Tag Archives: personal

Bittersweet

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My life is radically changing in the next few days… Hence why I’m awake at 2:33 in the morning on a night when I did NOT have a kink event for once.

I was up packing..because this is when I have time to pack.

On Saturday I am moving to the most wonderful new home. My roommates are kinky; a stable, owned and collared couple that have been together for years and are the most welcoming people I’ve ever met in my life. They’ve worked with my budget in every possible way (even letting me pay some of my first months rent on the 12th when I move in and the rest on the 16th), cut the price of rent almost in half to give me a home, and even have a little black cat of their own to keep Poe company when I’m at work. There is a kitchen to cook in, a garage to work in, a back patio for awesome BBQs, and a sense of peace that I am feeling for the first time since August 1st when I was given notice. The place is even wheelchair accessible with enough room for two, in time.

The one con of my new home when I have all these pros? It’s a con and it’s not.. The house isn’t in San Francisco. It’s down the Peninsula a ways, in a small town called Menlo Park.

I know Menlo Park pretty well. That’s where Rocky Horror nights happen. There is a cute bookstore, and Italian restaurants, and summer festivals that happen.. The town is just quiet enough that I can park on the street but not so quiet that I have little to explore. I’m suddenly close to Palo Alto, a city I’ve only driven through once, and am closer to friends in San Jose. I’m still only a half hour away from San Francisco by car (an hour by Bart), and as someone who grew up with that same amount of a commute into New York City from her home town this is nothing for me. This is normal for me.. The city is close, but not overwhelming, and I like that.

But it means giving up my San Francisco address, and being further away from James.. It’s a doable far away. San Francisco is our meeting point, just as it’s always been. I will continue to be at all the events I go to normally. I still have my jobs in and near the city. It’s just a matter of making sleepovers work and..seeing where this goes.

Packing up my life makes me nostalgic. I was wrapping up my fifty gazillion mugs (I’m a bit of a tea whore…), thinking about how much I’ve changed since I first moved into this place. This was my first real grown-up apartment. I was never in school while living inside these walls. I worked. I worked my ass off, and I grew. I learned. Almost my entire relationship with Kane happened while I lived here. I remember texting him after my road trip with my sister, telling him that I was all-in, that I wanted to be his.

I went from almost completely isolated in my kink relationships to being in an amazing community of people. Having friends that I see outside of just kink events. Having the first healthy poly relationship..and probably the first healthy relationship in general that I’ve had in a while with a man I am crazy about. I’ve gone from kink being at the fringe of my life to kink being in almost every aspect of my life.

I’ve lost some things along the way… I didn’t work while I was here.. not the way I wanted. My hands rarely touched clay. It’s something that I’ve sworn to change once Saturday comes to pass. I found a studio in San Francisco with drop in hours that I can afford..and dammit I need to work again. James has honestly taught me that without really trying to. The more I see him work, the more I hear him talking about what he loves about what he does and I see the dedication and time he puts into it.. the more I remember what it feels like to be lost in the studio. To be running around at 3 a.m. with headphones on, covered in clay and lost in my own world. There is a physical ache to find that part of myself again.. I need it like I need air.. Honestly, like I need to submit..

I met some friends that showed me an even broader part of my world. The Dark Odyssey events and the people involved in them are amazing, and I am honestly grateful to Smith for getting me more involved. For being my initial reason for going to Fusion, which led to connecting with Chris and several other awesome people.

I discovered today that that particular relationship has come full circle. I was poking around on Fetlife, as per usual, and ended up liking a blog that Smith’s primary had also liked. It was seeing that that made me realize I hadn’t seen updates from her in about a month. Smith was never much of a presence on Fetlife as it was, so I wasn’t exactly missing his updates. I clicked, and saw that she had blocked me, and so had he.. and honestly, I laughed. It was a sad laugh. It’s always sad when a friendship dies..but I had been so busy enjoying my life that I hadn’t noticed they had finally fully exited it. Part of me is still curious to see how they will navigate this when I plan on frequenting events they are involved with, and share play with someone that they play with as well.. We shall see. Still… It’s nice to have that negativity out of my feed, and out of my life. Cowardice is not a way to keep my friendship.

