All the Lives I’ve Lived Before

Today I took a mental health day and let my racing brain recoup from what has already become a busy semester of grad school. I stayed home and allowed myself the guilty pleasure of purging through my closet, a relatively normal thing to many that used to be an extremly difficult thing for me to do.

For 28, I have been and done many things. Even looking back through this blog, when this whole journey started, I feel as though I have lived an entire life since 22.

A lot has changed since the last time I sat and wrote in this blog. A lot continues to change still.

We moved to Oakland in late April, after I met Ace in Chicago. Outside of the truck being a monstrosity of a thing that we both struggled with it was further proof that we wouldn’t kill each other while spending extended periods together. Honest reccomendation from a lovesick fool; find yourself a partner that will belt out Paradise by the Dashboard Lights with you while driving through Iowa. It makes the hours fly.

Seth has been both a saint and a rock. He has blown me away with his consistency, from showing up and helping to pack up and move back in April to continually paying his share of rent when some of us weren’t able to. I was so afraid of asking him to be domestic, and to be domestic in a city at that. He moved to Oakland for me. He reminds me often that he wouldn’t have stayed if not for me. Our relationship reminds me of perfectly worn in leather; comfortable, and natural and an easy fit that feels so good. I partially think it’s because we’ve both been through the school of hard knocks, and having come so close to losing everything we are both so grateful for what we do have. He’s steady, warm, comforting. After a year and a half of being together instead of drifting apart we’ve gotten closer. There’s nothing about he and I that scares me and that’s.. refreshing.

I’ve gone from being completely on my own and barely able to keep a roof over my own to, while being tight, living with and in a family of my own. The kids and Ace’s other parter Aeonise joined us in California in June, and with their arrival my life completely changed. Aeonise and I are still learning how to communicate with one another and live together. She started dating Seth soon after the move in, and bless my Papa he’s been pacing the relationship so healthily. I suppose there’s been a bit of practice living with a partner while also trying to date them. He managed it with me. There have been some baubles, but that’s expected with all major life changes.

I love our two kids to death…but gods do kids change everything. They change priorities, energy levels, what comes first.. They’ve changed social schedules and when I can and cannot go out and what I can and cannot say. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Planning a wedding while working on grad school is.. exhausting. Gratifying. Stressful. While adjusting to a poly nesting family which is..apparently a rare thing? Whoops? While balacing other partners. As I mentioned. Life is..completely different.

I’m balancing life with my nesting partners and family as well as life dating other partners. I’ve had a girlfriend for over a year now, though we started calling each other partners in August officially. Joy blows me away. She’s gorgeous, intelligent, compassionate… and another partner I’ve connected with on chance. It happened two Surrenders ago, at a queer orgy. I had tried to set her up with Ace, who I knew was crushing on her and who was at the time visiting from North Carolina. She gave me this heart-melting grin and said, “Actually, I’ve had a crush on you for a couple of years now.” …and then after four years of friendship we ended up frantically making out for several hours. Since then the dates have become sweeter and sweeter, with the right sprinke of spice in between. I admit, I find it hard to get enough of My Lady. When we play, when we kiss, when we dance, it’s like the world falls away and it’s just she and I. My sweet Ace often mentiones how he likes seeing us together because the glow he sees makes him better understand why people comment about he and I.

Chris and I are still Chris and I, though our interractions are limited these days. There is a lot of love, though sometimes little spoons and time on both our sides. What I have always been grateful for with mine and Chris’s interractions are that when we are together we slip back in to he and I, and when we are apart we support one another best we can.

I’ve cut ties with two familiar figures from this blog, Cal and Ryan. Ryan.. is probably the first parter that I have regrets with. I try very hard to live without them. I regret not noting how manipulative he was earlier. I regret beign so blind and submissive and desperate for his attention and love when he used me and manipulated me. I don’t regret writing the letter that got him formally banned from parts of the community, as, unfortunately, I was one of several that fell into a pattern with him. He almost destroyed me. I wouldn’t let him do that to others more innocent where I could help it. James chides me for beating myself up about Ryan on the regular. He reminds me often that sometimes lessons have to be learned the hard way. I hate it when that asshole is right sometimes.

The other figure I am no longer in contact with is, ironically, the person that started all of this. I’ve cut ties with Cal. Not formally. But I no longer speak to him, nor have any desire to interract with him when we are at shared events. A lot was leading up to that. A couple botched scenes. Continual nights at BaGG where I would watch him drink until his own mental disorders were out of control and then have to go to bat for him with another manager in order to keep him from getting banned. And then he began talking about the 18 year old long distance partner he was courting. He was goign to take her virginity, since if he didn’t do it someone else worse would probably do it. So he might as well give her what she wanted. Cal has teenage daughters. I lost all respect for him when he went through with the deed, marking this poor girl for life. I’m still shaking off some of the echos of Cal and it’s been years. I was FAR from a virgin. I wish the poor girl as well as his other partners luck. I do not wish him ill, but I find nothing safe or comforting about his company any longer.

The world has continued to spin, even as I’ve run out of time to write time and time again.

Tonight, as I purged through my clothes, I found remnants of other me’s. Girly dresses I had worn to make Ryan happy. The polka dot pin up dress Chris had purchased for a date, which remains safely hung in my closet. A couple nerdy pattern dressed that went back to the days of me being James’s. So many different versions of me. For the first time I had very little trouble purging out the unused or little worn clothing, the echos of Rene’s past. It felt good to clear out the cobwebs; to find in the piles of folded fabric what I wanted to cover myself in.

I am different. Life is different. And with that, it’s time for a different blog. I will make sure, as I transition things over, that this archive is reachable for those that want to keep reading it. My kinky journey has far from ended; it’s just no longer at its beginning. I’m quite a fewf chapters in at this point.

Speaking of my kinky journey… there is the matter of James.

There has been a twisting, winding road with he and I. There were many points where we likely should have left each other be and not shared space. Four years after my collar came off we are healthier than we have ever been. We share space weekly, with the ritual of BaGG remaining a staple in my life and now in Ace’s and Seth’s as well (with Aeonyse waiting until we have a steady babysitter so that she may also go regularly). The playing-not-playing has been a common occurance for a couple of years. But, we’ve gone from me sitting near him if there’s space to me sitting by his feet to him making space so I could sit by his feet. To sharing the couch and cuddling.

I’ve asked him to be in my wedding. That, too, was a gradual process. It started with asking him to be my photographer. And then he had so many wheelchair issues that I hired a backup to let him be a little bit of a guest. And then my matron of honor told me she wouldn’t be able to come out for the wedding. I could have let the spot open. It would have actually evened out the sides of the aisles. Instead, I asked James to stand up there with me. To be my Man of Honor. I told him straight out that under no cicumstance should we stand across the aisle from one another, and under no circumstance should he stand across the aisle from ANYONE, but having him up there with me would mean more than the world. It would mean that he actually approved of who I was legally bound to. He trusted who would be catching me regularly.

He said yes. And then I asked him if we could actually start playing again. Regularly.

And he said yes to that too. We have a play date later this month. The first one we’ve had for three and a half years.

And so my journey continues, no longer fresh and new. There’s a bit of jade in my eye now. Nonetheless, I very much adore my big, fat, poly, kinky life. Even when I am exhausted and drained.

Until the next chapter I remain, as always, yours.

~Rene

 

 

Dusting Off The Archives

My goodness, it’s been a while.

It’s been quite a long while, and so very much has changed for the better.

So much, in fact, that I debated leaving behind this blog entirely and starting another that better fit the current rhythm of my life. But there’s a saying; those that don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. I like being able to go back through these archives and see the growth and change. I don’t want to erase that.

