From the lead lined box

I’ve had reasons to talk about you recently. Sharing the memories and experiences of the FLR that we lived for all those years. I know my words do not really do it justice. I know they do not bring you, I, or ‘we’ to life. And that’s because I don’t want to bring those moments of you and I back to life. 

They are a part of life.

But a past life. 

The life that was you and I. 

I know each part of life we live and the people we may share it with is unique. And I also need to be open, to sharing those things because they’re a part of who I am too.

And, that’s what makes those moments as they are.

They are moments, memories in the recess of the mind. They’re the moments that are placed, like you are, into the lead-lined box that’s high up on the shelf out of reach. They’re the moments that carry such beauty and pain, of submission, service and dominance, yet carry with them the pain that makes the heart hurt in ways that it once felt that heart, MY heart, would never truly feel again. 

It is very rare that I go back there really, it’s one of those things that switches between the fondest of beautiful fucking memories, the beauty of your submission, the depths of the feelings we had to the immense pain and loss when all was lost. It is memories of one of those goodbyes in life that I think will always remain because of how hard it was, but also because it wouldn’t have been so hard if what was shared hadn’t been as it was.

In those shared moments you and I could truly be who and how we are, our needs no matter what, were there to be embraced and fulfilled. They are the moments where darkness was embraced and accepted and allowed to come out in the beautiful depraved moments explored together. 

Never made to feel less than. You placed me on a pedestal. Adored. Worshipped. You were cared for. Loved. I can still picture the marks on your skin, the way your tears would fall from the corner of your eye and track the same path down your face. I can still hear your words, your pleading, your begging, the sounds you made when your relief was granted. I recall the changing limits that grew with your trust, with your love, with your need to submit as you gave up more and more to me and which I lovingly and totally took. I can see the pain in your eyes as you watched me with him, wishing it were only you and yet accepting that it wasn’t. The twisting of your heart. The marks upon your skin. Of biting your lips, your neck. Of denying you. Of making you suffer and your suffering even more, because you know how much I needed it, yet you know you needed it too.

Yet despite all of these moments. 

Beautiful moments. 

The worst thing of all, is if I allow myself to, I can still feel the last touch, the last kiss. I can still hear the final goodbye. The last words. 

The last breath. 

The last sigh. 

The last tear. 

And that’s not fucking beautiful at all. 

And so, in that lead-lined box like a coffin you reside, because my heart can never go back there.

Because I don’t want to.  

But I still hope that maybe, one day, there’ll be an opportunity for beautiful memories and beautiful moments to be lived. With someone who has such beauty in their own submission, to feel the depths of what I know is possible, to explore and share the deepest and darkest with them and to create our own unique beautiful memories that take their own special place in the heart and in life. 

We may be able to move on from some things, we may even be able to forget others, one thing I cannot forget is who I am, how I am, and what I need. 

I truly learned all of that because of you. 

And for that, I will always share you in a way that I can. In a way, I hope my heart allows. 

With fondness, with truth, with love.

"...ing".....

Seed planting

Thoughts developing

Nerves building

Excitement mounting

Butterflies growing

Time passing

Eyes meeting

Knees quivering

Hands shaking

Face smiling

Cheeks blushing

Eyes lowering

Skin touching

Pores perspiring

Mouth sighing

Lips touching

Tongues meeting

Hands roving

Hearts thumping

Body longing

Hands groping

Fingers rubbing

Mouths groaning

Trousers straining

Arms gripping

Mouth exploring

Senses exploding

Cock hardening

Eyes darkening

Lust building

Bodies aching

Cunt dripping

Tongue lapping

Heart pounding

Muscles tensing

Toes curling

Limbs clamping

Palms twitching

Mouths groaning

Hips plunging

Hands gripping

Teeth biting

Mouths Screaming

Bodies convulsing

Fluids releasing

Throat sighing

Arms holding

Time passing

Bodies spooning

Calm returning

Destiny.

We heard the news yesterday, that the coroner has released the body following the death of my friend.  A moment of sadness, but also a moment which means that family and friends can now make plans to say a final farewell.  A farewell to someone who was special to a lot of people.

They were a friend, who had touched life in many different ways.

Every person you encounter in your life, whether it is significant or not, leaves an imprint on your soul… from the tiniest speck to a small mark to a huge spot. Sometimes they are like wounds that need time to heal, and sometimes they are like kisses that you wish you had more of. Everyone is important…they help to shape us to be the people that we need to be to be able find our true happiness.

