Tag Archives: changes

The Ache

I am completely exhausted.

This is the first day since I’ve come back that I haven’t worked…and it will probably be the last day before I go back east for the Christmas season. I’m pushing my body to the absolute max.. One day off and I remember why. When I’m working I’m not thinking.

The Christmas season is odd for me… when I was younger it was my second favorite time of year (Halloween always trumped). Christmas Eve is a big deal in my family… or it was. I’m Italian, and we would always go to my Grammy’s house and meet with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, eat way too much food, drink wine, and then one by one all of the grandchildren would open their Christmas gifts. My Grammy ran the show while she was alive and then when she passed my aunt took over. Her last Christmas was three years ago, and she was so weak that she couldn’t come.. I brought my camera and we actually shot a video of all the cousins opening their gifts so she could see all of our reactions. After she passed away I stopped going to Christmas Eve.

I don’t get along with my extended “family” for a variety of reasons.. I feel extremely alone and out of place when I’m around them. That loneliness is doubled when you are the lone rebel who remains home while the rest of the family trecks up to continue a mockery of a tradition…

Bah. Bitter feelings I don’t need to get into.

This is the first year since my aunt died that I’ve been..excited for Christmas. It’s not even about the gifts. I don’t have a Christmas list for the first time since I was about three, no matter how many times my older sister hounds me for one. It’s about actually wanting to sing the songs I hear on the radio again, watching White Christmas and Holiday Inn and allowing myself to be nostalgic. Curling up with my mom’s home made cocoa and Christmas cookies and watching my cat freak out at the amount of tissue paper she is allowed to pounce on Christmas morning.

The best part of the holiday season is going back east. It’s the one time of year that I can get a large enough chunk of time off to go to Boston and see my best friends.. It’s not that I don’t have friends in California, I do.. This group is special though. They are my ride together, die together group. Out of the five of us, I moved west and the rest are all in the Boston area still. Once a year I see them..and once a year I breathe easier. There’s no pretense when I’m around them. They’ve seen all my sides.. They watched me break and saw me at my absolute lowest and still loved me.

I miss Boston itself. The crisp air that can get so cold exposed skin will crack. The lights in Harvard Square during Christmas time. I miss marzipan from Mike’s Pastries and the journeyman bowl from Life Alive. Boston turned me into who I was. When I go back I feel more in my bones.. That’s my holiday season, my reason to celebrate. It’s my dose of love and companionship before the loneliness of the actual Christmas holiday. It’s this time of year that I debate moving back there; seeing if I could rejoin the world of my chickies and bring the man I love with me..

Life isn’t that simple.

Things have gotten better. Kane and I are in an okay place.. I just miss him. I’ve never had a boyfriend with me for the holidays.. even when I was in a relationship he celebrated Christmas 3000 miles away from me. This year will be no exception to that tradition of mine. And so I’ve thrown myself into making gifts (as I am a poor little creature… No buying unless I have to) and working. When I’m working I’m not thinking. I’m not worrying about what I’m missing and I can be grateful for what I have. I look forward to giving Kane what I’ve made for him..seeing the smile on his face.

He is surprisingly not the only man I’m making gifts for.. I have managed to find the beginnings of a secondary partner. We met about three weeks ago at Dark Odyssey, Surrender, a BDSM convention weekend thing at one of the hotels in the city. Mr. Smith has managed to make quite an impression… and part of me is still reeling from it. He’s new and shiny and confusing, and utterly lovable in certain ways.

I find myself achieving an odd balance with him and Kane. I don’t feel like I take away from one by thinking about the other… I have completely different relationships with the two of them, and the fact is the relationship with Smith wouldn’t exist if I didn’t have full permission from Kane to pursue it. He’s my anchor, my primary, and if he and I aren’t okay then I can’t really focus on other partners.. I have a friend that’s often stated that multiple partners handled the right way allow you to be the best you that you can possibly be.. I’m starting to fully understand that. There are kinks that I have that Kane and I don’t connect on..but Smith and I have. Vice versa with Smith and Kane. The two combined on a day where I get to see Kane have me so at peace and content.

I am very grateful for what I have. I see my vanilla and my kinky life improving greatly and have a lot to look forward to in the coming weeks.. That ache of loneliness remains an undercurrent beneath it all, rearing its ugly head from time to time.. I feel it. I rarely succumb to it, but I know it’s there..

I still have so many gifts to make, so much work to do. It’s a small miracle I have time to dwell on this long enough to write an entry XD Back to work I go.

Yours puttering along, on a new (okay… refurbished, but new to me) computer with a new working keyboard.




‘I know it’s hard not to worry… but don’t worry about you and me… we are not a function of the time we spend together, but of the understanding we have of each other as artists and D/s people’

Three weeks is a long time.
I know in the scheme of things it’s a blip in time, a pinprick that will barely make an imprint, but facing it down now.. Sigh.

It’s odd, after hearing and reading about these whirlwind D/s relationships, these super intense love affairs that give so much more than they take, being knee deep in one. Sir and I have talked, late at night in bed, about the different time different place scenarios. There are times when our relationship hurts like hell, and he could see the pain in my face, where I see this little flicker of regret in his eyes. We’ve bounced back and forth about what would have happened if we had met later, when all his vanilla stuff was resolved, or earlier before it all started.

The result of the discussion is always the same. It wouldn’t have worked. We had the briefest moments to meet and connect.. And I think the moment we did we knew that we were utterly fucked in the best way possible.

