have left are all aware and supportive of my lifestyle. My partner is my Sir, we share a home. We host a local group and try to promote safe BDSM play and encourage discussions on all sorts of BDSM topics. My finances include a budget for traveling to events, my education has a BDSM bent as well. Part of my income is from BDSM items.
I tried to picture my world vanilla.
I tried to remember when it was vanilla.
Was I every really 'vanilla'?
Even when I found my first husband, I was not vanilla. I had these desires and cravings that no one else seemed to have (mostly spankings, lots and lots of spankings). I wanted a power exchange (I didn't call it that then, of course). I wanted a relationship with defined parameters, in which I could defer to him and rely upon him to respect my deference. I wanted rules and fun spankings and punishment. I wanted him to be the sort of person who has enough integrity and maturity that I could respect and follow him. I did not have the terminology, nor the understanding of how to get from point A to point B, but lack of knowledge does not a Muggle make.
Even as we divorced, each lost in our non power exchange cycle of abuse and martyrdom, I was not vanilla. In our division of goods we fought not over toasters and golf clubs, but over floggers and paddles. We both mourned not just the loss of our relationship, but the loss of our kinky playmate. Our decisions to settle division of assets without overly involving lawyers was based on fear of repercussions due to our spanking activities. The little we had learned over the years regarding BDSM communication at our one event (Lupercalia) came in handy during our divorce. Being exposed to people who communicate civilly with past partners in the BDSM community helped us to stay civil.
While in my second marriage I was not vanilla, although I tried so very hard to be. I hated the lack of power structure. I resented the lack of open discussion and the lack of fun play. I resented that I could not pack away my desire for spanking fun with the seeming nonchalance that my then husband did. I felt repressed, and disdained for the needs that he once found attractive and now found 'odd' and 'unhealthy'. I spent a great part of this marriage feeling ashamed and alone.
It was within this marriage, however, that I began to really examine my self, to realize and then come to terms with my own needs and desires. It was in this sexless and loveless marriage that I realized that vanilla relationships are not meeting my needs, and I am not meeting my partner's needs. It was in those last months that I determined that with two marriages falling to the way side-each with me as the common denominator, that I needed to look to myself. What I found, at the crux of these failed relationships, is that I am a terrible girlfriend. That without clear and agreed upon parameters I give without feeling that I get. That I simply do not enjoy non BDSM typical relationships-by nature most people seem to choose polite over honest, ambiguity over blunt statements, sneaking and self sacrificing and assumptions and miscommunication. I hated it all. I hated that I felt as if I could not share my honest thoughts and feelings. The passive aggressive mannerisms and words created a burning pit of wrongness in my belly.
And so I came to terms with my own lack of ability to navigate the politics that come with vanilla relationships. And with that I began to really examine what I did want, what does make me thrive.
I looked at my need for spankings-really looked. I thought about my non spanking parents and wondered why, even as a youngster spanking was an erotic wonderful thing for me. I picked apart my spanking fetish, looking for a cause. I never found a cause.
Then I looked at what I am like before during and after. I considered how I am full of energy after, happy and content and how I feel so damned safe after. I faced my before spanking self with a bit of a cringe, noting that I am irritable, tired, depressed even.. That I feel shame and discouragement.
(Keep in mind I am talking about there being nearly a year between one spanking and the next).
I poked at that. I wondered if it was because without the beating I feel guilty.
I don't believe that to be true, at least not for me.
I wondered if this was some sort of Daddy/daughter issue, if I was just wanting to be cared about in that way that a parent cares for their child. I don't believe this is true of me either. That kind of age play actually leaves me cold. Teacher student? hellz yes. Daddy or uncle?? eeeeekkk!!! Not for me.
What I do know, is that I love the physical part of spanking. The sensations often cause me to orgasm. I know that I love the emotional aspects-from feeling accepted (my weird spanko parts and all) by my playmate, the freedom to revel in the sensation and just enjoy it without worry about their opinion of me is amazing, liberating as hell. The emotional part.... I do feel cared for and nurtured; someone is taking the time to meet my needs which in my mind is caring and nurturing. The mind fuck of it. I feel so helpless and vulnerable. I know that I have safe words, but the trust that needs to be given (will he stop?? really??). That moment of trepidation, the awkwardness of being tugged over a lap or bent over a bench (or whatever)... Hot hot hot. Being treated in such an undignified manner... oh my fucking gawd hot.
I poked at what I want in the relationship itself. That I want someone who takes charge; but only if they are worth following. Someone who won't boss me for the fuck of it, but with purpose. Someone who wants to grow with me, not help me grow then feel left out.
I wanted rules.
Clearly defined rules.
Rules without impeding on my ability to be who I am. I don't need someone to tell me how to eat, dress, be a mom or a student. No thanks.
My dear friend held my hand throughout, encouraging me to not only accept my kinky nature but to cherish it as well. Just as I began to accept who I was my husband left.
Then I was single. After a period of man-hating anger (sorry guys, but I oh so did go through a short but intense period of really hating men.. so much easier to blame the penis than to look at my own approach and relationship blunders and self delusions. Once I moved past the blaming stage and was ready to explore this BDSM playground, I placed adds in the kinky personals (not POF).
My add clearly stated that I was seeking a male playmate who was firm, yet generous spirited; who would spank me thoroughly and explore other BDSM interests with me. Rather than seek sex (and believe me I wanted to seek sex) I bartered for play, with no expectations or pressure for sex.
I went to Lupercalia, took every class, got my first dungeon spanking ever. Enjoyed it so much I was begging for another the next day. I even did some topping, reselling in the feel of doing so, near as much as I did being ass up on the bench.
I met some amazing people (you know who you are) and had some amazing times. More importantly I was really beginning to believe that I could play like this, with sessions of power exchange fun, and have my needs met without the abuse that I was finding in vanilla dating.
Hurrah!!
Then I met Firm-Hand-Buddha
A student, like me, just beginning on his career path. A fellow pervert. A patient but firm man. A communicator... oh my I love his words... we connected quickly, that spark was just there..
We built what we have now, our 'non relationship' as 'non boyfriend' and 'non girlfriend', upon the power exchange dynamic. And I fought the forming of this non relationship every step of the way.
I was terrified.
He calmed my fears by behaving with integrity, by being consistent and bearing no malice to any.
He smiled patiently.
He teased gently.
He held me when I needed holding.
He hurt me when I needed pain.
He took responsibility for his own shit.
He showed me that being honest with each other was a beautiful thing, not a trick to find ammunition to hurt me later.
He trusted me and showed himself to be trustworthy.
He is my Sir. I take care of him.
He takes care of me.
I give him the use of my body.
He cherishes that use and nurtures my body.
I nurture him with my care of the home.
He rewards that nurturing by acknowledging it for what it is.
I submit.
He dominates.
I yield.
He hurts me just right.
I suggest, ask, comment, communicate, acknowledge and defer.
He suggests, asks, comments, communicates, orders and directs.
We engage in BDSM style activities all day.
In the order in which we are served our dinner, in the manner we make choices when we do not agree, in our speech and in our body language we are in our power exchange.
He casually uses pressure points regardless of where we are.
If we remove all that... well I will be honest.
I am not sure what there is left.
Love, certainly.
Caring.
But the power exchange IS our relationship framework.
I lean on that framework.
I count on it to be there.
Yanking away that framework would wound the trust I have for him. It would leave me shaken, unsure and scared.
Our every day is BDSM... every damned day. This is a lifestyle, not a hobby, at least in our relationship.
When we can't fuck due to kids in the house (we can quietly make out still, but not the way we like otherwise) the rest of the power exchange is there to carry us through. I know I can ask respectfully for play, and that he can agree, decline or negotiate a different time. We have written and agreed upon protocols to remind us of our commitment to one another, and those protocols help me to feel safe and cherished, and to know that what I do reminds him he is safe and cherished (and absolutely adored and respected).
When there are opportunities to bicker, the power exchange is there to restore peace.
When I am cranky and he points this out, the power exchange framework is there to do so safely-and I am able to hear his words without merely reacting defensively.
When he is cranky and just needs to be sexually spoiled, the framework is there for him to take what he needs, and because of that framework this taking is actually giving-it makes me feel good.
That comes down and you have two people with their most common link removed.
Can I be a girlfriend in a 'normal' relationship and still have this happy full cupboard feeling?
No, I don't think I can. I am not 'normal' I am a card carrying pervert. Being in this power exchange with an amazing partner gives me that full cupboard feeling. That D/s that I like to call 'play' is actually our whole world.
Do I really “need” spankings and pain and tears and subspace to be content?
Yes... I really do. Those spankings and pain and tears and subspace are part of my sexuality. I do need them to be content. Just like I need touch and kisses and hair pulling and hugs and nibbles.
Do I truly require the foundation of a power exchange dynamic to thrive in a long term relationship?
Yes. Fucking yes. If long term is what is going on, for me it needs to be a power exchange. It works for me. It works for us. That framework cradles us, challenges us and connects us. I require that framework in order to blossom within the relationship, rather than being just another woman sacrificing her self to be with someone. I have never felt this good with another person in my space. I have never felt this connected to another. I have never felt so valued, nor valued another in this way.
Is this just a dopamine addiction?
I really do not believe it is. Don't get me wrong, I like the dopamine, yum yum..
But kneeling on the floor waiting for an hour, making dinner and knowing I am doing what I am directed and pleasing him, feeling him posses every inch of my body, knowing that his words are honest and his intent is pure.. these things are just as amazing as the impact play and the pain play.
So no... I don't think I can be happy in a strictly vanilla relationship. I think my spirit flies in the framework I have now-a 24/7 P/E with FHB, who earns every bit of respect and cherishes me dearly.