With all these changes I want to make one small change to this blog. I’m sure many of you have figured out from a couple posts ago that my name isn’t Rena. It’s Rene. One letter off, but still different. I don’t know why I changed that letter. Why I was so afraid to openly be Rene on here. I have this blog linked to my Fetlife profile, so many people know that it’s me.. Whatever the motivation, I would like to drop that small twerk and just..be myself. So, the writer is still the same It’s just the name signing the posts that’s changing slightly

So many beginnings, and so many endings. It seems appropriate that all these things seem to be happening at once, less than a month after my birthday. Will I miss some of the things that are gone from my life? Of course… but I have a feeling the best is yet to come. Good things are coming. I am excited to see what this next chapter in my life with bring me.

Yours overwhelmed with the amount of packing still needing to be done… GAH

-Rene

Day 16

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Day 16

Have you found your submission has changed with different partners/relationships? If you’re involved with partners of both sexes, does your submission relate or change based on gender or does it depend on the person?

Isn’t it that way with relationships in general, BDSM, kink, vanilla or otherwise? Different relationships have people interacting in different ways.

I’ll start with the second part of this question and then delve back into the first. When I was younger.. around 19 or so, I was in a very unhealthy relationship. It was an abusive rebound that continued for a year… I consider him part of my young and dumb phase. I’ve always been what I consider bicurious. I’ve always thought of women as beautiful creatures and appreciated the female form. I love pixie-like faces, sharp cheek bones and sparkling eyes. I am not immune to the charms of my own gender. It’s just only once in a blue moon that I actually actively pursue a female. I am a big, big fan of the penis. I admit this.

Back then, I was a bitch in the most unhealthy way possible. I was so angry at men for the relationships that I was in that I decided I was going to delve deeply into the lady pond and pursue that side of my sexuality without my boyfriend knowing (I was in Massachusetts and he was in New Jersey at the time, so this was not that hard). … This consisted of several one-night stands, drunkin hookups, me promising to call when I knew I wouldn’t, and all around slutty behavior. In six months I had managed to sleep with more women and burn more bridges than I had in 19 years with men.

It took me a long time to see that my attraction to women was a natural, healthy thing and not just something that grew out of my unhealthy relationship from back then. For a while I assumed I was a switch, because of how I had treated the girls I played with during that time period. I was a toppy douche, calling the shots and telling them when the relationship ended and what would be done… I thought I would end up topping all women.

… Not so. NOPE. It depends on how women approach me. Cal’s former partner, for instance, loved topping females like me. When I said I wasn’t comfortable with that she took this as a challenge and would bait me on a regular basis, saying she would love to dig her heels into my ass, etc, get me to kiss her feet… It made me challenge her right back and want to look eye level with her. I didn’t necessarily want to top her.. But I wanted to meet her in the eye and be her equal.

I wrote in here about my first experience being topped by a woman.. A good friend of mine named Ren. She is very sweet, and for a while wanted me to be her house pet..but I was never physically interested in her in that way. There are a couple that I am physically interested  in these days.. I have a small circle of friends at BaGG, women and men both, that I’ve somehow become entangled with… I want to kneel in front of one while helping her spank the other.. It is a welcoming, healthy feeling.

…That is as toppy as I get, with either gender. If someone asks me to help with a spanking I will.. but otherwise I want the spanking dammit.

As for my submission changing from partner to partner.. Absolutely. I’ve already talked about what I an absolute masochist I can be with James. I love poking the bear just enough to go home black and blue at the end of the night, knowing that we’ll both enjoy it. As sassy as I can be with James there are times when I can be completely docile if that’s what he requires of me. There is no question of who the one submitting is. There is absolutely no question of who belongs to whom. How sassy or sweet or over the top or quiet I am depends largely on my partner. He leads the scene, in every sense. He is an actor. He takes the stage, commands it. He shows me where our marks are. And I happily walk behind him, follow his lead, fall in naturally with the scene he is directing. It all feel right, and gives me a greater peace than anything I can imagine. James is the star… but I’m his leading lady and I know that. No question. No doubt. I love it. I love him.

Huh.. I think that’s the first time I’ve typed that here.. I’ve told him. He knows…but it’s the first time I’ve openly said it.. I’m in love with James. I love being his.

I have another partner that I formally met when I was at Fusion over the summer. He is a fabulous man who did a beautiful needle scene on my back. We hit it off talking before and after the scene and I ended up spending my last night at camp snuggling with him in bed. He is very different than what I am used to.. Older than I’ve played with before (double my age), but doesn’t act it most of the time. I love his energy. He’s put me at ease from the beginning, making friendship with him a very easy thing and not pushing me to to define the relationship between us in any way. He knows I am poly, but my focus is on James. He is KING of poly..has more partners than I can possibly keep track of and has nicknamed me ‘dessert’ because just when he thought his dance card was full I showed up..and there was somehow room. He’s been helping me slowly navigate both my interactions with him and also James.. answering any questions I have with the patience of a saint.

