On: Holding on and Letting Go

Two days ago, Sir Raven and i went to collect a piece of certified mail. The post card had been sent to Florida several times and bounced around. And finally, it landed here. Instinct told me to wait until we were home to open the letter because i’m not one to have emotional outbursts at all, let alone in public.

As soon as i touched the inner envelope, i knew it was from my mother. We have had no contact in three years. Zero. She is abusive and cruel and also maintained contact with the woman who made my life a living hell. She wrote to inform me that my inheritanace was one dollar. And she did not enclose the dollar. So, apparently, my worth to her is zero. It was very “Mommy Dearest.” Not even a token, “I hope you are alive, my only daughter, my first born child.” Nope. Nothing.

i had a bit of a panic attack and was angry that i couldn’t even read my own mail. Sir Raven had to read it to me. i slammed the envelope down on the chaise, i seethed in my eerily calm rage mode. i wanted to sink to the ground and sob, kick my little fists into the floor for a quick moment. A truly scary thought overcame that child moment, which was “this person is my next-of-kin.” It may have been easier, in a way, had i let my child sob. It may have been easier for Sir Raven, who may have understood, may have beat me and let me cry it out. i don’t know. Instead, my energy was resolute and cold fury. Impotent rage. It felt like this went on forever but it was closer to half an hour or so while i just sat with it. Stared.

i apologized and then went out to get eggs to make a lunch for her of tuna salad and brownies. i tried to find her favorite ice cream. i cleaned the kitchen. i wanted to ask her to beat me but couldn’t ask. i felt too vulnerable to hear no and didn’t want her to feel put upon. So i didn’t ask.

i felt upset with myself for getting mad.

i don’t feel anything about it now. What is done is done. It was a final message from someone who is, for all intents, dead to me. i am okay. i started to not write about this here but then reconsidered because we dealt with it inside of our power exchange.

i didn’t get some kind of a pass. i didn’t get to crawl into a ball and ignore life. i had to apologize for getting angry, for letting it get to me at all. i had to talk about how i was feeling, even when i did not want to. i had to accept the fact that my reaction to it was not appreciated, not okay with her. And that? That was worse than the letter. i felt adrift for awhile. i felt alone with it. i had to move through the feelings and once i did, she was there to talk. Listen. We talked about anger and how it was expressed in our families and the ways we both do something different. We also had nearly opposite formative experiences of anger. i think it would be hard for someone whose family history was not steeped in violence and physical abuse to really grasp it. Or grasp how opposite i am. Though i read once that all dysfunctional families are dysfunctional in their own way and it resonated.

Yesterday, i met her after work and we went to Michael’s for supplies. She bought me some Hello Kitty crayons and paper. 🙂 We got supplies we need for bottles we are going to decorate and sell. She has some other ideas as well and i’m very excited about that. These are the things that are real, that i want to hold onto. The real future i have here, one worth putting my energy into.

Today, she had a day off and she beat me hard. Long. And left me panting on the bed. i was moving toward something different. i wanted to cry for her. i couldn’t…but it was there, i wanted to. For her. i want to, need to, let go into her. She is worth my tears. She is what i want to hold onto, with all of me.


The Breakdown

The Breakdown.

Not the mental kind as much as the mathematical equation of me.

i can be a surprisingly literal, logical thinker and yet  i can be surprisingly impulsive.

The equation, i think, looks something like this:

90 percent of the time, i can be counted on to do exactly what i am told.  i will go above and beyond every chance i get.  i am quiet and hard working.  Dependable.  Needs not a lot of direction.  i’d say this goes up to 95 percent when i am beaten often….because that just reaches me in a way nothing else can.