Her ASS.... Oh ... My....About that Anal Sex Demonstration

The moment I laid eyes on her incredibly sexy body as she settled, belly down onto the padded table, my worry and nervousness melted away as if they never were.
I let my eyes drink in her stocking clad legs, her oh so pale skin seeming to glow in the exposed stripes between her lacy briefs and just as lacy brassiere. Oh My.... What a gift!!
To someone like me, who adores bums, her ass was a picture of perfection. perfectly round globes raised upwards (due to a strategically placed cushion), framed by the black silk of her panties and stockings...
In that moment I forgot that this was a demonstration. I forgot that there was a crowd watching. I forgot that I had never touched a woman in this manner. In that moment all I could think of is, "wow....!!!!! For me????!!!!!"
I grabbed the massage cream and rubbed her back, While FHB ran the power point for our group on making anal an erotic experience. I massaged and chatted softly with this amazing lady, soothing her skin. I reminded her that nothing was going to happen until she asked, and only what she asked for.
I laid all the toys out by her slightly flushed face, teasing her mercilessly with the idea of what could be used on her... she giggled and I grabbed some gloves, condoms and silicone lubricant.
I massaged her back, her buttocks and the very tops of her thighs... Concentrating on being slow, letting her get comfy.
When she indicated she was feeling relaxed I let my lubricated and gloved fingers massage around her anus, pressing and almost entering but never quite actually doing so... she would start to lift her hips and wiggle, and I would go back to massaging her hips, thighs, buttocks and back, then again, lubrication, and massaging, letting the fingers explore her amazing body.
I pretended not to understand when she hinted, loving that sexy flush she does when she has to be blunt. (oh sexy lady, you are amazing). As she wiggled, and cooed I was overcome with an urge to sink my teeth slowly into her ass cheeks.. I faltered for a moment, the image was so strong, then told her I wanted to.
"You can bite my ass" she said demurely, and my bodies reaction to those words was intense... Still rubbing and lightly prodding, I slowly gathered a mouthful of buttocks and pressed my teeth into her skin, my fingers pressing more firmly. Her noises were lovely and I had to take a breath and concentrate... I was a bit unsteady and glanced up at our little crowd, and finding the reassurance I needed in the happy smiles and lack of condemnation on anyone's faces, I turned my focus back to the vixen in front of me.
I continued to rub and touch, focusing on what made her tense up and what seemed to help her relax more....Touch, press, nibble, hug, talk, reassure. All the time my fingers learning her curves, exploring the lovely pucker of her anus...
The sweet gal indicated that she would like to try to small vibrator against the opening, so I happily obliged. The nifty little toy has ten settings, and we tried each of them, and from the feedback and squirming I would hazard a guess that she was beginning to enjoy herself a bit.
FHB got to the part of the presentation in which rimming was discussed. I pulled out the dental damn and demonstrated... Due to the corset and table height I was unable to for long, which saddened me greatly, as the "oh!!" was wonderful indeed.
After a bit more playing and stroking she grinned at me and said, "This is very relaxing, not erotic though." And I laughed, hoping that I wasn't wet to my knees... "more?" I queried, knowing damned well that was what she was trying to say without saying. "Yes" she answered, all flushed and giggly...
So I let one fingertip enter, to the first knuckle. I added the vibration to the anus with the nifty toy... and after she stopped clenching my finger i let the finger move up and down, the vibration, more lube, more tapping... my other hand rubbing her lovely cheeks and grinning, I am sure, like a kid let loose in a toy store.
"More" she asked. and I happily obliged, loving how her butt was raising to meet my hand as I added a second fingertip and then just explored leisurely.
There is an amazing texture to asses... So soft, so clingy. Each fold is like a mystery and the clenching and releasing of those muscles was magic. I had my bottom lip between my teeth as she began to writhe under my hand. I am certain I had a glow on...
The room had gone silent, the only sound the vibrator buzzing and her lovely coos and my indrawn breaths when her reactions were particularity yummy.
She buried her face in her arms and said, laughing breathlessly, "I'm done"
I leaned forward and was floored and flattered when she said, "You have to stop, or I am going to finish, and I don't want to in front of everyone."
So there you have it...
My first lesbian sex experience. And oh yes, I oh so did like it.
I liked it very much.