Playing with him is VERY different from playing with James. I don’t have the desire to push myself so much. They’re both sadists, but with Chris I am sassier. I can get away with more because while James reads as all DOM to me, (with the added dash of ‘this is the man I belong to and serve’ thrown in) Chris is very much a switch. When we play I call him sir, and of course I do respect him… but my most docile side seems reserved for James… The man that owns me also owns the part of me that absolutely submits, without question.. Chris does not own me in any way. I like pushing my limits more with him.. seeing if I can squirm away from him when he has me pinned, seeing what wiggling my ass in his direction will get him to do.. and after we will sit, and talk, and exchange kinky stories of the play we have done since we last saw one another. And I enjoy it. I am grateful for Chris’s company for as long as I am graced with it. He’s taught me quite a bit so far.. and reminds me often when I am in a rough patch that he was at one point as well, and that this too shall pass.

I am lucky, very lucky, to have the people in my life that I do. I don’t know how I got so lucky..but I am a very blessed submissive.

yours..and his,

-Rena

Day 11

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Day 11

Do you include service as a part of your expectations of your submission? How do you define service? What does it mean to you? If not, what is it about the concept of service that is not for you?

I consider myself to be a service oriented submissive… Now, what that means to me when I say that can mean something different to another.

To me, that means that when my Sir says “jump”, I already know how high he wants me to be jumping and instead I am asking him how long. If it’s a partner I truly care about, I try to anticipate his needs. I know what he likes from Wicked Grounds on Wednesday nights when we grab a bite before BaGG…but know not to order it unless he asks me to. I know how a play partner takes his coffee at this point and will fix it for him before I bring it to him in the cafe.

I anticipate and learn how best to serve the person I’m with… which for me can mean learning how to make his favorite meal to learning proper deep tissue massage to help with backaches..

I enjoy this. I get pleasure from giving pleasure, even in the simplest of ways. If that means they want me to clean up their place or cook them dinner then I will, but only if that’s what they want.

Cal’s partner and I both share a certain… erm.. opinion of his ex partner. Her and I ended up in a conversation about service submission the other night, and she expressed the irritation in how the ex would come and clean the house, do the laundry, and how her partner didn’t actually like that.. Those domestic duties are what a lot of people associate with service. Okay, yes, that can be part of it..but that’s not the first thing I think of when I identify myself.

Honestly, when I think about service in regards to myself I think about my relationship with pain.. My masochistic side developed because the person I belong to is a sadist. He enjoys digging his nails into my flesh, making me squeak and yip and whimper in the club and cafe and..wherever else he decides to hit me. The first couple times we played in any way I remember thinking “I don’t know if I can do this… I don’t like pain. I can’t take this. This HURTS.”

And then I saw the twinkle in his eyes.. I saw the sadistic smile that lets me know just how much trouble I’m in… The impishness. And I wanted more, not because I craved the sensation but because I craved that reaction from him.

I crave the look of pride he gives me when he’s beaten me to my limit and he has to all but peel me off of the cross because standing is hard… When he pulls me into his arms while I’m still trembling and gives me the feather light kiss on top of my head, and then the gentlest kiss on my lips.. Little, silent thank yous that let me know that I did good, that I made him proud. I love the look of delight on his face when he’s taking photos of me being beaten by another, the voyeur in him enjoying every second of it.

I get pleasure from giving pleasure, and that manifests in multiple ways… That is the best way I can define service for myself.

Yours, a content service subby

-Rena

Day 8

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Day 8

Is spanking or corporal punishment a part of your submission? Why or why not?

…This may end up being a very short post.

Yes. Yes. YES it is part of my submission. Big screamy capital letters YESSSSSSS.

It used to scare me.. being hit. Spanked. Flogged. It used to scare the living shit out of me.

Now?

…mmmmmmmmmmmmm

With Kane, spanking and beating used to be the work for the reward.. The tender touches, the good girl, the fantastic sex to follow. I wanted to earn the ‘good girl’, the ultimate reward for the submissive…

James… He’s a whole other ball of wax. Ever since he and I started playing around months ago, before any feels or dating or… relationshippy stuff… he’s turned my perceptions of pain and pleasure on their heads. It’s just.. part of the dynamic between he and I… I take pleasure from being on my knees in from of James, chest out, knowing a hand is going to come down and redden it. Knowing it’s going to hurt, and it’s going to make him smile. I HATE when he hits my thighs, but smile after the pain fades and they are red and warm.

