Tag Archives: identity

Smol Problems

I’ve been struggling with the concept of “just”, in regards to Ryan and the little aspect of myself.

Let me try to explain.
There are many bottom/little letter roles that I am well-versed in. The reality has slowly been sinking in over the last year that I would be considered a ‘seasoned’ s-type (submissive type) in the local community. This..is somewhat of a rarity. Even in poly circles, s-types get claimed. They have a partner that takes the majority of their time, collars them, marks them, and pulls them back from the public scene.
When I wasn’t in service to anyone, when I was no-ones partner, I was in service to my community. I threw myself into parties and classes, conventions and events, and tried my best to be of help in the ways I knew. Eventually I was claimed by someone who was even more involved in the public community than I was and part of serving him was serving my community even MORE. More parties, more organizing, and in time more networking. When the collar came off I had a choice; I could either return from the shadows whence I came or figure out how to navigate the new dynamic between he and I and keep up the pace of parties that I was helping with.
It was likely not the healthiest of choices mentally, especially in the beginning, but I chose the latter. My submissive side is well honed. My slave exists, and can come out for the right partner. I excel in high protocol and can brat with the best of them if the mood is right. I have even discovered that I can switch.
But my little…my little girl side is relatively new, and in many ways still not fully accepted.
I fought being a little for the longest time because of how I look. Cherub face. Short stature. Squishy, and usually with something chibi or stuffie on hand.. It’s how I’ve always been. I didn’t know it was a fetish. It was Smith who flushed it out first, so long ago now, and then Ryan that allowed the little in me to truly flourish and explore in a safe, loving environment.
I have no qualms littling in Ryan’s apartment, or when I am with him at the Citadel or sometimes BaGG. It’s lower-key in the public settings typically, but it’s there, and it’s a HUGE part of our dynamic. But there is a stigma to littling that isn’t often associated to other s-types. Because of the age regression it’s harder to keep the play between just you and your partner in a public setting. Others will notice, and then it can become a consent issue.
‘Daddy’ can be a triggering term to some. I’ve talked about that before. It can be triggering for some to see a DDlg dynamic, even if it’s a healthy one, because of past traumas. It can make others uncomfortable to see age regression, especially in a kink that stresses adult 18+ or 21+ only.
This past weekend was the first time in a while that I have felt shame associated with my little side. I had brought on the camping trip two stuffies that Ryan had given me over the last couple months. They are my absolute favorites, and sleep in bed with me every night whether I’m feeling little or not. I hadn’t plan on littling or regressing at all over the course of the weekend; it was the first time I’ve spent extended periods of time around my meta, and we were not in a kink setting necessarily. Both factors made something vulnerable like age regression not safe… but I am who I am.
I had brought the stuffies for my own personal comfort. For me. For the person that’s loved stuffies for her entire life. And yet the moment my meta came into the tent I tucked them both back in my backpack where they stayed for the rest of the weekend. Even though I was just..me.. 26, full grown woman who had had a long work day the day before, was in an unfamilar place, and wanted something soft and squishy to cuddle with.
There were the brief moments of jealousy during the camping trip, as are bound to happen at times. I am poly, but I am also human. One of those moments happened after the ritual on Saturday evening. Ryan, my meta, and I were curled up outside by a bonfire.  For a while Ryan stood between us with an arm on each of us, and it was this lovely moment of poly bliss, and then he shifted away from me on to my meta’s other side, crouching by the fire to warm his hands.
She turned to him and cupped his face, looking into his eyes. It was…beautiful, intimate, touching, and there was a sea of love between the two of them. I felt so much compersion watching that moment for the beat or two I did (before looking away because..well, it was their moment!), but I also felt a pang of jealousy, because he and I haven’t really had a ‘grown up’ intimate moment like that.