I will, however, be filling in some of the holes I’ve left with the time gaps so those that do read this can understand where I was..and now where I am. It’s been an interesting last six months, if I do say so myself.

I have honestly very much missed writing. Finding the time and drive to do so is somewhat interesting, sometimes. But..it’s back. Very much so. My life has become the most fulfilling that it has been since I became an adult, and I am eager and excited to share it with you.

So, moving forward, folks will see mostly two types of posts; ones with the normal title and photo launching into something that happened recently and ones labeled Flashback: Title. The latter are entries that fill in the gaps, because some stories are just too good not to share. And oh, does this little peacock love to share and show off.

Life is good. I am good.

And as always, I am yours

Shall we begin again?

-Rene

A Kindness to Ones-Self

Sundays are usually spent at home these days.

They were once spent with Ryan, almost religiously, but these days they are often spent with myself, attempting to slowly shift through way too many belongings while I prepare for the big move in May.

There are certain habits that I have that drive me crazy, a big one being that I struggle with putting clothing away. Washing it? Great. Folding it? I got that too. Putting it back in my closet for my cat to knock off the shelves? Ehhh…

Recently Ace got me to sign up for a smart phone app, Habitica, that keeps me on task. It lists out all that I need to do for the day, and a big one with a big scary red “it’s been sitting here for a while” alert is ‘put clothing away’. So today I went into my room and started the seemingly endless task of removing clothing from my bedroom floor.

Underneath the mundane clothing buried I found treasures that I had forgotten about, or tried to forget about. Sparkly bras, my favorite garter belt and fish nets. My Hello Kitty backpack with the CBD oil I had been looking for for MONTHS, the jawbreaker flavored one. Toys that I had loved and then lost, or so I thoughts. Little gear that I thought I hadn’t been ready to look at yet.

It’s odd moments like this that my brain finally has those click into place moments. I had buried my treasures underneath depression wrapped in a mountain of clothing. I had protected myself out of instinct with bad habits to avoid the pain that my mind had decided I wasn’t ready for.

One by one, I picked up the garments. I found my floor, and put what could be put away back in its place. I let myself be happy and sad looking at toys and outfits that brought back memories; some I was ready for, some I wasn’t. But I wasn’t numb anymore. I let myself feel, and wasn’t overwhelmed with feeling.

I am not okay, and I’m aware. But I’m healing. I can look myself in the mirror and admit that I have been emotionally abused. I can admit that I have been used, and that I love a narcissist. It doesn’t make these truths any easier, but I can be realistic in thinking about them.

I don’t know what I’ll do with any of this yet, other than go day by day, try to heal. And know that I am worth so much more.

I am slowly getting my grove back, even with broken and banged up edges. And somehow, I will be okay. With one bit of kindness to myself at a time.

Until then, dear reader, I am healing. And I am yours.

-Rene

Kept

 

“OH! How cute. A lock on your necklace. That’s an adorable idea. I like the look.”

I hadn’t even thought the lock was visible. I smiled and reached for it, a habit that I’ve started developing since I got back from North Carolina at the end of the month. It’s just a luggage lock for right now, nothing fancy. Durable. Enough to last me until April when Ace will be in town for job interviews. But it’s a little lock with a lot of meaning.

James is the only man to own me, really own me, and there’s a part of me still that is very much his. He knows this. I know this. And so do my partners and friends. It’s.. kinda obvious. As much as there are moments when I miss high protocol I don’t feel a need to be owned by another. Being called ‘mine’ is.. lovely and goes straight to my loins whenever it’s growled in my ear. But the thing is, it is growled in my ear again. Just in a different way. 

Ace and I have known each other for a LONG TIME, at least long for us being humans in our late twenties and early thirties. I was a damn virgin when he and I started speaking, so kink was far off on the horizon of innocent little high school me. Because of that, the kink between he and I is so different than other partners where the relationships were established around kink. I stopped searching for vanilla partners a long time ago. If you seek me out and you aren’t at least french vanilla or have a cinnamon twist hiding somewhere I’m fairly certain I’ll eat you for supper at this point… So, in establishing new dynamics kink is often at the forefront.

With a dynamic like Ace and I, the kink ends up secondary to the actual partnership. It’s partially because he and I have so much history, and partially because of the fluidity in which we switch. In the span of one scene we’ve played the ‘who’s on top’ game countless times, and it’s FANTASTIC, but makes it almost impossible to continually call him ‘Sir’ with a straight face. 

Our kink was also established long after other dynamics were in place. Chris, who I’ve called my Sir since the beginning, and I have been playing for three and a half years at this point. I am purely submissive to him. Aeonyse, Ace’s other partner that will be joining us in the Bay come June, is purely submissive to Ace and has always called him Sir (..this sometimes makes me giggle). All this has led to Ace and I having to look at our dynamic, or needs, and see what terms and connections actually work for he and I. 

What we came up with was that he is my Keeper. This has turned into a HUGE point of reassurance with the whole Ryan clusterfuck (still unresolved. We haven’t seen each other since 2018. It’s March. Sigh) and so many other changes coming up. The move. Job transition to school. New career path. Wedding. Babies. EEEEEEPPPPPPPP.

Ace as my Keeper and the phrasing he uses around that has also silenced many brain squirrels from eons past, during a time when there was no chance I would ever come first in Ace’s world. He and I have had many ‘near relationships’ over the years, where there were feels and passion and desire all there, aaaand also a wife. And distance. And, life. Many times over the years we got very close and then it would stop. We would have to go back to being platonic, or he would sneak text messages after being told for the twentieth time that he was not allowed to contact me. Sometimes he would listen to that order for a couple of months and there would be no contact at all. I never expected him to stay. I never expected that in the end he would actually choose me. 

I have an amazing meta and friend that is also a life and relationship coach. She taught me about her system of ‘things’, these key phrases that she sometimes needs to hear from her partners that are the perfect reassurances for her brain squirrels. She says the ones that they need in return. Both Ace and I lose words when we are in bad head spaces, and having our own ‘things’ has helped pull me back on more than one occasion when all we’ve had were words we could say over the phone. Mine are fairly simple. 

I choose you.
I’m going to K/keep you.
I love you.
I’m not going anywhere.
We’ve got this.

Being Kept is safety, not ownership. There is no high protocol, though there are times when I kneel at his feet and call him Sir. There are times when he kneels and calls me Ma’am. It is safety. It’s.. the odd magick that Ace and I possess, that’s been there from the beginning. 

The first time I met Ace face to face I remember the shock of the ‘zing’ of connection, and the feeling of home that I felt in being around him. I don’t co-sleep easily with folks and typically choose my bed as my sanctuary, and it was a shock to sleep comfortably and through the night not only with him, but with him wrapped around me and holding me. When I close my eyes and hold on to the lock, I get that feeling. That peace of the warmth of being beside him, the calm of hearing his heart beat and steady breathing as he sleeps. The melty feeling when your body just fits perfectly locked with someone else’s and you wonder how on earth that magick can happen. 

The last night of a six day long visit in February Ace and I went in search of my lock. I’ve had a ‘mark’ from him around my neck for many months now, and it doesn’t come off. But it’s had a clasp. It could come off. And I realized over time that I did not want it to. I wanted that reminder that someone’s got me. Someone is there to catch me when I fall. He’s human. There are times when he will be overwhelmed and when our brain squirrels won’t play well together, and I know that. But he’s also proved that he can communicate that when necessary and will still do what he can to take care of me when I am not okay. Ace has stepped up and proven time an time again that I am indeed his. That he is fully choosing me, not hiding me in the shadows anymore. That he wants an actual life with me. I wanted an anchor of that reminder, something physical, for when it’s hard to remember and we can’t be physically together. And so, we decided that my mark should lock. 