Introduction to a sadistic, devious FemDom (me)

All names have been changed. This series is a mix of fact and fiction
I am starting at the beginning... if you want to skip the introspection and go to the 'fun parts' go to part TWO.
A while back a dear dear friend of mine, Daniel, trusted me enough to ask me to play a role in his fantasy. He wanted to spend several days being utterly owned and dominated by a female (I guess that would be me), or females (plural). I agreed to consider it and then spent a couple of months trying to envision it, exploring my thoughts on it.
I rope top easily, it's true. I have done a great deal of topping within a scene or session. I love flogging and I am a spanking enthusiast, (all types of spankings, it is my MAIN fetish). In my mind, however, Topping is mostly a physical thing. Yes, I use mind tricks and role play. But a Domme... well that is different. I was not sure I could take him where he wanted to go. I was not sure I could let my sadist out without dire consequences. I know myself fairly well. I can be incredibly mean-and enjoy every moment of my victim's suffering. I keep this in check, for a few reasons. First and foremost, it makes me very uncomfortable with myself. Secondly, I have never had access to a pain slut/emotional pain slut who would enjoy such treatment, even as (s)he hates it. Thirdly, I also don't like the emotional drop I get after. It requires a great deal of aftercare, for me, when I do let evil bitch out. Last, but not least, is a bad experience I had when playing with a lovely lady, Dianna, who craved that meanness, in which a scene went badly due largely in part to my inexperience. She and I made it through, and remain friends, but still...
So this was a challenge. Added to this, the gent in question is someone I consider a role model. Daniel is the closest thing I have to a parental type male role model. (He is not old enough to be my father, but I do turn to him for the advice and moral support one normally gets from their parents.) I had to come to terms with un-pigeon-holing him. (its a word now, dammit). I also had to put aside my reaction to Daniel as an authority figure.
I am a closet priss as well. While I am most comfortable talking about sex, discussing naughty things in general, I am very private and blushy about my personal sex life. Some of what Daniel was asking would require me to put aside that left over prissiness my exposure to rigid religion left me with. There is a fine line between what is ok and what is not as far as my relationship goes with FHB, as well. We are an monoamoury couple, as are Daniel and his partner Cindi. So the negotiations needed to include our partners, respect everyone's boundaries, and yet still create enough of the fantasy that it would be worth my and Daniels time to do.
We ran into a problem. Daniel was not negotiating. Instead it was left to Cindi and I to guess, FHB to be honest with is limitations. Which led me to have time to consider my own needs. In order for this to be fun for me as well, what did I need? And Cindi... what would she need? Cindi and I schemed on and off for a couple of months. As the D date came closer we schemed more, and FHB certainly added his two cents worth with a glee I should have (but did not) expect.
Frustrated with the lack of open and honest communication from Daniel, (whom, by the way, is usually very good at being open and honest) I emailed him a blunt email with a list of things I wanted to do (and some that I didn't). I asked him to respond WITH A YES OR NO to each one. Days went by, no response. The day before I left to travel he finally answered. Rather than answer my questions he gave me long winded directives couched as responses. "Foot Worship?" I had asked. "Not the licking boots type... But kissing, washing, massaging, would certainly make sense for a slave." Was his reply. And so my mood was set.
I spent a few days at the local kink event, as slave to my own Master. When FHB returned home, he left me at Daniels for five days of fun and adventure. My mind was spinning as Cindi and I had whispered conversations trying to decide how to begin, what our limits were and rolling our eyes over Daniels oh so obviously "topping from the bottom" behaviour.
I was thoroughly enjoying watching Daniel squirm in the combination of anticipation and apprehension -I was seeing a side of him I had never seen before. Finally, I was done with the procrastination.
"I am going to have a shower, and then we will begin." I told him.
"Sure. I should be done the walk by then." He responded, flushing. I arched a brow, filing away that bit of impudence and so we began.
I excited the bathroom, dressed in my every day clothes, having rejected the idea of needing a 'costume' to get in role.
Daniel stood there, giving the impression of a child hopping from foot to foot.
"Is that how you present yourself as a slave?" I queried, completely unimpressed.
"um" Was his response.
"You can strip." I ordered. "Right here."
Daniel disrobed, folding his clothing neatly, then falling to a nice slave pose. Noting his unshaven self I scowled and lectured him. "Really, slave? This is how one presents themselves to their mistress? Not even groomed? And you! An experienced Master yourself, you think this is acceptable?" Cindi shot me a giggly smile behind Daniels back. She had already explained that this was part of his fantasy, being washed and shaved. I felt, and still do, that fantasy or not, one should certainly not be presenting themselves as a slave un-groomed. His hair was practically a bush!
Cindi and I ushered him upstairs where I schemed while she set up a lovely massage table. In hindsight I wish I had made him set it up... so many punitive moments lost!! in short order we had him on the bench and she began the long task of trimming that wild growth of hair. We took turns scolding him, and Cindi surprised me (pleasantly) with her tone and lectures. I timed the entire trimming. When it was done I explained that he would be spanked for same amount of time it took to trim, and again for the shaving-for wasting our time.
We set the timer and began to spank his buttocks and thighs, using our hands and my nasty red hairbrush, when suddenly we heard the door.
I paused, laughing softly at the look on Daniels face, as Cindi ran downstairs to hustle the intruder (one of the adult children of theirs) out. The mortification was a perfect accent, and we continued, restarting the time, much to our victim's discomfort. Cindy then shaved him and I watched. Cindi and I would talk casually, as if Daniel was not really there, then add some scolding and what not. We joked about the time it was taking, and discussed what Daniel's own reaction to having someone present themselves to him for service in such a condition. Unfortunately for Daniel it took over 15 minutes to shave him-and that was AFTER trimming.
I made him watch the timer and told him to tell me when the fifteen minutes was up. Cindi and I spanked and paddled him, scolding and mocking him the entire time. I began to notice a trend. Daniel responded to me with "yes Mistress, as you wish Mistress" and yet to Cindi he would scowl and give dirty looks, and unless promoted would not address her as he was bid, with "my Lady". I decided, there and then, that I was oh so not tolerating that, although I understood damned well that stepping outside his typical dynamic was challenging. I harassed him continuously. "Really??? Daniel, shame on you... Asking me to do this then not being prepared!!-What? Excuse me? Did I ask for you to offer excuses? Did you just sigh in exasperation?? Oh, young man, you surely should have more concern for your hide!" We made a point of not spanking the sweet spots, knowing full well that his 'leather hide' would protect him there. Instead we spanked thighs and upper buttocks, working him over until he swore.
"There will be no swearing. You may say fudgicles!!" I informed him, rather gleefully. I then harassed him about all the bragging he had done all weekend about his infamous leather butt. "Thought you were telling newbies you cannot feel pain from spanking? hmmm??? " This continued until Daniel said, "Mistress, we are at 14 minutes." Cindi and I exchanged a look, and I lit into him again. "Did I ASK you to tell me when we were at 14? (swat, smack, swat) I am VERY (SMACK SMACK) CERTAIN (SWAT) that I SAID (SMACK SMACK SMACK) 15!!( THWACK!!)"
Daniel protested and I overrode him again. "I did not ASK you to think. I TOLD you 15, I damn well wanted you to do as told!!!"
I paddled him furiously for a moment, then caressed the marks lightly. After a few moments I helped him stand up. Cindi, noting the look on his face, became quite concerned. We told him to clean things up and she and I headed downstairs. After hearing out her concerns, when Daniel came down I had a candid conversation with him, out of role. He assured us he was fine, that it was 'perfect'. I reminded him of safewords (more to reassure myself and Cindi) and we continued on
I had Daniel do some odd chores, including bathing his lady, and again continued to scold him for even the smallest mistakes in protocol. Mean mean... We made dinner and let him eat at our feet, while we talked around him and about him but rarely to him. After he cleaned up all the dinner messes, I sent him to give his lady a proper massage. I went and talked to my Sir via text, and stretched and processed some of what had happened. Truly, I enjoyed keeping him off balance and I was loving that he was not finding it so easy to be a submissive slave. I knew that his attitude was going to provide lots of fun over the next few days.

