Tag Archives: beginnings

NRE

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New Relationship Energy.

Everything monumental in my life has always started with an “oh shit” moment. It’s just how it’s always been with me.

The big relationships in my life have been a dance of avoidance vs submitting to my own desires. It happened with James, who I felt immediate chemistry with and then hid from for a year afterwards because the amount of chemistry terrified me. It happened with Chris, who I watched scene from afar for over a year before I friend pulled me in to play with him. And now, it’s happened with Grey.

I’ve known Grey for over a year at this point. He was a BaGG regular who disappeared for a time..but when he was there, he and his lovely fiance were two of the people who helped make me comfortable with being at BaGG. They pulled me into a group, a clique before I had a clique, and made me feel safe and desired when there was a sea of people around me that I didn’t know yet. The play with Grey was always…toe curling, but it was never much. I was collared, and I honestly didn’t ever know he was interested in me. He played..plays..it’s confusing with a mutual friend of ours who is GORGEOUS, and his lovely fiance has curves in all the right places. And then there’s me. I never saw it. I played with his partner more than him, and then they disappeared for a bit.

And then they came back. They finally came back, and I was thrilled. And surprised.

That first night that they returned to BaGG I found out just how interested Grey was in me. He’s a vocal one, something I am not entirely used to, and is not afraid to express how he feels. Another thing I am very not used to.  I was upset about something.. I can’t even remember what anymore. He was walking me back inside when I heard him whisper in my ear, “You know I’ve got you, right, little one? You’re mine.”

My knees buckled. In a good way. As I said..he’s safe. He’s not trying to claim the primary spot. But he will claim at least part of me..

The night was laced with play with him; intense play that resulted in some lovely bruises on my chest. There were whispers of all the things he would love to do to me if we weren’t in a club. How he would love to hear me scream around his cock while his beautiful fiance did wonderfully evil things to me from behind… Followed by how he loved me, how gorgeous and beautiful I was. How he adored me.

It was a balm over so many sore areas in my life. And I felt myself melting.

The truth was, I had had a crush on Grey for some time… But the logic of ‘he is my crush and is therefore untouchable’ remains in my warp, twisted mind. Suddenly, my crush was showing he wanted me..in a very big way. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such an overwhelming rush of feels before. It terrified and thrilled me.. Terrified, because love scares the ever-living shit out of me. Thrilled because at least part of me understood the feels were safe with him. That they had always been safe with him.

We started texting back and forth..and realized just what derps we had been, each having feelings for the other but imagining the other didn’t feel the same. We played at yet another BaGG. Finally, we went on a date.

Oh my goodness… It has been so, SO long since I’ve had a first date like the one Grey and I had. I felt that zing, that ‘oh fuck’ zing of this is going to be something. And I cursed internally as we drove to our lunch destination, trying to process all that I was feeling. The last time I had zinged so intensely on a first date had been James..I didn’t know if I was ready for another James, or Chris. Casual play, yes..but this would not be casual, this would be intense.

We’ve spent more time together since… I have neither asked, nor expected intense or emotional. Neither of us did. I don’t think he was looking for a new partner any more than I was..and yet here we are. There is a bitter-sweetness to it. Chris and I have continued to have bumps, where Grey and I have a natural ease when we’re around one another. “I like us”, he has told me, over and over. And I have to agree. I like us too.

The NRE is so strong with this one.. I forgot all that comes with a good relationship. The missing. The craving the presence of the person hours after they’ve left. The fantasies that spring to mind late a night, when I’m alone in bed and left to my own wandering hands and thoughts.. And the play! GODDE, fresh play again! Bliss is the simplest way I can describe the feeling of his hand wrapped around my throat. He has big hands; hands that know how to work and that are not without their scars.

I most certainly have a type.

I have missed new adventures. It feels as if Grey was this piece that I’ve been missing. He’s slid into my life so seamlessly that it feels as if he was always supposed to be here. Of course, this is my partner. And his partner? What a joy she is, and how amazing she has been in sharing the man she is going to marry.

After so much struggling, being in a relationship with good, safe poly where I don’t feel threatened and I know someone isn’t trying to fill James’s spot… It’s a good feeling. I let myself revel in it, and I look forward to more adventures with Grey.