It’s a little luggage lock for now. Nothing fancy. Solid. Reassuring. I still got on my knees in front of him when he pulled it out. He slipped the clasp off my mark as I bent my head. “Are you sure about this?” My head went up at his voice. “Because I’m sure. I want you to be.” 

I am. The response was confident. The lock clicked. He grinned and put the key in the box he keeps his engagement ring in, the one I gave him. I melted.

I was going home with a lock around my neck. The key would be 3000 miles away. And I honestly felt perfectly safe. Held. Kept. I had a home. One that would build into a household, a polyfam. A life 

There are pieces missing in my overall life, but I am so blessed. I am Kept. I am cherished. I am loved. I am his.

And as always, dear reader. I am yours, with so much more to come.

-Rene

 

 

Same Book, Different Chapters

Hello world.. It’s been a while. And I’m still here. Words are just hard sometimes.

Life right now is a sea of polarities and changes, and getting it all down.. There isn’t enough time. There aren’t enough words. I came much too close to disappearing.

I suppose first news.. I’m engaged. Which is odd. And mind boggling. And something I check in about probably far more than I should. My sweet Ace asked me to marry him on October 17,2018. Knowing I need to be poly. Knowing that there would be other partners, as he has another nesting partner. Knowing I want babies. Knowing all the things and loving me anyway. He has loved me, and even wanted me, for a very, VERY long time and is the happily ever after I never thought I would have. We were never supposed to end up together. We met in a chat room over a decade ago and over two thousand miles apart. We’ve always been long-distance and, I admit, not always been ethical. And he, my metamour, and a couple of kiddos will be joining me in the Bay. Ace comes in May, and my meta and the kids come in June.

Ace is flourishing as a top, which.. I’ve needed. But he is not a sadist. He can’t beat me. He’s not an impact top.

James and I are healthier than we’ve been in a long while. He’s been an incredible friend, and has dealt with the barrage of questions from friends about how he feels about me getting married. Just because I said yes to Ace doesn’t mean I would say no to interactions and adventures with James. He knows I love him to the moon and back. Lately he’s been one of the few safe places I’ve had. One of my few kink connections that I know I can lean on. The poor man has absorbed more of my tears in the last few months..but we are still on uncertain ground as far as playing goes. I asked him. I hit a wall after months of not playing with any sort of impact and I asked. He asked me why. And I told him that he was safe. He wouldn’t ask for more. He knows me inside and out. And he knows… I’m not all there right now. A soft yes turned into a maybe as the weeks have gone by and I find myself.. Still starving.

I hadn’t been to the Citadel in months. I fell into a foolish trap, and I didn’t even realize it until I was too far gone to undo the damage. Ryan and I haven’t seen each other since 2018. We talk, every day. We still do good morning and good night rituals. We play video games together, over distance. But he hasn’t seen me since December. We haven’t played since November. And we stopped having sex over the summer. We tried talking to a relationship coach and instead of tackling the issues it became that everything was my fault and I needed to change. And I did what I always do. I adapted, I changed, I bent backwards. I cried, and mourned, and.. have been slowly coming to terms with the fact that my Daddy has become the most toxic human in my life.

I still wear my mark.
I haven’t called him Daddy since 2018.
Everything hurts.

I was waiting to go to the Citadel with HIM. Waiting for him to be excited for BaGG again (he stopped going in November, taking away our easiest play venue). Waiting for him to make room for me again.. And he hasn’t. He didn’t. And I’m still processing that because my silly squishy mind loves him so damn fucking much that I can’t make myself walk away. I can’t make myself say “we need to talk”. And I know I need to. Poor James and Cal have heard hours of me sobbing and crying and…breaking.

And so much of of me is breaking. Is dying. The part of me that is a little is this sad, shattered thing right now too scared to show itself most of the time.

The part of me that is, and has always been a kinkster…

I went to the Citadel for the first time in months last Friday, for Bent, a party that James has worked for years. He encouraged me to come hang out and even poked my squishy sub side, asking if I would fetch sushi for him. I had to get him sushi by me and not our go-to place in Japantown..but fetching helped my brain a little. It was the most submissive thing I had done in a long time. I never thought I would miss things like sweeping someone’s floor and doing someone’s dishes but..

Sigh.

I watched. I watched a lot, and I wanted.. But I’m aware that I’m hurting too much to reach out for new connections. And I am also aware that one of the things that would greatly help the hurting is play. I watched James practice throw a new whip onto a spanking bench and it took everything in me not to launch myself onto the damn bench. I am starving. I need impact. Hard, pushing me to my limit impact. I need to break on the cross. I need marks. I need metal and whips and canes and all the things that make me fly.

And I don’t have anyone safe to do that with right now. My safe person was Ryan. He was who scratched my D/s itch.

Now…

The mental play from Ace helps, but he’s still 3000 miles away until April.

Is it horrible to say that I desperately need the ever-living crap beaten out of me? Probably. Still saying it.

For now, most of my D/s is fantasy. I’m re-reading and listening to the books and stories that got me into kink to begin with, and when I don’t miss it so much. I am the single friend at BaGG, smiling for all my friends that have coupled up while I was stuck and trying to save a relationship that had dug itself so deep into my soul.

I am in a sea of people that all know me and adore me, and I feel so utterly alone. There is no one that can catch me in the way that I need. No one that can let me fly. No one that can push those D/s buttons that I desperately need pushed. And. I’m dealing with that best I can. Some days are much easier than others. Some days my demons eat me alive and I look back on who I was and I miss her. I miss that human that would skip through the dungeon from one scene to another and go home black and blue with a smile on my face.

Bright side. It’s been so long since I played that I may actually bruise.
Down side. I have no idea what my pain tolerance is anymore. I doubt I’m still a heavy bottom.

But it would be nice to know.

I have a newer partner, Seth, that’s been living on my couch, in now in my roommate’s room, since July (my roommate of two years moved out last week). He is wonderfully flawed, a sweet cowboy that is slowly learning the world of BaGG and the misfits I call my family. He’s a country boy from the middle of nowhere, so all that city noise can be a bit too much for him but he tries. He tries with me too, encouraging me to call him Papa Bear and giving me space to little. He can’t hit me. He tries with that too. He will smack my ass sometimes during sex (and to be clear the sex is VERY GOOD. It’s just very vanilla in many ways) and bite me a little. But, it’s band aids when I need stitches. He’s put up with me so much. He’s supported me through the bad nights when I’ve come home sobbing over what asshole thing Ryan has done next. He’s a good, wonderful human that I’m blessed to have in my life.

I have others. A beautiful woman that I’ve begun seeing and that I’ve played with. It was quite fun… it made me squeak.

I need to scream.

I have a sweet Australian that returns from time to time and makes me feel like a goddess. I’ll see him again in March for a lovely weekend up in the mountains at hot springs.

I need to cry.

I am..functioning. Mostly. Hurting. But functioning.

Another biggie I should probably mention is… well. There’s been a bit of shift in gender identity. I cut off all my hair and shaved the sides, so now I have ‘the’ stereotypical queer haircut. She and her are still okay, but over the last few months they/them has become increasingly more comfortable to identify as. I don’t like Miss. I like Mx.

I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m hurting. But I’m growing. I’m back in the studio. I’m working hard at my job. I’m building a family.

 

I just miss flying. I hope I haven’t forgotten how.

It has been a long time, but I am still yours, dear reader

-Rene

Playing with Fire

I am not the easiest person to get close to anymore.

There was a time when it was much easier; where conversation and connection was a casual thing and I didn’t worry about what could happen or how I would get hurt or.. any of that.