But spanking with James?

How do I put this…. and this is not in a bragging sense.. This is just him.

The man is to bare handed spanking as Midori is to rope.

His upper body is BUILT. Pretty sure his biceps are bigger than my head… and he wants to get in even better shape. The man can bruise with a single strike.. He could easily finish me for an evening easily.. and instead he pushes me.. His spankings are a rare treat for me. It’s never just a strike. It’s always a build up. He will reach out first, let me know it’s coming, and gently put a hand on my ass, caress it.. sometimes squeeze. And then his hand comes down. I scream. I buck. I gasp. I wonder if I can possibly take another, because damn if that man isn’t always symmetrical. It hurts..and I want more.

There are times when his spankings are gentle. Well, at least for him. Sometimes he will spank me while I’m in between his legs sucking him, light taps compared to his normal strikes. Just enough to attempt to distract me and make me moan, through pants or skirts.

Other types of play… Floggings, paddles, mean wooden spoons that I am still not on speaking terms with… Yes, I like all of that as well. Intense scenes don’t happen as often between James and I.. It’s usually quick moments of play. We’ve only had one full official play scene at a party, on the cross, where he beat me to my almost-breaking point… and then stops right before I would have yellowed.. The man can read my body extremely well. He’s learned how I react to different types of pain even before I process how I handle them.. Yes, I love the intense scenes as well. I look forward to more.

So yes, spanking and corporal punishment are part of my D/s relationship. Why?

Because we enjoy it, both Sir and I. Because we both, in certain ways, need it. And love it. And crave it.

Because it’s part of who I am. And I relish it.

Maybe if I’m a good girl, I’ll get spanked tonight.

I’ve made it more than a week. YES!

Yours in antici…..pation,

-Rena

Day 7

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Day 7

Do you accept and/or expect discipline or punishments as a part of your submission? How do you feel about it?

I was never one of those submissives that dreaded submission. I was one of those trouble makers that tried to get rewarded for bad behavior. I still am.

My relationship with pain and punishment is a unique one.. My pain tolerance varies depending on who I’m with and what the setting is. Sometimes I am a real masochist, craving the pain. Sometimes I dread it.

A couple months ago, I went over my friend Chris’s house. We had met up several times in the past, and I admit that I was tardy almost every time to see him. I was a sassy creature that often forgot to call him sir even though we played, and when we played he topped me.. And so, one even when I came over his house he punished me. He had me crawl on to the bed and told me why he was punishing me, said he only punished those he cared about, and proceeded to hit me with his belt. I HATED it. The belt stung. It made me cry. I counted the strokes and was grateful when it was over.. Penance paid, life returned to normal and all was well.

The beauty of punishment is that once it’s done, the issue is dune. All is forgiven, the slate is wiped clean.

My interaction with James… blurs the line between play and punishment. He has yet to really punish me.. and I try very hard not to earn his punishment or his disappointment. However, he is a sadist, and under his hand I am a masochist.. I will do things like mew quietly, kiss his arm, nuzzle him… Nothing warranting real punishment.

He then turns to me and raises an eyebrow, a half smirk on his face.

“Really now?” Usually I will mew quietly, my body slightly shrinking in expectation of the pain that will follow. “You’re sure about that?” Again, I usually mew. I’m never sure. I never can be sure. This is a trick question.

“Well okay then.”

And then the pain starts. A smack on my thigh. Nails digging into my chest or back. Bites. Lots and lots and lots of nibbles. But never enough nibbles. I love nibbles…Mmmmm…

I have a love/hate relationship with pain under Jame’s hand. It hurts, I scream… But I crave it. It’s our dance, the steps familiar and comforting now. Not punishment, per say, but punishment-like behavior and discipline that keeps me happily under his hand.