In certain ways I feel like such a lucky bitch because I have Kane, my boyfriend who is sweet and gentle with these kind blue eyes and this laugh that melts me. He is who I have art debates with, who I joke with, who I curl up and unwilling watch the Matrix with (and then thank him later for finally forcing me to watch the Matrix). And then there is Sir, my Dom, when he gets this look in his eyes that pierce through me. His grip becomes stronger, he’s mastered THAT VOICE, the sexy Dom voice that turns my insides to jello and makes me warm all over. Sir is the one that will not hesitate to grab me and use me as he wishes, yanking me into the best position to spank, or fuck, or flog, or bite.

I love when these two sides combine, in moments like our morning snuggles where I wake up with him wrapped around me, cuddling close. And then he grinds against me, his hand wanders over my body, loving and possessive at the same time, and in a tone that would make my clothes evaporate if I wore any to bed, he whispers in my ear, “I think it’s time to wake up.” Waking up means getting up, making his coffee just right, crawling back into bed with said coffee, and then happily crawling between his legs.

My vanilla life has been hard lately. I am away from him more than I like to admit, and find myself constantly stressing about money. I felt.. Useless for quite some time. Spent. Empty. No matter how hard I worked efforts never seemed good enough, and it took a toll emotionally and physically. I isolated myself, avoiding the play parties and the kink community I loved in order to hide and sulk.

No man has ever dealt with my unraveling before, no matter been able to fix it. Kane is the first. It took a lot of talking on both our parts, but I finally managed to communicate to him that walking gingerly around me gave me more chances to hide.

And so the walking on eggshells stopped. Sir became firmer, more prominent. When I mess up I get punished. When I do well I am rewarded with the ever sought after, “good girl” and a kiss on my forehead. We both let go again, him letting himself be Dom without holding back, me giving up all control to him again without fear. A week of getting back to the new, improved version of us and I felt myself coming back to life.

I started working again. So many of my supplies are still at Cal’s house.. But I used what I had. I started sculpting, and painting, and remember what I’m good at. That I’m not unless. That there’s a reason he chose me over countless others to own.

That’s another thing in the works.. A contract, to have me owned and collared properly. Because frankly I don’t think I could fully belong to anyone else at this point. I am his, heart, body, and soul.

So. Now that things are better, now that I’m getting back to myself and am making some progress in my life, how will it be spending a full three weeks without physical contact, and another month after that without being able to spend the night together?

I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’m not scared now.. Or I try not to be. As long as we can still communicate I’m hoping we will be fine.

We will see. Either way.. It’s nice to be able to hope again.

Yours rising.


On Top


I, like many others, struggle with my weight.

It’s taken me a very long time to be able to look in the mirror and think the person looking back is beautiful. It started when I was much, much younger with a mother built completely different than me. She used to get me kids jeans three sizes too small and would tell me I couldn’t wear jeans until I fit into those. I went to a nutritionist for the first time when I was eight years old, started doing Weight Watchers for the first time when I was ten (complete with the meetings), and at this point have it so engrained in my head that I automatically calculate the points of food, and have never seen the single digit side of clothing sizes. I’ve come damn close. At my “skinniest” I was a size 10, and I was fabulous.

I was also bulimic, so that helps, though I am trying to get there again the healthy way. I haven’t slipped with my binging and purging in a whole year. I’ve been more active (though I’ve been far too lazy today and need to go take my walk after I write this..), eating much better food, and slowly watching the scale go down, pound by pound, week by week.

The number still bothers me..but it’s bothering me a little less. I don’t like seeing a 2 in front of my weight. EVER. I’m small, all of 4 ft 11, and I am damn curvy. I am blessed and cursed with a body that hides my weight extremely well..blessed because if I told someone I weight 206.4 as of last weekend they would gawk at me in shock.. cursed because it’s not those annoying five pounds that sneak up on me. It’s those annoying twenty pounds…

I do think I need to lose weight. My goal over time is to get to 150 (at my thinnest I was in the 170s). I don’t think I’m gigantic. I know I’m sexy. I know I look good in a corset and thong, and I know what lingerie makes me look fantastic.

I am confident around Kane, more so than any other man I’ve been with. I know he doesn’t see flaws when he looks at me. I know his perception of beauty is different than most. I know he thinks I’m beautiful.

But I want to curl up in a ball and hide every single time he asks me to get on top.

I’ve NEVER liked the position. Ever. Because I become twenty times more self conscious about my size. I notice my tummy, my thighs; everywhere that I hold weight. I get self conscious about how I’m moving or if I’m keeping a proper pace… or if I look like this slow, sluggish beached wale impaled on top of a man. No one has ever called me that, mind you, and those that have gotten me on top have appreciated it…but my little warped mind sees this disfigured creature in place of myself.

I’ve enjoyed it twice that I can remember, and only twice. Once was with Jason, one night where I actually topped HIM while we were still dating. For some reason it turned both of us on… He was also on his sofas sitting and for some reason that position made me more comfortable than in bed.

It’s the only position that’s a mind fuck for me. Turn me upside down, sideways, lift my legs, spin me around..it doesn’t matter. Ask me to get on top, cowgirl or reverse, and I freeze. Any sexy I have just shrivels and I become this scared little girl… AUGH.

It’s frustrating, because I know it’s one thing Kane very much enjoys. He took me to task about it last night before some very intense (in a very GOOD way) sex, listening to my fears about the position before responding. As far as rhythm and movement, he reminded me that he would be dictating how I moved and how quickly those movements were carried out…and as usually, he assured me about my figure. He likes the position because he gets access to all the parts of myself I want to hide.. my waist, my thighs (he is the only man in the history of EVER to like my legs, which I think are stubby). He loves that it gives him open access to my breasts and free hands… a dangerous combination in all the right was.