They couldn't find their happiness in life and that makes my heart ache so very much for them.  They used to say be who you are, believe in yourself, be the person that you want to be and you will find happiness and ultimately the person you are meant to share it with.  My heart aches that they never found that happiness.

They once said to me, enjoy the journey in getting to that place, enjoy the people you encounter along the way.  Each person comes into life for a reason even if we may not see it at the time, they may be there for only a short period of time, but there's still a reason, it just may take us time to figure out what that reason is.  And sometimes, that reason may not bring happy times, it may bring sadness and heartache and pain and that makes it doubly hard to ever understand why that person has come into our lives. 

We shared this conversation again on the night before they took their life, and their words echo in my mind.

And this parting comment . . .

There will be a time that journey will reach it's destination, a moment when you are truly happy, when you are loving but more so truly loved back, then you will know that you have arrived at your destiny, that the people you've met along the way were only part of that journey, and when you find that happiness, that love, know that it's your destiny and you've arrived at your destination.  If you're not truly loved back, if you're not truly happy, then it's not the destination and the journey is not over.

My friend was part of my journey, a journey where I've not reached my destination . . . their words will remain with me always, I wish that they were still taking their own journey, but hope with all my heart, that in their destination they are at peace.

What was, now isn't and what never will be.

There are, some days throughout the year that I really think we could do without.

Mothers Day is one of them.

There are so many people who struggle with such a day, those who have lost their mothers or those who have never really known them, those who cannot be mothers themselves, those who have tried to become a Mum and  cannot, or have tried and have lost, those who have had children and have suffered the heart-breaking loss.

It brings a whole host of emotions and pain, sadness and anger to the surface, a time when people silently struggle with what this day is and their own conflicted feelings.

For me, it is a harsh reminder of the void that exists since my Mum passed away, it is a sad reminder that it was this time of year that we received the news that her illness was terminal and there was literally nothing they could do.  We didn't have a great relationship when I was growing up during my teen years, mainly following the separation of my parents, but from my late teens after the death of my much younger brother, we developed a relationship that blossomed.  In adulthood she was a rock, she was a great support and more than that, she was my best friend.  And even now, many years later, not a day goes past without my missing the fact I cannot pick up the phone to talk to her, to share news, to catch up.  I miss her.

I may have grieved, but her loss is still so deeply felt and this day doesn't stop the feelings returning, the sense of loss and the void that exists without her being here. The memories of her suffering and how much life changed after she'd gone. 

This day, is a harsh reminder that I was there with her, holding her hand as she took her last breath from this world, but it is also a reminder that I was there when someone so tiny was coming into this world, . . .into my world and yet never got to take a breath. 

This day is tinged with a sense of sadness and loss, a stark reminder of what was once there and is no longer and a harsh reminder of what could have been (however long ago it may have been) and yet, never will be.

And yet, there is something quite wonderful - I am a Mum. 

I am blessed by the wonderful son that I have and this is something I treasure so deeply.  He makes me proud every single day as I watch him grow into the wonderful young man that he is.  I am forever thankful and blessed that in being his Mum I have been able to learn what real love truly is. 

And for that reminder, I am thankful.

I am blessed and I know I am deeply lucky and yet the other feelings that sometimes creep (and which sometimes come full force like a fucking tsunami) to the surface on a day like today, tinges the most wonderful with sadness, with a sense of loss.

Such dissonant feelings that get pushed to the surface for one day. 

A reminder of what was and now isn't; a reminder of the potential but what will never be; but also a reminder of the wonderful for which I will always be thankful.

Wait for it!

At Last My Lovely ~ Jack Vettriano

"Someday, someone is going to look at you with a light in their eyes you’ve never seen, they’ll look at you like you’re everything they’ve been looking for their entire lives. Wait for it."


I just came across this comment while browsing tumblr.

And yes. Oh goodness YES!

You don't even need to close your eyes to imagine that moment. To have a moment so perfect, that moment when you see that light in their eyes, that moment. That look. That feeling. That surge of feeling and emotion.

And you don't need to close your eyes to imagine those feelings that you have in response, those feelings deep down in the pit of your stomach as you feel the feelings swell.  

Just reading it, just thinking of that moment, it brings that sense to you, of those feelings . . .so yes wait for it.  

Indeed.

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"

 

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".

Kiss in a perfect memory

Do you remember that afternoon in the park?