I accept punishment when I have earned it.. I would rather stand in the corner, go into the ‘apology’ position, get spanked until I bleed, or even wear a fucking ball gag than carry the burden of my Sir’s disappointment, or the disappointment of another friend or partner. Physical pain is much easier for me than emotional… And the truth is that fuck ups happen. As much as submissives try to be perfect for our Dominants, we are human. Humans are flawed. We make mistakes, and we mentally beat the shit out of ourselves because of the mistakes. Because we failed. Because we let the person who we belong to down. We disappointed the person we try more than anything to please. For me, personally, punishment and discipline after the emotional beating I just gave myself is a very sweet release and relief. It makes it all better… Fresh, clean, blank slate. I am a good girl again, willing and eager to serve my Sir.

A whole week down! HA! Twenty three days to go.

Still here, still writing, still yours,

Rena

Day 6

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Day 6

What do you feel are the roots of your submission? Do you think it has something to do with childhood? Is it a relationship management tool as in the practice of domestic discipline? Is it a sexual thrill or something else?

Honestly.. I’ve been trying to figure this out for myself for a long while.

It definitely didn’t come from childhood. My mother spanked me maybe twice in my life… My dad even less. Corporal punishment was never a thing in my house growing up. It was mostly “go to your room” which ended in me sitting in a corner happily reading a book.

I don’t know where it came from… My parents shared domestic duties. My mother taught me how to bake, my father taught me how to cook. I was raised in a house that preached gender equality and an even playing field for all… and yet the root of my BDSM relationships is the desire to submit. To please another. To jump when they say jump, knowing how high they want me jumping and instead say “for how long, Sir?” I have in me something that needs to please and be pleasing… It varies and changes from partner to partner, the amount I submit and how that submission appears, but that need never goes away…

Your guess is as good as mine on where it came from.

As for it being a “relationship management too” or a “sexual thrill”… Eh…

Do I enjoy D/s relationships? Yes. But my submission is a part of me.. not some tool to keep relationships on track. As for it being a sexual thrill?

… Do you really think I would have this blog if I didn’t like kinky sex?

Not just kinky sex. Hand wrapped around my throat while fucking me like you’re ready to rip me in two sex. I like that. I also like spanking my ass a bright red before taking it sex, and hair pulling, biting, scratching foreplay before frantic fucking sex.

…But I also love gentleness. I love head kisses and cuddles..and tender touches that make me feel incredible cherished. I love that safe, satisfying feeling of curling up in his arms and feeling every last muscle in my body finally relax. That underlying sweetness that comes with submission… Yes, you will be used, you will feel pain for both your own pleasure and for the person you belonged to… but aftercare is a thing. Tender moments between scenes are also a thing.. and for me, that’s the glue of a D/s relationship. Otherwise… It’s not a relationship. I’m play partners with someone. I let them do things to me, fuck me, push me…and then when the emotional, squishy feels come out they aren’t there. A relationship means the squishy feely parts too.

Day six done, twenty four to go.

As always.. I am his 😛 but also yours.

-Rena

Day 3

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Day 3

How do you know you are submissive or have the potential to be submissive? How do you feel when you express your submission?

How do I know that I am what I am? Honestly, that was something I asked myself for a long time, before I really understood what a submissive was. Before I knew that someone could take on that label.

When I was 17 I had my first real boyfriend. There were follies before that, including the boy that I gave my first blow job too, much childish groping, and some very bad kissing incidents (I nicknamed one of my potential suitors ‘fish lips’ at one point…), but eventually the 19 year old from U Conn stuck. He was literally a farm boy from a small town in Connecticut, as vanilla and wholesome as you get. He was also addicted to video games, specifically the Halo series and a few others. He taught me how to play some, but rather than play along I often sat and watched him play. There was an open couch to lounge in, a bean bag chair, and his favorite arm chair that he liked to sit in when he played games. Rather than sit on the couch or the bean bag chair I sat at his feet on the floor every damn time, for not other reason other reason than it felt good. No one ever prompted me to, and I have no idea why I ever thought it was a good idea. It just felt…right. As time went by I asked him to pick out my clothing. I would bring thing to him when he asked..and then when he didn’t asked. I made him breakfast without question when I spent the night and learned quickly what to make him for breakfast before asking.

Certain fetishes have developed over time. They show up with specific people, in specific circumstances. Not every person I’m involved with spanks my ass till I cry or pulls my hair, turning me into a rag doll, just like not every person I’m involved with flogs my bag or pets my head or scritches behind my ears or tucks me in at night and reads me a story… My kinks are eclectic and continually developing, but the instinct to submit has been there for a very long time. It’s a core part of who I am. It comes out, whether or not I’m trying to lock it away.

