You knew

You leaned in and kissed him.

It was dark, yet light enough for people in the crowd to see.  You pulled him in closer, lips strong, tongues probing, as his stubble rubbed against yours.

Those close by watched with mouths agape, as tentatively his tongue began to explore your mouth, my hand pushing on the back of your head, encouraging you, forcing you in closer and deeper.

The pressure of my hand pushing you to know without doubt what I wanted.

Your legs begin shaking as your knees begin to bend.  Your mouth working its way down his body.

You knew what lay ahead.

You knew where your mouth was heading. You knew what you had to do, albeit not really wanting to do it.

You knew.

It might have been.

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, It might have been."

John Greenleaf Whittier.

I think and reflect. Of what might have been.  Of what could have been.  But of what will never be.  And I guess, those thoughts are ones of melancholic sadness.  It is always hard to think of the loss of the potential.  Especially when we know exactly what that potential was or could have been.

It could have been. It might have been. It never will be.

  

Ecstasy

… here was a boundless sensual freedom, theirs for the taking, even blessed by the vicar—with my body I thee worship—a dirty, joyous, bare-limbed freedom, which rose in his imagination like a vast airy cathedral, ruined perhaps, roofless, fan-vaulted to the skies, where they would weightlessly drift upward in a powerful embrace and have each other, drown each other in waves of breathless, mindless ecstasy. 

–Ian McEwan, On Chesil Beach

The first day of November and a typical November morning at that.  Grey, cold and raining, not a day which makes you want to jump out of bed.

In fact, far from it.

Getting up to walk the dogs and heading off to work while the day was trying to break into some form of daylight was just not appealing.  The only thing I was thankful for was that I wasn't having to leave anyone else there . . .otherwise it would have made it indubitably harder to have left.

It is just one of those days where you just want to stay wrapped up in the warmth of the duvet, languishing as the day slowly ticks by.  A day where the minutes pass so slowly, a day where you just want to stay in bed and fuck to the sound of the rain against the window, or in tune to the thunderstorm as it passes overhead.

A day to kiss and cuddle, chat and laugh, drinking hot chocolate, dunking biscuits.

A day to lounge, to stay warm, getting up on a November morning is not my idea of fun. It's a day to spend it with you, a day for teasing, moments of gentle intimacy and tenderness.

It's a day to curl up and read a book or watch a movie, taking a break every so often just to fuck a little bit more.

Passion

It lies in all of us.
Sleeping, waiting and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir.
Open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us, guides us.
Passion rules us all and we obey.
What other choice do we have?
Passion is the source of our finest moments.
The joy of love,the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of grief.
It hurts sometimes more than we can bear.
If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace but,
we would be hollow.
Empty rooms shuttered and dank.
Without passion we’d be truly dead.

Joss Whedon 

Touch

Touch has a memory.
~ John Keats

The memory of your touch lingers, the softness of your skin, the gentleness of your touch as your fingers traced the curves of my body, the roundness of your nails causing shivers to run through me, goosebumps forming wherever you have been.

The warmth of your breath against naked skin, the coolness of your tongue as it trails, following the path that your fingers traced only moments before.

You take me to the moment where I feel nothing but your mouth on my skin.   I see nothing but you.  I feel nothing but you.  I hear nothing but the sound of you calling my name, whispering gently, begging and pleading.

Touch has a memory.

Time flies

Time flies.

And yet sometimes it is impossible to know just where it has flown to . . .or how . . .or when.  Some days it is like life passes by in one long blur, rushing from one place to another, one task to another, and yet, very little to show for that time or how it has been spent.

Time flies.

And yet I wish that there was a way, just to slow it down, to stop the clock for just a moment to find the time to relish in those wonderful and precious moments.  To take each hour, each minute or each second and make it last for so much longer . . .making those wonderful moments last for eternity.  Except we can't and then those moments get lost and they drown under the waves of the daily grind and the rushing around.  And it is sad for those moments cannot be recaptured, they cannot be lived again, instead we have to treasure them, when they happen.  Treasure the memories that we have of them.  

Time flies.

And yet, I cannot believe how long ago some things have been.  Of how some "time out" can become weeks, if not months before we know it.  And then, it always seems so much harder to get back into things . . .we fall into a new routine, a new life, and maybe it isn't harder to go back, it's just easier for things to be the way they are.