Kane isn’t small. My beloved Sir is a sizable man who has picked me up with little effort and tossed me onto the bed before. Logically, I know I won’t squish him. I’m not too big for him to handle. So why does my mind still flinch at the idea when he’s attempted to ease my worries one by one? What is it that his words can’t get through to ease my worries?


Looks like I have some mental picking apart to do… case I wanna ride with the best of ’em, dammit!

Yours frustrated.. and not looking forward to the self-imposed psychological evaluation.



Oh boy. Oh boy… ohhh boy.

This will be a long post. I apologize for this.

I got back to San Francisco about two weeks ago from a FANTASTIC trip home. The only thing missing was Kane.

It was an odd feeling for me, missing someone as much as I did when I was only away for a week and a half. It just..felt like he should be there for everything. Like he belong there, and would have enjoyed it. I wanted to share my old haunts with him; my childhood hideaways and my loves. I sent videos and photos of my childhood home to him, showing more to him than I have to anyone in a long time, sharing pieces of myself that I have held tight and guarded for way too long.

Regardless, I had to returned. I returned to a week without him and two weeks of hell at work.

I very rarely discuss my work on this blog because it involves childcare..and childcare and BDSM rarely mix well. I had been hired as one thing, and gradually throughout the months I had watched my position slowly crumble to a mere shadow of itself and began dreading going to work. My duties were never the same day to day. They began to change radically, drifting into a realm that were not at all involved in my job description.

Poor Kane. The man had the patience of a saint with me this week. He got double whammied with a girlfriend/submissive that had her period AND severe work problems. The anxiety was so bad that I found myself unable to get into the submissive mindset at all.

I have not gone to a play party in a month and a half. A month was because of other commitments. Two weeks have been by my choice. Last night I could have gone with Kane if I had truly wanted to. He would have happily taken me to the Citadel and put me on one of the crosses that I love. He would have used the purple suede flogger on me first, to warm up, and perhaps teased me with the rabbit fur flogger so much that I fantasize about curling up in bed and snuggling it like a stuffed animal… Then the thud and sting of the red leather flogger would have started, with an added weight that the other two pieces lack… In an idea world he would have hit me in a steady rhythm that I count in my mind like a dance count, getting lost in the strikes until I’m pushed so high I’m flying… Mmmm…

A shiver of pleasure just went up my spine. I miss that. I crave that. But for the past couple weeks it’s almost like my submissive side has been hibernating…and it is a large part of who I am as a person. A large part that has been missing. I was shocked when I came back from my trip and Kane bent me over for a spanking for the first time..because it HURT. I cried. My pain tolerance was gone, pathetic to a point that made my heart sink. I had built it up quite a bit before I left, and I wasn’t gone long.. around ten days. Kane and I had been playing in private and public on a regular basis, almost nightly, and I was shocked when the thing that had given me so much pleasure caused me actual pain. Not the buzzed pain.. the bad pain. THE FUCK???

What was I doing wrong? Why couldn’t I get there? I thought part of it was Kane and I playing at my place. My little in law apartment is always in a state of chaos. I’m there maybe one week out of the month on average, mostly just spending the weekend. The rest of the time I’m at Kane’s with him…and so I’ve never actually fully unpacked. It’s not a home, it’s a resting place in chaos. When I’m with him there it feels like home. I thought that playing at my place, a place that I normally don’t associate with BDSM, coupled with he and I not spending the night together was making it harder for me to slip back into the submissive mindset. I was definitely his horny little girlfriend, and the sex was fantastic… but I just couldn’t get there.

This surprising week of short play was the prelude to the week from hell of work.. combine the two and it was a recipe for disaster. The FLOGGER hurt me when Kane put it to my skin. I found my mind wandering and had to constantly bring myself back. I didn’t want to strip. Didn’t want to see myself naked. I spent way too much time crying, which is something I absolutely hate doing.

Kane is an incredible boyfriend, I will say that frankly. His ability to comfort me, to make me feel safe and have me believe that everything will actually work out. I have my spot as a girlfriend, curled up on the couch with him. I lean into his side and put my head on the nook in his shoulder and he drapes his arm around me. There is my safety spot, where nothing can touch me. And there is where I’ve been hiding.

I’ve dealt with depression all of my life. Major depressive disorder runs in my family. My dad has it, my grandmother has it, etc. It’s not constant with me, it spikes when I get anxious or when the road gets rocky. Combine that with hormones of the month and…yeah. I was bad. Even in the environment of Kane’s apartment with him I just couldn’t get there. I didn’t want to go on fetlife, didn’t want to see my kinky friends, and just wanted Kane. I wanted my rock, my safety, my assurance that even though my job was miserable and the progress of our relationship meant things would get worse before they got better that everything really would be okay.

He causes old feelings to surface that I had forgotten existed.. It’s been a long time since I talked about marriage and kids with anyone. I don’t do that. Don’t trust people enough to lift up my walls and reveal the girly squishy bits of myself. Kane continually breaks down my walls. We’re in too deep at this point, and are set on a future with one another. With kids… though marriage seems to be arguable.

Last night was the culmination of KABOOM that has become my life. My work had become unbearable. My hours got changed and cut yet again, and my duties had become out right illegal. I quit, knowing that if nothing else I own a car (that was in the shop with a check engine light on. It turned out to all be fine but it was definitely an added stresser) and was halfway to starting up Lyft, which I could live off of easily if I worked the hours that Kane was at work. I love driving, and I love talking to people so the job would be easy for me. And I was sick of crying.