5 percent looks like this:  i’m sick.  i’m so sick that it is a herculean effort to clean the house and have dinner ready but i do it.  i may not be able to think to get any school work done.  i may not be able to walk well.  i may decide to not mention this and attempt to use the last bit of energy i have to spare anyone from knowing how absolutely horrible it is.  i am nearly silent because i’m in enough pain that i’m walled off.  There is about zero chance i’ve done yoga or pilates, which doesn’t help, but its not realistic.  i regret the situation but i don’t necessarily feel guilty because it would be too close to shame in this mindframe.  And i can’t go there.  The tape that would play says things that need to not be said.

5 percent looks like this:  i’m in full blown inner child impulsive mode.  My emotions are child-like strong.  i can justify what i want to do in a way.  i won’t disobey any direct order- not because i’m such a great slave- but because it wouldn’t occur to me.  If it is implied and not direct….i will use that wiggle room. i’m prone to binge eating, binge smoking.   How about an example?

Last week or so, i had a day where i was for all intents and purposes, a five year old.  We had a day of lounging around and i wandered into the kitchen.  i thought i may have heard Sir Raven call my name, in which case i would have normally stopped what i was doing immediately to see what she required.  Instead, i cheerfully shoved half of a cupcake into my mouth before i rounded the corner, cupcake still in hand.

jade!” Sir Raven says my name in a way that is normally reserved for small, wiggly puppies when you catch them playing with the toliet paper all over the bathroom.  “Did you hear me just tell you to not eat that cupcake?”

My eyebrows shoot up, and i send her a helpless look and ask, looking at the cupcake in my hand, “well, what do you want me to do about that now?”  i do not point out that i had her on silent mode or that i heard my name and ignored her long enough to shuffle food into my mouth.  Because, really, are these things helpful to point out?  No.  Not really.

She asks about yoga and pilates, which she knows damn well i did not do.  She was on the loveseat all day after all, watching me.  She asks why i did not do it and i answered truthfully.  For the first time ever i said that i had not felt like it.  When i skip these things, its generally because i literally cannot do it.  But not this day.  She kind of laughed despite herself and pointed out that she could not believe i had said that.

Seriously, i could not get myself back on track.  i tried to force myself through sheer will to go do it.  Nope.  i got nothing.

Privately, i think that a 90 percent average isn’t really good enough.  i could add in the the first 5 percent, because i’m still giving the best i have to offer.  And even though it might be less, i am working with my whole heart for her.  So, if i’m feeling generous with myself 95%.

Still, to me, not good enough.  That other five percent is like getting a wild card in a game of M/s Uno.  Anything can happen.  i am capable of acting out a bit.  i could be stopped but it would basically require being beaten til i finally get it….one bad behavior at a time.  And i don’t know how fair that is to her.  i don’t know if it is better to ask Sir Raven to live five percent of the time with a bad girl who is charming but willfull.  Or to ask her to beat it out of me.  Because neither thing seems particularly fair to her.

What i resent, personally, is that i am out of control of myself like that.  i sort of revert to the loose concept of, “As it harm none, do what ye will.”  Except, of course, when i’m rational again and not a bad child, i think it does hurt us.  It hurts the dynamic, something i promised to uphold.  It is partially a result of this that i have created quite an issue for myself.

i put off going to the pharmacy.  i had enough extra pain meds because i try to be really careful with them.  i had basically an extra month between not taking it as perscribed.  i did not realize that the rules in this state are different regarding when scripts have to be turned in.  i did realize that i was running low and i had two days that week i could have gone and decided not to.  When i finally did go to the pharmacy, i was thinking that the worst thing that would happen is that i would have to wait til Monday for them to call the doctors.   Sir Raven was not a bit thrilled.  She said i disappointed her and the shame of that has been eating at me from that day to this one, six days later.  Anyhow, the doctors office is actually closed til the 2nd.  Oh, joy.

Sir Raven points out that anything i do that hurts myself hurts her.  And i know this.  My soul knows this.  i have internalized the message at this point, thinking that i have failed miserably, because i have.  Its not just about the medicine.  Or feeling bad physically.  It is that i did not properly internalize something important 100 percent of the time: failing myself is failing her.  Not taking care of myself is failing her.  i did not protect her property, so to speak.