Whatever it is.  I know this much . . . time flies.  

A view from afar.

I saw him yesterday.

From afar.  

He was sitting on the bench in the park, the weight of the world, if not the universe on his shoulders.  I watched him, his expressions, his reactions.  His pain.

And it took me back, right back to that time he had told me about his wants, his needs, his desires.  It took me back to that moment where his vulnerability was so clear, it took me back to that moment when he had come to me and told me about what had happened with his wife, her reactions at her discoveries.  It took me back to our "sliding doors" moment, the things we shared, the things we explored.

His vulnerability had always drawn me to him.  It wasn't a weakness or an issue, it wasn't a failing or a problem, it was beautiful. And his vulnerability touched me then, just in the way it always had. I remembered that night, where we had curled up on the sofa, his head in my lap, my hand gently stroking his hair while he talked.

I wanted to do that right then.  To walk over to him, to stroke his head and gently soothe out the pain and the stress that was obviously overwhelming him right now.  I wanted to touch him, hold him. Hurt him.  His vulnerability always had a way of awakening the sadistic beast even without him realising, or even trying to.

I've missed him.  But I remembered the last time I saw him.  The letting go that was right, but incredibly hard.  I remembered then his grip on my hand, the sparks that is sent coursing through me.  We have shared so many moments over the years.

And I've missed him.

I had hoped that in letting go, that he would have moved on to find a life to fulfill him, in the way that he needs, the way that he wanted.  I had hoped that he was happy.  But watching him then, he looked far from happy.

I know that we just aren't on the same page, not really.  And that is incredibly hard to admit when there's so many shared lines, shared chapters.  But, we want a different outcome, our stories are not the same, there is no happy ending ~ there never could be.  But it is hard, incredibly hard when there is common ground, common feelings, a shared attachment, a meeting of opposites.

And as I stood and watched him, I wished that it could have been different.  I wish that the ending could have been happy, but, while it could have had so much happiness within it, there would always have been things missing.  Things not right.  However hard, however much it broke my heart, it was for the best.

Sometimes letting someone go is the hardest thing in the world, but, I did it for him, for the right reasons. Although seeing his pain, his sadness. Although seeing that look in his eyes right then, I felt angry that someone or something was causing him those feelings.

I wanted to hold him. Soothe him. Tell him it would be alright.  Instead I could do none of those things except stand and watch him and hoping he would be, will he be ok?

"Maybe JoJo. Maybe"

 

Strange how life works.

"I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning."

Haruki Murakami

If only.

If only it were that simple.  If only it were possible.

But it isn't.

It is never possible to go back to the beginning, because in doing so, we would wipe out all of the things that have been, the things that have been shared. The experiences, the feelings, the moments shared, the things explored.  It isn't possible to wipe that out.  It isn't possible to forget it or wipe the slate clean.  But in a perfect world, things would be possible, but then it would be that everything from the beginning would have been just perfect.

"It’s so strange how life works: You want something and you wait and wait and feel like it’s taking forever to come. Then it happens and it’s over and all you want to do is curl back up in that moment before things changed."

— Lauren Oliver 

To go back to that moment, the time before things changed . . .it's not possible either, but while it wouldn't be the right thing, it would be good to go back to that moment.

So often that I think of things that I would have shared with you, things that we would have talked about.  There have even been times when I have thought I must tell you this or that.  And then realised that isn't possible either.

It is strange how life works.

Words

You are such an ASSHOLE!

End of.

Surviving surgery and lack of control!

I am now 3 weeks post surgery.

I am alive.

No matter how many people said "you will be fine", when you have a fear of something a million or more people could say that, but you don't or cannot actually believe them.

So yes, I survived the anaesthetic and the days are passing with a good recovery, I feel more tired which as an insomniac hasn't been too bad a thing to be honest, but, it does drain away the motivation for things that I'd love or want to be doing.  Still, in the longer term, it will be better. *I* will be better and things will be too, that is what counts and what I'm working towards.

And I hope that I will slowly be able to get back to writing, or more so, there being the motivation and want to do so.