Time and trauma are funny things. I’m 27 now. I’ve kept this blog since I was 22. In those five years I have changed and grown so much. I remember starting this journey unable to fathom polyamory and having insecurities left, right, and sideways about it. Now.. I can’t imagine not being polyamorous. Only choosing one partner? HOW? They all fill such different needs.

I can’t imagine my life without kink either, though there are times when I’ve tried. Lately my needs haven’t been met in the kink department. Part of that is my own doing; life has gotten in the way to a large extent and having spoons and capacity to get to events is.. hard. I’ve had prior commitments and partners going through some bumps that required emotional support that overshadowed my need for a good beating. Part of it is because trusting people is very, very difficult for me these days.

Trauma changes you. PTSD has left its mark on me in the form of a brain that is not neuro-typical, and it makes dating, especially in the kinky world, harder. It also doesn’t help that I can play very heavy when in the right headspace and that can scare new tops. I have a very, very sweet partner that’s the closest to vanilla I’ll ever go these days; a big bear of a man by the name of Rowan. He’s a cowboy, and I ride him frequently (saving lots of horses, ba dum bum tish). The sex is fantastic. We wrestle, and bite, and fuck each other senseless..but he’s not comfortable choking me. Or hitting me. Or pulling my hair. The poor man offered to earlier today when he saw I was close to squirming from lack of heavy play and I had to explain that the bottom doesn’t enjoy having the crap beaten out of them unless the top enjoys themselves as well. It’s that sadist’s grin I always look for. And my sweet Rowan is no sadist. He’s a fantastic human that can handle me when I break and that has a very very pretty penis. But he’s no sadist.

A man that is, and a heavy one at that, is Cal. As long as we have known each other we have only played a handful of times, for so many reasons. There’s always this wee bit of tension between Cal and I; words left unsaid that will likely never be said. We circle one another like predator and prey, one or the other lunging forward from time to time and initiating something more than our typical friendship. After the mentorship, and after one of Cal’s longer-term crazy ex’s, he became one of my safe people. He had no interest in me, I thought, and so there was no chance of partnership. No chance of him seeing more of my broken pieces than he already has. There are gaps in our history of knowing one another. In those gaps.. I changed.

It was a few weeks ago. I was at BaGG. Ryan left early because of a very long day and I was left to my own devices. This typically means head pets and drinks from Cal (of the non-alcoholic variety these days. 9-5 necessities).

I was.. poorly behaved. Venting about Ryan and some of the on-again off-again issues we had been having. Ryan and I are going on two years of dating. It’s not new and shiny anymore, and I am the partner that sees the most. It’s a good thing and a bad thing, but that’s a conversation for another day.

Returning to the current conversation, Cal and I flirted, as we often do when I’m at BaGG and there’s alcohol. He offered to beat me. I said yes.

I shouldn’t have. Not with alcohol in his system and me already worn and without a partner there. This is very much on me.

The scene itself was good, as our few scenes often are. I ended up on the spanking bench, which is much less enjoyable for me than the cross because I can take less, but I wanted catharsis. Cal hits HARD. He’s not afraid to be mean. Sometimes I need that, I admit. He says the right sadist things, like how he loves seeing my tears. He pushed me to breaking. I fell, and called yellow when I felt too much. Outside of a couple hits that just..didn’t land right because of how my frame hits the horse it was exactly what I needed but was afraid to ask for.

The aftercare.. was on me. I started crashing HARD, and managed to crash midway through a heavy conversation with Cal. My body typically gets very cold after a heavy scene. I physically shiver and need contact or a warm place to come back down. I felt the shivers, felt my level of fatigue, and realizing that I didn’t have capacity to communicate that I needed more aftercare I did the next best thing. I vocalized that I needed to go.

I have my goodbye routine pretty well down at BaGG. When I’m at max capacity I go and I find James. I give him a hug and a nuzzle, tell him to get his stubborn ass home, and I peace out.

I was waiting for James for that goodbye and could see him, finally. I had to wait. Cal was waiting too. He had wanted to walk me out. I saw him behind me for a moment and then felt an arm around my neck.

Normally I like choking. It’s one of my favorite things, along with hair pulling and face fucking and hard smacks to the ass and… you get it. Because of where I was mentally it was NOT a good thing. It was a shock to my system that thought the scene was long over and needed to go to bed and caused my crash to intensify. After the choke Cal crushed me against his chest. Normally this is also a very good thing, but I could see James. I could see him but couldn’t get to him, couldn’t get out of Cal’s arms. Panic grew. He finally let me go and I ran, frazzled, out of the club. At home I broke, horribly, with one of my partners holding me while my brain fractured into too many pieces. Eventually I crawled into bed at about 3 am somewhat put back together.

I had a date with Ryan the next evening. He already knew that the night had ended rough and checked in with me in the morning to see how I was. I was at a stage where I was having issues with words, even to him. It happens when I break sometimes; words feel like they’re trapped in quick sand in my mind. It’s so difficult to vocalize and I fight the urge to shut down and turtle.

That night I curled up in his lap and we talked through the evening, even the parts where I vented about him. Ryan listened intently and asked the right questions, a frown forming on the face when I told him about the choke at the end of the night. He asked if I had reached out to Cal and told him any of this yet. I answered honestly that I hadn’t. That I didn’t plan to. My brain did a thing and it wasn’t his fault.

It was Ryan that pointed out that alcohol may have played a part and misreading the signals that I was done for the night, and possibly the removal of alcohol would make for a much safer scene and aftercare. I couldn’t argue. Cal and I have done one scene at the Citadel together and though it was heavy and my height makes things more challenging for him it was absolutely fucking wonderful; heavy impact that made me fly with a force that I only ever have gotten from James. From a safe person.

Ryan is my Daddy, my protector. He asked me what I needed to feel safe around Cal. I made up the rule of removing alcohol from play, and contacted him the next day.

… To say it didn’t go well would be an understatement.

Cal has the ability to make you feel like a shining star when his full attention is on you. He also has the ability to make any human feel damaged, or broken, or worthless. My hurt ended up hurting him in such a way that he through up walls so quickly I got whiplash. He said that we were incompatible. That clearly he had misread the signs and the scene didn’t go well. That I had chosen to blow him off and not tell him what was going on the day before. There were other things I really don’t feel like rehashing and I’m not to a place where I can scroll through the messages and give ya’ll direct quotes. I got thrown away again, as I have been in the past. But he wanted to be friends. With slight censorship to our conversations. So, friends but not really.

I was surprised how much the rejection from Cal hurt. I knew I loved him. I don’t think I realized until then how much I actually wanted him. How much I wanted him to want me as well. There was a part of me that I think saw the play as a positive thing; something that could even become regular. I had often debated asking Cal if we could try going on an actual date and drop the circling act. Just.. dive in and see what happened. He was the first one in the kink world to notice me. That has always meant something. He’s also the only one that I’ve let throw me away over, and over, and over again. Because he was special. Because he mattered. Because he was safe, and I loved him even though I saw he was very flawed. I do not idolize him. At this point I know Cal way too well to. I call him on his bullshit at times.

I called him on this. I said something akin to he was too busy kicking his own ass to actually here what had happened and what I was asking him for. When he kept going I asked for space. He kept going again. I asked him for more space. I asked him not to reply. And control freak that he is, he replied.

I remember staring at the last message, crying, and throwing my phone.

I haven’t been to BaGG in two weeks.

Ryan has no interest in going anymore, which breaks my heart on a couple levels. He has so much going on that we haven’t played. In that time my brain has been eating me alive thanks to other things, always coming back to the fact that I’m broken. That I’m defective. There was..more hurt than I want to admit from that exchange between Cal and I. There was a lot of disappointment and a lack of trust.

