yearning

The days long and constant headache has become more of a dull ache, which is wayyy better.  Thank God, because i am totally behind in school work.  i have a past due paper and then this week to figure out.  Ugh. 

i have the time.  i have the ability some days.  Sometimes, it feels like i’m sitting around reading, waiting for the stars to align just right to get things done.  The fog clears, i’m motivated, and suddenly it is all so easy.  Sigh. That doesn’t happen often enough and i end up resorting to begging myself to get something done, get something on paper, even if its not perfect.  Begging myself to read one more chapter.  There is a ton of reading in this class and since the topic is crisis intervention, it is all important.  i think a part of what is throwing me off is the constant reminder of how important non verbal clues are.  i keep thinking of how much i would enjoy this type of work and then am reminded of how impossible it would be.  i’m not trying to poo poo anything but there is too much that i would miss.  i could not be in situations that are unsafe, like after a natural disaster.  It’s simply not realistic for me.  Still, i must admit, i’m damn good in a crisis situation.  Lots and lots of experience there.  i’m perfectly calm, perfectly logical, capable.  Yet, my sight precludes this being a reasonable line of work for so many reasons.  Bah humbug.

Anyhow, i have to get things done today.  Really.  My brain seems to be made out of mush these last few days.  i remember, with great fondness, how sharp i used to be.  i doubt Mensa would knock on my door these days.   i get annoyed with myself, lost in the fog.

Yesterday, it took a tremendous amount of effort to deal with calling the doctor to see if they could locate my referral and call the school and deal with advising.  Two hours between those two calls.  Another hour trying to figure out how to pack in the last few classes i can take on this leg of the journey.  Much frustration ensued. 

i lit candles and meditated before Sir Raven came home, as usual.  i poured a glass of wine for her and we chatted about our day.  She said she had a surprise for me, and i asked what was in the box.  “Your collar,” she said, and asked if she couldn’t get just a little enthusiasm.  i knew that was definitely not what she had but was delighted to see she has purchased a splitter that would allow us to both listen to a podcast with our own earbuds.  That was soooo sweet!  She will often share her earbuds with me and we will listen to a podcast and talk on the long, long, long ride home.   She points out that she doesn’t want to have deep conversations on the train, however.  i look up at her, thinking that she will generally make points on the train.  i was surprised at her doing this, at first, but then realized that people just tune each other out on the train.  Anyhow, i said, grinning, that the train ride is the only time i am guaranteed her phone won’t ring and the televsion is off.

Evenly, she says, “You sound like a wife.” 

i’m sitting at her feet and glance over at the impressive bruises from her cane on my leg. 

A wife? Really?

i point out that i’m not a nag, instantly, and she readily agrees with me.  i am suprised at myself, that my first association to being called a wife was the word nag.  i’m frowning at myself a bit.  After all, Sir Raven has called me “her bride” a few times and i wasn’t thinking of that as a nagging shrew.  It made me smile.  The idea of being hers in any context makes me smile. 

Later, we share a dream where she has her hand around my throat and her fist inside me.  It is brutal.  My face is wet with tears, her eyes are shining with lust and pride.  “You,” she growls, “are mine.”  My beloved reaches out for me in her sleep, just then, grabbing me hard, holding me still.  i wake for awhile in the dark, writing poetry in my head, the words finding a way to explain how insanely beautiful she is to me.  Finally, i drift back off, the poem incomplete and yearning. 

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Notes on a journey

i lay awake many long hours last night. 

Yesterday, my migraine peaked and i was none too thrilled to wake and see the livingroom a wreck.  Sir Raven had put together the last shelf unit Saturday night but by the time that was finished, we were exhausted.  She was expecting guests early the next afternoon so i was putting more things up during my first cup of coffee, praying my head would stop hurting.

It was not to be so. 

i got the livingroom finished, did the bathroom, mopped and made her breakfast.  All the while, i felt the pull to her altar.  i lit candles in the livingroom and went out to buy the chicken i was roasting for lunch.  i started cooking, took some tylenol and was given permission for another cup of coffee.  Then, i had to gather the laundry because i had neglected that chore the day before.  i wasn’t looking forward to a Sunday in the laundrymat but was surprised to find the place nearly empty and reasonably quiet.