When I was talking to the rather nice (and yes incredibly sexy!) anaesthetist prior to my surgery I said to him that I didn't mind what he did, as long as he woke me up at the end.  He looked at me and asked "do you not like not being in control?" 

I smiled.  He would never know what I was actually smiling for, but I smiled at him and said "No, I don't."

And it made me realise that one of the things about going under was that it was something I had no control over, that I couldn't control what my body or anything else was doing while sedated.  As I walked into the theatre and settled onto the bed, as they started to secure my arms down with straps it was a rather awful feeling.  Yes in my life before I have been restrained and tied down (a long time ago now mind!) but, it was a very surreal feeling, a very strange experience and one that I wasn't comfortable with.

And as I drifted off into the land of sleep, the light being the last thing I saw as I drifted into a rather wonderful but incredibly vivid dream, my thoughts were that no, I don't like not being in control.

But then, I already knew that *smiles*

My response VIII ~ what you want?

Dear mister_ticklist

How interesting, that you should write to me, stating that female dominants are rare.

I would disagree.

We are not that rare, not really!

You have written to me, with a tick list, a long email no doubt written and sent a hundred times before, to a hundred different people, in the hope that you will find someone who will give you exactly what you want.

You profess to be submissive, however, your email, your "list" clearly shows that you like a bit of kink when you fancy a bit, that you want your kink to be as you like it, when you want it, where, when and exactly how you want it.  You make it clear that I would be expected to "perform" for you, to dress in clothes that you think that I should be wearing, clothes that make me dominant.  You state how I should act, to be dominant, and wanting me to do, only the things that you want to do.
I am sorry to disappoint you that I do not meet your specification of what a dominant female is. 

And I am disappointed that having read my profile, you think that we are on the same page or that I have misled in anyway that has led you to contact me.

I wonder if it is a dominant that you seek, you want to be in charge. You want to be in control. You want someone, anyone it appears,  to cater to your needs, when, how and where you want.

We are not on the same page.  And on reflection, yes, perhaps female dominants are rare ~ or more so, just perhaps the female dominant that you are seeking is!

I hope that you have luck with your "spec".

My Response VII ~ Who cares?

Dear Iva_HardOn

You kindly took the time to write to me, saying how much you enjoyed reading things that I have written, that there were things that you related to, that "hit home".

That I appreciate.

I am glad that you feel that way and that there are things that I have written that make you think!

It is a shame you hadn't managed to read THIS  before you sent your message!

Because, do you really think that I needed to know that as you were writing to me, after you had read, that you were sat there with a Hard on?

Why?

Why do I want to know?

Why do I care?

I don't.

Burning bridges

"My girlfriend doesn't understand me".

How many times do you hear it? I hear it so much it drives me round the twist.  I understand that there are many people in relationships where their "other half" doesn't understand them or their needs.  It may be that I do understand the needs that they may have.  But, I'm not the gf!

"I don't get what I need from my relationship".

How many times do you hear it?

Probably as much as I do.  And yes, I understand there are a whole lot of people who don't get what they need from their relationship ~ I didn't from mine so it is in the past.  Everyone has the ability to change this.

But what is so frigging annoying are those who complain and moan about how their relationship isn't right, that it doesn't meet their needs, that they aren't able to be what they are or what they need to be.  But do absolutely nothing to change it.  It goes on for years and years without ever changing.  But I don't know what they expect me to do . . .

I can't change it.

Only YOU can.

You are the one in that relationship. You have the ability to change it.  You have the ability to be able to be who you are, what you are, but in a relationship that is right for you.

No-one can make those changes for you.

But, while you are in that relationship, nothing, will ever go beyond a friendly chat, I will be an understanding friend.  Nothing more.

It's not my style. It's not my scene. It's not my thing.

But on the same subject, don't think that you can "pick up" and "put down" when it suits you, don't think that you can "come and go" as you wish, when you wish.  Don't think that you can pick up when it suits, put down while a temporary "alternative" comes along and think that it will be ok when you come to "pick up" once more.

It maybe "ok" in your book.

It isn't in mine.

You may think that it is a good way to treat someone.

I don't.

Bridges burn . . .don't try crossing it again!