He will catch me if I fall, so long as he didn’t cause that fall.

Today he texted me, a sweet check in. And I don’t know how to respond to it. Someone that used to be one of the safest people to me in my mind hurt me.. a lot. Not in a bad scene. Not in a bad drop or aftercare. But after. When I said things had gone wrong for me and this was the boundary that I needed to feel safe.

I won’t have Ryan with me at BaGG next week. And I need to get past this fear and just.. go. I feel frozen. Overwhelmed. There are no spoons. Life is pummeling me and there’s no relief in sight. I don’t know when the next time I will play will be. The number of people that are safe for me continue to dwindle. My world continues to shrink as I try so hard not to collapse under the weight of needs that I cannot fill for myself.

I gave into the temptation to play with fire. I got burned. And I don’t know where to go from here. If there’s anywhere to go. I don’t know what Cal sees when he looks at me anymore, or what he thought about me before all this.

I guess I’ll never know now.

Yours, hurting but slowly mending,

Rene

When the World Comes Crashing Down

There’s no how-to for the worst. No one likes to talk about the hard truths of M/s or 24/7 dynamics; that they are hard, almost impossible to maintain. That they require time and energy and commitment on both ends. That they can be draining on vanilla life. On your mental health. That unless you have the spoons and tools and time to put into it, that you shouldn’t do it. M/s is BEAUTIFUL, but there are degrees in it. No one tells you any of these things until it’s too late. This is the letter I needed to see a little over two years ago.

Dear little lost one,

Breathe. I know it hurts. I know everything is on fire and numb all at once, but you need to breathe. It’s going to hurt long before it gets better.

Put away the phone. Out of sight, a little bit less in mind. I know you don’t want to hear this, but distance is the best thing in the world for you right now. You’re not going to wake up and have everything suddenly get better. You can’t undo what’s been done, nor should you. The world is different. There was a collar and now there isn’t. It’s okay to hurt, to feel it. It’s okay to cry, and scream like an animal, but don’t get lost in it. Each time it feels like too much close your eyes and breathe. Get through the pain bit by bit.

Next challenge is eating. No one is going to tell you to. Not even if you check that phone that should still be living in your purse for another week or so. Nothing is going to taste good. But like I said, it’s going to hurt a lot before it gets better and it can’t get better if you die of malnutrition along the way. Instant meals are your friend, for now. Consume as needed.

You don’t have to pretend that it’s all okay. I know it isn’t. Your direction is gone, and that’s terrifying. Your protector is gone. Your safe space is suddenly the most painful thing in your life. You aren’t anyone’s.

Here’s the thing. Before you were anyone’s, you were yourself.

There was a time before the collar, just as there will be a time after, and while it’s hard to remember through the haze of pain you survived without the collar around your neck. Without a man called Master giving directions. Without having to ask permission for dates, and food, and play.

Now that you’re breathing, your phone is safely hidden, and you’ve gotten some food in your stomach here’s what you do.

Keep a healthy distance to allow time and space for healing. Do NOT go to a play event two days after breaking up and try to get him to spank your ass. Do NOT then drive him home and have to sit alone in a car with him till 5 am wondering if he will touch you or not. He won’t, and it will continue to confuse the fuck out of the reality that you two are done and everything is different.

Please understand that I am friends with a good portion of exes and former lovers. I’ve identified more and more as Demi as time has gone on. It takes an emotional closeness for me to want to be fucked senseless (although trust me, that’s there), and more often than not that means a fantastic friendship is built up before romance. Even after a romantic relationship ends I have typically resurrected a friendship in its place, but that takes time. A breakup puts you much further back than the beginning. You’re not starting at zero. You’re starting at -100 for trust, caring, intuition…did I mention TRUST? All of that takes time to heal, and won’t be easy. Time apart before trying to sew any sense of relationship together is a very, very good idea. It will feel strange, but until you’ve put yourself back together and remembered who you were before you were a WE there’s nothing to be rebuilt.

You can’t go back in time. Wanting you two back together is one thing, but don’t try to resurrect what was when you spend time together. It will be very hard to call him your ex. It will be hard to say friend. Or former partner. Practice it, to yourself. And no, you’re not a freak for doing so. Practice saying his name instead of Master or Sir, over and over, until you stumble less. It’s not a curse word. It’s not too informal, and sometimes it can hurt less to say “Oh James and I aren’t together” rather than, “My ex Master”. Especially if his first name is foreign to you after having titles for so long. That little bit of the unfamiliar can give you a little extra time to adjust and heal. That phase of the relationship is over. There’s no definite on what will happen after, but you and them part one is closed.

Come up with a mantra or sentence for sticky and overly-painful situations where you don’t quite have the words. Like when someone asks you how your Master is and you just want to cry. Or scream. Or flip him the bird because he’s across the room and could see you do it. It’s going to be hard to respond with what you need to, that you two aren’t together anymore. There are going to be nights when you have to repeat it five, ten, twenty times because of circles you two run in, and it’s going to be a lot easier for the one that removed the collar than for the one missing it. These tough situations often mean freezing, or saying ‘good’ out of habit instead of answering with the long mouthful that is the truth. This will end in trouble if not remedied. Nothing causes waves more than the idea of you denying the breakup, and not being able to spit out that mouthful will look to your former partner as if that is what you’re doing. The phrase will absolutely suck, but give it time. It does eventually hurt less.

Decide what level you wish to be involved in the community. Or rather, what is a healthy level for you to be so. Relationships tend to change our relationships with the communities around them. Some need a break to recover. Others want to throw themselves back in at full speed

Be careful with breakup burnout. It’s a thing, where suddenly you go from taken to banging everything that moves until you crash and burn into an emo pile of woe and angst. Breakup rebounds are legit, just be careful you don’t throw yourself in with such gusto that you forget to feel the feels. And yes, feeling the feels is required. Numbing it with others won’t work. They’re not going to be able to itch that scratch that only one specific top cam, no matter how many souls you bottom for. It won’t make that itch go away. You’ll still want that specific touch, and the more you try to replace it with others instead of letting yourself feel the pain the more likely you’re going to cause more emotional trauma.

You matter as more than just “X’s Girl”. I know that’s hard to fathom after being someone’s is your entire identity. You were someone’s. Now, you are you, and that can be an amazing thing in and of itself. I know it seems like a lonely thing right now, but it being you and not the Master you always hide behind gives you space to sparkle. Be seen. And yes, you do deserve to be seen and you are worthy. Give it time. Give it some play parties that you go to alone, maybe ones you never went to with him. Give it nights out with friends that know just how to distract you and maybe even dates with other partners (especially if you’re poly).

In time, your relationship with your former Master may not be what you would want, but it will be what you need. It’s hard. You want them to scoop you up again and call them yours and bite you. But then you see the bags under their eyes, even when they aren’t having to worry about scheduling you in. You see lack of room for a partner, or all these issues you never noticed were there. Do you want to rebuild a friendship? Do you want to distance yourself and wait it out and see where romance could go? Do you want to continue to adapt to he changing relationship, or do you want to cut the chord. Guess what? You aren’t a slave in this choice. You have equal say in whatever this future will become.

Rebuilding anything will take time, and it very likely will not give you your hearts desire, but rebuilding at the start of friendship allows something unique. Suddenly your former Master is a man. He’s taken off his high horse and is human just like the rest of the men and women around you. Suddenly, flaws are visible. You watch and see mistakes. You see where something is his fault, or where he caused that. You see that not everything that went wrong was your fault. That there were two flawed humans in a relationship and sometimes that doesn’t end well.