Yours, enjoying the new and the shiny

~Rene

 

(A Long Overdue) Day 30!

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30) Is your need to submit being met? If not, or if your situation changed, do you think that you could continue in your life and still be happy/content if you were never able to express your submission in the way that feels best to you again? What makes submission special to you?

This is being asked to me after a night that is still making me smile. James and I went on a date last night. A simple thing. A bite to eat and time together. But not something I ever take for granted..  Something I am very, very grateful for.

There was a time when I struggled with being ashamed of what I was… for a variety of reasons. There was a time when Kane was ashamed to be attracted to me, to want me..and that made me extremely ashamed of myself. What was wrong with me that he didn’t want to be attracted to me? What I so repulsive?

After that finally ended, after I removed myself from a relationship too emotionally masochistic for me, I came to terms with focusing on myself for a while. I wasn’t interested in dating. Didn’t want a relationship. Didn’t want to have to put in the work when I was already working on myself and had finally gotten used to being completely on my own.

And then I run into James, quite on accident. I’ve seen him a couple times before then, but not on his own. Always in the Citadel, always with our friend Squeeks in his lap. They kissed a lot, and she wore his collar from time to time. I assumed that they were together.

They weren’t, I found out. He was very single. I was working on it. And it was finally okay for me to feel attracted to him. It was April. I hadn’t been under his hand since November, at Surrender.. and I wanted to be. I ended up on my knees in front of him, exploring pain and pleasure in a way I hadn’t before.

Are my needs being met as a submissive?

I am a greedy sub. I always want time with Sir. I’m happy when I’m with him… The world shuts up for a little while, and even if we’re stressing about life, the universe, and everything we have the time to talk to each other.. We have a confidant that isn’t going to squeal about every last little thing about our conversations. There are head pets, snuggles, kisses…spankings and scratches and bites.. Sometimes screams. And I love it all. I love the play, and I love just going out to dinner and talking…

My submission is a part of me.. I’ve said that time and time again in these entries. It is as much a part of me as my brown eyes or my curvy figure. I can’t change it about myself. If it wasn’t able to come out in serve to a person, as I thought was going to be the case for a long while, it’s going to come out in service to the community. I show up to quite a few events as-is, because the kink community has become my family out here. Just because a relationship begins or ends doesn’t mean my submission does the same.. A Top, a Sir, a Dom, or a Master do not make me a submissive. I make myself submissive. I own that identity, and it took me a damn long time to do it.

Thus far on my journey, I have no regrets. Although I gotta say, I’m kind of glad this is the last of the 30 days.. It will be nice to get back to the regularly scheduled programming (and allll the backlogged entries that I have saved). Thank you for putting up with my tardiness on the entries, as well as for reading my words at all.

More to come, as always, and as always I am yours

-Rene

Day 28

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28) Has your submission ever let you down? Have you ever been criticized for your submission? Have you ever regretted being or feeling submissive in a moment or in a relationship? Have you ever looked back and realized you made a mistake and how did you handle your submission going forward from that.

We are human, submissives and Dominants. Sometimes we wish we weren’t. I know that there is a part of myself that always wants to be the BEST submissive possible, to please him more than anyone else has.

I am going to start this question off by answering the last part of it. I have never thought my decision to submit was a mistake. Never. It is as natural to me as breathing. It is a part of myself I shoved away for a very long time. I may make mistakes in that submission from time to time, but do I regret deciding to be who and what I am at any point in time? No. I am what I am. And to be honest, I love what I am. I have doubts about myself constantly…but not about my ability to submit or my skills as a submissive. It is the one place where I am completely sure of myself.

I had parts of my submission criticized, very early on. Very, VERY early on, back when Cal was still mentoring me. His girlfriend at the time decided that I was a threat to her, and my poor friend was so enthralled by the woman that he didn’t see for a long time just how much he was being manipulated. Every time I saw him, it was with her as well, so that we could never talk privately. At the time I was a little bit of a mess.. I was growing up, feeling those aches and pains of the first time you stand on your own two feet away from any outside help. I was scared, and just needed someone to tell me that it was going to be okay so that I could keep going. When we were alone, or when we talked privately, he reassured me that this was a normal part of growing up, and that this too shall pass and I would be okay. He would then list fifty thousand logical next steps that would short-circuit my panic button and make everything better. When I saw him with her, however… She noticed when I was upset and jumped at the chance to make it worse, telling me I wasn’t prepared to be in a relationship with someone of his age and experience, and that I should just move on.. She was right about the relationship, but I didn’t WANT a relationship, I wanted a teacher… She spent a good couple of months telling me I was a horrible submissive and would never learn to be one properly. Eventually I stopped talking to her and my friend, because I couldn’t fucking take it.