House Slaves and House Maids

There was a discussion going over on IC some time ago, talking about house slaves/house maids HERE and I do not think it is surprising that people often wonder what someone can get out of such service.

Some truly fail to see how someone can be fulfilled in this way, although quite often it seems the ones who cannot understand it come into D/s with a completely different outlook as to what it is and what it means to them ~ which is understandable.  If it isn't their thing, if it doesn't fulfill their needs, they aren't likely to fully understand how it can to others.  Some people will make comments because they speak out of ignorance, looking down on people who are fulfilled in such a way.  But simply; they just don't get it.

But, to me, I totally get it.

Totally get that someone can be fulfilled from such a service orientated role.  That they can simply be pleased and have fulfilment from making someone's life easier.  This however, isn't an easy thing to find, there are very few who truly want or who could be at ease within such a role.  It seems that the number of people who search for such, who long or desire such, decreases by the day.  They are certainly quite rare it would appear.

Within that thread, there is a male submissive, who explains what he gets from his service in this way, of how it works for him . . .it seems that the service he provides is such a rare thing, but what stood out for me, is what he gets from it, of how he explains how it fulfills him and his needs.  It goes on to show that it isn't just about having a service submissive, but that it is something quite special.  His words, actually spoke volumes, so much so that I wanted to share it here. 

The IC member Lanterne_Rouge  wrote this . . .

I've served in this way for a decade or so, with one Lady in particular for the last few years.

I don't "get off" on housework (as it was described in the original post); it doesn't give me a sexual thrill and at home it's just chores that I do. In normal working life I've got a stressful and senior role. I very rarely actual "do" anything, I'm more often juggling people and other resources or working on strategy and other long term guff, generating excel sheets and powerpoints. 

Performing service for a Lady allows me to completely switch this off. I'm usually doing something quite manual for her, and able to focus on quite tightly defined tasks ("Clean the oven") rather than dealing with the uncertainties and open ended work items of my job. I can perform a task, and see it through to completion. I may even get some praise for it if done well. For a while I can simply exist, which is fantastically mentally relaxing even when I'm rushing around scrubbing, polishing, cooking, whatever. There is a real satisfaction in a job well done - and, conversely, real disappointment and shame if she finds something I've missed that she then needs to complain about or punish me for.

Sometimes I work with close supervision (there is nothing that concentrates the mind quite so much as the Lady pacing up and down, flexing a riding crop or paddle and sometimes swatting me if I'm not fast enough, or thorough enough). That tends to be when she is in a more playful mood and wants to enjoy watching me toil for her, and exert her dominance - or if she's just had a rough day at work and wants to work out some pent up aggression.

Other times, I'm told what to do and left to get on with it whilst she goes into her study to catch up on work, or relaxes with a glass of wine and a good book. In this case I may prepare and serve her a meal whilst also ensuring that the kitchen is left spotless (regardless of its state when I arrived) and any other tasks have been completed. In these sessions I may have very little interaction with her. 

The goal and satisfaction for me come in seeing that she is feeling relaxed and pampered. There is no expectation or hope that I'll get anything beyond a pat on the head and a thank you as I leave. It feels especially good if she has examined my work and not found any real issues with it.

With the Lady that I've been lucky enough to work for over the last few years there is no intimate service involved - although she knows that I appreciate seeing ladies in general wearing fully fashioned stockings and heels (well, I'm a bloke, aren't I!), so will sometimes wear them when I'm serving her as a treat (always with a decent length skirt, an elegant not a tarty look). This isn't always the case; she may equally often be wearing "slouchy" clothes - jeans and an old t-shirt or jumper chosen purely for comfort rather than looks. I have no expectations or demands on her.

I wear what she tells me to wear, which will usually reflect any particular jobs that she needs doing. That may be workwear (trousers and t-shirt) for hard work DIY/seriously dirty tasks or gardening, or if she fancies some eye-candy as I work around the house doing general cleaning she'll have me wear a short skirt, stockings and heels or perhaps a leather slave harness as the mood takes her.

On the odd occasion that I've been privileged to serve when she's had an evening with a few of the girls around (so ensuring that the house is clean when they arrive, serving drinks and nibbles, cooking & serving food, clearing up afterwards) she's preferred me either in waiter-style black trousers, white shirt and bow tie or alternatively blouse, skirt, stockings and heels depending upon which particular ladies are her guests. Wearing non-street clothes does help me get into the service head space, but is non-essential to my enjoyment.