How did I get here?

It is amazing, the surprises that life can throw at us.  The good ones, of course, are much easier than the tragic ones, yet both can bring us to a cross roads where there are so many choices, every choice leading a different direction (it seems) and soooo hard at times to really know what choice will take is in what direction...

Years ago, I was perhaps a pure spanko.  All I wanted and fantasized about were spankings and the rituals that some spankings can be delivered with.  Being sent to the corner.  Waiting for a punishment.  The lecture... These things filled my head, made my soul tingle.  The spanking itself was almost secondary to the romance of it.

Then... I realized that knowing the only way to get a spanking was to be 'bad' was not beneficial to me.  I craved the spankings and the rituals so much that I was tempted to make bad choices in a way I would not have been otherwise. (To be clear, punishment has not been in my experience really, nor lectures, nor corner time.. sigh...)

Then I found the community.  Learned about so many other things and heard about endorphins, power exchange, reasons WHY spankings feel so damned good.

I got flogged.  I braved the cane.  I had to learn so much, accept so much.  I had to give up on needing everything to be perfectly labeled.  I had to learn to communicate my needs, to clearly set boundaries.

I learned that I am valued by those I play with.
I learned to weep.
I learned that i deserve to be spoiled.
I learned to have hope.
I learned that expectations are often a way to discover heartbreak.  That one day at a time is not necessarily a bad thing (aside from financial planning)

It has been a long road of discovery.  Some lessons were delicious (oh my good gracious.. subspace... oooh my)  Some were difficult. I learned that perhaps I actually like pain.  That I oh so do enjoy feeling helpless.  That the struggle to submit is amazing.  The amazing feeling when I can give up that unneeded pride and just ... submit.. wow.  I had to be OK with these new ideas.
Now.. hear I am.  So much has changed.  Yet somethings have not.  I top now, on occasion.  I have a lovely bunny girl that lets me tie her up and be mean to her, she is amazing.  I 'run' a group here in redneck land for kinksters like me.  I help them learn to do safely, I hope I am teaching them to be part of a community for each other and they teach me to not pigeon hole things or people.

But..

I am still a spanko at heart.  Being over a knee.  Being bossed.  Wondering if he is truly annoyed or mind fucking me... oh my.