You were human. So was he. That is allowed. And here, with formalities removed, you have the power to tell him no. To say something is too much. To call him an asshole and unfair when he’s being an asshole and unfair. You have the power to ignore your phone, and to avoid interactions and to draw boundary lies.

You both have the power to say what you two adapt into. That may mean a platonic friendship, that may mean a new romantic relationship with a switched up dynamic. That may mean both of you going separate ways down different paths. Either way, you will go on. You are more than just your Master’s. IF your brain is unkind and tells you that the opposite is true, you can always count on this.

Your Master picked you for a reason. There was something about you, in the beginning, that drew their eye. It was there before. It will be there again to draw another eye. You are so much more than just your Master’s, and if anything you will grow from this experience. It will hurt, and ache, and I can’t guarantee or promise that itch to be under that particular hand will ever be scratched for another. It hasn’t for me. I can’t promise that there will be a time that you aren’t hyper aware that he’s there, or what his needs are, or if he’s sick or tired or cranky.

I can say that in time you will laugh again. That food will taste good again. That eventually the hurt lessens, even if the small ache never quite goes away. You will come away knowing yourself better, both in what is healthy for you emotionally, and what you have the capacity to overcome. You are so much stronger than you think you are. Let a powerful relationship teach you, not bring you down.

I learned from my collar coming off that I was resilient as fuck. That I mattered in the community as more than James’s sqeaky toy and somewhere along the line had become an asset to them. I learned how to properly get in to a Citadel event when you weren’t a plus one, and discovered that I enjoyed being able to get myself in without the help of others. I enjoyed once again choosing what kink events I was involved in and which ones I missed. I controlled my schedule and didn’t have to double check with another every time I made plans.

You are so much more than what you think. You are capable of so much more. It’s okay to change with the loss of a collar. I can’t wear collars that lock, it’s a hard limit for me now. It’s much easier to be led by a harness than by a leash. I don’t submit as deeply as easily as I once did. There are lots of trust road blocks, and often play dynamics go at a very slow burn buildup for me. But I discovered a dynamic I didn’t even know existed in me with the partner that followed my Master, and while some itches aren’t being scratched so many new ones are. Different is very okay, and there’s so much more out there than M/s.

There is more than just this relationship. You will keep going. You will be okay.

Yours, then and now

Rene

 

 

 

 

 

Times, they are a Changin’

Great gods, how did I let so much time go by without writing? I am so sorry, honestly, both to those that enjoy reading this blog and to myself for cutting off a good source of processing and catharsis.

Obviously, I still live. I still breathe. I still am kinky, and poly, and all my relationships are in tact. Even Ryan and I, despite what my last entry may have led readers to think. We’ve had our bumps. We continue to. But we are still a we.

I have many things to catch you all up on. I have a new partner, a new title (Church of All Words May Queen..there’s a story, I promise. Or more than likely a blog entry all its own), a fiance (also a story/blog entry), a job that I continue to love every day, and still no damn clue what I am doing! WEEEEEEEE. Oh, and I had an Ace at Fusion with me this year. Multiple times, in multiple ways, and I left marks.

I am sitting in my favorite cafe, munching on one of my favorite sandwiches while I wait for James and for BaGG. I’ve struggled with anxiety, mental illness, and the need at timesto take time away from the community I love with everything in it. I’ve questioned my role in it so many times, because if I’m not killing myself being super sub what am I even doing?

And I’m still here. I’m still kinky, a bit more queer than I was at the start of this journey, much more switchy… and ready for more.

I’m going to catch you all up as much as I can, I promise. To start, I would like to write the entry that I needed to read over two years ago.

I am still yours, dear reader.

And I’m back

-Rene

Things Left Unsaid

I don’t normally end dates with Ryan in tears… He’s actually one of the few sadists in my life that dislikes making me cry. Tonighthas been… a lot

Let me backtrack.

Today started out a little rocky to begin with. I hadn’t realized that the partner Ryan had the slip with was spending the night. He had forgotten to tell me, and I found out in a nonchalant ‘she just left and I’m gonna go take a nap’ message.

I twanged. Badly.

I took off my mark from him and let myself cry and try to process. It hit hard because it felt like he was hiding it from me. That is illogial. There’s no reason he would hide it from me. He tells me when he has dates with others, as I do him. He told me about the date. He just. Neglected the overnight. And honestly thought he had told me.

Which is something my brain still doesn’t trust.

I got there, eventually. Bruised, and a little bit weary logical brain started kicking in. It had to. I had a date with Ryan two hours after I found out his other partner stayed the night and I couldn’t show up a hot mess. I wanted to have a good date with him. The one before had been..nice. Mellow. Low key. But Sundays were when we usually played. It had been over a week since he’d touched me in any way sexually, the longest since we started dating, and I wanted his hands on me.

He’s had a busy last couple of weeks. One of my meta’s came in to town and spent the weekend last week, and work, a case of the sniffles, and a date last night had him worn. I could see that long before he disappeared for a couple of hours for a weekly meditation group. Logic brain braced myself for lack of play and told myself that it was alright. That just because we didn’t play tonight didn’t mean he doesn’t want me.

Illogical brain, however, was still craving touch. When he confirmed that he wasn’t up to playing tonight I swallowed  the illogical frustration and did something stupid. Without thinking, I reached out and vented to my roommate to try and calm down. Ryan knows me and my reactions well, and I do flair up emotionally quickly and easily before coming back down. I wanted the flair to die off faster; wanted to just get on with the rest of my night and enjoy it. Venting helps.

He saw the venting. He ended up frustrated and upset. Which. Made me even more upset and unsettled.

He voiced frustrations of how pressured he feels by me, and how often he finds it difficult to say no because of my reactions and I felt.. lost. I don’t know how to respond to that.. When I tell him truthfully that I really want to play and he’s not in the mood he gets frustrated by seeing my disappointment and feels pressured. When I don’t express the need to play and try to swallow what I’m feeling and get over it faster I get chided for not telling him when something is wrong.. But what’s the right reaction at this point? What’s safe? I want and desire my partner. I can’t just turn of the “damn that sucks” when I feel it without it showing a little..  And that’s all it is. It’s a “damn that sucks” moment that fades as I adjust. Touch is a huge love language for me. And he does touch me in nonsexual ways often. He will stroke my arm when we cuddle watching a movie or pet my hair. But there’s a difference between that and grabbing my ass while we cuddle, or slipping a hand under my clothing as he used to. It’s touch expressed in a very different way. And I miss it. I’m allowed to miss it. I am an emotional squishball. It takes me half a beat to adjust, and sometimes he just can’t understand why. He doesn’t need that half a beat, and I envy him. I do. I can also see why it frustrates him, that I get hung up on feels between points A and B sometimes  I’m getting better at not being ruled by my emotions but they still make an impact when they hit. There is a step between “oh, I was looking forward to that” and “it’s okay things change and these plans will be fun too!”

Lately, it’s been harder to adjust. I am very secure in poly so long as I know my place and know that place is good. I am Ryan’s little girl. A lot of that ends up being expressed sexually. We indulge in dark age play rather frequently, and thanks to Ryan a lot of things that I thought were too taboo have turned out..not to be so. Our scenes have gotten wonderfully twisted at times and I love them…but they seem to be happening less and less. He beats me at BaGG fairly frequently with his hands which I enjoy quite a bit, but the nights that we could go to the dungeon often get claimed before I can ask for them (there was a little event at Catalyst I had wanted to go to this weekend..and chickened out on bringing it up because he mentioned having a date Saturday with the other partner before I could, and I feel too guilty to ask him to bump the plans to another night). I see him after work, which is lovely, but often ends with him fatigued. We used to play at his place with impact from time to time, but he told me on Friday that he was afraid his walls were too thin for our impact. That was an honest disappointment. We did a scene months ago that ended with him fucking me while he hit me with the curry comb…and I loved it. It was raw and brutal and hurt in all the right ways..and it’s not something that would happen at the Citadel.