As for my submission letting me down.. The end with Kane. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t mine.. It was both of us stretching something out that should have been left behind and miscommunication all the while. He kept trying to tell me that he could no longer be what I needed… but he couldn’t find the words. He would try it gingerly, not fully wanting to let me go just as much as I didn’t want him to let me go.. And I misheard him time and time again. Every time he said “You deserve so much better.” I would go no no no. I don’t want better I want you… Subby mind was just too devoted to here Dominant. I loved being his. I loved wearing his collar… He gave me Disney. He gave me my first taste of feeling cherished, being someone’s princess… and I loved it. Letting go of that, even knowing that it was the right thing to do, was a heartbreaking process. Even then, it took me months to take off the collar. I felt at war with myself, pulling apart my day collar. I had to take it off myself because he didn’t have time to see me..but it felt horrible. It felt disloyal. I now understand why being properly released is so important. Because otherwise a submissive will eat themselves alive for doing something that they know is right but feels so wrong.

Phew.. Okay. That was a loaded one that brought up much emotional baggage… I’m going to go and pick out my dungeon outfit for this evening… Nothing like corsets and stilettos to make the night better.

As always, yours

-Rene

Day 23

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23) Is there anything about submission (yours or what you see in others) that you question, dislike or repels you? Was there a time you questioned or were resistant to your own submissive feelings?

I am a big fan of different strokes for different folks. However, there are limits to this. I believe in the safe, sane, consensual tenant of BDSM.. and while the sane part is up for debate, the safe and consensual are not.

The only time I have questioned another submissive is when they were going into truly unsafe situations… I had a friend at Bondage a Go Go when I started going early on who called herself a pain slut. In all reality she was a heavy bottom, but not a pain slut, and she pushed her body too hard to prove just how much she could take (because she wanted to be the best of all the subs… Subbies you know how this is…). To do this, she would eat AFTER bag and not have any food before, because she believed that it allowed her to take more pain. One night she did this and on top of this took several medications that left her not in her right mind, combined this with alcohol, and then went to go play… The partner she was playing with cut the scene short because they saw she wasn’t right, but it was one of the few times I have gone over and lectured another submissive, as well as her primary for letting her put herself in that situation.

I’ve also met many a young ‘sub’ that was “looking for her Christian Grey.” They are easy to spot in a dungeon setting. Usually younger, dressed to the nines in lingerie and brand new heels, walking around with a bit of a dear in the headlights look. These lost little ones me and a few other experienced submissives will sit down and talk to, and try to explain the difference between Christian Grey and real Doms. It’s why so many of us read the books, so we could know thy enemy and keep young, vulnerable subbies from getting hurt.

There is a difference between a submissive putting herself in danger because she is under some sort of influence (be it alcohol or some fictional character) and a submissive letting her Dominant push her. I have seen a couple scenes that have had me question whether or not an ambulance should be called. You sit, you watch, you wonder, but in those moments you know that an experienced submissive has not had alcohol or drugs before playing, because they want to be fully aware of their body and what is is going through. An experienced Dominant will be able to read their submissive’s body to pace the play out so that even if they’re pushing, it will be something they know that their submissive can take. And if something happens, if something gets pushed to far, everyone knows how to safeword, and will if they need to. You sometimes just have to trust that. And when you can’t, well, that’s what dungeon monitors are for.

You can’t always judge a book by its cover. James and I have made the dungeon monitors look up a few times, because he makes me howl. He will hit me hard enough that the sound of the crack will echo throughout the entire dungeon, and I in turn will scream like a banshee. He pushes me, and I let him push me. Everyone in that dungeon knows we’re experienced. The DMs have seen James for years in the scene, and while I haven’t been around for as long they know me as well. They trust that if I need to, I will red out. And I have in the past, with other partners.