This girl's heart still beats to a rhythm that sounds suspiciously like hand swatting an ass.. Just saying..

When Reality Slaps you

Have you ever been so blissfully unaware that your perception did not match your partners, that an offhand comment from him/her is a cold slap of reality?

I have been living in a D/s relationship. A 24/7 sort of deal in which I have felt completely accepted for myself. i am loving it!

For the first time in my life I have felt that someone sees me, sees my submissive sexuality, my SAM (smart assed masochism), my compulsive need to have things 'just so', my need for control clashing for me need to submit.., that someone sees me and loves me, not in spite of these things, but because of these things...

I have never been this content, or this peaceful with myself. I have never been so relaxed about my perverse needs, my kinks, my sexuality. I have never been so self accepting.

So discovering that my perception, that he understood that my submission is part of how I tick, does not match his perception, was a hard slap that left me feeling lost, isolated and even rejected.
Seems silly now, of course, cuz it's only my knowledge that has changed... But silly or not, there I was feeling like the whole foundation for all that has been lifting me had crumbled, leaving me stranded in my own insecurities, lost in my own doubts. I felt helpless, alone and hurt.

I wept. I was afraid.

I don't want to put words in his mouth... I don't remember the exact words he said, and I am painfully aware that I do not know what he was thinking... But what I heard. what i translated his words to mean was...

Everything I feel is real is just play to him. So therefore (female brain, sigh) what is real to me, and has been holding me up is a lie. I am not accepted for who I am, I am not able to meet his needs, I am not enough. That my hidden self is just that, hidden. That he has not seen me. That he has expectations of me that I cannot meet. That I have failed. From there it was a short step to feeling rejected. I put myself out there, i had thought I had been accepted, but... If he is expecting me to drop my 'role', well in my feeling sorry for myself (and pms addled, let's not forget that) brain it seemed he was rejecting me. Not just rejecting me as in turning me down, but rejecting me for who I am.
Of course, we talked about it, after I got over myself a little. We established that my translation is not exactly accurate (lmfao). We talked a bit about the differences in our perceptions. He asked questions, I struggled to answer. He is an amazing man, really.

Now, to move forward i have to do what I wanted for myself. I have to SEE him and accept him for who he is, not a hard thing at all. But I also have to deal with my own doubts, a very hard thing indeed. I have to be ok with our differences in priorities and needs. I have to learn to be more... well.. less I guess... less submissive. Doable, right?

Nothing has changed, really, yet everything has. And it is impossible to know if that is good...
or not.



Update:
We are working on this together.  I think this is amazing, really, that we can face these bumps together, when I just share my thoughts.  Even when my words carry pain, he listens patiently.  Even when we are both struggling with so many other things, he is there, listening. 

He and I define terms differently.. soon we will be working on building our own definitions, together.  

Life Lessons and Self Fulfillment

So.. Things with Mr. NAB (Not A Boyfriend) have been clicking along.

If you missed the fetrant, it is helpful to understand that as I was getting ready to go meet Mr. NAB, who was supposed to be a potential friend with benefits such as regular spanking dates for yours truly... A completely NSA arrangement, casual as all heck. 

Anyone that knows me is aware that I am not exactly all expert at casual.  Not me.. I fall in love, get married, spend a decade finding out that love is not enough, get divorced fall in love... you see? So after two failed marraiges I am a weeee bit relationship shy.. weeee as in the word boyfriend has me feeling a bit naseous, my heart pounding while I scan teh area for an escape route.. But I am needy and a glutton.  I NEEED regular (at least once a week!!) spanking time.  I need that subspace/flying or whatever.  I need spoiling (of the attention sort not money thanks).  I am kinda high maintenance. 
So I figured, I could do both! Just find a playmate with the time and energy to keep up with me, but no vanilla time.
Right?

Apparantly not.  A couple coffee in and my NonDate turned into my NonDominant and I found myself easily falling into submission., 

So ... We agreed that we'd just kinda go with it. No, I do not konw what that means really, but I know what it feels like...

It has been the most relaxing and yet most intense learning I have ever undergone.  And considering he has no idea what he is doing... (no experience with the 'rule book' style BDSM.. he just does what 'works'  and yes.. yes.. it works.)  ... well, color me overwhelmed. 

The Lessons Sir has taught me..

I have learned that I am not just sexually submissive, but in certain circumstances I am pretty damned 24/7 submissive --But only to my dominant... which brings us to the next lesson...

I have learned that in submitting myself to his will, I am not weaker, or less capable but Stronger and More capable. 

I have learned that facing scary things and working past that fear is incredibly empowering. 

I have learned, repeatedly, that one can not die from embarrassment, that shame is not an option being offered, and blushing is not a safeword.

I have learned that the world does not end if I am called a four letter word with all the reverence others might be called pet names.

I have learned that I gain more in submission than I do in questioning, doubts, worries, apprehension, uncertainty, hesitancy, guilt and shame.

I have learned that resistance without cause has no place in my life.  That resistance should have meaning-even if that meaning is to be playful.  That resistance with meaning is always rewarded but submission with blind trust is cherished.

I have learned that teasing is not always malice based.

I have learned that I am immature in many ways, childish in some ways and overly responsible in others.

I have learned that I am a valuable person, who, although bruised from other relationships, DOES have something to offer.  That even my gluttony can be a gift.

I have learned that this gift of learning, in the guise of a pinch to sensitive skin, a swat to tougher skin, teeth sinking into the meat of my shoulder, a hand on my neck not squeezing but there regardless, that these things are tools of fulfillment.  that each lesson fills me, leaving me sated, tired and renewed all at once.

Love the journey... just do

AND.. No jealousy?  No suspicion? No having to hide my past??
wow

Minor Update

Soo... I have been pretty quiet lately, not posting much or as often.

Truth is, I have been busy, confused, and struggling to sort out how I feel about a few things. You see, I met this person... A wonderful guy really, who was supposed to fall under a 'hang out once in a while pal with play time' sort of category but morphed quickly into a 'hang out all the time pal who is also my Dominant' sorta category. 