Have there been intimate moments of love and squish and feels? ABSOLUTELY. FUCK YES. NOTE THE CAPS FOR EMPHASIS YES. But..they’ve all happened when I was Daddy’s little girl. When a part of me had regressed and I was smol and curled up in Daddy’s arms, or at his feet, or curled up in the nook. I had a moment at the campsite where I was at his feet and was able to nuzzle his leg while he pet and snuggled my meta…but it’s a very different type of connection. One that is harder to show in public.
There are two directions my brain goes in with something like this. The first is fear. Fear to want to deepen anything Ryan and I have and let him love the big me as much as the little, worried that he won’t like what he finds. He knows the big me, of course. I don’t little ALL the time.. but I’ve never tried anything overly intimate as my big self. I haven’t done any play with him as a big since our very first date. After that, little play started being discussed and we just..clicked there. I’ve kissed him as a big..but he always boops me or tickles me and I slip and then I’m little.. I don’t have a BIG term to call him. Sir is easier to slip out in public. Daddy.. well, I bit my tongue and talked quietly a lot last weekend, for fear of triggering anyone. I fear wanting big translations of these things and expanding into subby interactions, not just DDlg. I’m not unhappy with our dynamic.. at all. I LOVE our dynamic and that I’m his little girl. I just struggle with having to turn it off or tone it down so much and wish that switching gears in a less stifling way was possible instead. There is a fear of wanting those Big intimate moments..that Ryan will go, ‘but you’re my little girl. Aren’t you happy with that? I don’t think I can give you more.”
The other direction my brain goes in is shame. I am incredibly good at kicking myself, especially when I’m down. I used to be ashamed of the noises I make when I play; high squeaky noises that some people just can’t stand to hear. I’ve gotten sever “Can’t you please be quiet”‘s over the last few year..and to be honest I can’t. I wish I could. James started working on volume control with me before the collar came off..but it was always difficult. The shame is associated with the fact that for the first time I have a fetish that I feel like needs to be hidden more often than not.
I’m not bedroom only. I never have been. My dynamics with my partners are ongoing and I am very much a lifestyle person. I have never hidden my submissive side as far as things like tying shoes for partners, retrieving and disposing of dishes at cafes, fetching things when asked, even sitting at partner’s feet when the facilities permit. But I am also blessed with living in the bubble that I do. In the Bay Area, kink is fairly common. We might get a double take walking through downtown Oakland if someone here’s me call Ryan, ‘Daddy’, but it’s not a huge deal. Leave the bubble and.. it’s a different ball of wax.
Last week, I left the bubble, and ran face first into my dirty little secrets. And I didn’t like that I felt the need to clamp down on all these aspects of myself that I like. I didn’t like that I felt ashamed for wanting to curl up at Ryan’s feet and nuzzle his leg, or for wanting head scritches and pets. I didn’t like that the main way I knew to show someone that I loved and appreciated him was a way that I did not feel comfortable showing in that particular setting.. And if I wasn’t comfortable, then there must be something wrong with it…right?
No. Not true. But that’s where tweaking brain goes. Accepting a kink that can sometimes only be shown behind closed doors, and learning through time what being Daddy’s little girl actually means and encompasses.
There was a night a few months ago where Ryan and I were curled up in bed. It was after BaGG, I was spending the night, and it dawned on me that I could possibly be comfortable wearing a collar for him. It would have to come off and it could not lock..but the idea of him leading me around on a leash was INCREDIBLY appealing.I tried to communicate that and he reminded me that that wasn’t part of our dynamic and not necessarily something he was interested in with me. I got quiet and he nudged my chin and started listing all the things that go in to me being his little girl. I’m a submissive, and a masochist, and a pain slut, and an age player, and a cuddle bug.. I am more than just the ‘submissive’ title.
But where does that comfortably extend to, for both of us? And is there room and space in the dynamic for big me to have a real, intimate, connection with him as well. Would he still beat me as a big? Would he still want me if I called him Sir sometimes?
I suppose I will find out.
Yours, a lil little

