Begging

This idea of begging for something can seriously blow me. The few times I've truly, really, begged for something- I've been denied, every fucking time. So why does it seem to be such a common and popular thing, when most men (people, actually) will deny you the things that you desperately want, tears and all, even to often, later, grant them? Or to grant them if you show a lack of interest?

This whole concept to me drives me insane. Fuck begging, I will never let myself feel that way ever again.

Guilt

I am constantly feeling guilty. Guilty about some small thing I did or said, guilty for drinking, guilty for fucking or flirting. I can find something in most days to feel guilty about, and I'm not entirely sure why that is. I think it might be from conditioning from a previous relationship, but I'm not all convinced. Could also be partly from my upbringing and a part of my personality desiring to be perfect. Probably all three, and then some. I do know it's connected to my masochism, my need to feel cleansed of these feelings. Which isn't the only reason I ever crave the sting of pain. There's pretty much any reason I could come up with for that, but it is often based around feeling guilt. It can be quite frustrating, not having anyone but myself to answer to about it. Adjusting behavior to be more of myself and not of how I was moulded some years ago. 

I don't want to feel guilty for things that I enjoy, to feel like I'm constantly doing something wrong. But maybe I am doing something wrong, and the guilt is simply there to remind me that I'm misbehaving. But misbehaving to whom? Myself?

Hmm... things to think on 

Hate side of Love

It sucks how much my emotions have the capability of hanging on the attention of one (or two) individuals. Usually this isn't the case, but when it happens it's quite all-consuming, self-centered, horrible. 

I went from having one of the happiest moments, to being crushed by feeling insignificant. 

This is perhaps the main reason I hate BDSM relationships.

Kneeling on Rice - A Super Afterthought

Looking at my blog I see that my rice-kneeling experience is my among my most viewed entries- though, I must say, even that is a small number. But still, I have a desire to clarify.

I make it sound as if I was triggering my longing for him as being why I cried.

The reality is that Juliet asked me, why do you not cry?

and I searched within myself to find the answers.

Rebellion.

Rebellion was the answer. So torn was I over the fact that I wasn't with him that I was willing to stretch out and deny him his desire for as long as I could.

Well, I certainly suffered that rebellion.

It was and it wasn't my longing for him that made me cry. I think a bigger part of it was my realizing some things:

a) I loved him, I wanted him, I needed him.
b) No matter my stubbornness, I was his
c) (and perhaps most importantly) I didn't forget to call him Sir, I did it on purpose to be punished and feel him- physically, mentally, emotionally. I was searching for that severe connection.

These things have a way of back firing, but I needed it to fill the void that he left with not meeting me. The only thing I ever asked of him.

Heart Sisters

Let me tell you about the only person (besides, family) I've ever truly loved.

Let's call Her Suzie.

I am standing in the rain, under the awning of a bodega in Dumbo, Brooklyn. She is late and I'm on my third cigarette, determined to look nonchalant as I meet her. I wonder vaguely, as I always do, if I'll know it's her. You see, I meet people off the internet quite frequently, though this one has me in quite the knots. She is beautiful, and I'm not sure if more on the outside or in, and that's what makes me so nervous. Anxious, more like.

I see her just as she's advancing on me, as I've not been looking up and down the streets but leaning against the wall, intent on the rain and the gutters and the cobblestone and my shoes- anything but to be looking for her. She's wearing tall boots with square heals and toes, leggings, loose shirt, long pea coat... hat, umbrella. All black. I feel her coming and her smile when I raise my eyes to meet her's is radiant, and she barely stops to link arms with me and then we're on down the sidewalk, matching strides and sharing her black umbrella.

Of course, I have no idea what I was wearing, but I am too cool for an umbrella.

Fast forward hours later. After coffee and guacamole and much talking, we come back to find my car is gone.

Did I park too close to that fire hydrant on purpose?

She invites me to spend the night with her. We walk and get a bottle of wine. Eat icecream in the cold. I  open the bottle with a screw found in the cubby-hole of a room she's staying in. We are quite entertained by my dedication and I have yet to really live it down, though we barely speak of those days anymore.