Not complaining, now that I  have kinda wrapped my head around having a person in my life that I spend this much time with, but am not bonded to by any legal certificate (I really am terrified of marriage lol)...

So now, here I am, living a D/s lifestyle but from separate homes, (no shack up expectations!! how cool is that?) with someone who is being oh so respectful of all those minefields I have set to protect myself... Sometimes respecting them, and other times gently pointing out that they are no longer needed...

A bit scary.  But yet... so not.  And for once I really understand that relationships do not have to be built with forever in mind, but more with right now in mind, moment by moment. That I can grow within this, and that is ok.  That I can grow outside of this and that too is ok.  That friends can both play (bdsm) and play (sex) and still be friends.

So for now... assume that silence means I am busy learning more about who I am, what I want, what makes me tick and more about teh world around me and how I fit into it.

Hugs and Laughter,

Accidental Submission

I am the only person who can choose, willingly and openly, to seek out a NSA (no strings attached) playmate and accidentally end up in what certainly feels like a very intense service to a Dominant.

It's accidental submission...

There I was, you see, wandering around, minding my own business, after some local and mild playtime (you know, some princessy spoiling, now that I am a high maintenance attention whore) and lots of spankings..Met a gent after some mild negotiating... very clear we both were.. NSA, not looking to just hook up-friendship, talking, cuddling yes please.. NSA NSA NSA (and yes!! I was thrilled!! I am not relationship material! I just am not!!)

And here I am three days later, sorta accidentally submitted to someone that sorta accidentally dominated, sorta accidentally for three days and now??

Now here I am, strangely unafraid, wierdly not too worried (HAHAHAHAHA where are those damned runners?) with only one little bitty spanking-and yet he has somehow become My Sir and I his sub..

There are phrases being used that should have me running like hell.  (WHAT? I am NOT  "A Sub" I just get kinda submissive when spanked...oh wait... there was no spanking to blame... )

Speaking of which.. Anyone that has spanked me, talked to me about spanking, read my writing or watched me get spanked knows that spanking just flat out does it for me.  It just does. 

I would have said, that spanking would be my pre-rquisite.. (hahah, I ammend that to say , I do and certainly have insisted that) That any playmate of mine had best be offering spankings... Yet... hours and hours of play later, I have had one very small spanking last night) from my Sir who has never had a gal over his knee (How can anyone who has NEVER played this way be so damned natural at it?) and I am still a smling, glowy mess.

Friend "So how was your non date?"

Me "It was quite yummy.. Kinda D/s...Well ok.. Very D/s"
 
Friend "oooh! Nice!  Good Spanker?"

Me "Dunno..  Not sure it matters." *grinz*

Friend "um.. thought this was a spanking friend?"

Me " Me too, but I kinda accidentally ended up submissive to his dominant... "

Friend. ."What? Accidentally? You make it sound like you slipped off his lap and landed on a D/s contract."

Me. "...."

so burnt out..

Exams.. What was I thinking?
Six courses, two more in intersession and another three over summer... I want that PHD I DO!!! but I am sooo tired.
So very very tired.Tired of reading big words.  Tired of typing big words, tired of citations, text books, power points, hard chairs, crappy coffee, no sleep, tutoring, note taking, tired of all of it.
And still short three hundred to pay for my next two courses... with no clue what am gonna do about that.
I need a temporary sweetie.  I need someone to cuddle me and watch tv, to rub my neck, encourage me to keep trucking, and hold the pieces of the house together while I am working.
I need someone here throughout the week to kick my ass into gear when I am on not focussing, to dance me around the kitchen laughing, to wake me up with good morning spankings...
Sadly though, I am not ready for a 'realtionship'.. I don't have the time, money, or energy to give to a partner right now.  I don't have the fortitude to deal with the dance of lies, the deception... (be honest people, the person you meet is not the person that moves in.. There is a morphing phenomena that happens when that first box of personal items crosses the doorway... BAM! no more sweetie, welcome couch sloth..) and perhaps I am still a bit cynical..
Sigh... Come here mr. frog..

When Good Girls are Bad

What happens when a good girl is bad?

I have my days.  Sometimes the weight of my responsibilities and my coping strategies do NOT align and I fall a little. There are days I am not sure if I can keep going.  I am human.  I mess up.

Sometimes, even while still being a GOOD GIRL, things go wrong.  I make a mistake, I loose my cool, I hurt someone, I let someone down.

As I am a compassionate person, I feel horrible when that happens.  Which is why I like to argue that I am NEVER a bad girl.

When good girls are bad, it hurts our feelings.  We carry our wrong-doing close to our heart.  We hold on to it, examining, trying to make sense of it.  We need to understand it, so that we can learn from it.
There is no punishment that someone could give me that would make me feel worse than I instinctively do when I have fallen, failed or caused someone else to hurt.

When good girls are bad, they punish themselves, emotionally and mentally.

Why? Because they are gooood girls. 

There are times when I am not being a good girl, but I THINK I am.  It may not be a good idea to try to punish me for that either, as if I oh so do not think I have done anything wrong, I will not 'accept' your damned punishment.

However, if you are on my list of trusted persons, or even share your point of view in an adult manner, I will likely hear you.  I may not process it in that moment.  I may not agree right away.  But I try to be on it.  I do!

~.o

Princess Spanking Weekend omfg...

This is going to be a long post, lol...
So I returned yesterday from my journey and adventure to the grand city of E.  And it truly was an adventure...in so many ways.:)

I have never taken a road trip before, in which I am the driver.  This of course, did not really occur to me until I was nearly to the city of GP and realized that I had done it!! ALL by MYSELF!! I imagine that not many people will get just what a victory that is, but  it really was.  Hurrah for big girl panties. 
The drive was lovely.  The sun was shining for the most part, I saw a mommy moose and her overly large offspring near DC, another large moose by GP and a couple of lovley scenic views. My MP3 player was blasting, I was singing and had the cruise set for under the speed limit. I saw many officers pulling people over and was grateful that I am a cowardly driver.  I had no troubles following the directions and navigated my way quite nicely.