This turned Kane into a stress ball…which I hate seeing. He thinks of every possible outcome, and the more he thinks the more he shuts down and just doesn’t communicate. He doesn’t want to stress me out with his worries which just stresses me out and I worry more…it’s a cycle of stress that ends in both of us breaking, and that’s exactly what happened. I broke first, sobbing at something silly. He shut down because he thought I blamed him for the entire situation..when I just hated the situation in general.

It ended in he and I going for dinner and a drive and talking about some hard realities. Realities like he and his wife splitting up, but not having a time line for it. Like we want kids, but I want marriage and he will only get married if he has to. Neither of us expected to be this intense this soon, to be talking about living with each other and getting a “transition” apartment between now and his lease ending in February. But we’re here. And we’re dealing with it. And we both agree that the relationship is worth it.. which is what in the end matters.

I can hear Cal’s words echoing in my mind from time to time, advice he gave me when I first told him about Kane. Yes, fall. Yes, the relationship is worth it, but he and I will both hurt one another. And we are, we do, but we also keep each other going. We inspire one another when we’re not in mire and muck, and we come up with crazy artistic ideas that lead to other ideas that lead to amazing studio nights.

He is helping me pick up the pieces of my life, but he is not doing it while I sit on my ass. Yes, I have more financial problems than he does. Yes, he has more relationship problems than I do (that whole “I have a wife I need to hopefully separate amicably from” thing)..but we are definitely knee deep in a “we” thing. We are building a life together, piece by piece, and part of that is he and I getting our separate lives together in the ways that we must. I need a job, asap, hopefully with health insurance (which is something I lack right now..another stresser). And I need a firmer hand from Kane. I need discipline when I’m too sassy or too out of line, or don’t do what he asks me to do.

He was shocked when I mentioned this to him last night. “You don’t do what I say most of the the time. I just didn’t think you wanted that.”

“Of course I do!” I responded. “I’m a twenty four seven sub! Part of that is wanting, no, needing tasks from my dominant.” And part of that is pushing my limits. Seeing how bratty I can be before I get consequences. Kane figured that out. He set rules.

Now, after this long long LONG blog post that has followed an even longer week, progress is being made in my vanilla life and in my BDSM life. Next week I WILL go to the play party at the Citadel, and will dive back into munches again. I will reach out to friends I’ve been shunning in between applying to fifty million jobs. And most importantly I will work with my dominant. I will scene with him. I will build my pain tolerance back up and fall back into the steady rhythm and embrace of the flogger Kane wields. I will fly again, sometime soon.

Finally, I’m feeling better.

Yours coming out of hibernation



I haven’t been to a play party in about three weeks, and have been away from San Francisco since Friday.

Coming home this time is different than it was in June. The finality and the sadness of the last visit isn’t there. I have enough time to decompress, spend time with my family and friends, and visit all of my old haunts.

There is the seashore of course, the local mall, the city, my home with its wooded backyard and crickets that ease me to sleep at night. There is also a very strange cemetery my best friend at the time and I would visit as teenagers.

It is around the block and down the street from my home, directly across from the entrance to my high school (I hated high school, so it seemed oddly fitting at the time). Aesthetically, I loved it. The stones were old, the last one laid there the year that I was born, and largely forgotten. The entire cemetery was Jewish, except for this small Dutch section in the back. My town was founded by Dutch immigrants in the 1800’s, and the only stone still visible reads from 1864. The others are too dilapidated to read anything, and too overgrown by ivy and other plant life to even resemble stones anymore. They, along with the newer Jewish stones (clustered with groups taken from Scarlet Fever epidemics in 1912 and ’14, as well as World War 2 casualties) watch generations of youth pass by the silent gates, few paying them any mind as time passes.

Well, I suppose I was one of the few. This place, as a youth, was where I did all my great thinking.

There is one tombstone I always visit. Aaron, a little 12 year old boy taken by Scarlet Fever in 1912. His stone is flat on the ground, and often was overgrown when I got there. I would clean it, sit on the crumbling wall beside his stone, and we would talk. Or, I would talk to him. I would mention the feelings of claustrophobia, trapped in a place I never felt like I belonged. I would talk about dreams of college, of great things, of leaving Hawthorne in the dust and never returning.

As I aged and entered college, giving me the freedom to actually live away from home, visiting the cemetery became a comfort of constants. The stones were always there, with names I began to recognize as time went on, still and silent but not at the same time. Even as distance separated my old friend and I, she and I would return to the graveyard on weekend when I came home, and we would traverse the stones as we had in our youth. I would talk to Aaron about what I was seeing and doing, and would wonder what he would have become if he had seen past the age of 12.

My self in high school was…haunted. I think that’s why I took comfort in the cemetery. If I was haunted, I might as well hang out somewhere where there were ghosts. My friend had even more demons to battle. She was a cutter, a rather serious one, as well as suffering from major depressive disorder and other mental problems she was aware of but never diagnosed with. I was continually struggling with my weight and my self-worth, and had developed an eating disorder by high school (because no one ever suspects the fat chicks of being bulimic). I felt the judgment of my extended family and of my small town on a daily basis, and it felt like the only things I could but could not control would be my body.

I still have a love-hate relationship with food. I love to cook, especially for someone like Kane who truly appreciates it. I love family recipes and the social aspects of food. I love when my mother bakes chocolate croissants or sticky buns. I hate stepping on the scale after, of seeing the numbers go up and feeling my pants get tighter because I looked at an M&M. I still have my demons. It would be a lie to say they were gone. But I haven’t binged and purged since I was 20.