It was unusually warm for the time of year, the leaves that were hanging onto the trees made the dappled sunlight create such wonderful patterns on the grass beneath the canopy.

I wanted to climb under your skin.  I wanted to peel it back, tear you open, bare your innerself before me, making you open and vulnerable.

I can never remember the grass being as green and lush as it had been on that September afternoon.  The summer heat had failed to drain it of its colour.

I don't think I've ever had a more tender kiss.  Your lips were full and soft, they were filled with so many sentiments, filled with desire, with affection, with love.

When I leant down to meet you with my own, every single one of those things passed from your lips to my own, without a single word being spoken, without a single noise being made. A gentle tender kiss, yet filled with so much more.  Our tongues exploring, playing, teasing each other.  I can close my eyes and feel your lips against my own, reflecting upon the wonderful moment of poignancy, of attentivness, but certainly one without worries or solicitude.

The years pass.

Memories are filtered a million times and more, but I can still describe that kiss, that moment, just as I did back then.

It was tender. It was perfect. 

 

Once Loved. Once knew.

"Strange how someone you once loved can become just another person you once knew."

 Nicki Minaj

The end of another year.

A year which for me, saw a final goodbye of someone who had been such a part of my life for so long, even if from a distance at times.

They were someone I once loved.

Someone I loved in a way that I had not before.

Someone I loved because of things that we had shared, in many ways, and in ways not shared with another.  I know that they will be things that will not be shared again, not with them or indeed with anyone else.

But, while they were someone I once loved, they have in many ways, through the separation of time, become just another person I once knew. 

I didn't think at the turning of this current year that it would witness this.  I didn't think that the words that came from their mouth ever would.

The thing is, they have before.

I know first hand the depth of the darkest places they go to and when lost in that darkness that the only thing they know what to do is to lash out at those closest to them.  Except, this lashing out, has led to the separation in distance and time.  Their decision. Their choice.

I think, even though someone can become someone we once knew, that the feelings that were once felt, will always be felt.  That we will always carry them with us, even if in the recess of our thoughts and memories, that just because someone isn't with us any more, that they are not a part of our lives, we do not simply just forget. It doesn't mean that we no longer care.  It doesn't mean that we do not remember or that we just stop feeling.

We just remember differently.

We just feel differently.

But, for them. For him.  He was someone I once loved. Through his actions and his choice, he is becoming only someone I once knew.

Although I know the passing of time will never take away what was our reality, it may make us strangers.  The passing of time and the growing distance will never take away the fact that they were someone I once loved.

Whether they were once loved. Or whether they are becoming only someone once known.

Nothing can take away the reality of what was.

Reminders . . .

"When someone is truly in your heart, they are never truly gone. They can come back to you even at unlikely times" 

For One More Day, Mitch Albom


It seems an age ago that I lost you.  And even back then, I missed you more than you know.

I still do. 

When someone is in your heart, they are never truly gone. 

Somedays, I wish you were.

I wish you were gone.

I wish the memories and feelings and all that was, was gone.  I know that what was, will never be again.  And although the memories come back, goddamit I don't want them back anymore.  I don't want anything anymore!!!

They came back.

The memories. Not all of them good. But I know that you won't.

Time may take away the harsh edges of the memories. It takes away the hurtfulness of the words that you spoke.  It takes away the ugliness of what you were capable of; of what you did.  Thankfully time and distance smoothes the edges. 

But I wish time would wash them all away, like the sea washing over the sand, smoothing it over leaving no traces of anyone that has been there before it.  I want that sea to wash over me, my heart, the debris that you left in the wake of your storm.

But even though it was hard.  Even though the final "goodbye" was something that I had to do.  It is still difficult.  It is still hard.

Goodbyes are never easy. Even when you know that they are the right thing to be doing.

You played a big part in my life, and even though some of that was so toxic, I know that was because of what infected you, and not "you".  It was so rare though, that the "you" was something witnessed.  I know that I was priviledged to see "you". I know so few have.

I miss "you", the real you. The you that you enabled me to see. To know. To care for. To love. 

That distance that has been there since we started the separate paths has never felt so great.  I find myself wondering how you are. How things are. Whether you continue to get the help that you need. Whether you are still in the same place that makes you push everyone away, especially those that care.  But always me.  It has always been me that you have pushed away. 

I would be lying if I said that it didn't hurt. 

It does. 

I don't miss the brutal and ugly words that at times so easily fell from your mouth.  I don't miss the way that you felt it ok to treat people as you did.  But I do miss you. 