And i did not ask for help.

Maybe i should have.  Maybe i should have said more than, “Hey, Goodliest Master, i know i need to get this done and can’t make myself.”  i did say that.  i stopped short of saying, “Hey, i can’t do this.  And i need you to force me to get it done.  i need to know exactly what will happen if i don’t do it because i’d rather think about that than think about failing you.”  But i don’t.  Because it doesn’t seem fair somehow mostly because it would require extra effort on her part.

There are times she says, “Make sure you get this done or i’m going to beat you.  And i don’t mean the good kind.”

i have asked her about these things, if she ever wonders during her day if i’ll do it.  She tells me whatever she has told me to do never crosses her mind again.  She is that sure i will get it done.

From a long distance, over the phone, she flatly announced she would beat it out of me.  Evidently, i’m far more cute in person.  Or something.

i should point out that we do not believe in “topping from the bottom” as a concept in our relationship.  i can’t make her do anything. And if i wanted to be beaten, i just ask…so its not about that.  She desires transparency and a part of that is the very embarrasing admission on my part that there are occasional times that i am solely motivated by wanting to avoid being beaten in ways i do not like.  We had one conversation where i explained my childhood (as well as other D/s experiences) and why i have a tremendous capacity to tune out and not care about other forms of punishment.  My actions are very impulsive when i cannot seem to direct myself.  That is the issue, to me.  i don’t seem to have the capacity to think through the entire situation, like a child.

Every time i try and think about this, i see things from multiple angles at the same time.  At the end of the day, only one person should be deciding if my 95 percent is good enough.  It’s not perfect.  i won’t ever be perfect.  i’m human so i guess that is understandable.  i think its the fairness factor that bothers me.  She decides what perfect means to her and there are often times i do things to reflect her concept over my own.  i think i’m still idependently thinking about what fair means….forming my own ideas about that….and feeling that less than one hundred percent isn’t good enough.  Not for her.

Christmas, Part Two.

After gifts she had some more surprises.

We watched a movie she brought home, which was excellent.  She took a phone calls from a close friend and i did some homework.  As i mentioned, i have yet to find any reason she finds acceptable to not be doing homework.  Even on Christmas. 😛

Because the movie was ending and she had already watched it, she walked back into the bedroom to enjoy her call.  When the movie ended, i took a lovely hot shower and did some more homework and made brownies, which Sir Raven let us have before a proper lunch.  🙂

And then she noted, surprised, that i had not yet made her bed, half way through the day.  i generally do this in the morning and was “off list.”  i shot her a quick sheepish glance and hurried off to take care of the chore.  i have to crawl up in the bed to reach as its high off of the ground and up against the wall.  Sir Raven jokes that there is no need to restrain me at night, i’m in between her and the wall.

i was trying to pull the fluffy down comforter down in the side corner when i felt the first sting of her cane.  “Make the bed, girl,” She says in a tone that implies this is an easy task while she raises welts all over my ass and thighs.

i try to make the bed for a few minutes and slowly grasp that any way i move now is going to give her better access.  But the pain is forcing me to move anyhow and i finally give into it, relax my way down, and focus on breathing.  i can’t count and cleary i can’t think, either, because what comes out of my mouth is some sort of begging.  Something like, “Maste-” Whack. “Daddy, please…” Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.  The sharp pain comes in groups of tens, of twenty.  “Please, please anything else but that.”  i think she may have said something along the lines of how she had promised to not use her belt, but i was begging for anything else, and what else could she do?  She asks if i’m sure, punctuated by crossing over welts, and my inarticulate moaning.

i have two seconds to breathe before i feel it.  i almost hear it before i feel it and realize that at some point i’m no longer talking because i fear i might scream.  And my hands are over my ears because i hate the sound it makes when belts meet skin.  Or, in this case, welts.

i must have lost my Goddamned mind.  And if i wasn’t sure of this fact, the belting seems to go on for a very long time.  i feel a strange and perverse sense of safety coupled with the fear i have of belts.  The fear is making me soaking wet, though that is my reaction to fear and not arrousal.  i hardly have time to be embarrassed.  i can’t count, or think, or recite poetry in my head, or call on slave mantras, or anything at all.  But i take it.  Force myself to be still.  Inside.  Outside.  i am sheer will but also raw.  Inside and Out.

