Tag Archives: experience

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

Jealous

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Jealousy is a thing.

I know there are some people who claim not to get jealous… There are also some that claim that if you’re poly you can’t get jealous.

The second one is bullshit, and I envy those that can accomplish the first. I can’t. I fully admit that I can’t, even with the poly element as part of my relationship.

James has one friend that is literally everything that I am not. Friend is a very loose term.. They’ve known each other for years and, as it often can be, it’s complicated…

I don’t mean the whole she’s everything I’m not as a dig against myself.. she just.. is.. While I’m a brunette and dark of features she is a blonde and fair. While I am compact she is tall and leggy, and while I have some extra curvage she is quite literally perfectly proportioned. It goes passed physical into the world of skills..  I was excited to show off belly dancing for James..until the first time I saw her move with a grace I just don’t have and went “nope!”. She is also rather skilled as deep tissue massage, something that helps James when he has a sore back that I just don’t know how to do right now.. She is outgoing while I take a while to warm up to people, and has no qualms plopping down in my boyfriend’s lap when I am incredibly skiddish about trying such a thing.. I am incredibly self conscious (especially recently… I can feel clothing being tight on me…) about my size.. I’m worried I’m too big to plop in his lap… and the thought makes me very sad. I want lap time too…

I digress. As I said, James has this friend who is everything I’m not. She is very sweet, very nice, and so for the most part I ignore the triggers she causes in me. I know it’s me, seeing my own inadequacies and girl brain, and that there is a reason he chose me as his primary. There’s a reason he keeps me. But that doesn’t help when the pretty leggy blonde is in his lap and I’ve been begging for lap time for a good month…

There is a routine to BaGG nights, one that I have fallen in to easily. The time before BaGG is my time with James. It’s when we snuggle, do very bad things in his car that could possibly get us arrested (tee hee), talk, and basically touch base before the hecticness of the night begins. Once we walk into Wicked Ground we can still snuggle and often play for the entertainment of ourselves and others, but that’s when the performance starts and I have to share him. Once we enter the club I know he will spend time with me when he can, but the performance continues. It only breaks when I need him… when something’s seriously wrong and I need that point of connection, of eye contact, of him to hold me for just a second or give me one sweet kiss to tell me everything is okay. Once that performance starts there is no stopping it, especially in the club when you add work mode on top of it. I know this routine, I know it well, and I don’t attempt to stop it. I love watching James work. He works his ass off and he’s got a damn good eye. I’ve even learned to love giving him material to shoot… I have a group of friends that I play with at BaGG. I love when he takes photos of me playing and I catch the smirk on his face as he clicks the shutter.

It’s a good routine, one that I don’t think to disturb for lap time or unnecessary snuggles when he’s focused… I play by the rules, afraid to break his focus or be too much of a pest. Afraid of the reprimands he may give. It can be hard, especially when BaGG is the only day that week I get to see him and that hour alone in the car together is the only in-person time I get with my boyfriend.

I am one of those people that finds physical touch to be incredibly healing. I’ve mentioned before that I am a tactile person. If I’m not touched enough, held enough.. Emotionally, I shift. I become more on-edge. Sometimes I don’t realize it.

The other night I got no time with James before BaGG. This happens sometimes, it’s life. Sometimes adulting gets in the way of kinky fuckery. The week before I had only gotten to see James at BaGG itself, and he had barely made it in time. There was no check-in, no snuggles… and the day had not been the easiest. The week had not been the easiest.

I didn’t quite realize how much it had effected me until I looked over and saw Leggy Blonde in a little outfit walking off with my boyfriend just when I had gone over to talk to him about something. I gave them a wide birth, and did what I tend to do when my friends are not at BaGG and I’m not otherwise occupied. I watched.

I watched her curl up in his lap.. Watched him hold her, nuzzle her. Watched them kiss. I was shocked by the amount of jealousy and hurt that I felt. We’re poly. It wasn’t as if this was breaking any rules.

…But this wasn’t play. This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t kinky fuckery, which we both get off on watching the other do.