How do I know I am a submissive? The same way I know that I am an artist. Even when I can’t work, even when I don’t have time to get in the studio, it’s a need inside of me. It’s part of who I am. I have no choice.

As for how I feel when I express my submission… It varies. When it’s casual play it depends on the motivation for the play. Sometimes I need a cathartic spanking.. I want to cry, but I don’t want it associated with the person I’m closest to.. Sometimes I’m playful. I want to try new toys I’ve never felt before. Sometimes I’m feisty and bratty and goad tops into biting back. It all depends.

But submitting to my primary? To the person I belong to?

I feel at peace. I breathe better. Muscles that I never remember tensing relax. Even if it’s pain that follows my submitting.. Even if it’s his hand coming down on my chest or thighs or ass. Even if it hurts, it’s so good. It itches a scratch, sates a need that only one person can fill. Submitting makes me feel whole and cherished.. For however long there is a collar around my neck or a strong voice ordering me to present my chest or lean back so he has access to my legs, the giant weight I carry around during my everyday life is lifted. Someone else has control in those moments.. someone else calls the shots. Someone who can read my body like a book, who knows how far to push me and when to back off, who knows when I need a tender touch after several very harsh ones before I vocalize that need.

Submitting, like making art, allows me to function.. It gives me release when I have no words…

Huh. No wonder the kink world leaks into my artwork so much.. They’re both the same catharsis for me… Intriguing.

Three days done, 27 to go.

Yours,

-Rena

Uncharted Territory

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I have never fallen asleep in someone’s arms before and actually SLEPT there. I’m so used to the tuck and roll, or snuggle until right before sleep and then get into comfy sleeping positions. Arms fall asleep, legs get tangled. Sleeping in someone’s arms just doesn’t work.

Until it does.

I feel like I need to backtrack. I have been in the scene here in San Francisco for over a year now, and in that year there have been constant figures that are always some part of it. I have not been one of those constants. There have been several month gaps where I pulled away from the scene, from the munches and the people I called friends. Things weren’t right with Kane, or I was focusing on building the relationship with Smith. Or I was off in New Jersey.

Things end. Sometimes you have control over those endings, and sometimes you don’t. Kane is still in my life. I hope he will be for the rest of my life. There are points where we just.. get each other as friends and artists. There is a soul connection there. Smith is no longer in my life. I had no control over this, and I lost someone who could have been a phenomenal friend over miscommunications that were never clarified or explained. I trusted Smith..and it hurt, a lot, it especially hurt my Little side. At the same time Kane was gently nudging me out of my collar, not because I failed him or because I was a bad submissive, but because his life is complicated to say the least. There was room for me to be in his life as his friend, but not as his submissive, and accepting that took some time.

I hid. I licked my wounds. I wallowed. And then I got it into my head that I should go to the Littles munch at the local kink cafe. I hadn’t gone in ages. I wasn’t feeling interested in play just for play’s sake, and my Little side was the most damaged. I thought.. why not? And so I went.

I got bored by the munch in about 10 minutes. I ran out to get food, and that’s when I ran into James.

James is one of the constants I mentioned. Always there, always playing some sort of part, he’s been involved in the Bay Area scene longer than I’ve been here. I’ve been attracted to him since the beginning, but I got involved with Kane so quickly after my mentorship ended and I just wanted to focus on him and my collar and all the bells and whistles attached to it.. James got thrown into the category of “crush”, which, for some reason in my mind makes someone untouchable. He’s safe. I admire from a far, can keep up the friendship, and all is well.

We had played once, at Surrender, but there was something about him that made my heart race..made me afraid. I knew enough about him to know he had his demons. I felt safe when I was around him.. I saw how he looked at a lot of the subby girls around him. Protective. He was always my friend, but he kept me at a a distance just as much as I kept him there. Distance was safe. Distance meant there was some level of detachment.

Somehow, that night at the kink cafe, I ended up on my knees in front of him for a mini scene right there in the cafe. For the first time I enjoyed pain for his pleasure. I reconnected with him, and with other friends that were in his circle that I had lost touch with. I had a community again. He invited me along to an event in the city called Bondage a Go Go that’s half club, half dungeon. I don’t do well in clubs, and I was still jumpy despite the endorphins rushing through me and the beautiful teeth marks I was suddenly sporting on my neck. That first week, I declined.

The second week was much the same as the first, with a mini scene again, just a bit bolder.. and this time I went to BaGG. The week after that I went with the anticipation of his hands on me, of the marks he would leave. I brought clothes for BaGG.