Right now he’s my only regular sexual partner, and that is on me. He mentioned during our tough discussion that he thought me finding others to sate my needs would be really good for him. Great. Yes. Fine. I”m working on that. “I’ve heard you turn down dates. They don’t have to be kinky.”

Here’s the problem. They kind of do. At least, for me.

I am not a collector. I am poly because I am realistic in that no person can sate all the needs of another. No one can fill all the slots of another or check all the boxes. And the needs that aren’t being filled for me are those deep, dark, submissive urges. My slave side. The part of me that craves protocol and formal D/s. I’m not going to get that from a vanilla relationship. I don’t honestly think I can have a vanilla relationship anymore. The kink community is too much a part of my day to day life. It’s a Dominant’s voice that turns me on, that gruff, toppy, no nonsense tone. It’s firm hands that will hold me down and fuck me one moment, beat the crap out of me at another moment, and pet and stroke me after all of it. Express that to a vanilla person and you find them running for the hills. And I’ve tried. I always end up feeling like the freak.

The problem with wanting, craving, the level of D/s that I do is that.. new partners don’t come easily. It’s hard to get that deep. It takes time, and there’s no guarantee of it. So, I can invest a year or two into someone and then it just.. stops when a wall gets hit. I am a LOT, with a lot of moving pieces and I’m aware of that. Get deep enough with me and you will find some jagged edges you can’t see at all from the surface. That takes time, and trust, and not something that can happen from a shallow relationship. I don’t find them fulfilling or worth my time. I work a lot. My time is valuable. And I find dating.. exhausting. With the shit I’ve been processing interracting with others has been MUCH harder than it’s been in the past, and this is interracting with established souls in my world. Trying to pull new people in right now is too much when I fear I’m already at max capacity.

Another problem is.. it’s not just about me getting laid. It would scratch an itch, yeah, but not the right itch. I have a very good relationshp with my favorite vibrator. I can take care of myself for quite a bit sexually. It’s the lack of contact with that particular partner, that lack of bond, that does fucked up things to my brain. Especially when I know play has happened with metas in the time that he and I have had a dry spell.

I feel.. displaced, tolerated instead of wanted, lost and confused and just.. placed on a shelf, picked up when useful and put back when I become too much. And I miss my Daddy. I haven’t been able to really little, really be his little girl, in weeks, and I miss that connection so much it physically hurts. There’s nothing that replaces that, no way that someone else could check those particular boxes. It doesn’t have to be sex. More than friendly pets, an extra hair tug, pinning me to the wall at BaGG and kissing me till my toes curl. Anything that hinted at want and desire, even if the body wasn’t physically up for it.. Even words. “When Daddy has the energy we should try BLANK. Would you like that, sweetie?” He used to mind fuck me, tease me, tell me naughty things we would do or try. There was a time early on where I teased him so much that he ‘made a mess’ in his shorts while he was at work and it turned me on so much I was close to cumming. I’ve tried engaging lately with hits and jokes and photos and it just..falls flat.

I don’t know how to ask for any of that without feeling like I’m pressuring him. I asked if I could write out a ‘little list’ about a week ago about things I wanted to explore while in little headspace that I don’t often have the words for when I’m there. He said it was a good idea. I haven’t been able to really start it…because I feel guilty for asking for anything. I don’t want him to think I’m greedy and asking for too much.

He’s disappearing for nine days this coming Friday, for a meditation course that I know will do him good. Him sitting settles a lot, and I’ve seen him more frustrated than normal and in poorer moods than his norm outside of anything between he and I. It will be amazing for him, and I’m so happy he’s going.

At the same time, the illogical, emotional little wants attention from her Daddy. Wants to be wanted by her Daddy. I asked if we could have a date on Tuesday and his immediate response was that he needed time to himself. He’s seeing me three days in a row. That’s a lot. But. They are three days where the chances of sexual contact are slim, especially before a meditation course where he will be abstaining from sexual anything. I’m staying over Thursday to drive him to that on Friday in the early afternoon. BaGG is purely social; no pink parts. By the time he gets back it will be a couple days shy of a month that he’s taken any of my holes, or wanted me naked. Or. Wanted me.

I am trying to at least get some play in during that time. The Dominant that I played with last Master’s Den reached out and suggested getting a cup of coffee or a drink and I jumped at it. I like him. There’s chemistry, and he’s vetted by my roommate. He’s safe, and knows how to hit the way I need, and made it no secret that he was attracted to me. I’m excited to see where it goes. I’ve also reached out to Grey to set up a long-overdue date, along with another friend that used to be a roommate. He understands the social anxieties well. We’ve had a not-a-date planned for eons, and while I don’t quite get a lady boner for his body his mind is INCREDIBLY sexy. I’ve been seeing Chris more often lately, and while we don’t have a sexual relationship I enjoy his company a great deal. I even have spent a bit of time with Cal, nonsexually of course. He’s safe, wonderfully safe. The way I figure it he and I are both jaded enough and have fucked up enough with one another enough times to realize that friendship needs to come before all else, and that our friendship is good and rock solid and REALLY not worth fucking up for a fuck. Even if it’s a good fuck.

I am not hermiting. I am actually trying to be more social than I have been in a long time and fill some needs that can’t wait around forever. It’s just. None of them are Daddy. None of them can be Daddy, nor would I want them to be. Every person whose company I keep are unique and different in their own ways.

And. I miss Daddy. I also love him, a lot, and that sometimes means putting someone else’s needs and, especially limits, before your own.

I can’t force him to miss me or want me. Nor would I want to. I can’t ask him for more than he’s willing and able to give, and for now sexy anything seems to be on that list. It hurts, I’m not going to lie. It hurts like a motherfucker when it seems like my metas are getting their slices of pie and I get half of mine. But. That’s not my call to make. I will cry. I will process. I will let myself be sad when I’m alone and try to be in the moment and enjoy what Ryan can give me when I’m not. I will not think about my metas, or what new pretties are joining the roster, or my place. I will drive him to his meditation course. I will go on more dates and try to social more. I will let myself feel the feels but not be swallowed by them. I will hope that eventually Daddy will have time and space for me, but not put an expectation on when that time and space will be. I will give what I am allowed to give and not ask him for more than he is willing to give me. I enjoy being the one that has keys to his apartment, and the one he calls on for rides or to watch his cat. I enjoy being the partner that does the most of the day to day with him, even silly things like laundry or grocery shopping. Hell, I enjoy doing his dishes. I will do my very best to focus on what I do have, and what is fulfilling me in the relationship between Ryan and I rather than miss what is lacking at the moment.

There are going to be a hell of a lot of growing pains. I predict that multiple crying spells will happen. But I have headache meds for that shit. I will do my very best. Ryan is a good human. I am lucky to have him in my world, and even the best relationships sometimes have bumps.

Sometimes the bumps knock you off the road for a little bit. Eventually, you get back on.

I am not okay, but I am confident that I will be in time.

Yours, as always

-Rene

The Auction Machine

Lately, my world has been very small.

Words have been difficult. I ran head-first into some undealt with trauma going through December and rather than burying it to face it again come next year I’ve been trying my best to actually FEEL everything. It’s much easier to just bury it for later. Burying it has always let me function. But I’m a wee bit passed functioning, and since the start of 2018 I have done my best to try to live. Improve my life. I’ve started a new job, been trying to eat better, sleep more, meditate.. All things that feed my soul.