This was intimacy. Something I can’t ask for once the performance starts, and something I hadn’t gotten much of with him lately. I fought the tears burning the corners of my eyes as I watched, half talking to the friend who had come down to sit next to me.

She, in turn, followed my gaze.

“He picked you, you know. She doesn’t have the girlfriend title. You do.”

That didn’t mean that the girlfriend title would have been denied to her if she had wanted to. I didn’t know. I don’t know their past. I haven’t asked. I’m too afraid that my girl-brain will self-combust and I will become an insecure mess no sir wants to touch, no matter MY Sir.

I could feel my hurt turning to resentment and anger. Before I did something based off of heat of the moment emotions that I would regret, I sent him a text telling him that we needed to talk.. that I needed to talk to him as his girlfriend, not his submissive.

It’s when communication breaks down that you’re fucked over jealousy issues.. And while James and I don’t have great amounts of time to discuss things, when we do sit and really talk we do well. We clear up a lot of miscommunications and issues and leave the conversation a lot lighter than when we entered it..

I entered the conversation pissed and hurt, angry that while I played by the rules someone he has a past with was getting the physical attention and intimacy I craved and, at times, begged for. I went back into the club a bit more reassured about my place. I understood why she was receiving such physical intimacy, and understood why he reserved such intimacy between he and I for when we were alone.. I know when the mask goes on, when the performer goes on stage, I should not try to pull him off. I wouldn’t want to. I love the man behind the mask and know when to watch him on stage, when to join, and when to be in the wings for the intermission.

That doesn’t mean I still don’t want physical attention while in the club.. and that doesn’t fully kill off my jealousy issues. She is still everything I am not. And I am still aching for more touch from the man I adore..

But I can see James doing what he can to squash those issues, as I try to work on the internal triggers in me that cause the issues I have in the first place. Neither of us shut down, which would be the easiest thing to do. We hear the other out. He’s got the patience of a saint with me when it comes to the feels, and it reminds me often how lucky I am to actually be in a healthy poly relationship.

Jealousy happens. We’re only human. It’s what you do when the jealousy spikes that matters.

Yours reassured,

-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 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

The Almost-Threesome

I haven’t written in too long.. I’ve been going through a lot, but that is something to write about another time, when I am able to.

For now, I will write about something that did happen, what feels like a lifetime ago.

I was living in Boston trudging through the last year of my undergrad. My aunt was sick, but I didn’t know she was terminal yet. I had a credit card I didn’t pay the bill for, big dreams, and an itch to explore.

My sex life was…limited. I was single but not. Jason and I had broken up the previous May; it was October and we hadn’t seen each other since, but we were calling each other and Skyping regularly, in this weird limbo of sometimes we were friends, sometimes we were more. Feelings were still there, as were whispers of a maybe-future.

I’ve mentioned before that Halloween is my favorite holiday, and October my month. Living in Boston I frequented Salem on a regular basis to frolic with witches, and October in Salem was Halloween central. On one of my trips I noticed flyers for a Vampire Ball at the Hawthorne Hotel the last weekend in October. It was my last year there.. I was in.

I dressed in, for the place and time, what was a racy outfit for me. The shirt was see through, I remember, and the jeans were blacked and hugged my ass without giving me pudge. I put on makeup, a set of fake fangs, and was out the door.

I was a good girl. I called a cab ahead of time to pick me up when it said the ball was set to end, at 1 a.m. (Boston’s mass transit stops around midnight) and psyched myself up for a good time, and whatever awaited me. What I ended up finding was somewhat… disappointing. I was hoping for some spice, for people to give me the occasional double-take. For someone to desire me somewhere.

As the night wore on I managed to make a couple of friends. The place was full of couples, and those I was talking to were amused that I had come on my own. One couple I found to be rather striking entertained me for the majority of the evening.

They were polar opposites. Her head was shaved and completely tattooed. She wore an over bust corset with gaps in the lacing that was one size too small, so that when she was dancing occasionally her nipples would pop out, and you could see the glittery spider web design she had attached to them. Her breasts were quite obviously fake, but they balanced out her otherwise curvy figure. She was covered in tattoos from head to toe. Her arms were completely sleeved. Even her fingers were covered. As she drank copious amounts of wine she pulled me onto the dance floor multiple times, grinding with me and one or two other females that dared to join us.