Dragon stopped cutting when she was 21. We are both 23 now, and still in touch from time to time even though neither approves of the other’s romantic relationship. I think she’s too codependent on her boyfriend of three years, and that happiness can not revolve around this “us against the world” ideal. She thinks that I need to be with someone closer to my own age, and that I’m too sex obsessed. We agree to disagree to keep the peace, but we have both grown from the 16 year old damaged souls that used to visit the old cemetery together.

Later this week, we will go back together. We will take photos together, in the cemetery, documenting where we are now vs where we were. Pausing at this transition time between young woman and full grown to see the progress we’ve made, and the women we’ve become both separately and together.

My mother told me when I graduated high school that by the time I was done with college I would no longer recognize myself. I would be an entirely different person. I didn’t believe her at the time. I was so sure of myself and my identity. I was a good girl, who was going to be a psychologist to make money and marry her high school sweetheart who didn’t care she was fat.

Well, my mother was right. I left that little girl behind a long time ago. I believe that I shed off the last layers of her just a few months ago, when I finally allowed myself the freedom to admit my submissive nature. To let myself be a sub, and serve, and know that there was nothing wrong with wanting to serve.

It is a fool’s errand to fall for a married man. To devote yourself to him is emotional suicide. To fall for him is death of the heart, and yet here I am, hopes blazing. Coming home has made me face my past, my demons, and to look for my future. I see Kane beside me as I visit these old haunts. I want show him. I feel like he belongs there, and I’m not ashamed to say it. There is only so much selflessness in me. Eventually the selfishness wins out.

My name is Rena. I am an artist from a microscopic town in New Jersey that I outgrew a long time ago, but still draw comfort from. I am in love with Kane. Hopelessly. Completely, Totally. And I see my future with him. I see us working in the studio together, pushing each other creatively. I see coming home and him meeting my family, being a part of my life here. And knowing that he sees it too… I don’t have words.

My parents know all the details about him, and the wife, and that life..and they like him still. They trust him with me, which is not something they could say about my previous boyfriends. They trust him with my heart, and watching our interactions see what I see.

If this ends in me being heartbroken it is completely worth it for the hope I feel now. Better this than dark oblivion. I have a man I adore, I worship, I serve willingly and freely, who fulfills me as much as I do him. I feel his love even from 3000 miles away, his support.

I hold my head higher as I walk through Hawthorne. Someone loves me. And I love them, and I can finally see a clear future forming, away from this place but a part of it at the same time.

I have quite a lot to catch Aaron up on. Some things never change.

Yours apologize for all the mush lately…still getting used to this whole “in love” thing…


I Choose Me


I finally reached my breaking point last night. 

I realized how much time, and energy, and…life I have given up to make sure that Jason was happy, and taken care of, and that everything was okay. I did everything I could to please a man who didn’t fully want me, and didn’t understand what I was giving to him during submissive moments. 

It’s my damn birthday. I’m going to do something for me. 

I thought I would feel guilt, changing plans last minute on Jase, but being alone with him for the weekend drinking just isn’t in the cards anymore. I would feel extremely uncomfortable and his girlfriend would go ballistic. I like living, thanks. 

I am blessed. I am so incredibly blessed to have Kane in my life. He has gone out of his way to make sure my birthday weekend and my birthday itself on Monday will be spectacular. Last night, we planned it all out. Leave Friday evening and drive down to a hotel near Anaheim. Spend the night there. Get up early and check in to what is by far the fanciest hotel I have ever seen (hell Grand is in the damn name!) and immediately hit the park for ALL DAY Saturday where I am allowed to regress to a five year old, eat crap, go on rides, drag Kane on rides, and possibly get dressed up as a princess. 

All in all, perfection. 

Sunday would be our day to drive back to San Francisco. When we first planned the new trip I could feel the guilt eating at me to to make sure that all was well with Jason. And so I asked my partner and my Dominant if he would be able to spare me for a couple of hours on Sunday so that I may see my friend and ex boyfriend for just a little while. Kane graciously said yes, and I told Jason the new plan. 

Jason, in turned, flipped. 

I’m not going to go into the whole discussion between Jason and I, but it’s safe to say that he was an ass, that he made a point of rubbing his girlfriend in my face repeatedly, and that he seemed not to believe that I was indeed in a relationship with someone else. It just doesn’t seem to process with him.

After that discussion I stopped feeling guilty about the change in plans. Jason and I are back to our form of normal now, and after a slight stupid slip from him this morning where he once again asked if I was coming this Friday, we changed the plans to me coming the fourth weekend in September, when we will both hopefully have more cash. We made a set plan for what we will be doing when I get there, his family will be around, and he will come up to my neck of the woods a couple of weeks later in October. 

All in all, I’m breathing again. I’m happy it all worked out..but even if things had exploded and stay that way between Jase and I, I don’t think I would have felt bad anymore. 

I very rarely choose myself. I get gratification from serving others and making them happy. I pride myself in pleasing my Dominant and being the best submissive I can be to him. Getting me to say “I want” is nearly impossible. And I said it. 

I want to be happy.

And I’m SO happy that I’m going to Disneyland. 





It’s so easy to fall into routines. Wake up. Go to work. Go home. Crash. Wake up again, go to work. 

This summer has by far gone faster than any before it, and it hardly feels like a summer at all to me. I’m used to summer being this endless rest; four months where I can recharge my battery. Instead, I work my ass off and barely make ends meet. I find myself worn out by my job, as much as I love the kids, and excited for the chance to go home in two weeks. 