While her clothes were drying, i felt the pull to her altar again.  i am surprised, sometimes, to have to think in new ways.  My vocabulary never included words like forever before.  But that is what the altar devines, explains, wants me to accept.  It is already done and i see a figure 8 encircle us.  The symbol of eternity. 

By the time i have her clothes folded neatly, i am more relaxed though the pain is worse.  When i have finished preparing the roasted lemon pepper chicken, green beans, corn, and salad, i can take no more and go lay down in the dark bedroom.  Everything is too loud, too bright, too intense.  Sir Raven brings me a plate, which i accept quietly.  i feel bad about it, but ended up getting up to clean the kitchen, mop, and go back to bed. 

In the midst of the migraine, i took a test and flunked it.  This is not my normal euphamism for making a “B”.  Literally, i flunked the test.  Last week, i relied almost exclusively on past knowledge and got a perfect score.  Good thing, considering.

It is interesting to me that the altar has become louder, more insistent with me, after Sir Raven and i spoke about some upcoming changes.  We noted that before me, her journey was to get to the M/s.  That was the destination and she had people willing to take that journey with her.  We, however, started at the M/s destination.  We didn’t become Master and slave.  It is what we are, what we always were, even in another lifetime.  So, we are at the destination we want to be and need to figure out what happens next.  We likened it to checking the GPS, seeing that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, and figuring out what you will be doing first on your trip.

Of course, what we will be doing- or not- is her’s to decide.

As of late, i have been pondering how the success or failure of our relationship is squarely on her shoulders.  When i first encountered that idea, i disliked it.  i was thinking, i am a human being too and impact the relationship.  This is true, of course.  But that only means i can affect how easy or hard something may be….but that is all.  It’s rather like being on the D train.  That train is moving whether i am standing or have found a comfortable seat.  Regardless, that train is going down the track. 

i am trying to put the two ideas together, the idea that we will survive and thrive together, and that the only person who has a vision of what that will look like is Sir Raven.  She has to figure that out for herself.

i will say that right now, the word “Sir” makes me touchy.  Moody.  Angry.  Hurt.

i can, and do, say, “Sir Raven” when i am speaking to or about her often.  i have never just said, “Sir.”  i did that for someone else and to function that way, that military sort of way, meant that i kept my emotions on lockdown.  i was in work mode.  i was untouchable.

When that wall was breached, when i became touchable, it was only because someone mattered enough to me to fight back. 

i tell myself that the approach doesn’t matter.  Miltary.  Gorean.  Whatever. 

i’m a slave and if it suits her purposes to have us fit in with that, or anything else, i can do it.  i just don’t want to loose the good things we have already developed.  There is a lot of good.  i don’t want to give up feeling, or having warmth or passion between us.  In some ways, that is what a military approach means to me, that there is a seperation.  That i am seperate from my feelings.  It is work.  i don’t know how to approach it in a different way.  i don’t know how to blend things well. 

What i have observed over the years is that when people are very focused on a strucutre, esp a specific approach at it (Miltary, Gorean, Disciple, Whatever), the top is focused on the outcome.  Do they get the response they are wanting consistently?  No one ever seems to notice if the bottom has emotionally checked out to give it to them.  

These are just thoughts.  i’m not meditating on any of it, just letting them drift out of my head and onto the page. 

i’m off to take some dayquil and hopefully stop some of the pain in my head.   