As the weeks progressed, it became more than play. In my shy, awkward way (which can be VERY socially awkward) I got to know him more. There was talking in between slaps, and kissing. And lots of squeaking. I found my crush getting stronger. I listened to whispers that he had a thing for me too. I had taken my collar off, and was adjusting to the nakedness of my neck. I was feeling bold… and did something I had never done before, ever.

I asked him out one night at BaGG. And he actually said yes.

And then I failed at follow up. I didn’t know how to have conversations with him via text. Did he want to hear from me, did he not? I didn’t know. Again, socially awkward as all hell, especially if I’m crushing on someone. He’s been very patience with me, slowly pulling me out of my shell week after week as we spend more time together.

It started with just BaGG every week. And then, week after week, he was at the play parties once a week as well, and I ended up as his plus 1..

I don’t remember how to date, and I’ve never done an out-in-the-open relationship with BDSM undertones. I have no clue what the hell I’m doing..and while I am scared shitless I am also loving every last minute of this strange adventure with James. A lot of his friend are mine.. and we both have kink as one of the main parts of our lives. It is a large part of both of our artistic practices. He pushes me, in so many ways; pushes me to ask for what I want, pushes me to take control and stand on my own two feet, to give but to not be taken advantage of. He pushes me physically, leaving wonderful marks all over my chest, back, thighs, and ass. I have bruises, bites, nail marks, scratches…

I have talked about zinging with someone before, that moment of “Oh shit.” When you make a real connection with someone, that moment always appears when you know you are in trouble. When you realize that something is going to make an impact on you, mean something.

For me that moment was last night. He spent the night, which is a novelty in and of itself to me. I hadn’t spent the night with someone in a good six months, and even that it hadn’t been in my tiny apartment with my cat and my chaos and my ‘single girl in her 20’s’ stuff. As much as we engage in kinky fuckery, we are taking things very slow in a lot of ways. For one, we haven’t had sex yet. We haven’t put labels on anything, haven’t rushed into anything. Building a strong foundation and really exploring is important to both of us. One on one, yes we kiss and play and touch, but we also talk, a lot. Conversations start casual and become deep and meaningful between us very quickly.

We were having one of those conversations last night, the deep and meaningful ones. The evening itself was FANTASTIC. He’s involved in theatre, and he let me tag along to a show he helped out with. By the time we got back to my place it was close to 4 a.m. We were both exhausted thanks to a party the night before at the Citadel that hadn’t seen us home until 5 a.m.. There was no logical reason for us to do anything but stumble into my place and pass out.

Only I didn’t want to. Not in that moment. I didn’t want the conversation to end, didn’t want the magic to go away. I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t want the night to end. I just wanted to talk more. Learn more. I wanted to peel back more layers of this man. I was so comfortable, and able to be so totally myself with him. I could really care for this man. This could be something special.

Cue “oh fuck” moment. There, unexpected and delayed after a year of knowing this man but not really knowing him, was the Zing. That zaa zaa zoo moment that added a new level of intensity to our interaction, a new level of intimacy that wasn’t quite there before.

Eventually we did go inside. We got ready for bed and kept talking, kept touching, kept kissing. I didn’t expect to sleep in his arms. I never do. Men always do the tuck and roll, or they’ll wait until just before they pass out to move because they have to sleep in a certain position. And yet I was pulled into his arms and held. I can’t quite put into words how.. safe I felt, how secure. How fucking good it felt to be surrounded by an embrace. My last thought of the night was that there was no way this was going to last, that you don’t actually get to sleep in someone’s arms.

I woke up surrounded by warmth and security, as safely anchored in his arms as I had been when I passed out, mind boggled. I have no idea what I’m doing; no idea at all. I could stress. I could over analyze, freak myself out, tell myself all the reasons I shouldn’t pursue this, or want this, or want him or want to explore this uncharted territory of dating. I’m sure I could come up with a good list of reasons as to why this isn’t a good idea.

Instead, I’m going to feel the feels. I’m going to just… smile and enjoy the moment.

I am in uncharted territory, and I am happy.

Yours, as always

-Rena

P.S. on a more comical note, James and Poe had a wonderful conversation where they plotted my demise. I believe James meets with kitty approval. I haven’t decided yet whether this thrills me or terrifies me. Ho boy…

One Pain for Another

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I have been thinking a lot lately about pain.

Okay, that came off REALLY wrong.