As for my own submission… of course I’ve struggled with it. When my mother told me I could be anything I wanted to be I don’t think she pictured one of those things as someone who craved spankings, floggings and the phrase ‘good girl’. Strong, independent women are not supposed to want to kneel at their boyfriend’s feet.. I struggled most with something that has become one of my biggest kinks. The concept of being owned.

The collar. One of my biggest turn-ons is the thought that someone wants me enough, values me enough, that they want me to be one of their possessions. They want to own me. They will share, but I will be theirs to do with as they well. Coming to terms with wanting that, with craving that.. it took me some time. There is still a stigma to D/s, and to BDSM in general. It takes time to realize that the stigma is just something  you learn how to live with.. That it’s going to be part of your everyday life whether you want it to be or not.

It’s a matter of how you live with it that matters. I will never be ashamed of who and what I am. It has taken me a long time to get there, and I’ll be damned if I’m going back… But I’ve learned what to and not to share with people about who I am. Sometimes that makes me sad, that I can only be half of myself with people.

But then I rejoin my people… and I frolic in the dungeon. James makes me scream, and all is right with the world.

Yours, as always

-Rene

Day 22

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Day 22

Can you feel submissive without a dominant partner? If so, how does your submission express itself? If not, how do you handle your submission or submissive feelings?

My friend Cal is a Domly Dom. I’ve described him as being able to be spotted as Dominant from 100 feet away. This attribute may be heightened when his girl is kneeling at his feet or curled up in his lap, but standing on his own he reeds as Dominant. Those who aren’t in the scene may not know that he was a Dominant, but he would read as a domineering person in general, a take charge boss man that looks like he should be calling the shots.

The same can be said on the other end of the spectrum. My submissive tendencies don’t go away when I’m not with my Sir… and somethings this can be a really annoying thing…because I can’t control it.

When I am upset and around people I trust I become incredibly submissive. Most of my friends know that I like to sit on the floor when I cry, that I will apologize for every little thing (including apologizing so much) and that the easiest way to make my mood right is to order me to action. Tell me to do something so that I’m not focusing on my own melancholia.

My submissive side is strong enough and, ironically, dominant enough in me that it comes out, partner or not, and I am lucky enough to have people in my life that know how to handle me when this does happen. They are not necessarily Doms but toppy people that know what to do when I go subby.

I’m not necessarily one of those people that goes “Dom shopping” when I’m single, and I have been single in the scene before. I’ve mentioned before that I am a picky bitch when it comes to relationships. When I feel a need to formally submit but don’t have a Dominant in my life, I am lucky in that I have friends. Friendships in the scene…can be interesting. Some of my friends I go to dinner and drinks with… some of them beat my ass in a dungeon when I ask. It ends up not being in a sexual way, rather in a cathartic way. Their need to Dominate ends up as strong as my need to submit, and the play makes both of us feel better and more right in our own skin.

I’m one of those who is blessed and cursed with the fact that my submission never really goes away. I would like to think that has the ability to make me a damn good submissive to my Sir, and that he is proud to call me his, because it isn’t an act. It’s not a mask that I put on for an evening performance. It’s in me, same as my need to create. I love it, and sometimes I hate it.

Yours, subby as ever

-Rene

Day 20

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Day 20

Has your submission increased or decreased over time? Have you ever had to renegotiate your submission due to a change in your feelings or circumstance?

I wouldn’t say it has increased or decreased.. I would say it’s stabilized.

When Cal found me eons ago all he had to do was tell me that it was real for me to be all in. I had wanted it for ages… felt a need to submit that I couldn’t understand and couldn’t name at the time. I was one of those hopeless souls that clung to kinky novels and prayed that something, anything like that existed… And when it did I threw myself in full-tilt. So much so that I think even if Cal hadn’t had a significant other the mentor-ship would have ended. I wanted to swim in the deep end of the community when he was slowly dipping his toes back into the water.

I did… but perhaps not in the most healthy way. When Kane and I were together, we were basically 24/7. I would live at his house during the week while his wife was away and then go back to my place on the weekends. Certain things I loved.. I still love. I would have dinner waiting for him when he got home from work, along with me on my knees at the front door in lingerie. I would clean the house. He would leave me chores to do; exercise, do laundry, etc, and I admit weight wise that I was lighter then than I am now (and no I’m not happy about that dammit -_- But I’m a work in progress).