Dimly, i am aware she she is certainly not hitting me as hard as she could be.  i know her strength and its massive.  Beautiful.  Impressive under any standards.

When there is a pause, i take my hands off of my ears to make sure i’m not screaming and that its only in my head.  It must have been, because i hear her say how she enjoyed that.  She is making satisfied nosies, the kind a person makes after a particularly satisfying meal.

This is the same tone that caused me to buy a cruel braided rubber toy at BL.  It is the same tone that could get me to do damn near anything at all.  And i feel a strange peace settle over me.  i am calm.  i am sure.

i would have taken more, right then, had she asked.  But she has moved back to more canes and she sends me into further bliss by using them on my back.

She wants her due, her favorite spot, my inner thighs.  i sit on my welted ass, spreading my legs wide.  With an arched back, i force my legs open, watch the skin from knee-cap to cunt turn bright red.  i’m watching her.  Her energy is different since she used the belt.  Focused.  Intently focused.  Electric.

Sir Raven makes some appreciative sound, some remark about how i am taking so much.  In response, i moan, hiss, but stay open for her cane, for her.  i manage to speak, finally, and say that i thought that was what she liked about me.  She responds by moving from cane to cane for a bit.  Suggesting she is done but starting again.  i am nearly beyond care, in the sweet spot.

When i collapse down in puddle, and permitted to cover myself with the tangled sheet, i am remembering a line of a poem:

Your hand, a cup.  i am emptied of myself.  i meditate on how i will live without reflection.

This morning, watching her dress for work, i asked which belt she used but she will not say.  My guess is that she used her strap, which was worse than i would have thought it would be, even with her relatively tenative approach.  Just thinking that, fills me with equal parts dread and fear.  Peace and loathing.  Terror and acceptance.  Acceptance because she enjoyed it and because she enjoyed it, i want to learn how to accept it better.  i had forgotten about that level of peace, the peace reserved for the highest shelf, the kind that i must have to suffer and hate to receive.

Her hand, a cup.  i was emptied of myself.  Reduced to whole.

She counts out the money for her breakfast, because she does not want to eat too early before she goes to work.  Sir Raven dubbed the breakfast maker her “work slave.”  i hear the grin in her voice as she says, “Each slave has a function, a purpose.  You know your purpose.”  And her miserable cane comes out again, hits my arms and shoulders as i whimper but remain still.

Her hand, a cup…

Christmas Day

Sir Raven is a stealthy Mastermind.  Have i ever mentioned that before? i think i may have, along with mentioning that i adore her a time or ten.  🙂

Yesterday, i tried to shake myself free from the past.  i acknowledged it, missing my boys.  And then i deliberately focused my meditations on the here-and-now, which is pretty damned spectacular.

Two years ago, i was in a shelter on Christmas day.  i had wanted to curl up in a ball that day and sleep through it but got up at 7 am and spent the whole day cooking a feast.  The children, who also got gifts, kept hugging us for cooking all day.  That crossed my mind, yesterday.  So, last night, when we were cozy in bed i thanked Sir Raven for giving me a home.  A real home.  The best gift in the world.  She had her arm around me in the dark and said, “jade, are you going to get all teary?  Because if you are, i’m going to go back in the livingroom.”