Two weeks. And then I get a whole nine days in Jersey. The last time for god knows how long. Thanksgiving? Christmas? I hope before that. I don’t know the next time I can get time off from work though. That I could get a whole week off is..amazing. 

I’m doing what I have to do. This weekend that means babysitting instead of going to the Citadel and flying. I didn’t get a chance to buy advanced tickets to the party at Alchemy tomorrow..and so I won’t be going to that either. For the next three weeks I don’t get to play..for various reasons. I’m gone to SoCal next weekend for birthday shenanigans and then i’m home. I WILL be twitching by the time I come back, and will need some serious play time with someone willing to take a firm hand to me.. any takers? 

Speaking of firm hands… wear has also meant both knowledge and built up resistance. I don’t flinch at hard spankings anymore, although I do cry out. Kane very rarely out right hurts me (and never does he harm me), but his spankings have bruised me to high hell, and his slaps can sting. There was one night where he got me to subspace by spanking alone, and then we went and played at the Citadel after, with my ass still raw… Goddes above did that hurt… It was the closest I’ve ever gotten to yellowing with him. After that I can take more. I scream, I cry, but I do not squirm away. 

I’ve had other hands touch me as well.. and there are times when that itch appears. The reminder that I am indeed poly, and need to play with others. There are times when I miss Cal’s style of domination a lot. He is incredibly formal compared to Kane, with proper table service and positions. He taught me a little before the mentorship ended..not much, and Kane has no interest in such things. Cal can also be…colder, more removed. He and I have yet to play properly..and there are times when my mind goes to bad places. Breath play. The violet wand. Marks on my body for weeks. How far would he push? I don’t honestly know. 

It’s fun to poke each other though. The playful nature remains in our conversations. He poked me today after I hadn’t posted a blog entry in a while and he wanted to make sure I was still breathing. I didn’t realize until we started messaging back and forth just how much I had missed him, even though I know he is continually a message or a text away. Send up the Bat signal and he’s there, the protective man that brought me into this kinky world. 

There’s something about talking to Cal that resets me; gets me to breathe easier. Perhaps it’s because I know he won’t bullshit or placate me. He always tells me straight, even when he knows it will hurt. Perhaps it’s because I know if anyone seriously hurts me Cal is likely to magically appear and break his jaw… There’s also the factor that I still absolutely trust him, and still have quite a bit of loyalty towards him… Regardless, we made vague plans to see each other in the coming week. Something to break up the monotony of my summer, and an opportunity to retrieve the art supplies currently living in Cal’s storage shed. I need to start working again. 

Thanks to Kane I will have the opportunity. My 23rd birthday is in exactly ten days. It will be my first birthday away from both of my parents..and the first birthday in a long while where I will receive an actual gift from anyone (that’s not to say that my parents didn’t make a big deal of my birthday growing up. They did. But the gifts usually consisted of a family party and cake.). He’s giving me the opportunity to work again, in the form of a 24/7 studio pass to a clay studio.

I’ve missed the feel of wet clay between my fingers; the cathartic release that it gives me. I am very much determined to get into grad school yet again, and that means making new work. 

I am tired, but I am not uninspired. Being with Kane makes me extremely happy. There’s a security, a rightness, in curling up in his arms at the end of a night. He says I give so much to him in my submission… but in truth it is simply my nature with him. 

In my routine I’ve developed an incredibly comfortable rap pour with the man I love. With him I can be completely myself…and I admit, I push my limits with him in ways I wouldn’t with other Doms. I act, dare I say, bratty at times, pushing him to one day go through with his threat of tying me to his bed for an entire evening. I’m sure he will one day, and I will relish every moment of it. I tickle. I poke. I play with his beard. I giggle, shamelessly, and watch that wicked gleam appear in Kane’s eye that means my ass is about to turn bright red from a beating.. 

I can go without the play parties when I get that most evenings. He picks up the pieces when I fall apart. He listens, always, when I need to talk. He’s not just a Dom.. he’s my boyfriend as well. Having that relationship where we can just sit and talk for hours on top of having incredible sex.. He helps to ease the wear. To remind me that I’m still breathing. That it will still be okay. It’s so easy to get lost in the sanitary he offers. 

Which is why it’s good when Cal pokes me from time to time. Otherwise the relationship hibernation would get me. And then the wear. And then I would probably suffer burnout. 

No burnout for me. I refuse. 

A rest would be nice though… a couple days just curled up in Kane’s arms.. and then flogged, and then fucked… 

I promise, I will get better at updating and actually typing about topics I want to discuss, not just rambling about my personal ish.






“Hello Rena,

I’m sorry to hear about your family situation. Unfortunately, your tuition deposit is non-refundable and you will need to reapply for next year.

Admissions and Financial Aid Assistant “


…the fuck did I do? 

Did I screw up everything? 

…will they want me again? 

Oh Godde… oh godde.. oh godde…


Will I regret all this? Or will I thank myself for it in 20 years? 


There’s no way I would have the BDSM community I have here in Portland. I’m sure there is one there..but smaller. My friends here, I never would have met them if I followed the original plan. I never would have been pulled into this world.. I started talking to Cal literally four days after receiving my acceptance letter from Portland. 

I guess… finally acknowledging such a large side of myself derailed the pre-planned part of my life. Part of me..can’t breathe. I fought so hard in certain ways to be able to acknowledge myself as an artist. To win the right to get lost in work. To run around a studio like I owned the place, bury my hands in clay, and erase my demons with it. 