The con of all of this is that my social anxiety has been wreaking havoc on my life. It’s flaired to a terrifying extent, severly impacting how I talk to people and maintain relationships. I’ve bungled communicating with Ryan more than once because of it. I’m blessed with people in my life like my roommate, Ace, and James that get it.. Ace to an unfortunately intimate degree. But. Writing messages makes my mind feel like it’s stuck in mud. Like each sentence is pulled bit by bit out of quicksand. There’s a weight on my chest as I talk to people that was never there before, and even small amounts of unfamiliar interraction is EXHAUSTING. It’s lessening, bit by bit, as time goes on, and it’s oddly comforting to finally have words and understanding of what is going on, but this whole thing has cost me friendships and romantic interractions. Which, as expected, blows.

It’s different with the public stuff. BaGG, Sanctum, the Citadel; these are all places that are part performance. I put on a show. I keep the show running and make sure things are taken care of. Because of that, for the most part interractions at BaGG and the Citadel are much easier for me lately than messages and texts, but even then unless I’m in scene my energy has been lower, and my ability to social less.

Typially at least one of my weekend days is taken up with a date with Ryan. We usually see each other about twice a week and that’s about all the romantic exposure I get for the week (my vibrator has become my best friend -__- ), but one of my metas through him was coming in from out of town. I’ve been missing Ace with an intensity that I don’t have words for lately… and the reality of our situation is that I don’t know the next time I’ll see him. Hold him. Kiss him. Knowing that ache, I kept my distance from Ryan this weekend when normally we talk fairly consistently throughout the day. Let him have his fill of my amazing meta and be able to fully focus on her while he can. I had a challenge that I had placed in front of myself for the weekend.

It was Master’s Den yet again, and I had not gone solo in a very long time. For about a year I had been going with Ryan, which was lovely and always resulted in amazing scenes, but my social circle had dwindled, and I was aching for some impact play. With Ryan occupied and Chris busy for the weekend I decided to get myself a new outfit, do my hair and makeup proper, and put myself out there for something that has never been my forte. Pickup play.

When I say I got a new outfity I mean I peacocked with the best of them. It was a lace one piece that unbuttoned at the crotch. The cups did runneth over in the best way possible, and I paired both with black lace heels and black tights. After changing from my mundane clothes I got James to do a damn double take at me. I felt good. Really good. I have the ability to come off as cute with quite a bit of ease. It’s sexy that I have to work for. I wanted to be wanted and desired, not just patted on the head, and as I walked through the Citadel to the orientation I felt eyes on me and beamed.

Typically, Master’s Den is made up of three different parties that rotate; Casino, Revelry, and Auction. That night was the introduction of a fourth component; Auction Machine. We submissives learned at orientation that like at auction, we would be put up for scenes with the winner, but unlike auction there wasn’t going to be any bidding. It was all random. We would fill out auction cards that would be slipped into the auction machine. The Dominants would then step up with a token that they won playing the casino games, slip it in the machine, and be given a card at random.

Gulp.

Whelp. I had wanted to push myself and I had wanted to attempt pick up play.

I grabbed a card for the 10pm auction, knowing that my play safety nets weren’t available. James had been pushing himself way too damn hard trying to work on a shoot for an upcoming show and his body was in no shape to play. He spent the night playing blackjack, building up his Den dollars with me periodically doing food and water runs for him so that he didn’t pass out. Ryan and Chris weren’t there. I was fully solo.

I filled out the card. Open to play and service. Interested in flogging, canes, whips, rope bondage/suspension, bondage, oral giving (marked to be negotiated), receiving sexual stimuation, paddles, hands.

The last part of the card is writing out two possible scene ideas. I grinned.

1: So far as I know, there is only one person in the Citadel right now that can still bruise my ass. Challenge accepted?
2: I love my tights. They’re quite pretty. But. They have a hole in them. So, they are pretty tights that need to die a glorious death.

And. I waited.

The first auction happened. I watched, and watched James watch. I perched by James for a bit and watched him play blackjack (submissives aren’t allowed to play). I nommed on the yummy sushi made by the caterer for the event (a Citadel regular that I clashed with, but that I have to give props to when it comes to cooking), and let myself get teased by a Dominant that has wanted in my pants for a good few months. He pulled my hair, nipped at my neck, and growled in my ear that I was a good girl, getting me ramped up just enough for whoever won me out of the machine.

10 pm. Auction time.

I stood, and watched, and waited as card by card was handed out. We were given numbers with our cards, and one by one they were called. I was, quite literally, the very last card to be chosen.

I am a picky bitch when it comes to play. It’s one of the reasons I suck at pick-up play. As the Dominants chose their scenes I judged each one that stepped up. There were one or two in the bunch that I was attracted to, but not many. And then I saw one, one that I had a thing for for over a year.

He was clad all in leather with a proper harnness, and internally I purred. Just enough scruff, a muscular build, and the ‘I can rip a submissive apart and put them back together’ look perfected. I had watched him play in the past and wanted to crawl into his toy bag and live there. Leather, wood, floggers, whips, a bunny pelt for senation play, and leather gloves.

Leather. Fucking. Gloves. An impact slut has not lived until they’ve gotten their ass tanned by a top sporting properly fitting leather gloves.

By the luck of the gods, Leatherman chose my card. He had his submissive, an adorable Bunny, with him that would be assisting with the scene, keeping sweat out of his eyes and helping hand him toys and the like. The Bunny was sweet and shy with a British accent. I was immediately comfortable.

He tied me to the cross, something that Ryan often does. I let myself relax as he pulled out huge wooden paddles and leather floggers. He slipped the one piece I was wearing over my head, leaving me bare outside of my stockings, and began flogging my back.

It had been far too long since I felt steady leather. I purred under the blows, and mewed, and yipped as they got harder. Leatherman keeps a good rhythm. He knew how to break up the thumps by switching up sensations, thumping on my back with his leather-clad hands, touching me softly, tickling me ever so slightly and pulling my hair. It was a style that James often used, and had me flying high in moments.

Feeling honest play chemistry from a long-running crush was a wonderful surprise. I moaned, and cursed, and came, and had the sadist smiling from ear to ear by the end of the scene and his submissive giggling at my comments and very at ease. Leatherman even managed to flip me over and pound on my tits, something that I usually cannot take. It was.. something I honestly really enjoyed. He held each breast in one hand while pounding it with the other, giving me the catharsis I was craving without overstimulating my way too sensative nipples. He found the tattoos under my breasts with my slave number and ‘As You Wish’ and understood exactly what it was without me saying anything. I watched him get hard at the connection and internally screamed ‘YESSSSSSSS’. My submissive side, my slave side, was still sexy. Not just cute. I wasn’t just an adorable little that was tolerated, or something people were used to. I. Was. Sexy. Dammit. And it felt so, SO good.

And yes, by the end of the scene I was butt-ass naked, and smiling. A need I didn’t know was there had been filled. Leather; gods how I had missed the feel of leather against my skin. The scene lasted a good hour, and while it didn’t end in bruises it did end in an established connection. Leatherman and I agreed to play together at the next party we were both at, and I made the choice to aftercare on my own and let him have some time with his submissive before the end of the party. I could see the lovely Bunny antsy to play, and didn’t want to take up any more of his time.

I spent the rest of the party purring, curled up next to James as he played his cards. I had done all the hard things, and it had gone well. I even made a friend out of it in Bunny, who I got to talk to again at the end of the party. I truly enjoyed their company, and felt very at ease with both Leatherman and Bunny both.

Sometimes, risks pay off. I’m slowly becoming myself again… or rather, a more whole version of myself. I look forward to more nights like I had the other night, more opportunities to be bold, and more chances the strut like the peacock I can be.

Yours, regrouping.

-Rene