Truth be told i was tearing up, though i am not the kind of girl who cries easily or well.  i denied it, flipped over on my other side, and said a prayer of thanks.  i’ve never known such safety, such peace.  To say that i felt overwhelmed with my good fortune with this Woman is an understatement.  i think that often, wonder how i got so lucky.  i am free to be me, just jade, a slave.  i am free to have a life where serving her is my main focus and my greatest joy.  Slavery made me free.

So, i was thinking about that and how i have the best gifts in the world, with her and a safe home when she sounded oddly cheerful.  Singing Christmas music and such, reminding me it was Christmas in the morning and when we woke up, we could get to be together for Christmas.  Smiling, thankful, i drifted off to sleep.

i woke this morning as the light was changing.  i felt peace and gratitude.  My heart was warm and full.  i went to make coffee and brush my teeth and was desperate to get to the bathroom.  If i don’t expect something to be in a place, i just don’t notice it if it isn’t moving.  And the gifts under the Yule Bush were not dancing around so i never saw them til she said something about it.  Sort of laughing, she acknowledged she forgets i am actually blind.  This was entirely unexpected and i was overwhelmed.  Am overwhelmed, even though i’ve had hours to absorb it all.  Sir Raven gifted me with a new pair of pj pants, a stunning journal, a coffee mug of Banned books, and a necklace that has the Eiffel Tower in it.  i don’t know how to imbed pictures in wordpress but i had to look it up from the nypl shop to see all of the detail and its stunning.  i tell her i had never wanted to go to Paris before i met her, because i couldn’t imagine going there without loving someone.  i tell her that if i had to go through every bad thing in my life to be Hers, it was worth it.  i don’t tell her that She is the answer to my secret prayers in countless ways and the greatest gift anyone could ever ask for.  Because i cannot say it without tears.  Even if i am the girl who never cries.

i have nothing to give her today except me, like every other day.  When she said she didn’t do Christmas i believed her and instead bought stuff to make warm brownies with her favorite ice cream, expecting to just enjoy her being home.


She has asked *twice* if i’m doing homework and thinks Christmas is no excuse to not be doing homework.  Damn it. The Mastermind *never* takes a moment off.  Not even when she is sleeping.

Okay.  Three times.

And now she comes over to fix my necklace, jokes that it bounces off of my breasts like a quarter, and asks if this is due to yoga (hint, hint).

Ahhh….my Master…the Mastermind…honey, i adore you.  Today and every day.  Thank you for the best Christmas ever because i get to spend it with you.  i know that you think its totally silly for people to write to each other when we are sitting across from each other in the same room.  You are the love note i want to write, the art i want to paint, the music i want to breathe, the exhale of my soul.   i love You.

The Christmas Plan

So as everyone knows here in America it’s Christmas, which is the bane of my year. The great thing about this season is that it is the first time the girl and I are together. Last year she was in FL and I was here and we didn’t know each other, or rather I knew of her.

I’ve heard many a stories of her Christmas past. So being the mastermind that I am I put my plan into action, I was determined to give her a little Christmas cheer. As was written before we went to midtown to buy a gift for my co-worker and the secret Santa debacle. But that wasn’t true I really went there to buy the girl a gift. Which turned out to be a bit much, but she deserves it, with all that she does and brings to my life. I thought I would have a hard time sneaking the gifts into the house last night, but when I got in she was out at the store. A Christmas gift for me, I was able to hide my booty and spend the evening with her, knowing I didn’t have to work the next day.

I promised to play Christmas music for her in the morning, and send her off to bed, placing her gifts with our Yule bush. This morning we got up as usual and she made coffee, while I on the other hand got my camera ready to take her picture when she saw the gifts.

Here’s the thing I’m always telling her I can see, but on the flip side I also forget that she can’t see as well as me. so when she past the Yule bush twice, twice I say I couldn’t believe she said nothing. I had all the gift stacked up nice and wrapped, I might add. She handed me my coffee and sat down. In silence as is our usual morning ritual we sipped our coffee and I played Christmas music for her. That’s when it hit me, ah she can’t see the gifts. “Open your gifts, it’s Christmas!” And she did, surprise that I would have Christmas for her.

