Tag Archives: Creativity

Peace of Mind (In Uncertain Times)


I love watching Kane paint.

It’s not one of those things that I can put into words as to why, and it’s a hard balance for me between wanting to indulge in the enjoyment and making sure that my watching doesn’t make him uncomfortable. I don’t particularly like people watching me work over my shoulder. But he puts up with me doing it, and so I watch, content to sit quietly while he paints.

He and I are so different in so many ways. He is practical, he is logic. I am emotion, always emotion first. Sometimes that can be a fantastic mix, and sometimes it can be volatile.

It has been over a year now since I’ve started this journey. Over a year since Cal first messaged me and I jumped down the BDSM rabbit hole. Do I regret it?

Kane and I were out to dinner the other night and I mentioned it to him, that I had been in this world for a year. I asked if he thought I had made a mistake in staying in San Francisco.

“Sometimes.” He said. “I feel like you would had been further down your path if you had gone.”

I disagree. I feel as if I would have been further down my path as an artist.. but my work would be going in a very different direction from the turn it has taken. I would be in a city that yes, I enjoy greatly, but that has very few jobs. I would have enough student loan debt to keep me drowning for the next 40 years. I could teach, yes…but at what cost?

I didn’t choose the path he would have. I chose my heart over my head, emotion and need over logic. Do I regret it? No. Not at all. Not a single day.

Submission is a need for me. Even when I didn’t acknowledge it, it was there. I can remember with my very first “real” boyfriend certain key behaviors; for instance, my favorite spot was sitting at his feet while he played video games in his favorite chair. Why? it wasn’t as if I thought less of myself than I did of him. It was just that I enjoyed sitting at his feet. I felt at peace being there. By the time Jason and I split I knew well what I was. I had gotten him to dress me, spank me, claim me, mark me.. I knelt at his feet out of my own choosing, not his. I had Googled these urges to know what it was without Cal having to give it a name.

With how much these behaviors leaked out of me, there was a time limit on how long I could suppress my submissive side. Cal’s first message was just the final excuse to embrace it.

Submitting is the only thing that makes my brain STOP. All other aspects of my life are under control, for once.. Getting them under control have taken some time (hence my absence lately) but I’ve done it. It’s just.. a constant juggling act. And it’s exhausting. The NEED to submit becomes so strong sometimes it’s painful. Spank me. The silent voice inside me screams. Pull my hair. Fuck my mouth. Use my body for your pleasure. Take control and use to me to ease your aches. In doing so, you ease mine. You make the world stop, just for a little while, and I can be. Just be.

There are very few days where I feel as if I do good for Kane.. The other day I got the chance to do so. To aid him, and to help both of us. I am terrified of his rejection, of his frustration. I know I am a trying creature to deal with at times. I try his patience on a regular basis and can tank his mood if I push a subject too hard. The submissive of me is extra conscious about this…because each time I upset him it feels like I’ve failed him. I’m supposed to bring him pleasure and joy, not frustration and grief.

And so, when given the chance to do actual GOOD for him, un-fuckable good, I jumped for joy. Quite literally at one point. And I took a risk. I asked for what I wanted, for a way to aid both of us in sleeping well. I wanted to service him… needed to. I craved submitting to him, giving him pleasure and only pleasure. No grief. No emotions, no outside world or questions. Just service.

And he said yes.

And for just a little while, my brain shut the fuck up and I did good. I pleased him. And it felt so damn fucking good.

I am a submissive. I am not ashamed to crave his touch. A year ago, I would have been. I would have questioned what was wrong with me, that I wanted this man to use me. That my pleasure stemmed from his. That when he hurt me he didn’t harm me. Instead, that his spankings can bring me euphoric bliss.

A year ago I would not have called myself poly. I wouldn’t have even considered the idea of Smith, in fact a year ago a man like Smith who is VERY poly (enough partners to make up a small harem, as much as he disagrees with me) would have broken my heart. Instead, Smith has done so much good for me. He’s shown me how enjoyable poly can actually be, how multiple partners really do allow you to be the best you that you can be. He pulls out the aspects of my submission I still shy away from and has me stare them down, say that I’m not ashamed of them. Instead, he pushes me to embrace them.

He also.. listens. He loves hearing about Kane and I, about our relationship before we (Smith and I) met, about how it is now. What we do together when we are together. How I feel about him. Without Smith I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask for what I wanted the other night.