…I think we loved the fantasy of 24/7, but neither of us were ready to deal with the realities of it.. That eventually he would need to deal with the stress of a failing marriage, that I was too young realistically for him because he could never comfortably swallow that age gab… That I wanted children and he was past that age where that was going to be realistic.

It was a gradual shift. It started with me staying home two weeks and being with him for a week. Then five days. Then four.

Eventually the sleepovers stopped.. His life had become too hectic. There was too much stress at work to try to fit me in. And because he was my Dom, because I wore his collar, I trusted that it would all be okay. We talked about it all being okay. That I loved him and he loved me and that was all that mattered…

… This is surprisingly hard to write… It’s been about a year since things started falling apart. Since the downward spiral began.

I had to renegotiate the entire relationship in my head time and time again, not because I willingly wanted to and it was the healthy thing to do but because I had no choice… He was my Dom and my boyfriend. I had to trust that he was doing things for a reason at that it would all be alright. That eventually we would get back to Disney. In my head I explained away the way he treated me time and time again, something I’m incredibly conscious of now. Dominants are not gods, they are humans, and when they stop communicating they make very bad, very painful mistakes. Kane made a few. He is still my friend…but he very much shattered parts of me. That’s taken a while to heal.

The relationship with James is a different D/s dynamic than I’ve had before.. There is no label, bedroom only, 24/7, etc. I’m not in subby mode all the time. There are times when I am very much, and very happily, his girlfriend. And then he flips that subby switch. He can do it with a look, a tone, a glance, and I’m on my knees with my chest out and my back arched. It’s laced through everything for both of us..because kink is laced through our entire lives. What we do, how we both want to make our livelihoods, is saturated with the kink world, and rather than fight against it and try to create a separate persona we’ve both embraced it whole-heartedly.

Sometimes labels just don’t work.. When you remove some of them, you find the balance.

Yours playing catch up

-Rene

Day 15

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Day 15

Has your submission evolved over time? If so, how has it evolved for you and if not (or if you are just starting out) how might you see or imagine it evolving in the future?

Oh goodness yes. Of course my submission has evolved over time.

I’m a big believer in the fact that everyone’s sexuality evolves over time. You grow. You learn more about yourself, about what you actually want in a partner.. or about actually wanting ‘partners’ instead.

For me, I have natural submissive tendencies that just.. come out. I am exceedingly comfortable sitting on the floor at someone’s feet, or even kneeling there for a great length of time. I like cleaning up after partners, making their lives easier by disposing of sodas and plates and glasses in cafes and stuff like that. I like when a partner chooses my clothing, because I like to be as pleasing to my partner as possible (though in all reality for this to be practical I wouldn’t want this unless I was living with a partner.. which I’m currently not). This is without any of the hitty and slappy stuff.

When I first dove into this lifestyle I dove in full force. I had fought being subby for so long.. because females have been fighting so long for equal rights, why on earth would a female want to submit under the hand of a male? It took me over 20 years to wrap my mind around that being okay when both the religion I practiced and the people that raised me preached women standing up to men, being equals, never submitting. Once I embraced the submissive part of myself it was as if the floodgates opened.. I couldn’t control it. I craved ritual, craved the hand of another.. and I got it.

I got the 24/7 relationship I desired… and discovered, over time, that it was exhausting and trying. That in order to keep up the BDSM side of our lifestyle other parts were suffering and communication was breaking down. Eventually, obviously, we broke apart. The pressures of what we were expected to maintain became too great.

I developed from being a 24/7 submissive to being a submissive with a switch. Flip it and I was on my knees in a heartbeat. Ignore it and I stayed in girlfriend mode completely. With my current partner… There is a balance forming in our relationship.. There are times when I am just the girlfriend and not the submissive. I am always his.. because I want to be. Because I expressed that desire, not because he imposed it on me.