So, back to the original question - there is a well understood dynamic between us. We both know what we'll get out of the arrangement, and enjoy each others company (often having fits of giggles together rather than behaving strictly in Mistress/servant roles). We sometimes meet socially as equals in a pub or coffee bar just for a natter and a drink. I'd find it hard to serve somebody that I don't like and respect - if that was the case then how could I get my enjoyment from seeing her needs met?

From her point of view, she obviously gets all the nasty jobs done that she dislikes (oven cleaning, floors scrubbed etc.) and any tricky handyman stuff, but beyond that also gets an evening of feeling both empowered and pampered - or if she's working late whilst I'm performing my chores then simply having her life made a little easier during a busy period. One of my best moments - seeing my Lady swell up with pride when one of her guests at the end of an evening said that she wished she had the services of someone like me.

I know that I could quite easily be that guest who said she wished she had the services of someone like him.  Because quite simply, it would just be perfect.  Someone who is able to be of service in this way, to this extent, to be at ease within that role, but more so, not to come with a whole list of wants and needs, but to be fulfilled in the role that he is fulfilling.  That the submissive needs, the needs to serve are met through those chores and tasks.  

As I mentioned earlier, people like this, are a very very rare, but special find. Someone else in that thread also says

" think "most" people advertising to be a maid have ulterior motives and that they want a bit of spanking or sex at the end of the cleaning etc....There are very few, like myself who genuinely just wish to clean and make someone elses' life better"

And that is it . . .that hits it right on the head.  The desire to make someone elses' life better.  As it says in the quote above

"the goal and satisfaction for me come in seeing that she is feeling relaxed and pampered. There is no expectation or hope that I'll get anything beyond a pat on the head and a thank you as I leave. It feels especially good if she has examined my work and not found any real issues with it."

It is about not having expectations, of not coming with a tick list of wants and needs that need to be fulfilled as so many seem to think that is the point of submitting, that is what submitting is all about.

For some, it is about that tick list. And for them, that is fine.  This is all about after all, what it is for each of us.

For others, it is far far beyond that.

For me it most certainly is.

But, it was refreshing to see that someone serves in this way and gets their fulfillment from serving, from pleasing.  Not because they have a whole host of expectations to be fulfilled to get that satisfaction. It does go to show, that there are some people out there who share that wavelength, that thought.

If only we could all be as lucky to find this . . . .

Insomnia . . .

I have suffered from insomnia since my mid teens.

25 years later, I still do.

You would think that I would be used to it by now.  Except some nights, like tonight, it is just extremely frustrating not being able to sleep.  I was just drifting off when there was a huge noise and banging outside in the garden, it startled me as I had the windows open and am also in a bungalow, so it always makes me on edge.

The noise startled me, it woke the dogs who in turn started barking, only for me to discover that a neighbours cat was attacking one of my kittens.  So, I put a t-shirt on and venture bare footed out into the garden to come to his rescue.

He likes to be out and about, and in this warm weather we hardly see him.  He likes to curl up outside on the decking or in a hedge and he falls into the deepest of sleeps.  Except tonight, he decided that he was going to disturb us all, and now I am awake and can't get to sleep.

It's hot.

There's no air. And even the fans don't help.  Times such as this that I wish we had air conditioning ~ one thing I always like when we go away on holiday, is the ability to really cool off the room.  It really is quite suffocating and if it wasn't for the nasty things flying around in the air, I would head out into the garden to sleep!

And now it is approaching 4am.

The alarm will go off in 2 hours and another busy day in the office lies ahead, as well as the fact that it is grooming day for the dogs, so I have to travel across town first thing and again at lunchtime so they can have their bi monthly groom.  Ah, what I wouldn't give for a few hours of pampering and attention like that! lol

Work is chaotically busy right now, and the news this week of a VAT inspection next week, really hasn't helped matters.  It seems to be that everything has to happen at the worst time.  It is only a few weeks until I am due to have surgery ~ another thing which as time goes by, messes with the ability to sleep.