I love watching Kane paint, with sure strokes and a steady brush. I don’t know why. When I watch him, I think about my own work. The direction it is going in, the ideas his paintings give me for glazing techniques. As an artist, I admire Kane. On the canvas I see his emotions and his logic, I see his imperfections and his expertise, and part of me understands why I feel at peace when I kneel at his feet. Because for as different as he and I can be, we share a need that overlaps. We both need to create to function.. When we’re not working, we’re not okay. We both gain inspiration from dark desires, he from Dominating, me from submission.

Nothing in either of our lives is easily fixed, and nothing for either of us is certain right now. I don’t know when the day will come where he just doesn’t want me anymore. I’m terrified of that day. Because right now, I don’t need romantic hearts and flowers, or promises or expectations of love. I need use. I need a hand wrapped around my neck and a cock buried in my ass. I need to know that I do good with my service, that for a brief moment in our chaotic lives his brain stops going into overdrive just as mine does, and I bring him pleasure.

Use me. Twist me and turn me as you desire. Fuck me, don’t fuck me. Pull my hair, smack my ass.. because from your pleasure, I gain pleasure. From your release I gain inspiration. I am an artist inspired by my submission. And I refuse to be ashamed of that need. It has been a long fucking year, and I’m sure the next will be just as long, but it has given me a core part of myself and people in my life that understand and accept that part of me.

And a cat. I can’t forget Poe.

Many things in life change. Relationships change. Smith talks about necessary tweaking from time to time… and while my sexual identity may need “tweaking” from time to time, it’s no longer a big taboo question mark. That’s a good feeling.

Yours, as always, a proud subby and a work in progress


The Creative Outlet

This doesn’t just relate to BDSM in my opinion… it’s a life thing, but I think it’s important in BDSM as well and people so often try to function without it.

Yesterday was a bad day. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t. I’ve been dealing with not talking to Jason when I’m used to talking to him every single day, and that meant thinking about why I wasn’t talking to him which led to a bunch of “I don’t knows” and a very worried Sir, which I felt very bad about… Right as I began spiraling Sir had to go for the evening. His girlfriend was coming over, something he should be able to fully enjoy without having to worry about his melting down submissive twenty or so miles away.

Before he disappeared Sir and I had a brief discussion about telling others what had happened to me (though that was actually one of the reasons why I posted on here). He told me I needed more support. The problem is that I don’t trust people very easily. I trust Sir, absolutely, and my older sister. I trusted Jason. That trust has very much been ripped to tatters, to the point of I don’t even know if he is still my friend or not. I didn’t want to talk to people, or lean on them too much, or be a burden to Sir.

And so, I turned to the one support system that will never, ever fail me or leave me alone.

I am lucky enough to be an artist, a sculptor by trade. I see with my hands; I have since I was very young, though I didn’t start calling myself an artist until much later in life (yes, I know because I’m SO old..but hey, it took me some time). I threw myself into the studio yesterday evening and remained there until the wee hours of the morning hand building, throwing clay onto slab roller and slowly exercising all of my demons to the point where I could breath again. I was alright. I wasn’t spiraling.

And I got a shit ton of work done in the process.

When I say I am lucky enough to be an artist, I mean it. I don’t have to struggle with what to do when words aren’t working, or I can’t talk, or I’m just too overwhelmed to the point of almost freezing. I work. I’m a firm believer in art being therapy because it is for me. It’s gotten me through the worst events of my life, when I truly had no support and was completely on my own.

I am surrounded by creative people. My parents are artists. My older sister and Sir are talented writers, and my baby sister will probably be a damn good fashion designer someday. Each of them turn to their craft when they need to expel demons, or decompress, or just can’t do anything else.

It’s harder for those who don’t identify as artists, and writers, and craftsman of any kind.

Understand, it’s not about the finished product. You don’t have to be an artist to make art. Hell, I’m not a writer and I’m writing this because it makes me feel better. It’s about what the work gives to you, how it helps when you just can’t talk to anyone. “Work” can be anything. Like cooking? There you go, it’s a creative outlet. I know many people who blast music and dance around when they’re just too overwhelmed to think. That counts too.

My older cousin is a frazzled little woman, always wound tighter than a spring. When she is pushed to her breaking point she does laundry and cleans the house. Not my thing, but if it helps it helps.

Just don’t lock it all in. Don’t sit there and wait for that spike in depression, or loneliness, or hopelessness to just pass. Get it out of you somehow. Don’t hold on to it and dwell. You’ll just sink deeper into that dark state. That is NOT a fun spiral, I assure you.

Wow… this turned into a bit more of a rant than I thought it would..whoops. I didn’t mean it to come off that way. I do hope it helps someone out there though, who tries to just keep it all in instead of letting it out.

Create, in any way you can. Express in any way you can. It will make life a hell of a lot more enjoyable

Now, if you will excuse me, it’s time to get back to my studio