The pain thing.. That is also knew. I heard a term the other week that summarized what I am very well. Pain for pleasure. Meaning I take the pain for the pleasure of another. I enjoy being beaten because I see him enjoying it. I look forward to it because I know the pleasure that it will cause my Sir, and that gives me quite a lot of joy. I love showing him how much I can take. How I can lay there and scream and cry but not yellow or red, because I want his hands on me. I want the nails. I want the smacks. I want it all so much…

Oh yes,  my submission has changed over time..and I am thoroughly enjoying how it has transformed, and I’m sure will continue to transform over time…

Yours, a work in progress

-Rena

Bits and Pieces

“She has been running for so long.
She does not remember when she began. She has always been running, running, hurtling forward, headlong, passion in her heart and limbs, not thinking of the goal, only running. She is hot and wet. She is wet with heat.
Her breath comes in deep gasps. Her searing heart expands.
Everything blurs.
Everything.
Running.
And then.
She stops in her tracks. She stares. A strong woman, panting, stares back at her. Eyes blazing with force and heat. A mirror? A mirage? A perfect twin? Hair tangled with sweat. Her? Another? Who?
And then.
Running, everything blurring.
Searing heart. Breath in deep gasps.
Hot and wet. Wet with heat.
Running, hurtling headlong forward, passion in heart and limbs, no go, only running, running. Running.
Running. ”

This is a poem called Mabon I stumbled across last night while going through books I had stashed away…and oh did it resonate.

I should backtrack.

The day of my last blog post I decided it was time to be brave. Over the summer when I went back to New Jersey in June my childhood home because a bit of a disaster soon. My baby sister accidentally flooded the basement which still contained a rather large chunk of my college life in Boston, including a portfolio case that contained all the precious little momentos that once hung on my walls.

I brought the portfolio case with me on my cross country trip, knowing that eventually I would have to look inside at the carnage the flood caused, and that it would not be pretty. I was terrified.. I’m not one of those that keeps precious things in a box. I like being able to see cards and notes, drawings and tokens of affection… I had little things that I had saved; a note from a friend who brought me pieces fresh out of the kiln, a Valentine from one of my best friends the year we met, a card from a very close friend that kept me sane after my aunt died and I still had one semester left…

One thing extra precious in the menagerie of precious was a photograph. It was taken when I was thirteen, and is one of few where I can tell you exactly where it was taken and what I was doing. My aunt and I were in a Starbucks (she was a coffee junky, although she preferred it from 7/11 with half and half, no sugar…funny the shit you remember), it was one of the first I had ever been in. She got me a muffin and we were waiting on her coffee. It was a pit stop on way to a Wynonna Judd concert in New England, and my uncle took a photo of us through the glass window. We’re hugging each other, laughing, and are just so..us.

Since my freshman year of college my aunt and I corresponded regularly over e mail.. I still have most of them. The only ones I deleted were when she yelled at me for spending too much money. I knew she was sick when the e mails stopped… I found out she was terminal when I came home from college for Christmas. I knew she was dying, really dying, when I came back to school at the end of January. I had that picture hanging in my dorm. When I couldn’t e mail anymore I talked to the photo daily, telling her what I was up to and how I was okay, and wished she was as well.. She died a week into my last semester of college, college she paid for me to go to and wanted me to finish so badly..and to get through I continued to talk to the photo. I finished my degree for her as well as myself.

After I graduated, I ignored the photo. I didn’t want to think about her being gone. It hurt enough to be home without her..and so I ran to California. And then the flood happened…and without looking inside I brought the whole portfolio case to California.

I moved into my apartment in June. For months it has been in a shambles…because I seem to have this built in urge to run from one thing to the next. Being away from Kane is hard…and for the first time in my life I think about living with someone on a regular basis. We talk about it often, and I know that if nothing else around February that will become a reality..but until then I was all but resenting the little apartment I spent maybe a week out of a month in.