My deep fear of anaesthetic plays heavily on my mind and as the date draws nearer it is even harder.  I have even had to scour the country to find a surgeon who has a zero mortality rate, and while I could have the surgery done on the NHS, it really isn't an option if I cannot have that.  So, I have found someone who has that rate, but certainly has a price tag to go with it.  Another hassle, another thing to sit in the mind, another thing to go whirling around in the head when reality is, it's time to sleep.

A nice long head massage, a foot rub, someone playing with my hair . . .gently scratching my back . . .all of the things which can deeply relax me, moments of closeness and intimacy, and it is these things I miss.  That ability for something and indeed someone to help take away the pressures of the day, to help take away the pressures of life.  Simple things it may seem, yet things which have a real meaning, but play a real important part in things too.

They are things that I miss.  Simple things.  No grand gestures, but somethings which can actually express a great deal more.

And when the insomnia kicks in to the level it is tonight, what I wouldn't give for just one of those things, to help empty the mind, relax the body, and bring on the sleep!

I would say, goodnight, but as the sun is already getting up to start another day, and I haven't even made it to bed yet, perhaps I should just say good morning and wish you all a good day!

But thank god its friday!

Risk

"Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go"

T.S. Elliot

True.

So very true.

It isn't easy to take risks.  But if we don't put ourselves out there, if we don't take them, we will not only never know how far we can go, we will never get how far we want to go.

Belt

She didn't have to say a word, the look from her eyes said it all.  The way her hand held the belt made him shiver.

It had been a while since he had last felt the touch of leather, the mark was one he had worn for days and the memory even now made the sense of fear build in the pit of his stomach, he moved his legs as he felt himself begin to harden.

His mouth was dry, he couldn't speak, his lips parting to utter the words except nothing could come out.

She moved slowly towards him, her eyes not leaving his for one moment.

She reached down, feeling his hardness inside the black silk panties she had left for him to wear.  He couldn't even groan, but the desire within his eyes said more than enough.

She leant forward, kissing him deeply, her hand fisting in his hair bringing him closer.  As she stepped back, she placed the belt in front of his lowered eyes.

He kissed it.

He knew what was coming next.






*where my thoughts were today*

More balanced? Whatever . . . .

I follow a blog called "worshipping your wife" HERE  and they have recently handed over their blog to some guest columnists, (and I will continue to follow with a renewed interest) but it is now in the hands of "Nancy and Dennis" a couple who actively live an FLR marriage and are activists in promoting such a dynamic.

This is, in some ways for me,  a relationship that is just bliss ~ a reflection of FLRs, what they are and how they work.  And reading their first introductory post here it expresses so much of how it is. I found myself nodding at their dynamic, of how it is set up and how it works for them.

I don't know if I share their feelings in relation to the term "progressive" because I don't ultimately feel that would reflect my own dynamic, I think FLR covers that quite perfectly, but I shall most certainly be following this blog with a renewed interest.

If FLR's are for you, or if you're considering, thinking or already following an FLR, it is certainly a most interesting blog to check out!

Anyway . . .time for the rant . . . !!!


One thing that did annoy me tho and it isn't the first time, it most certainly won't be the last,  was an anonymous comment from someone who fine, fair enough, doesn't follow or want an FLR, but someone who chooses to state that his relationship, because he is in control and is the "big strong man" who leads the household, that his relationship is more balanced than how Nancy and Dennis describe their FLR.

Who is this anonymous person to say his relationship, his dynamic is more balanced??  Fuck me!

Who is anyone to say that their relationship is more balanced/better/greater/stronger/ *enter any thing you want to here* than anyone else's??

It really does get right up my nose when people start making these statements.  It is like those who say that D/s relationships are deeper/stronger/have a stronger bond compared to other relationships. Or that when a D/s relationship ends, its harder to cope with.

BULLSHIT!

It isn't.

These relationships are as they are.  They follow different dynamics, but it doesn't make one stronger, or better. It doesn't make people in one type of relationship better than the other, more balanced than the other.  Why do people feel drawn to saying that their relationship or lifestyle choices are better than anyone elses?