I don’t have access to a studio right now..and I am not working in the art field. However… I don’t regret meeting Cal at all. I love him dearly for pulling me into this world and starting me on the path to meet Kane, and to meeting others after Kane and I part ways. I needed to go down that path, and I know that. 

I still feel like I’ve been punched in the gut though.. I’ve been curled up in a ball for a while now. I’m sorry to those I’ve been antisocial with. I just.. haven’t had it in me lately. 


I’ve lost my future safety net. 

So…now what? 



Cha Cha Cha Changes!


Let’s see… What all has happened since the last time I wrote…

I’ll start with the boring things.

My keyboard on my computer is slightly broken. There was an incident involving soup… it wasn’t good. I no longer have use of the numbers three and four, the dash key, one command key, and my capslock key. Consulting Apple next week hopefully.. we will see.

..Anyone know what it means when your computer says your start up disk is full..and how to fix that? Asks the computer illiterate blogger. Because that’s happening too.

I got my first big girl paycheck, which got me enough for at least a month’s rent in a new apartment

I got my hours at work cut back from full time to part time (five hours a day instead of part time), so I’m still getting big girl paychecks..they’re just smaller… but still big enough …

…to pay for my FANTASTIC new apartment! Cat friendly, my own HUGE room, in San Francisco (although near the boarder of South San Francisco), where I have complete reign of the beautiful backyard with a plum tree (the plums are yummy). I have access to a kitchen and living room (with a fire place!!!), a garage to park my car in (which I drive cross country in two weeks), laundry in the house, …an actual house, which is pretty and red, and my own private bathroom, all for 250 more a month than I’m paying now for half of a room and a futon. …I’m in love, in case you can’t tell. I move in Friday.

I leave for the east coast on Saturday night, which will pull me out of the scene for two whole weeks..which is weird, because I end up going to at least two things a week, be it a munch, discussion group, or play party.

I’ve started playing, which has been fun. I have a couple play partners at this point that I’ve just started seeing, both very different. Both fun in their own way.

I suppose that leads me to the biggest of the changes. Sir and I are no longer in a D/s relationship. Now he’s just.. Cal.

Which is exceedingly weird.

There were a lot of reasons for the mentoring ending, many involving things going on in Cal’s vanilla life. He has a primary relationship with a woman he is madly in love with, who’s making strides in his life and hitting milestones that no woman has reached since his last marriage. That relationship takes a lot of time and energy. Couple that with health issues, work changes, and other difficulties and there’s just not time to mentor a little submissive.

..It wasn’t just that, though. He told me that much while we were at lunch and I was trying not to cry over my french fries. He said that I was much better off than when he found me, that I knew enough now to stand on my own two feet and have good judgment on who could be a good primary partner and a Dom to me. That I knew enough now to judge for myself, but that he was always there for questions, or vetting candidates, or protection..or anything.

“Basically, the only thing that’s changing in our relationship from the last month is that you’re no longer calling me Sir.”

It is.. incredibly bitter sweet to me. Because I honestly love him, but knew I was not in danger of falling in love with him. I want to be in love, to have a primary partner and not be afraid of how close I am getting to someone. I want to be able to completely submit to a Dom that can own me, collar me; the whole bit, and I knew that was not going to be Cal. But I still adore him. I still continue to be more honest with him than I have ever been with a man. I still trust him completely, and ask him questions when I have them.

Not calling him Sir is odd, because in my mind he just.. is. He probably always will be. Maybe not MY Sir. I don’t belong to him. I’m just a very good friend. But when you meet Cal he feels like a Dom. He commands the space that he is in, and as much as he can be quiet he commands his audience. I have quiet a lot of respect for him, and I think that it’s the respect that will always have him titled as Sir in my mind, even if I address him verbally as Cal. I will probably always be just a little meek around him..just a little more respectful. Going to my knees and laying my head in his lap continues to feel natural and normal.

It’s.. a different sort of relationship now, one that has us both more relaxed. The tension is off. I don’t have to worry about constantly pleasing him, and he doesn’t have to worry about trying to solve my problems on top of his. Given time, we will most likely be play partners, which I honestly look forward to. The sexual tension is very much still there. But I want to fully learn what I like when I play. I want to hopefully find a primary relationship..and I want to be able to not fop things up with Cal. Right now he and I sleeping together would be bad, for both of us. Ending this type of relationship was not an easy choice for him, and I know that. Screwing like sex deprived rabbits, as fun as it would be, would just end with he and I no longer being able to speak, or be close. Which would hurt like HELL.

The more I think about how I was before Cal found me, the more grateful I am to have him in my life, in any way. I hold my head up higher. I take more pride in my appearance, and for the first time in my life know that I am beautiful. I don’t have to be a size 2. I have beautiful curves, and facial features that people stop and look twice at. I’m cute. I may not be the average beauty, but I’m someone people seem to remember. I would never have been able to believe any of that before meeting him, as sad as that is to say. I know my own value and my own worth, and Cal’s the one that forced me to look at myself and realize that I had worth. That I was something special..not something to blend into the background.

I am VERY excited about my new place, with doors that close and lock and a room of my own… Partners can actually stay over now. EEP. What a concept! I’m so excited 🙂 … another thing I would not have thought of if it weren’t for Cal. I told him he will need to see the new place, to have the face off between my Domme cat and him. My money is still on the cat.

There is too much change to write in one blog entry…but I’m good. I’m really good. In certain ways I’m overwhelmed. I have a LOT of shit to pack and little time to do it in. I’m still debating whether or not I should move in on Friday, or push it to Saturday when I know someone can help me… Oh, so much to do..so much..