I was burning gas though, which of course annoys me greatly, but still... small potatoes, right?  I made the stops I had arranged, and headed to my weekend of fun.
I nearly made my destination when my lovely vehichle chose to no longer have a working transmission. Thank fully I had stopped for the restroom and was not driving when the transmission chose to no longer be intact. I am not sure if anyone knew this, but a vehicle does not drive well without one. 

Just saying.

It made awful metal on metal grinding noises, lurched but did not move. I sat and weighed my options, wondering what to do, exactly.  Fairly certain that popping the hood in my thigh high stockings and short skirt was not the best idea, and being that it was late thursday of the easter long weekend, I sighed sadly in defeat...  I had to call the gentleman I was meeting to come and get me.

What a way to meet a lady, no?  "Hello! I am a complete and utter nitwit who can't even get to your house... how hot am I now?"  (sigh). I sat at that station long enough to earn some highly curious looks from the folk that were there, as I tried to will my car to fix itself.  I am not sure if this is an 'angelism' but I am quite terrible at being helpless. I did suck it up and text my new playmate for help.

Thankfully the gentleman in question (I am going to call him Sir OCD until he gives me a play name to use, because us princesses are bratty like that! :)... ) anyways, Sir OCD was very gentlemanly and thus did not laugh (too much) nor hold my woes against me, but navigated the broken car into a stall, gathered me and my many bags and chafeured me to his lovely home with an amazing smile, gentle hand up into the truck and warm hug.

If anyone knows this man, let him know that this alone is worth many points... truly appreciate it.

I will not kiss and tell tooooo much (because that is of course quite rude) However....Some things are just too magical to not share.

What an amazing weekend!! After being worried about going (so out of my comfort zone, really) and being reassured that this could be done safely, I found myself loving every princess moment of the weekend. (aside from teh transmission)

Sir OCD graciously had me in his home for a few days, chilavrously made all the arrangements for my vehicle, was able to keep my mind off of it for the majority of our time together, which speaks for itself really. Consider too, how focused I can get on things... So Kudos Sir OCD well played.   He drove me back and forth to RK's with nary a complaint. Not by word, gesture or even expression. Not once made me feel as if I was intruding. 

With an engaging smile, dinners were cooked for me (as I write this I am eating chili from a can and wondering if he rents out as a chef... good grief, I have NEVER eaten so well and yet so healthily at the same time.... I want to learn to cook like that...)  I was complimented, cuddled, petted, kissed and coddled till I was completely princessed out. Not once was I asked to clean anything or even in a position to open a door for myself.  I was allowed to bask in the attention, purr for the petting and kissing, with not one negative comment.  NOT ONE!!! I struggled a bit (Stop laughing my red headed gal pal... I mean it) with it-not used to being coddled lol.

I thought I had experienced being a princess, but I now know I had no idea.  Simply none.  Don't get me wrong!! I have all kinds of good memories to go with the not so good ones of past relationships... but my weekend at Sir OCDs certainly redefined what being spoiled and adored feels like. This spoiling healed some hurts I hadn't realized I was still carrying. 

I have never eaten so well, been treated so sweetly, kissed so gently and spanked so firmly.... I was giggling, blushing, astonished and bowled over...All that and a lavishment of attention, amazing conversation, a down duvet (omg I oh so want that... ) waking up to sunshine on my face... It was like going to a spa where a hottie is giving out amazing spankings... Realy ladies, I oh so reccomend you try it...

Even the spanking, which you all know is my favorite passtime, was completely out of my realm of experience.  Every excuse to take me over his knee was delivered with the most amazingly open grin, an oh so heart achingly gentle hand guiding me over his knee, the gentle firmness of that hand at my hip, offering the threat of restraint if needed... each swat with purpose, but not even the tiniest bit of force used that was more than needed... the strength contrasted with such tender care to be lifted so carefully, cuddled in and petted.. I nearly fainted...Of course, those deceptively calm swats intensified as time went by, both as we became more comfortable and as my poor backside became more sensitive... His hands just seeming to know how to and where to swat to maximize the time or reaction-depending on what he was looking for... oh my. 

Yet after three days of spankings, many of which had me kicking my feet and struggling to get a hand free, (anyone that thinks this isn't surprising can ask RK... really.. I am not a struggler)... barely a mark.... Wow, hey?  I have a new hated spanking implement, which is a plastic bath brush... Sir OCD, that really needs to go... truly... what a mean thing...I liked it on a fresh backside.. but not after the fourth or fifth spanking...*pout* If you decide you want to get together again, I am oh so bringing you a gift..  Perhaps a Furry Paddle? *laugh*

And to be stepping out of the shower and have Sir OCD appear and lovingly place my still wet self over his knee, with his foot resting on the side of the tub for a good morning, wet bottom spanking was beyond amazing... One of those always fantasized about silly things that just was perfect in real life... wow.  Seriously!!! Wet bottom not quite out of the tub spaknings!!! I kid you not!!!! For no reason!!
To be kissed so sweetly as I am told what a brat I am, kissed so sweetly after a spanking, kissed so sweetly and thanked for any smallest effort.. oh my.  And don't mistake me, sweet does not mean the opposite of yummy... just that I have no words for that kissing style.. none...Sweet is the closest I can come up with... utterly tender? Kisses that left me breathless, knees weak and eyes in teh back of my head.   And I am not a kissy girl!!! Or I guess I wasn't? I mean, I like to kiss, but holy shit... LMFAO.. wow.

Hands stroking my tush, my legs, my back, my hair, my belly, my arms... sweet goddess... The contrast of tender and firm nearly undid me a few times...ok.. I admit it.. nearly is just a way to pretend I am not blushing beet red at the mere memory.. Just... oh ... so ... yummy...

Aside from a short break in which I visited some lovely friends, From my arrival thrusday till I left sunday morning Sir OCD lavished attention on me, spoiled me and spanked me until I was a puddle of dreamy eyed princess wonder. How amazing is that?

"But at the end of the day" (grin, do I get trouble now?) I was glowing with the attention, Postiviely giddy, glowing and relaxed.   I was sleeping like a log (and we will pretend that I do NOT snore thank you) and waking up with a bright smile.  More important, though (and this is oh so funny) is that I learned that I DO have it in me to adore being treated as if I am adored.  That there are men who cherish, give of themselves freely.