And I thought of you today. 

The thought of you and the feelings that came, starting in the depths of my heart, in the pit of my stomach and I felt it rising to my eyes.  I couldn't fight it anymore, fighting the tears that I have fought back for you for so long.

I hate to cry. I mean REALLY hate it. 

And I wanted to scream at you. Why? Why did you? Why did you do it?

Why . . . .?

I tried so hard to do what I could. What I thought that you wanted and needed at that time.  I tried so hard not to be worried or angry, or hurt by your actions.

I was all of those things.

And although I still am, the passing of time takes away the harshness of it all.  And yet, even now, you find a way in. Find a way to bring those feelings back to the surface with their full force.

Your words resonate in my mind.  My heart carries the scars that you inflicted upon it.

It didn't make sense. 

You didn't make sense. There was no real reason. There was no explanation.  You were selfish.

You always were.

You could be so strong at times, but so damned weak and cowardly on others. 

And as I thought of you today, I felt so much anger at you.  A burning intense anger that made me want to scream!!!!

Angry that you've made me feel this way. That even after this passing of time, that even from a distance, the tears finally came about you. 

And who would have thought that they would come now?

After all this time?

After all that you put me through.

They come now.  What the hell is that all about?

Fuck you!

Marked as Mine

His eyes fall upon the marks that adorn his body. 

The deep scratches which have drawn blood upon his shoulders and back.  The red marks which are gradually turning purple and black upon the cheeks of his ass, the shape of the handmade solid oak paddle clearly visible as an outline, the bruising colouring it in like a child would colour a picture. 

The welts form a neat pattern of criss-cross from the cane that had made contact with his skin only a moment before.  Nipples raised, red and sore.  The word "MINE" scratched into the skin across his chest. 

He looks as if he wants to say something, but cannot find the words to express what he is thinking or feeling at that moment.  I watch him, without word, drinking in his reaction, the way he looks.

I stand behind him as he continues to look at his reflection in the mirror and at the marks that make his body look so beautifully abused.  He slowly turns each way, trying to see the marks that are over his beautiful body.

And I drink in the way that he looks, the marks upon his body, the look upon his face, and as his eyes raise to meet my own, I can see and feel the depth of feeling from his eyes that need no words.

"I am marked" he whispers almost in surprise.

I simply look at him in the mirror and nod.

"I carry your mark." he smiles and his eyes light up as these words leave with such an enormity of feeling from his lips.  I look at him for what seems like an age, but is a few moments in reality. 

I smile.

My eyes not moving from his own.

"You are. Because you are mine!"

Reflections

Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.

~Rabindranath Tagore

Sunday just gone would have been my youngest brother's 21st Birthday.  I say would have been because he died when he was just 5 years old. 

It is hard to believe it is that long since he was here, it is even harder to imagine how he would have been as a 21 year old, although due to the illnesses etc that he had, it would never have been likely that he would have lived to that age anyway.  But even then, it is still hard to imagine.

He is buried, just across from where my Mum was laid to rest a couple of years ago.  And we made a visit to the cemetery (as I do most weeks) but particularly on this day to place flowers and to remember.  I talked about him to mini man, of how someone so small, so precious, but touched the lives of so many, in so many different ways. Of his smile, his infectious laugh, but also of the struggles that he faced in the short time that he lived.

I will always remember as we made the journey in the funeral car from home to the cemetery to lay my brother to rest, the old man who was walking along the road, who stood, removed his hat and bowed to the cars as we passed.  I have certain memories in a similar way from the day we laid my mum to rest.  It is strange the things that we remember on days such as this. 

My brother suffered so much physically within his short life.  Medical intervention at times left a lot to be desired.  The ongoing medical negligence case was something that never reached conclusion and was put to rest along with my Mum.  It was something she had fought with and battled for so very long but something that was ended when her own fight against her cancer was lost.

Most people, take for granted the journey they have through life, prepare little,  consider it even less, and most do not think of where that road will ultimately lead.  What makes us take note however of that journey that we make is the people we meet along the way.  Those we live with, work with, those we love and those we lose, those we share times with; good or bad. Family, friends, colleagues, strangers.

It is these people who shape the way we are, they teach us about love, about trust, about joy, they also teach us about loss, about pain and about hurt. 

We learn many of life's lessons from the people who are a part of our lives and often, it is through them that we discover our own strengths, our own weaknesses and all of the things that make us who we are.

Remembering J.
Your love. Your smile.
Beautiful Memories.