It is easy. We talk of our pasts, we talk of our futures. We talk of love and loss. I take my most favorite picture of her that night and we sleep with arms draped over eachother and wake in eachother's eyes. It is innocent, but more than friendly.

On our way to pick my car up from the pound we talked a lot, nor did we ever really stop talking, actually - but I remember talking about the Universe and Desire. That speaking of your want from it, will yield those same results. That words and intent have power.

I remember feeling I wanted her in my life forever, whatever that meant...

Her Price is Steel

"Her Price is Steel" by Marcus Ranum

So I've been lightly interested in Gor for some years. Mostly it's the intensity, the rules and seriousness. But a few months ago I worked with Marcus for the first time, and he gave me the first three books in the series. Long story short I didn't read them, though the second book found it's way back into my hands recently. Against my desire to skip ahead a book, I started reading it anyway. Within a few chapters of Outlaws of Gor, our protagonist finds himself in a situation of rescuing a beautiful girl from slavers who have been hunting her. He claims her as his to them, and tells them that they can have her if they pay her price. "And her price?" they ask, "Her price is steel" he responds as he draws his sword.

Now, it's easy to look at me and what I'm saying and be like, shit, you're a fuckin nerd, do you hear what you're talking about? But what girl hasn't secretly dreamt of a time and space where men actually defended women. What part of collars and chains and slavery and muscles and power and sex and blood isn't fucking hot? That statement is saying, this girl is  mine and if you want her, you'll have to kill me. That's some dedication. That's some serious kind of love and masculinity.

It's fantasy love. It's perfect love.

I love possesion. I love the words "you're mine" or "she's mine". There's so much power and safety in them.

I want to belong. And that includes to a person.

Well, in my ideal fantasy world, I do. I have yet to come across a man who could (or wanted) to deal with me, tame me. He probably doesn't exist and it's more like I have to tame myself and build myself into that woman that that kind of man would actually want.

But whatever, the point is, BDSM is a beautiful thing.

"Pole Dance" by Marcus Ranum

Today I've been made to take a hard look at my personality flaws.

You see, I have this horrible habit of goading people (particularly men of power or strength) into anger. I want to see and feel the effects, I want to pull out of them a sadistic nature that is in all of us, no matter how small it might be. I want to feel a person's wrath, that carnal passion that is perhaps the most pure and true... I like pain and humiliation. But perhaps this is more a problem of not knowing how to love men properly. Daddy issues. Abandonment issues. Sexual issues... Pride issues. And God knows, serious Authority Issues.

There's this girl that I was chatting with, and twice she's stuck out to me such simple comments. One was asking me what I'm afraid of, the other was by telling me that I'll never get what I want by hiding.

Afraid is obvious to me. I'm afraid to let men into my soft, loving side. I know it's big, that side, and so thoughtful and caring. Even when I hide it, I am aware of everyone's needs around me. I pay attention to details and I listen and remember. I'm afraid of not being loved, I'm afraid of being left and of fucking it all up, like I'm so good at doing.

Better to leave than be left. Better to hurt than be hurt.

But really, the only person I'm hurting is myself.

And hiding. I thought on this a while. I live a life fairly free of BDSM, it's my dark secret. Though men can sense the crazy on me. They somehow know that I'm a freak in the bedroom. But I don't just want rough sex, I want the whole experience. I want to be safe, and wild within that safety. Free to be what I am in the eyes of Someone who sees me. A Master. A lover. A true Man. But how can I ever find what I'm looking for if I'm hiding? Which I am. Practically my only interactions with anyone in the Lifestyle are online, which even that has only been surface level. I don't go to any sort of lifestyle events, stay active on any forums, search out anyone.

In my modeling I've taken to making slave inspired images. Where I get to make this art based around my comfort and desire over collars, chains and rope. Perhaps it's time to stop hiding it. Perhaps it's time to stop fearing judgement which is clearly only complicating my life.

I know that my dark streak isn't going anywhere. But that doesn't mean that it has to be evil, that it has to be based out of anger. There are healthy ways to do these things, and I know it, so why do I keep perpetuating the cycle?

It's time to start acting like the woman I want to see myself as, rather than the child I've been.