Why? Why did I resent it when I should have pride in it? Why did I unpack nothing in preparation for what is next instead of enjoying what I had? I thought back to college, to my junior year when Jason and I were hot and heavy. One of the many reasons our relationship failed (besides our youth, his life being impractical, and all in all us growing into different people, etc) was that we burned out. He asked me out in August, and by October was talking about proposing. Mind you, I was twenty and he was twenty four. We were young, stupid, in a long distance relationship and hopelessly in love. Because we would go a month or more without seeing each other in person our trips would be super intense. There’s only so much you can share over cam and phone, and we would pour everything into those in person visits.. Because they were limited we drifted from the present to the future often…eventually drifting too far into the future. I was obsessed with it, and he couldn’t see it anymore…

Kaboom

Back to the present, where I sat thinking about all of this. I looked over at the portfolio case that has been untouched since June…and I dug in. I unpacked it and went through the carnage, rediscovering treasures like the last birthday card my grandfather gave me and a Catwoman marker drawing my dad made me, in tact. I went through the whole case, unable to find the photograph, and was folding up the portfolio case when I felt something in the front pocket.

The frame was trashed. Disgusting. It was covered in black mold and no longer resembled a frame. I pulled the gross object out, prepared to look at the carnage and toss the whole thing out…and found the picture. In tact. Okay. The edges that were locked inside the frame were blurred from water damage, but the center, the photo of my aunt and I, was perfect. Just as I remember. I immediately put it up next to my bed, tossing the frame, and I cried.

I don’t know why..maybe with relief, maybe with remembering…but this flood gate was a necessary kick in the ass. I started ripping through the apartment, decorating, cleaning, unpacking, reorganizing… I found books I forgot about. Precious bits and pieces that made up who I was. As I unpacked..I felt more and more proud about my little in law apartment. It was mine. MINE. I paid for it. It was my space to enjoy for a few months, that I earned with my money.

I still look forward to moving in with Kane and our life together…how can I not? I’m madly in love with the man.. but I was once again trying to rush things. I was running over broken bits of myself, rushing to my future without acknowledging the present. I could enjoy weekends together as a special treat, and nights together as a blessing and not a give in. I could take pride in my little space and remember who I was.

Thus the flipping through the pagan books again, where I found the Mabon poem that struck a chord. Running, rushing life, solves nothing. People my age talk about when they were children wishing to be adults, and how they would give anything to go back. I’m guilty of this as well, ten was a damn good year for me… People my age don’t seem to learn easily. Here we are in our twenties and so many of us are rushing into our thirties. We wish to be teenagers when we’re children. As teenagers we want to be in our twenties. When we are in our twenties and have the freedom we longed for in our teens we yearn for the stability of our thirties. In our thirties we yearn for the sureness of who we are that comes with our forties, and in our forties we long for the wisdom that comes in our fifties. In our fifties we want the peace that comes with our sixties, and so on and so fourth..you get it.

My name is Rena. I am twenty three years old, and still in the maiden stage of my life. I want to be a mother someday within the next three to five years. I want to be a wife. I want to be a partner. But I am a girlfriend and a submissive. I’m an artist with a vagabond’s soul that loves to explore new places, on my own and with the man I love.

I will learn from my past, relish my present, and look forward to my future without longing for it. Because while the present is not easy, it’s still pretty damn good.

Yours with an ALMOST unpacked apartment.

~Rena

Roots

My roots are planted deep in Jersey soil. They were fed by the lights from the New York City skyline and the waves crashing off of the Jersey Shore.

They grew strong with stories told by a dad who always knew to do voices for every storybook character, and afternoons of baking with a mom who used the time as impromptu sex ed (Cut the scones in half. Hey Rena, do you know what a woody is?).

These roots wrapped around not one, but two family matriarchs, and withstood even as both left the mortal plane.

My roots carry echoes of summers spent in a grandmother’s swimming pool and winters full of snowmen (and sometimes snowdogs). They know laughter, tears, loss, and luck. They’ve seen their parent trees as human and flawed, and still are filled with love for them, and they stretch, achingly sometimes, to maintain that connection between where they are and where they are going.

These roots have grown, twisted, and turned as time has gone by. They’ve stretched up to Boston and Cambridge, circling there for four long years before beginning a long journey, inching their way to San Francisco. Wood splinters, it wears. Fires can destroy them and water can wear them away, but still my roots held strong as they grew. They were a steady path to follow back, a safety harness when my wings took me too far too fast.

My roots, everlasting and full of love, call me home for more changes, more twists and turns, as my life continues to unfold. It’s time to follow them back to the beginning; to recharge and remember the little girl who loved to play in the woods behind her yard and who would talk to Peter Pan. It’s time to go home.

I will see San Francisco in two weeks. It’s time for a recharge.