Her partner was completely silent and dressed sharply in a suit with a blood red tie and white undershirt. I remember being puzzled by him; he was quiet, barely said a word to me all evening, and yet filled up the room more than any other person there. He was older than her by at least ten years, with a military style buzz cut of salt and pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. Not a tattoo in sight. Comparing him to his flamboyant partner and attempting to see their compatibility boggled my mind for the rest of the evening.

From time to time the man would beckon his partner over and whisper in her ear, a hand on her hip as he spoke. She then would run off to one person or another and speak with them.

Eventually, she came to me around 11. “We’re going to go outside for one last smoke break and then head upstairs to our room, want to join us?” (they were not locals, and because of this rented one of the three hundred dollar rooms for the evening). I nodded, curious, and also a casual smoker at the time (I blame art school). I had my camera with me, a new Nikon D3200 that I was slowly learning to master. I took several portraits of them under the Hawthorne Hotel’s back entrance light, puffing on my bummed cigarette the whole while. I still have the portraits, backed up on various hard drives.

When we got to the room the couple motioned for me to get comfortable. She was slurring her speech at this point, and I myself was giddy on a few glasses of wine. They were from out of town, the man explained, from the midwest. He traveled a lot for work and brought her with him when he could. They had two sons. It had been so ling since they last played with others.

That last bit was where they lost me..and where I apparently lost my top. I remembering laying on the bed with the woman on top of me transfixed by the man as he shed his layers. When his suit came off I saw what it covered.. He had a body suit of tattoos under his suit, all traditional Japanese style. When he wore long sleeves and slacks you had no close. He crawled onto the bed next to me and showed me where, in all the ink, his wife’s name was hidden.

As if on cue she proudly stripped and showed me where her man’s name was on her, right above her lady bits. “He owns me.” she told me. “I’m branded by him over my most intimate area. I am his property, to do with as I wish.”

…That’s about where vanilla me’s head exploded.

The man ordered the woman up to mix drinks for all of us..not that I can remember what I drank. I liked how he smelled, the musk of his scent, and didn’t resist when he pulled off my bra and underwear. They asked what my limits were..

Here I was, extremely attracted to these two people and extremely confused all at once, and I started rambling on about Jason, about how I loved him about the weirdness between us..

Somehow this led to me making out with the man as he fondled my top and the woman fingering me. I remember her murmuring “You’re so fucking beautiful” over and over, the man agreeing, saying I would make such a nice little pet.

“Look how responsive she is.. It’s like a living squeaky toy..”

Part of me wishes I had been much more sober for this experience than I was..and part of me wish I had recognized them for what they were back then so that I could write this all down sooner, before the details got blurry.

I vaguely remember them having a conversation about me; saying they would like to see me again when I was free of hang ups, that they wish they were closer, that they wished I could fully play. At the time I had only been with three men, so penetration was a very much no-no. It was taboo. You didn’t have sex with strangers! Whores did that.

…I wanted to have sex with him.. really badly. I liked her too..but I wanted to fuck him. Quiet, brooding, and calling the shots.

My cab called me right on time to say he was outside of the hotel. I quickly dressed, despite the protests of the couple, and went outside to go back to my boring college life, trying to process what had just happened and what I got myself into. I had willingly gone to a stranger’s hotel room to fool around with a couple. They saw me naked. She talked about being owned by her husband and seemed giddy when he asked her to make us all drinks.

…So imagine my “DOH!” reaction when I dove into the world of BDSM and remember all I could of this event.. He owned her. She was a submissive to his Dominance, and from all appearance they had a 24/7 arrangement. Throughout the night she had mentioned rewards for things, like her breast implants and tattoos being gifted to her for this, this and this.

Very few people know this happened. I never shared the experience for fear of judgment, only telling that I was propositioned, not that I went upstairs with the swinging couple.

You think that would have gotten me to figure out what I was sooner.  Whoopsie?

Yours,

~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