A Change in Title


I have identified as a ‘submissive’ since I entered the public scene. It’s a catch-all term, a word that was the easiest way for me to explain the pleasure that I felt kneeling in front of Sir, of having someone I care for use me how he sees most fit and gaining pleasure from it. It was the easiest term to use as the flashing neon sign next to my Fetlife tag. “Use me. Please. For your pleasure and mine. Mark me. Claim me. Want me.”

For as much as I’ve played and explored, I clung to that title above all others. I’ve identified sides of myself that are little, masochistic, a wee bit switchy at times, hedonistic, damn slutty, and bratty to name a few… and it was easiest to just throw them all underneath the submissive umbrella. All were components of my service, and service meant submission, right? Different ways, different times, but everything I did was to serve my partners and bring them as much pleasure as possible, which in turn gave me pleasure. A great deal of it.

Very rarely are the right paths the easiest ones.

I am going to start with two short stories that seem unrelated, but then combine into one. One is that my primary has told me, from the beginning of our relationship, that regardless of whether or not we work out he’s determined to see me a better person as a result of it. He pushes me, not hard enough for me to ever come close to breaking, but hard enough that I question myself in a healthy way. If I say self-demeaning comments, usually out of complete reflex, he will catch me on it and ask me why I say that. He peels back layers I have safely hidden behind, my armor that keeps people from getting too close and knowing too much, and waits. Waits until I trust him enough to give him a straight answer which then unravels my behavior… And yes, I love him for it. I love him for his patience with me, for being understanding, and for being there to stop the negative spirals when it seems I’m falling too fast or too great.

And now, story number two. Not so long ago, Sir and I met a couple. We were at Master’s Den, one of my favorite events both for high protocol it is and because he doesn’t work..and so I get to play. Before Sir and I played, we watched this particular duo. The female, small yet incredibly mighty, took quite a lot from her Master in the exact opposite way that I do. I’m… vocal. Very. I will stay mostly still but I scream. She danced, and jumped, and wiggled, but remained silent. After their scene, Sir approached them both and asked permission to play with miss Small yet Mighty… Which led to a scene, and more scenes, and talk of photoshoots and friendships…

And thus, with a couple beatings, began a bit of a learning experience for me that I’m honestly still exploring. The couple have become fantastic friends, with an incredibly energy about them both individually and together. Watching them I was surprised at some of the similarities between their dynamic and my own… The fluidity they had between strict protocol one moment and laughter and giggles the next. The sassy playfulness. The respect all around when respect was due.

She was his slave. He was her Master. Two titles I had never considered in relationship to myself.. and yet…

I was always afraid of the label of ‘slave’. I was taught, early on, that slave’s were not allowed to say no. A slave gave up their safeword. A slave was used whenever, wherever, with nothing off limits.. As much as I’ve explored, and as much as I want to please, I do have limits.

…But I’ve also never let a man push my limits as much as James has. I’ve never trusted someone so completely to know my limits, and to listen to me when I express that we’ve reached one.

The lovely slave and I have met up a couple of times on our own and talked, about our relationships, our pasts, our current friendships..and the parallels continued to tweak in my mind an identity I had been so set on.. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know for sure.

And so, I did what I knew to do. I asked James.

We were driving back from an event earlier in the night..and I love those car rides, because we talk about everything from childhood road trips to future naughty plans to what he plans on doing once the car is in park… In the dark, uninterrupted, with no one else around and with a great night behind us, I asked the question that I had been asking myself for a couple of weeks.

“Do you think I’m a submissive or a slave?”

I got a raised eyebrow and a volley of questions back and forth as he searched for the origin of my question and why it was brought up. He answered some of my questions..and dispelled the last of my fears. Slaves, just like submissives, can say no. They can always stop it..and he will always respect my limits. And so, I asked again what my Sir thought I was.

“I don’t know.” Pause, a smirk, a raised eyebrow. “What are you?”

I didn’t think about my answer. I didn’t pause. I didn’t have to. It came out on its own.

“I am yours.”

He chuckled. “Well that answers that question, now doesn’t it?”

And it did.

Hello, my name is Rene. I’m a 24 year old kinkster living in the Bay Area. I enjoy submitting to people and playing in all manner of fun ways, from impact to sensation to fire and wax. I am polyamorous, though lean more to the realm of poly-play than poly relationships… I am a lover, a girlfriend, a little, a partner, a pixie, a squeaky toy..  And I am a slave. I am owned by an incredible man. I serve him happily.

As it was in the beginning, it is even more so now.

I am his.

And I am happy.

Secret Agent Sub

“So, what are you doing for the three day weekend? Anything exciting?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting.”

Just, you know, getting fucked by an attractive British Dom on Friday and going to a play party at a dungeon Saturday night. You know, normal stuff.

“Awe. Well a calm weekend can be a good thing from time to time.”

Oh yeah..calm. Calm’s one way to put it…

I’ve finally delved into the world of BDSM outside of just hiding at the local kink cafe when I don’t want to go to my apartment. Fetlife has proven to be an.. interesting tool that has led me to a whole mess of events, chats, munches, etc, and some interesting people as well.

Over the past week my life has fallen into a relatively normal rhythm; work by day, kink by night (of some sort). Which is odd. I work in a profession that..well.. it wouldn’t be the best if people found out what I do in my spare time. My job is pretty open minded, and tends to be inclusive of all types of people. They have no issues with my piercings, or my dyed hair. But I am new at it, and I don’t like taking risks I don’t have to when pay checks are on the line. And I LIKE making big girl paychecks.