Dance Card

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, but what else is usual with me? The girl and I had a great talk in which I expressed that I had put something out to the universe, and as usual I’m not let down, One never knows where a jewel of knowledge will come from. In my case it came over sushi. The person we were talking with was explaining that because he and his slave went high school together and then began their relationship they grew together in their M/s. In that moment I realized what I had been doing with the girl and not even knowing it. I was placing too much emphasis on the organic part of our dynamic and not realizing that other component. that in the past my dynamics have always been with persons of my generation and that we grew together. With the girl and I we are a generation removed and are both at a point in our lives knowing what it is we want. We will have to grow in a different way and for that to happen I have to think different. My mission statement that I have has to be altered. Not that the mission is not the same, but in that I have to put in place more rules and protocols than it has now.There are only about 4 now and I’m not trying to make her or myself a slave to a document. I have to look within myself and find what we can do to build what we already have as well as continue to excel at what our mission is.As one can imagine that take some thinking on my part, and that’s where I’m at. The girl will be happy to know that I have a rough draft in my journal. Which I am more at ease writing in

And because I’m not trying to over think it, which I tend to so with some things, I’m going to KISS is.And start with what I know and love a military style approach.

 

On another note, our dance card has been a little full. Last Sunday was the book discussion where we finished up reading Power Circuits Polyamory in a power  exchange relationships by Raven Kaldera, which was a great book.

Tuesday we were on a panel which I’m not sure was what it was supposed to be on diversity in a power dynamic. I’m pretty sure the girl, and I were the diversity part, the 9 panelist consist of one POC couple male top female bottom, a triad white male top 2 female bottoms, white male top female bottom, and bringing up the rear the girl and I. Female top female bottom. Can you smell the diversity? As I said the girl and I were it, and we have a long conversation on the way home about it. We are both women, we are biracial, we are very far from each other in age, one can argue that we both have limited sight, my eyes are not what the use to be or ever was for that matter, she’s a lesbian and I’m two spirited,and we were the only ones in a master slave relationship. So yeah we brought it. 🙂

Then on Friday we attended LSM, were we demoed on caning. LSM standing for Lesbian Sex Mafia, which was better than the whole fake diversity thing, and that’s coming from me who will state in a minute I stay away from the lesbians, but that’s another post. And I think they may ask me to present this summer, we will see. So really thank God for Sunday, wine and art.

 

Venus

“We have about fifteen minutes left,” the woman said, indicating Sir Raven should do her caning demo.  I breathed a sigh, half relief, half frustration.  i was in pain and a few strokes of her cane would help with that.  i was, however, not overly eager to have to rush or hold myself up or get half nude right that moment.  Sir Raven passed around some canes and rods in a kinky sort of show-and-tell.

And then she called me up.  i think my face may have been composed but i had just let my guard down, thinking she would use the time to talk about her canes and not use them. 

i pulled my ankle-length skirt up to expose my lace panties, leaning my arms on the wall and letting my head rest against them, pushing my ass out a bit.  Breathing slow and carefully.  When i hear the audience gasp in unison as the first stroke lands hard, i can feel Sir Raven grinning.  Cheerfully, she points out she has hit my face harder than that with her cane.  She isn’t gentle, likely enjoying the large room and the different angle. Or maybe she is happy that i’m not able to crawl away, as i’m half leaning against a wall. 

i can’t hear anything anymore but her voice, which i am half listening to in order to respond to commands.  The rest of me is focused on breathing, and controlling my breath, slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth.  i need to focus on that to deal with the sudden, sharp pain of the cane strokes.  Everything disappears but her voice, the only voice in the world, the only thing that matters.

That is what i’m thinking when she tells me to turn around and face her.  i do, immediately, and leave my dress up.  A few strokes to my thighs, a few words of explaination, and she is done.  i start putting up chairs early to catch the next train home on time.  My head is a bit of a poppy field.  i’m starving, right then, for her pain.

She could have beat me right in the middle of the room, beat me into the floor, brought blood to the surface and spilled it all over the dirty hardwood and i wouldn’t have cared.

Outside, in the cool night air, she says, “When you turned around, you looked like the Venus di Milo.  All freshly fucked expression on your face.  Sexy.” 

i am smiling my Mona Lisa smile.  Soft and knowing.

i am as full of need as the bright moon.

i hold her face in one hand, loving her, caressing her cheek and softly kissing her lips.