And I love it all.

I hate and love when Cal is right..because he is OFTEN. This is one of those times. I said at one point early on that I knew exactly who I was. He said he didn’t think that was true..and I fought him tooth and nail on it. No. I’m sure of myself. Of my identity.

….Whelp. He was right. I didn’t know. I’m starting to understand another facet of myself, and I still have no clue who I am completely. I’m watching my world in the past few months turn upside down, backwards, sideways, and dump out all over the place… but I’m keeping up. And I continue to smile. 

Now, to go pack some shit..and then go meet a friend for sushi and bondage. HA ^.^

Yours without a dash key to sign this with anymore.




Growing Pains

Motherf*cker. OWW

Sadly, this post has very little to do with me being a submissive and everything to do with me being in my 20’s. These are not the fun sort of growing pains.

I knew they were coming. I think it was a combination of things that set it off today. One was the warm weather. It feels like home this time of year (well, normally. Jersey’s had really wacky weather this year. They got slammed during the winter). Another factor was lack of decompression space. I work an 8-5 job, a job that I adore, but a job that involves being around people all day. After work me getting the chance to have some time and space to myself and breathe is.. kind of important. I went from work to a sardine-packed hot bus, to an apartment crammed with roommates and ALL of my roommate’s painting supplies and giant canvases (she’s an amazing painter..but I no longer have a floor. Or hallway). Near my breaking point and recognizing that, I ran outside. We are blessed to have a back deck, and it was such a beautiful night I thought I would sit and read.

And then the neighbors came outside and started barbequing.

They were quiet, unobtrusive, and whatever they were making smelled fantastic. It wasn’t that. It was the combination that formed the image in my mind of home during the summer. Normally this time of year my dad has just opened the pool. The water is ice cold, but my sister and I still go in and freeze our asses off. My mother comments on us being insane while my dad stands in front of the grill shirtless, with his swim trunks and ugly-ass Crocks on grilling whatever it is we will eat for dinner. It’s usually involving something fresh from our garden..

That did it. I started bawling. Not hysterically…just enough that my body shook. I gave myself a minute or two of just crying..and then took stock of myself, and emotionally dissected myself. Why was I crying? Was it really that bad, or was I worked up? WHY was I worked up? I texted Sir a bit, filled him in on why I was worked up, and told him I was fine, because I knew I would be. I just had to figure out why I got so damn worked up.

I grabbed my journal, the one Sir has me write in daily, and filled up some of the last pages inside of it. I come from an incredibly close family, so missing them is natural, but I also chose to move 3000 miles away. I chose to stay out here, because feeling like my whole self and discovering a side of myself I had often shoved away was more important than running home for familiar comfort. I want my life to progress, and there is very little for me where I am from as far as opportunities go, and friendships.

San Francisco is a clean slate for me, in certain ways, even though I’ve been here for a year. I’m diving into a new community, and for the first time trying to make friends that I don’t just go to school with or live with. You know, actual big girl friends. I have a real job. That means not being able to go home for a month and do all those “traditional” things I’ve done year after year, because I can’t miss work, but it means I can make new traditions. Okay, so I can’t run to the Jersey shore every weekend this summer, but there are beaches here, and they’re quite beautiful. I can’t go swimming in the pool ever night. But I will have at least a week home where I can swim all I want and get that fix. I miss my parents. Like I didn’t see that coming. That’s what webcams and cell phones are for, and it makes when I see them something special and cherished instead of something expected.

The hardest thing for me being here, I think, the thing that really pushed me over the edge was the lack of anywhere to just… decompress. I have no space that is mine. I don’t have a door to shut. Even the bed I sleep on (futon…) technically isn’t mine. I miss having a safe space to hide. I like the local kink coffee shop a lot. I can go hide there relatively frequently and curl up with a book. I get left in peace and get affordable food on top of it. I went there after I calmed down today and it was…packed. To the gills. No, no no no no no. No. TOO. MANY. PEOPLE.

I decided on my way back to my shoebox of an apartment that if I couldn’t have a stationary safe place to hide in I would do at least one thing a week just for me, and would start Googling my creature comforts that I had left behind in Boston, where I got my undergraduate degree and lived for four years. I used to love to swing dance, for example. A group from school ran West Coast Swing socials in a local restaurant once a week and I loved it. I was a damn good follower by the time I graduated with my undergad. Turns out, there are quite a few swing groups here…not surprised. That’s more people to meet and socialize with..and you know, dance and drink with (tequila before a whip makes the move fuuun…hehe). I used to belly dance as well… and found a studio near my apartment that has affordable classes.

Big girl shit sucks sometimes… It hurts, but everyone goes through it. It’s how you cope with it that matters, and how you grow from the pain caused by it that matters. I don’t want to go back to Jersey. I want an actual life here. I don’t want to have to run to my parents for support. I want to build a support network here, and also be able to stand on my own two feet and support myself. It may be hard at times, but I’m making it, both in and out of the BDSM world. Yes, I know I can turn to my Dom if I need him. I can tell him anything, but he can’t make this stuff better. Only I can. He did the 20something shit already. It’s my turn to trudge through it, and improve myself through it. Even if I shed a few tears along the way.

On a side note, I kind of wish personal growth led to actual growth… I feel like I would finally be over 5 feet tall if that was the case! Wishful thinking.

I also made one last important promise to myself, after a shit tone of Googling of activities. My next apartment will have a room for just me, and a door that I can shut. I don’t care if it’s in Oakland, as long as it has space in it that is MINE.

Yours always learning,