Is it possible to think about pain in a good way? To analyze, as a submissive, why I need (not want, need) a good spanking to get my head on straight, or a flogging to make me fly? Why anal sex is my favorite because of that pleasure/pain line that pushes my body so?

I am a psych major..and I forget that most of the time. When I am how I’ve been lately, covered in clay and plaster along with the crazy cat next to me (also covered in clay and plaster…), pushing myself to sketch out new pieces, search for kilns to fire in, get the courage to approach galleries.. I forget that I went to Lesley originally for psychology. Art is in my blood, but there is a part of me that loves picking things apart. Figuring out why people react the way they do. Why they love what they do and do what they do…

I do this with myself, often. Most of the time it’s in a healthy way, to stop myself from harmful behavior, from spiraling or over-eating or getting angry without reason. I stop, analyze what I’m about to do and why, what led me there, and what I should do next.

Kinda weird from someone who so often exists in the moment, and functions on emotions and action I know, but it happens.

I’ve been doing this lately with my relationship with pain; physical pain. Where it started. Why I put myself through it. In starting off this journey I wouldn’t have said I enjoyed pain at all. I was afraid of it. I still wouldn’t call myself a masochist. I’m a tenderfoot. Even when I was playing on a regular basis (and I mean REGULAR, 3-4 times a week at least) I could never take too much pain. I would cry and shake when Kane would spank me, gritting my teeth and willing myself to make it to the end, to show I could do it. It was to please him, to show him how tough I was..

Where did that start?

I’ve always been into body modification. I see the body as a canvas made to be decorated. My tattoos are my road map, showing my journey through life. What mattered to me so much that I put it on my body for all to see forever. I have 9 tattoos now, want more, and 17 piercings (I had 18 but a cartilage piercing in my ear closed.. must re-pierce that.. I don’t like not being symmetrical). I’ve always gotten the endorphin rush that follows the pain of a needle going through me… But I’ve been poking holes through my ears since I was 12 years old. I never thought anything of it. I loved the product of the pain, the piercing that I got to wear. The pretty jewelry. The feel of the rings in my ears. It made me happy.

My parents, as open minded as they are, were always against tattoos. I didn’t get my first until I was 19, though it was one I had planned for years. A pentagram on my back, with representations of the five elements inside of it (earth, air, fire, water, spirit). Tattoos are different.. They’re not the quick, endorphin rush pain of piercings. It’s a slow, painful burn that slowly wears you down. I max out at 4 hours of sitting.. I know people who can go longer. My older sister can sit for 5+, though she curses like a sailor the entire time.

I did these things because the result was pretty, or the symbols tattooed on me meant something, enough for me to sit through the pain. I didn’t enjoy the pain. I just knew that it came part and parcel with the things that would decorate my body.

The exception to this rule is a set of tattoos I got on Valentine’s Day 2013. My aunt had died on January 27th, and I wasn’t dealing with the pain. I was single, alone, trying to keep my head afloat and finish my senior year of college. I wanted to graduate, not for myself but for her. She was why I had gone to school to start with and not gone rogue, running to New York to be an artist. She had paid for my first semester of college, and given me money for every single semester so that my loans weren’t too horrific. I wouldn’t let her down.

I have always identified as Pagan, for as long as I can remember. I have never been able to read the Runes for divination, but I have always respected them and the mythology around them. I chose two runes, Uruz and Tiwaz. Uruz, for internal healing and strength, Tiwaz for the ability to persevere, to survive battle know matter what. I didn’t want to look at the symbols, I didn’t even really want others to see them. I wanted them to lead the way. To keep me going.

I got Uruz on the arch of my left foot, the bottom. Tiwaz on the right in the same spot. The tattoo artist told me that it would ink out, that in a few years the tattoos wouldn’t exist. I didn’t care. I wanted the symbols to be with me with every step. And I wanted the pain that came with the tattoos.

For the first time, I wanted physical pain to dull the emotional pain raging inside of me. My aunt was gone. My indestructible, strong, always there for me, force of nature aunt had died, and I needed to survive.

I say often that play makes my brain stop. When I’m in sub space, when I’m flying, I’m not thinking about money or stress or partners or.. anything. I’m blitzed out on the endorphins, in a place past pain that I can only get to if I go through the pain.

Is that the same as all my other tattoos, where I sat through the pain for the pleasure of the adornment? Or is this like that first exception, where I traded one pain for another?

Why do I need to fly?

Yours, thoughtful

-Rena