No more words needed, we rush into the night, heading home.

yarn

She approaches me from behind, deftly brings a length of yarn over my head and around my throat. “How does that feel?” she asks holding it taught like a choker. Of course she asking about the length. “Itchy,” i reply, laughing. “Bitch” she says, a bit fondly, while pulling the yarn hard enough to choke. “How does it feel now?” she asks, holding it tightly, jerking my head up abruptly, the impulse to gasp for air blending with the impulse to laugh at the absurdity of being choked with a single thread of yarn.

She announces she is going to crochet a collar for me, walking out of the room, sounding pleased with herself.

*****

And the beat goes on…

Sir Raven had the day off yesterday.  We were both exhausted from the lack of true downtime.  i stayed in my pj’s all day long, my hair up in a bun.  i sort of had my own personal snow day, which was nice.  Today, we are going to some caning thing after work and she trotted a cane out to sit on her loveseat and thrash me for awhile.  She managed to get me on my knees with my ass in the air, and then prostrate in the middle of the livingroom floor by expertly and deliberately hitting my fibro spots, forcing me to move or kill her.  i went with the first option.  🙂  We did not end up in the S/m “sweet spot” of cruelty because she was hungry for dinner.  It works better to get a meal while i can think still and am not walking around with my teeth chattering.  😀

We were invited the other day to do a panel discussion on living 24/7.  We were the only M/s, CNC couple.  The only couple that was not heterosexual.  The only couple with a visible disability.  The only couple where you would be pretty positive that we different races and had a considerable age difference.  We are just oozing with difference.  Yep. 

We are also both introverts so if you want us to have a good experience, sit us down and ask us about the meaning of life.  Deep conversations give us great satisfaction.  Surface conversations exhaust us.

On the D train riding home, Sir Raven told me that we would be talking yesterday about some things that will be changing.  The train was full so she couldn’t say more.  i just nodded.  i have given up trying to guess what in the world she has on her mind.  i have given up going into panic mode, wondering what i did wrong. 

Thankfully, if i’m doing something wrong, she will say so in the moment.  It helps me in so many ways that it defies description. 

So, anyhow, Sir Raven is thinking about our structures and protocols in place.  It pleases her- well, it pleases both of us- how many things occurred organically.  We both think that is important.  She is going to add to some of her written Manifesto (okay, i couldn’t resist)  Expectations, which set the tone for the house.  It’s not a list, though she loves a list, but more of a book of concepts.  It includes things like “the servant will be responsible for providing information to the Master of anything needed to complete a task.”  It includes concepts related to me being responsible to identify ways that i may need to be supported to be my most effective self (emotionally, physically, spiritually).

We have some…i would say “difficulties”….but that isn’t the right word…some challenges due to my sight.  She can’t give hand signals, for example, which is funny because i use some ASL sign with her.  In any event, she is figuring out some specific protocols that can be unobtrusively implemented.  It is harder to be subtle when i can’t see.  We both have a strong appreciation for subtleties and for behaviors that can be done anywhere, anytime.  Which is why, likely, the whole Gorean method of serving doesn’t appeal to Sir Raven.  For one thing, she doesn’t want to wait.  For another, there is an awful lot that would necessitate privacy to accomplish without a lot of attention.

i am pleased that she is giving this thought.  Not so much because i’m wanting more protocols for the sake of having more, but because it assures me she is giving continuous thought to how we can grow together. 

Oh…one interesting thing that came up in the panel discussion was how slaves will tend to take ownership or control of the kitchen.  It makes sense.  i mean, hell, we are in there every day cooking and cleaning.  Sometimes, you really realize the truth of something when you say it out loud:  There is nothing i feel a control over or an ownership over in my life.  Including the kitchen.  She asserts herself there even though i am permitted to decide what i’m cooking most days.  i know i don’t feel any sense of control or ownership because i would often buy things for the kitchen if i felt that way.  i bought a waffle iron once and was unceremoniously sent back to the store to return it.  i had not checked first, for one thing.  So….even in the kitchen….i have no sense of control or ownership.