This anonymous commenter, says that the lifestyle choice of an FLR

"sounds like a form of torture to me"

and fine, yes maybe for you it is. And that is fine.  It maybe great that his wife loves her

"big strong man to lean on",

but my god, that to me suggests that a woman being in control does so over a "weak" man, and that because a man chooses to defer to a woman strips him of his strength, and that the woman neither has someone to lean on, or couldn't lean on her man!

BULLSHIT!

Absolute bullshit! 

He goes on to say

"It feels great using my wit, intelligence and understanding to lead our house and my wife revels in it also."

Great.  And I mean it.  It is great that he feels as he does and his wife revels in it.  But people in FLR's, men in FLRs aren't stripped of their wite, their intelligence, just because they do not lead the household doesn't make them lose anything. But neither does it, Mr Anon, make your relationship more "balanced" than anyone elses.

It doesn't make yours anymore "anything" over anyone elses!  Just because you choose to follow a certain way of living Mr Anon really doesn't make your way better, more stable, stronger, or more balanced.

It just means it is right for you.  Just as the way other people live is right for them. 

Mr Anon goes on to say;
OMFG!!

"Only i say our relationship is more balanced than how you describe yours. Anyway good luck with your own marriage, respect others and be happy."

I think it is you, Mr Anon that needs to respect others. Respect others choices.  And accept that just because you live your life one way, doesn't make it better than anyone elses. Who is to say yours is more balanced?

It isn't.

So a big bowl of FUCK YOU!

*rant over* LOL

Beyond the guilt and shame

"I feel guilty and shame" he told me the other night.

"Guilt and shame for the needs that I have. For the things that I want or need to do.  I cannot leave behind the baggage that people place, that society places.  But, there is also something of feeling that guilt and shame when I do the things that I do, and I cannot imagine what it would be like to be freely ok with the needs that I have.  I am scared that if I let those feelings go, if I can get past them, of how I will feel".

Liberated?

Free?

To be free from guilt and to carry now shame about the things that you want or need?

I think a lot of us worry, about how it would be if we ever got to a place of not having that shame or guilt about the needs that we have.  I worried that things would be boring, would never be enough and that if I accepted everything that I did that it would lose its interest, lose its excitement, that it would take all of the feeling out of it all.

It hasn't.

It doesn't.

You just get to enjoy the things that you like and want and need, without feeling guilty. Without feeling shame.  I have felt liberated.  Accepted. Free.

This conversation, really reminded me of something that I had read a long time ago, by Guy New York and I pointed this person I was having the conversation with in the direction of this specific piece of writing.

"Beyond guilt and shame"

In my dreams of liberated sex without fear, guilt, or shame I find an underlying anxiety that is more troublesome.  Beneath the struggle of leaving behind my cultural baggage is the worry that if I am successful in moving past the guilt and the shame I will be left with sex that is dry, dispassionate, and uninspiring. 

It’s the same fear that comes to writers when we think we need to live the mythic life of the artist and all that it entails.  It’s the fear that comes to musicians when we hide behind drugs and alcohol. 


It’s the fear that left all alone without our worries we just may not be good enough.


I’ve seen glimpses of the other side though, and I can tell you it’s all a lie.  On the other side of shame and all the other stories we’re told and accept is something remarkable.  On the other side of guilt is sex that is wild, kinky, and powerful. On the other side of shame, and fear, there is love, honesty, and passion.   On the other side, there is sex full of mind-blowing orgasms that leave us trembling, shaking and begging for more.
—Guy New York

I am on the other side.

I don't have that guilt or shame.

I don't have the fear of what people will think.  I accept what I am, what I need. Just as I accept other people for what they need.

On the other side there is love, honesty, passion, there is that sex of mind blowing orgasms, but there's also a whole lot more beside . . .losing the guilt and the shame doesn't take away from anything.  It just allows you to enjoy it all in a different way, in a liberated way.  It allows you to be who you are, what you are, what you need to be.

But more so, it allows you to be free.

My hand, tightens around his throat bringing his face up to meet my own.

My moans are muffled as I reach in and kiss him deeply. Between each kiss he gasps for air and moans as my leg grinds against his cock.

I can feel a pressure building inside my head, blood pounding through my body.  My body feels alive. A scream erupts from your throat which I silence with my mouth upon your own and a tightening hand around your throat.  You gasp and move yourself faster and harder against my leg.