I have hope.. hope that there is a future for me that includes romance, love, flowers, spoiling, spankings, amazing fun and good conversation.  I really hadn't thought such things could go hand in hand... I mean... romance and spoiling AND rules and spanking?? really????
Sweetness and firmness?
Openness but with limits?
 I am spoiled quite beyond recognition, truly and my eyes have been opened up to just how.... bitter I was letting myself get.  Which is ok, I earned that bitterness I think...but I can let that go now... and work on moving forward instead of having all these regrets and hurts, cynicisms and being so self reliant that I don't allow anyone in... and therefore cut myself off from living a full life...

Now I just need to work on meeting some of my own goals... of getting RK&f paid back for the rescue and making sure that I am striving towards being a very whole and healthy person who is able to bring more than a willing bottom and naive grin.  And I oh so will...Knowing that the tenderhearted part of me is NOT broken is priceless..
Not what was negotiated for, so that part is an incredible gift that was so unexpected.
So thanks Sir... for letting me experience such amazingly delicious tenderness, such incredible spankings all from your very wonderful self... I fell in love a wee bit, like I said, and for that I thank you too! You made this princess believe in romance, and that is one hell of a gift.
xxx

Reassurance and AfterCare

After care, once explained, seems like such common sense... To be able to give someone that level of trust... to drop all those little pretenses that protect us in the work a day world... well it leaves a person quite vulnerable.  When you add all those amazing emotions and intense sensations and ind play... things can get a little hairy.
So ... aftercare!! I get the concept, but after a spanking, or a playtime, I am doe eyed, sure, a bit befuddled, but SO ENERGIZED!! I want to go dance, sing in the shower, jump on the bed, talk for hours.. (I don't get to do those things, but I oh so want to!!) I have stayed on that high for days, were I glow like a girl in love LOVE love!
But... regardless of how attentive, how sweet and considerate my playmate is in gently bringing me back from taht play state to the real world, I do eventually come down a bit. (I love that I sound so experienced!!! Three months and I am a pro, really... too funny.. mind you, been getting upturned over a knee for nearly my entire adulthood...)
Anyways, I do start to come down off the glow.  And something I have noticed, is right after play I feel so GOOD!! I feel safe, sexy, confident, adored,-my world is right.  To me, that is what I get from subnitting.. I get that amazing feeling of rightness. 
But slowly, real life leaks back in.. and I start to second guess myself a little..  Or rather, I begin to wonder if I am fun to play with, did I do ok, did I do anything wrong...and then the little girl guilt kicks in.
But because I am in this goshforsaken area, and also am still working on being a very whole and capable person, I am not in a 'relationship'.  So when I do come down and need the reassurance, then what?  I am finding I can go three days to two weeks before that hits me.. I work on it of course.. I remind myself that if I said or did something not to my playmates liking that it is THEIR responsiblility to say so. That I am going to have to deal with my little pile of guilt for having so much fun without marriage, lol. 
Intellectually I get it. There is no reason for me to feel that anyone that I come to has to be my life meet... But I still struggle to reassure tha tlittle girl, the one that is nine, sitting at grandma's table being told that GOOD GIRLS do NOT let boys touch them..
I wonder sometimes if other women who have been married forever and then end up single and explore find themselves strugglign with this at times? I wonder too if anyone else finds that they need the aftercare hugs days later-am I just a slow processer?
Thoughts to ponder...
It is odd to me, too, that when you are setting up a play date there is all this communication, the tension is built with all those interactions before hand (hahaha, three months, and again I sound like the expert..) I quite enjoy that buildup... Then of course playtime is excellent (knock on wood, and thanks RK for keeping me safe) then there is the refactory period where there is nothing.  So I wonder too if I am just suffering from withdrawl...
I guess I am allowed, after so much time skin starved, never mind actual sex, or spankigs, or playfullness or even positive attitudes... well, this whole spanko/bdsm community is like a haven for me. 
Ah well.   off to study for my exams and leave this puzzle for another day.. If I sound down, I am nt really.  Stresed over my student budget and exams, but otherwise thigns are good.
Hugs and  laughter

About Good Girls

I am a good girl!

In order for anyone to understand that we need to have some understanding on what that means to me. Some of you feminists are likely upset over my choice of language.  I understand that.  Too bad. :)

I am a good girl.  I do my chores, I meet my responsibilities and try to be self aware.  I keep my house clean, I take care of myself.  I pay my bills.  I work hard and try not to judge.
See? I am a good girl. I love being female.  I do not agree with the law treating me as leasser because of it, nor with being treated with discrimination, hatred, disrespect and dismissal just because I have a vagina rather than a penis. What I don't understand, however, is how the woman's right movement took away the dignity and honor of having a female body and being proud of my femininity. This body allowed me to bring three wonderful lives into the world, this body is part of who I am but in no way is the totality of who I am.

 I am not ashamed of my sexuality, my intelligence nor of my integrity.  If I can remain assertive in the face of societal sexism, legal sexism but have to cower in the face of feminist sexism, wherefore is the gain?

 I like people who are strong in character.  I am not ashamed of that either. I have high expectations of myself, and love to have people around me that are assertive (not aggressive) and will help me to keep raising that bar.  I want to grow!!  Even when it is uncomfortable and challenges my belief in who I am-I want to grow.

To me, that is a good girl.  It is all about being good with who you are, knowing that there is room to grow and reaching for it.  Having boundaries that are flexible enough to allow for the benefits of intimacy but strong enough to maintain mental and physical wellbeing.

Being a good girl is not about obedience, or putting up with people treating you poorly.  It is not about being polite.  It is certainly not about never exploring sexually, intellectually or physically.  Being a good girl means I try to balance my responsibilities and still have my needs met.  That I can accept the cherishing of others, ask for help, apologize for wrong doing, and try for compassion instead of being defensive.

Being good is being happy without infringing on the happiness of others.

I am a good girl. I admit though, I am better at some parts of being good than I am on others, better on different days, in different situations.

I am, however, a good girl.