Everything i do decide starts with the thought, “i’m allowed to…” or “i’m permitted to…”

That is funny, considering how loose i tend to think of the control here at times.  Because i am allowed to do a lot of things, like run errands without asking first unless she is home.  But when i break it down in my head, if the idea starts with “i’m allowed to…” then it is clear that i’m not self-directed or in control.

Because we have done a lot of things organically, i’m not sure if the outcome was something she gave specific thought to or if its just how we are together.  For example, Wednesday evening, Sir Raven was having a glass of chilled white wine while i finished dinner.  i wanted to go out and get more wine because she was off work the next day and may have wanted more than what we had left.  She had me wait, which is common for her, even if the errand i’m running is something she wants.  She will routinely have me ready and waiting a few minutes, not leaving until she tells me to.  i don’t know if she thought that out or if its just what she does, unconsciously inserting the idea that i cannot just leave her presence without a directive from her.

i’d have to say that it is organic but suits her purposes. 

The things she has to put the most thought into are things that are far outside my comfort zone, like public speaking about us.  i’m becoming very comfortable doing this and am surprised.  This is an area she is consciously developing and that i am consciously working on. 

i am also always consciously working on being mindful, being in the moment, and to not get so distracted by disecting my past.  i spent a lot of time, that last year in Florida, working on finding balance and accepting my life without judgement.  i have had some more thinking to do here, at times, because there are just some things that have to be dealt with once you are living with another person.  You can’t do everything alone.  Still, i need to be sensitive to her needs and one of them is to just let the past rest even more.  One way she is going to help me do this is by not having me deal with my mess ups alone anymore.  i go away in my head too much that way and i need work on that.  i sometimes forget that to me, my past is just a puzzle to figure out, and often has very little emotion….but to her, she has feelings about it and its not helpful.  i need to be able to put the puzzle aside.

i feel a sense of relief because i understand what is needed, how she is going to support me when i do not get it right, what to expect, and what to work on.  No matter what the topic, mindfulness is the single most important thing i do.       

ninety-five

i can be counted on to be very well behaved ninety-five percent of the time.  The other five percent is kind of a crap shoot. 

Sir Raven agrees that i’m good (“very good,” she said) ninety-five percent of the time.  The other five, she notes, is exceptionally bad (“horrendous, horrible,” she said).

The funny thing is, inside of this relationship what is “exceptionally bad, horrendous” behavior would hardly be a blip in the other relationships i’ve been in the majority of the time.  The other funny thing is that she thinks ninety-five percent is pretty decent.  i am the one who has the harder time accepting that i’m not, and won’t ever be, an exceptional slave one hundred percent of the time.

Recently, we talked about punishment and she noted that she had not considered that i was the type of slave who needed that.

i blinked, surprised, and wondered who in the hell was the kind of slave who never needed to be punished. 

i further thought that i had always pointed out that there are times i just do not understand anything but a beating.  Because it’s true, not because that is the kind of thing i like to admit outloud.  Because it could be a deal-breaker so i made sure i made this clear early and often.

The five percent that is really bad breaks down like this:

four percent of that is me being totally impulsive, acting without thinking and without the capacity to think through what is likely to happen next.  In other words, i might be playful and carry it too far.  It is not deliberate, not thought out.

The other percent is willfull.  Somehow, when that happens, when i act out with a willfull disregard for controlling my emotional state, i am genuinely surprised.  i’ll look at that behavior for many days, trying to figure out what the root cause is.  Because, i think, if i can’t understand what caused me to be willfull, i am helpless to stop it from happening again. 

If i think i don’t have control over it, and worse, that she doesn’t have control over it, i can’t move on. 

i don’t know how to forgive myself.  i don’t know how to let it go.

That is the phrase she uses, that she has “let it go.” 

Objectively, however, i don’t think we do.  We share a week of horrible sleep, we stop laughing and joking around for a week, she doesn’t touch me at night, i am not permitted to kneel and remove her boots.  Consistently, there are just things that change and they are the same things, based on the two times i have fucked up in a willfull manner.