My hand reaches into your hair, twisting it, pulling you in closer; tighter; harder as my mouth denies you of air.  You gasp at any opportunity, struggling for breath you plead.  I kiss you harder, my body beginning to convulse from the orgasm that waves over me.  I am coming and yet feel as if I am dying.  Your pleading is weak, muffled.

I feel your body tense, your cock swell as you rub against me even harder.  Your eyes filled with fear, disorientated, arousal as you beg and plead.  The release from your body takes with it the tension and pressure.

Slowly the air returns to your lungs.

Mine

I remember the first time, as if it were yesterday.  I remember not knowing what to expect, not knowing how it would be, the sense of fear so overwhelming I could hardly breathe.

I remember you took my breath away.

I remember how it felt to be there, with you, to place myself into your hands with a level of trust so deep; I had never felt so scared yet so safe all at once.

I remember the first time you touched me and the sensations it sent right through my body.  I remember looking into your eyes and the look going straight between my legs.

I remember the way it felt when you covered my eyes with your hands, plunging me into a darkness that only served to heighten my other senses, before you carefully placed the mask over my head.

I remember the anticipation I felt as I was there knelt before you. The fear, the arousal, the sense and the fear of the unknown and of you.  I remember you leaning over me, whispering in my ear, telling me that you were going to hurt me. 

I remember how those few words made me feel. But more than that, I remember how every moment of the first time made me feel.

I remember the way it felt as it made contact with my skin, I remember the electricity that passed through my body as I cried out from the pain that you caused with the cane that you used so expertly.

I remember the way it felt as the initial shock melted away within my body, the feelings spreading through my body like ripples on a lake, as it sent me cascading over the edge like a waterfall over a cliff.

I remember the way it felt as you covered me with your body, holding me close, letting me know that you were going to do it again.  I remember the way that you took my face in your hands, bringing my eyes up to meet your own and the way that I could see deep within you, the longing, the desire deep from within your soul.  I remember crying out as the pain seared through my skin and into the depths of my body.  I remember the gasps that left my mouth, the groan that escaped from my throat, I remember the tears as they quietly poured over my cheeks and onto the pillow beneath me.

I remember how it felt, when you reached down and touched me, my own wetness betraying the arousal of my body, of how sensitive my skin was to touch; to your touch. I remember your touch, the way your fingers felt against my skin, how your nails felt as they gently traced a pattern over my shoulders and down my back.  I remember the burning pain as your nails broke my skin as your other hand reached up and twisted my hair in your fist. I remember the pain searing through my head as you dragged me to my knees by my hair.

I remember how it felt when you touched me gently, with love and tenderness.  The insatiable look within your eyes as your beast prowled within, showing me that you had only just started; that you wanted to hurt me so much more.  I remember how it felt when you hit me, slapped me, bruised me, the sting of the leather as it made contact with my thighs; my ass and my breasts.

I remember as I began to float outside of my body, watching you hurting me.  Watching myself lost to the moment of exquisite pain.  I remember the marks covering my skin, the welts from your cane, the hand shaped bruise on the cheeks of my ass and the marks of the crop in little patterns over my thighs.  I remember the taste of blood from the cut on my lip, the way my cheeks stung from the intensity of your slaps.

I remember the marks around my wrist from the rope you had tied me with, the redness and soreness from where I had fought against those ties, trying to escape from your brutality.  I remember the way my legs ached from being restrained by the bar, which had pushed them open wider than was naturally comfortable.

I remember you holding me, the way it felt when you stroked my hair as I curled up in a ball shaking and shivering while my body and mind desperately fought to reconnect.  I remember begging you, pleading with you, screaming at you, then thanking you.

I remember being before you, in front of you, knelt before you. I remember your arms holding me up as my legs crumbled beneath me, the way my body shivered at your touch.  I remember your voice, the names that you called me as I hated you, despised you, being angry at you. I remember wanting you, needing you, feeling you, loving you.

I remember the taste of you, the smell of you, the intensity of your touch.  I remember your desire, your arousal, your need as you took what you wanted, what you needed, however you needed.

I remember through the pain and the tears, through the way that you had broken me, that I told you that I loved you.

I remember you shouting "MINE".