So it’s Christmas here in our little home, and it’s a good thing. Hope it’s a good thing in yours?

yule bush 2





i don’t know what i’m feeling the last few days.  i hate that, the lack of ability to name my own feelings.  i’m sliding toward numb, i think.  Numb is not acceptable to me so it poses a real problem in my mind to not be able to understand what is going on under the surface.

Sir Raven thinks evading is tantamount to lying though she gives me a lot of latitude in this way.  i am far more likely to express what i am thinking over what i am feeling.  i lead with my head over my heart most of the time.  The sole way i lead with my emotions is actually leading with my intuition, which is almost never wrong.

i am only too thankful that this obnoxious Christmas Season is over.  Its still strange to not be able to pick up the phone and call my grandmother.  It still feels a bit like my heart is being taken out with a spoon to not be able to acknowledge my nephews.  i try to remind myself that they are not babies anymore but for me it is a little like experiencing a death of sorts.  The little ones i adored have grown into children i don’t know.  Children who hopefully do not remember me.  There is some guilt there, though i had absolutely no control over the situation.  Not the drug addicted mother who took them to God-Knows-Where.  Not the system, who couldn’t do anything.  i have nothing of theirs.  Barbara made sure of that.  i imagine that was her way of exacting revenge for me leaving her.  Certainly, it was her final act of control.  i had been within ten feet of their toys, boxed up by her and locked in a shed.  i only asked for one thing.  Two, if you count me begging her to snap a picture of them.

i remind myself to let it go.  How reasonable this is, i don’t know.  i need to live in the present, a wonderful present, and not take mental detours to a past that doesn’t exist any longer.

i had thought, wrongly as it turned out, that if i had somehow gotten custody of my boys, that this life would have never happened.  And i had felt a sense of shame about that idea til i finally asked and understood that had i come with children into her life, it would not have precluded this incredible relationship.  i’m glad i finally thought to express these thoughts to her because i was wrong.

i have ceased all contact with ….what shall we call them…how about, “the curtain family?”  i’m feeling that familiar dread that accompanies the leaving of abusive situations.  As if i’m waiting to be lashed out at.   i had felt, stupidly, that keeping things friendly would protect SR in some manner.  i have been a shield in life in a multitude of ways and it tends to be how i handle situations apt to explode.  Stand calm and resolute in between the anger and the person i protect.  Countless times i have done this literally and figuratively.

i could forgive a magnitude of sins but not their wanton disgregard for Her.  There is a sense of sorrow, a mourning of what could have been…especially for her.

i am trying to be balanced, trying to weigh things out fairly, focus on the positive.  There is a lot of that.  i could not have imagined, two years ago, having a home at all….let alone something so safe.  So secure.  i am of course speaking of Sir Raven, as she is my home.

i was sitting with my beloved, waiting to see if the world would end, and thinking that if it did i was fine as long as i was with her.  When i told her this, she acknowledged feeling the same way and we proceeded to drink wine in a candlelit room.  She spoke on the phone to various friends and i smiled at her easy laughter.  Somehow, i felt tipsy from three glasses of wine (two more than i usually have)….for two days.

On Saturday, i finally went down to the pharmacy only to realize that i had waited too long to fill the script.  Delightful.  Even more so because they take the edge off the pain and because i had to walk home and deliver the news of my total incompetence.  A mile is a surprisingly long walk with that hanging over your head.  If it had been her scripts, i would have turned them in immediately.  And we both know it.