So.. my kink world, which is increasingly taking up most of my social life, is kept pretty quiet in my vanilla world, outside of my roommates and some close friends.

The first time I really discussed the idea of anonymity it was at a poly discussion/support group a week ago. A teacher was there, one with a very strict admistration, and she talked about the fear of running into one of her students at something, or worse a parent. It was brought up that if someone went to an event they then wanted to be seen at that event; they’ve opened themselves up to that. That doesn’t help with reactions into the vanilla world, however.

My coworkers must think I’m incredibly boring. Every time they ask what I’m doing for the evening it’s either “Oh, just hanging at my favorite coffee shop to chat with some people” or “grabbing a bite with some friends”. I’ve made myself sound incredibly vanilla… which is probably for the best, because I’m slightly struggling with this split world.

I was involved in the Craft community for a very long time, to the point where I had some damn good connections back east. However, for a very long time of that I existed under this split personality that seems to be forming with my kink life now. In the Pagan/Craft community there is something commonly known as a Craft name, a name that someone was known as in circle, or ritual, or when they went to certain events and socialized with certain people. Their mundane name wouldn’t exist there. I had my Craft name for a good five years, balancing the mundane with magickal training and trying to get my first degree. I wanted to be a high priestess, to teach, but after a while I was so lost in separating the two worlds that they both began to fall apart. I ended up leaving the coven that had become like family to me on bad terms (see previous blog post) and got rid of my Craft name completely. It wasn’t as simple as saying “I’m not known as this anymore.” It was going through and changing Facebook information (Yes, I had a Facebook profile for my Craft name. It still exists somewhere, under the changed name.. I just haven’t gone on it in about two years), going on forums and changing “about me”s, or just deleting everything all together. It was deleting an entire identity, a large part of myself, because I was determined to instead mesh that part of myself with my mundane self and be one awesome magickal person, open about my faith and proud.

Well.. it didn’t exactly work that way. I still very much identify as Pagan, but my practice has been… lacking since I moved out here, for many reasons. But my personal faith is a separate journey in and of itself, this is supposed to be about kink.

Why I ended up going off on this tangent is because I’ve started seeing similarities between my old Craft community and the kink community I’m diving into. Some of the people I’ve met are fucking fantastic, others are eh… but it’s like that in any community.

The big similarity is the cliques, and the incestuous behavior inside of the cliques. Everyone is sleeping with EVERYONE. One group will trash talk this Domme or Dom while another will hold them up on a pedestal. Go to this event, such and such is running it and he’s fantastic. NO don’t go to that he neglects his bottoms and always ends things like this. The same trash talking would happen between high priests and priestesses in different groups back home. It’s why I pulled away from the east coast Craft community, because of the ego trips becoming suddenly more important than the magickal working. It was all about social climbing.

I suppose the ego trips, the cliques, the gossip, they are a part of all of this kink scene. People want to protect partners, either by sending them to good people or sending someone away from another they are trying to protect. Navigating this community may end up making my brain explode if I let myself dive too far in.

I want to meet people, I want to learn, but I have no desire to have it be my only social life. That’s what the coven became, and that wasn’t healthy when I was in it. Replacing that with kink isn’t healthy either. I think.. for now I will be skidding just on the surface of this community. I want to meet and get to know and explore, but actually getting involved with people?

I’ve played a little bit.. it was nice… but it’s hard for me to believe in no strings attached sex. Get deep enough into this community and the strings attached are the chain of command, of the Dom’s other sub who has a sub who has a lover who has a Dom who has a slave…

Head hurt yet?

I need to figure out how much of myself I’m willing to reveal to this world, how much I can combine my vanilla life with my kink life. That will take time.. I want a “normal” kink world, a pattern, a group of people I know and am comfortable with before I fully dive into doing this. I don’t want to always have to be a secret agent Sub, splitting her life in two. Vanilla by day, kink by night.

So, that means more munches, more events, and being careful about who I consider playing with. This means more talks with Sir and trying to understand this world more and more. It’s certainly one that I want to learn to be a part of. I just don’t want to become part of an uberclique.

It’s a definite learning curve. I have to say though, it’s nice to be doing and seeing; nice to find out what’s actually out there, and start thinking about what I would like to be a part of.

Time to go off and do some vanilla activities with my (mostly) vanilla roommate đŸ™‚ We’re off to the museum today!

More later, as always