Sunday, December 14, 2014

Time Really Does Heal

I think many of us have had that lost love, the "one" fate denied us that we still carried in our hearts. That person you knew with absolute certainty (either because they told you or because ya know - psychic powers... whatevah) carried the torch for you in return. Cue the sad Lifetime movie soundtrack.

Okay, so maybe I'm making jokes to lighten the very real heartache that comes with these situations.
I had that kind of relationship. A soulmate, if you want to use the popular and much overused term.

In my late 20's i fell madly totally completely in love. A charming, handsome man seduced me and it was amazing. It wasn't my first love. But it was a life altering one. Even though i knew it was a "doomed" love; even though i knew he was "bad" for me; even though a loud voice inside kept screaming "are you mad? run!" i still handed my heart over to this man and would... and did... anything he asked of me. He loved me madly - or so he said. Who knows if that was true or not. Only problem was he was married. So yeah - kind of unavailable. He promised that after his kids were grown he'd get a divorce and we would be together. I think a part of me knew that was bullshit because i totally didn't wait around like an obedient puppy. I went on and married someone else (then divorced) and proceeded to live my life. I focused on my kids and meeting their needs.

We kept in close touch over the years, right up until the time his kids were finishing school. Then replies to emails became curt and phone messages went unreturned. We weren't rutty, crazy youth anymore but a soulmate is ya know... supposed to say hey once in a while, right? I'm not an idiot... i knew something was up. I thought it was his health issues, since he'd told me it was his health issues. Yup - he brought out the gullible side of me.

There's this peculiar sound your body makes when all the air suddenly and violent gasps out. That was the sound i made when i realized he'd divorced and remarried. Never a word to me about any of it. I had to have an internal debate as to whether or not i had completely fabricated the relationship we had, because who dumps the love of their life without even telling them? Even though we'd drifted apart over the past several years and i no longer thought there was a chance in bloody hell we were going to get together it still wounded. Because there was this place inside that he still lived and loved. But that place began to empty out the final vestiges of the past that day.

For the first time in a very long time I popped over to my former "soulmate's" facebook page and saw the pics of his family, his grandkid, his wife and felt nothing. Not the reactionary "i'm not feeling a damn thing sort of nothing," but the true lack of any sensation of loss or sadness. He had become a stranger to me. The man who once was the most important person in my life, even above my own self, was not only someone i didn't know but someone i didn't want to know. And i realized i was more than okay with it, i just didn't care.

Who knew.
Sometimes, time does heal even the most grievous of heart wounds.

Friday, November 21, 2014

Nothing Changes Until You Change It

I had the rare fortune last night to listen to the experiences of a Civil Rights Footsoldier. A woman who picketed against discrimination, stood bravely (and scared) against the KKK, and did what she felt was right in order to be a catalyst for change in the world. She was only 17, a freshman at Spelman College in Atlanta, yet she had the courage to stand firm against segregation and discrimination to try and show the world that it was fucked up.

We read about these stories in history books and see them as small news clips from time to time but there really is nothing quite like hearing it from an actual warrior woman. And that's what these young girls who marched in 1960 were. Warriors.

It's about time that their voices were heard, that their stories are shared. So often in history, women have been the silent arbiters of change; working fiercely, but unseen, in the background. The only problem with that is it can create a social/gender misconception that females have little power or impact, which in turn can shape the self-identities of young women.

The most important catalyst for change is believing that we can make some kind of difference. Even if only a small one. Even if only in our beliefs about our selves and our place in the world. From that ripples out the life altering changes.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Morning Musing: The Domme Factor

I didn't wake up one morning and decide i was a dominatrix. Maybe there are some people who just decide "this is who i am and in my free time i'm going to torture lovely submissives." I'd probably find their motives suspect.

Despite being a redhead and infused with a genetic cocktail of irish, german and native american temper - i'm typically a nonviolent person.
I detest confrontation. I try to see the best in everyone. I consciously avoid causing harm to anyone, whenever possible. Unless i have a flogger in my hand. Then all bets are off and I morph into a joyfully demonic sadist who takes enormous pleasure in meeting the needs of my subbies. By inflicting pain that lingers for days.

And that's the key. Right there. Meeting one's own needs by meeting the needs of others. The D/s relationship is exquisitely rich with layers of complexity. There's not only consensual power exchange, there's the psychological aspects, the emotional components and of course the physical, which involves endorphine rushes that beats the hell out of everything else (no pun intended). Riding that line between pain and pleasure and feeling your very soul expand, spreading into territory you never knew existed... well, unless you've been there - you simply can't imagine it. The Domme in me loves giving that gift to the submissives who grant me their trust. And their pain.  Because there is pain. Not the "oh fuck, i smashed my hand" kind of pain. The "holy shit that hurts in the best damn way possible" type of pain. It hurts... but it doesn't.

I know this because in addition to being a Domme, i have a Master who likes to dish back everything (and then some) of whatever i deliver to my subs. It's like a perfect karmic cycle. I actually started out as a submissive, but even from the start i didn't submit easily... or gracefully. I can remember a couple of instances of having my clothes ripped off when i resisted. (oh lawd, i love my memories.)

While on the journey with him, an amazing thing happened - an aspect of myself that i had buried deep because it was so frightening, began to blossum. Thank all the goddesses that my lover is such an insightful man that he recognized what was happening and encouraged me to explore these emerging parts of myself. He became not just my Master but my teacher. Every compliment i receive from other Doms and from my beautiful subs belong to him.

I didn't wake up one morning and decide I was a dominatrix. It flowed out of me naturally, growing until it wrapped around me like a comfortable skin.  One that always belonged.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

When Good Spankings Go Wonderfully Bad

Still trying to figure out the changes to blogger since the last time i used it - oh, three or four years ago. So this blog will be an evolving work in progress. But hey, i got the fucker working, so yay me.

Yesterday my discipline sub came by for his weekly session. He actually JUST had one a few days ago, but was already asking for another so i knew he was feeling the need to push the boundaries of our D/s relationship. Our arrangement is for spankings only but I've noticed lately that he's begun to need more of the psychological punishment and humilation aspects to achieve his personal "state of grace." Sure enough he got mouthy with me, making smart ass remarks and even rolled his eyes once. It was so hard not to laugh because his antics were so transparent. Classic brat behavior. Such a cute little subbie.

When he is feeling very brave and trying to hit the zone, he wiggles around like a damn eel, dodging the blows because he knows that will cause me to order him to stay still and i'll strike even harder. The danger in that is that it's hard to control where the blow strikes. Yesterday the wooden brush rapped hard against my other hand as i held him in place and bruised the everliving shit out of my knuckle. Damn, those bloody brushes hurt like hell.

It made me appreciate the iron ass of this particular sub even more.

By the time i was done and finished with him, he was a whimpering puddle of sub-goo, melted across my sofa. Just to be mean I made him endure another fifteen minutes of ass whipping. Payback is a bitch. lol!

He left here unable to sit and thoroughly happy.

My thumb still hurts today. The price I pay to keep my subs happy.

Current Painting "SubSpace"

Testing, testing...
 "SubSpace" by Lakota Phillips