Sir Raven pointed out the obvious, which is that what i do effects her directly.  And also that she frankly doesn’t care how much pain i am in, that i will do what i am expected to do regardless.  In the nearly six months i have been here, i have gone to lay down in the dark bedroom three times because i needed to think and was overwhelmed.  Once i was sent there.  The other two times were in this past week.    Again, Sir Raven entered the room to ask me if i was crying and to proffer her opinion that i should be.  By Saturday night, she calmly informed me that she would in fact make me cry the next day.  i felt an overwhelming feeling of relief.  i think, as usual, that she is exactly right.  It didn’t happen because she ended up busy with other things Sunday and we didn’t get the chance.

Its not hard to imagine that this isn’t helping my overall affect.  i spent a goodly amount of time staring at nothing yesterday, realized it and at least turned toward the television instead.

Also, my inner child is quite a bit in the drivers seat these days.  Impulsive.  Extremely impulsive.  There is no way to write about that without it reading as if i have some kind of personality disorder.  i don’t.  i just don’t know how to convey the idea that i’m a very good slave…..and a very bad little /girl….without it sounding like a psychotic event.  i try to abstain from writing or talking about it as much as possible for that very reason.  At present, my hello kitty is hiding one of her canes, because it was making my nerve endings feel raw.  Clearly, inferior canes do not suit.  😛

i’m more-okay-than-not.  Tired.  Overwhelmed.  Small.

But also happy, secure, loving, peaceful.  It’s interesting how peaceful it all is removed from the rabid consumerism and stress of trying to find and pay for the perfect gifts.  You don’t notice that as much when you are spending weeks immersed in the experience of Christmas.  It’s like a lot of other things…a tradeoff.  Magical at a cost.

i do hope that there is a Merry Christmas in sight for all who are celebrating this year.

How to pick out curtains

I’ve been thinking of late about a situation from this past summer.  I met some really great people, I have to say that it take a while for me to warm up to people, but although our conversation was superficial, some of it was deep and meaningful. And the best part of meeting them was that through them I met the girl. My friends, and by friends I mean the few people who know me on a deep level thought my friendship with this person was unusual for me. (see statement above about me warming up). As my friends they said their peace but were still happy for me.

Now that the shit has hit the fan the girl made mention once or twice that I might be hurt, that I might have though more of friendship then they did. She’s right, even when like Dorothy I saw who was really behind the curtain I was still willing to be friends. I was hurt for a few reasons.

If I am asked to be a part of a group of people, I’m going to try to get to know them. I’m an observer type. What I saw was a lot of gossip, pitting people in the group against each other a lack of consistency, but a demand for loyalty. And that was all from the one on top, so it was a hot mess all around. But they called themselves family. I’ve been in that kind of family, and when I got out I swore never again, so what she’s my mother. I lost a lot of friends during the 80s who were not blood related. If they needed a place to sleep, food to eat, a shoulder to cry on, I was there when their blood family wasn’t and vice verse  We could be ourselves with each other, fuck what we had to be in the world. There were about 8 of us a melting pot of women and men gay, straight, and bi, so there was at times some shit, but we worked it out. Same mud same blood if you know what I mean? We chose each other and we could have chosen to leave, but we didn’t we got mad at each other than got over it. We were all we had.

I guess at times I’m still that 15-year-old tomboy who remembered the great conversations and times I had with the older women who looked really nice in men’s clothing and couldn’t wait to dress the same. I guess at times I’m still that tomboy who in my early 30s had friends I called family.

But even after like Dorothy I saw what was behind the curtain I was still willing to be friends, it’s been so long since I’ve had a women that’s like me, in a dynamic like mine. I though this is a blessing I never thought I would have a girl again and truthfully had given up on ever having one, but the Goddess was good to me, and since I met said girl in the dysfunctional leather family maybe it was something I could give a try at? But at every turn since the girl has been with me, there has been curtain after curtain pulled away, so I can no longer keep hope alive. So I’ve taken a step back and so has she.

But it still hurts, but the Winter Solstice is here and it’s time to bury the past, lay it to rest in the cold. Work on the things I can now, for when spring arrives the apple will start to shine. And it would have been 1 year ago that we have met.