The impulsive stuff is easier to understand, for both of us.  It is an easier conversation.  When she asks, “why did you do that?”  i know the answer.  We both know the answer.  i got carried away.  There was no ill intent.  i just had a moment where i really wasn’t thinking or couldn’t appreciate how the actions i did would be interpreted.  i can forgive that much easier.  We both can.  It’s not ideal, really, but it doesn’t fuck my head up.

That one percent?  The part of me still capable of asserting myself, of doing my own thing in direct opposition to what is wanted or expected….it scares the shit out of me.  i think that part is gone, dead.  Long dead.  Years have gone by without me asserting myself in that kind of a way.  When it pops up, i freak out.  It shakes me. 

It shakes me to my core.

And, i think, it shakes her too.

It looks bigger than the other ninety-five percent for awhile, to me.  i have to scrutinize it carefully, flesh it out so i can stomp on it.  i want that one percent to be gone, not just buried deep.  i wonder if i can do that or if it a self-preservation instinct, the one i had to rely on before in life to survive. 

All of me is strong.

That 95 percent of me that kneels rather than stands? 

It’s strong. 

Physically, emotionally, and psychologically, i believe it takes more strength to kneel than to stand.  It goes against a lot of societal expectations that i internalized.  It goes against what most people think of as strength.  But make no mistake: it is strong.

Spending so much of my life bending my will does not mean i have no will of my own.  Jesus, though, when it asserts itself like that, what i feel is intense emotion.  The emotion, in that moment, defies logic.  And i love logic.  i have a near disgust for behaviors which make no sense, are born purely of emotion, are against what is expected from my Master. 

She does not make me feel disgust for the one percent.  That came before her, in childhood, actually.  So did my concepts of punishment, related to forgiveness coming from penance.  How you can never have one, without the other.  Thanks Catholicism.  That part, i know, isn’t going anywhere.  Its too deeply rooted, too tied into what makes me, well… me.

When i think of M/s in a word picture, what i always think of is sculpture.  Michaelangelo asserted that he felt that his finished creation was always there, inside the marble.  His job was to hammer away at the rest of the block, to take away what was not needed.  What i think of is Sir Raven hammering away while i am pushing away block in my own way from inside.  We are both working at seeing the finished creation, longing to polish it, admire it.  i came to her with large pieces smashed away and i’m not sorry for that because it serves her purposes.  What i am sorry about is the cracks in me that she has to mend or accept.

Our relationship wasn’t the first ride at the rodeo for either of us.  And had i not been who i am now, she would not have had an interest in me.  Or, i don’t think she would have.  Some of my thoughts, for example, on consentual non consent were born of experience.  Those experiences formed me, broke down more of my ability to be willfull.  Before that, i was still 95 percent good…but that other five percent was not impulsive, it was very deliberate and willful actions.  It wasn’t impulsive or innocent.  Had that not been broken down before Sir Raven, either she would have not chosen me or she would have had to be very different in her response to me.  i’m not sure which would have occured but i suspect she just would not have claimed me.

You know, i have had only one year in my life at M/s where i wasn’t being tugged on in another direction from the outside.  i forget that sometimes.  Mostly, i feel great frustration with myself because we have been together in another lifetime and somewhere inside, i know the steps to our dance.  It feels like i should be able to pull them forward with grace, from route memory.  Yet, in this lifetime, i have had only one year in my life where my loyalty was with one person, one objective.  Where that objective was something i wanted too, rather than solely pushing with all my strength but not all my heart. 

The difference is life-changing. 

What it feels like, for me, is that everything else i did in life was a dress rehersal for this relationship.  Where nothing and no one has my attention, loyalty, or devotion but Her.  My heart and soul are in this …

i am fully invested in being something she can look at with a satisfied smile.  Something which can be graceful and pleasing and beautiful.  i need her to sculpt me, to take away what is not needed and free me.  Marble, after all, will always be strong…even once all of the useless parts have been smashed away. 

http://library.thinkquest.org/15962/data/buonarroti-marblesculpture.html