Tag Archives: relationships

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 đŸ˜› but also yours.

-Rena

Day 2

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Day 2
Describe who you might submit to and how. Are you exclusively submissive in marriage or just in the bedroom? Are you submissive only in the context of a scene or in a role or throughout your daily life? Are you submissive to play partners or only in the context of a relationship?

There are those dangerous categories on Fetlife when it comes to the amount of time you spend “involved” with kink. ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’, ’24/7′, ‘bedroom only’, etc. What is the line between ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’ and ’24/7′. It is not as if I am always thinking subby thoughts.. but it takes me almost nothing to get there. It’s a look from James, or his tone, or from other partners I play with.. It is definitely not just a scene or role for me. My submission is part of who I am. I fall into it naturally, without a fight… but I fall into it when signals from a Dominant man are sent.

I’ll give you a for-instance…both are playful, as I am a sassy little sub. James and I will ‘poke’ each other. I mean literally reach out and poke each other with our fingers. Sometimes this devolves into tickles, licks, and playful nips and both of us end up laughing hysterically. Other times he will look at me, suddenly calm, and just go, “Really? Really now? Are you sure?” The moment those words are out of his mouth I’m in sub mode, mentally bracing for the nail about to pierce my skin or the hand about to come down on my chest or thigh. I don’t fight him, I don’t question it..because I don’t want to. Because those words are the trigger that make me want it. I want the sting of warmed, reddened flesh and the feel of his nails digging into me…

It works in text as well as in person, at least for me. I have a play partner in San Mateo that will text me orders from time to time when I’m on the way to see him, simple things like “pick up chocolate on the way and I’ll pay you back” or “park in the space next to mine in the garage.” My automatic response is almost always, “Yes, sir.”

However, only people relatively close to me text me…and have that power to get that response out of me. If someone is a casual play partner that I see only at parties then I’m only submissive to them during our scene at that party. I belong to James. I submit to James whenever it is asked of me.. When it comes to playing with others they have to ask his permission, so it almost feels as if I’m on loan to them for those moments, and then I go back to where I belong.

And on a final note to today’s question: why does the phrase ‘marriage’ have to be used? The idea of getting married right now is terrifying… just saying.

Two questions down, 28 to go.

Yours, as always

-Rena

“Sexy”

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I have never considered myself to be “sexy.” Ever.

That is not to say that I consider myself unattractive or ugly, or that I don’t think people desire me. I just have never thought of myself as sexy.

This evening was a lovely example of why. For one of my jobs I make my own hours. I found myself in one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city tonight after several hours of work and a parking spot miraculously appeared. Being a fan of signs from the Universe, I decided to take the spot and give myself the rest of the night off.

I was parked across the street from Good Vibrations, one of my favorite stores for toys of the buzz buzz variety, novelty items, informative classes of a variety of topics, and erotica of various topics (they have a fantastic website as well and are super female friendly. Seriously, if you can’t get to the stores check out their website. They tend to throw in free goodies whenever you order… – http://goodvibesblog.com/). The only catch with the store is that you have to be 18+ to enter, understandably considering what they sell.

I was standing in the store perusing the erotica to see if there were any holes in my Alison Tyler collection when one of the employees of the store walked over and just sort of..stared at me. I was in my more saucy outfits (again, not sexy… so saucy is about as close as it gets), a bright blue, low cut leopard print dress with a back cut out. It’s form fitting on top, flairs at the waist, and hits me just above my knee. My ass is covered so long as gusts of wind behave themselves and manage not to blow in an upwardly direction. That happens and..well.. I flash Valencia Street, but otherwise I love the dress. I had my hair back to show off marks on both my chest and neck left behind from James, actually had a dash of makeup on for once, and thought that I looked liked my nearly-24-years.

“Excuse me sweetie, but I’m going to need to see your I.D.”

I had been zoning, mentally reliving some of my favorite spicy moments from old erotica friends when she spoke to me. I think my head actually snapped up in surprise.

“Ok.. may I ask why?”

“Just let me see it please, sweetie.”

I handed it over and watched this poor girl turn scarlet. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen, if that, and was not someone I was familiar with working in the store.

“Oh I’m so sorry miss! I really thought you were closer to my age! You just.. you look seventeen!”

I am a rather compact creature, standing all of 4 ft 10.5 inches. I have been called a people mcnugget, pocket sized, fun sized, nibble sized, and a lot of woman in a little package.. I have curves, an ass that I’m pretty sure has its own orbit..and a baby face with big brown eyes and full lips on top of it all. I am very used to people thinking that I am younger than I am. It’s one of the main reasons I fought my Little side for so damn long. Under 21 I am used to, and I have accepted that I will be carded until I either finally go grey or wrinkles take over my face and my tits sag to my ankles.

But under 18? I haven’t passed for that young in a very long time.

So, why am I rambling on about me being mistaken for a teenager?

I do not consider myself sexy.. However I can do adorable very well. And innocent. And innocently wicked. I can do sexily sweet, easily corruptible, wide-eyed with wonder, and I’ve been told I look rather pretty when I cry.

There is no one-way to be a submissive, or to be attractive as that submissive.

When you dive into the public scene you quickly discover that there is a sort of dungeon uniform for the submissive type; corsets, garter belts, thigh highs, heels… Nipple clamps and cuffs and leashes, oh my! With that uniform comes a certain mental expectation as to how that uniform is going to end up looking on you.

The harsh reality is that the uniform almost never looks how you imagine.

After that harsh reality begins the hard part, figuring out what your dungeon uniform will be.

Dressing up for public play is not about fitting some subby stereotype. It’s about putting on whatever makes you feel like you are the most desirable creature on the planet. What makes you feel like the best you possible, whether you are the 6 ft 5 Amazon or the innocent looking 4 ft 5 little pet.

“Sub-type” is a very big blanket term, as is “bottom”. This includes, but is not limited to, Littles, pets, submissives, slaves, masochists… the list is endless… and what makes a pet who sees themselves as a little lion look their best is going to be different than a slave who sees themselves at their master’s feet whenever humanly possible.

I try really hard to remind myself of this during those ‘you look 17’ moments. I know my strengths. I work my curves, my innocence, and I’m damn good at batting those big brown eyes and pouting those lips. But when you’re involved with someone who makes a living taking photographs of the stereotypical ‘gorgeous’ and ‘sexy’ women it’s hard to remember your strengths. There are times when I wish with everything in me I weighed about half of what I did and was about half a foot taller, where I could scamper around and pose in a way that people would consider me ‘beautiful’ as well and look twice at me.

But most of the time I remember that I have my own unique ways of making the lovers in my life look twice. My ‘uniform’ fits me, and while I may not be the definition of ‘sexy’ you would see if you looked it up in the dictionary, I feel my best walking around the dungeon in my corset and frilly panties. I’m slowly reaching the point where I feel confident walking around the dungeon in nothing at all, especially after a scene. I know where I fit. I know I belong in that space and that the people that want me there want me as I am.

That’s about a sexy as it gets in my book.

Yours fun sized đŸ˜›

-Rena

Daydreams and Dulldrums

 

I turn 24 in 10 days.image

It doesn’t feel like it, really… Honestly I feel older. Exhausted. I’ve had a knot in my chest for about a week now, a heavy weight that continually reminds me that I need to find a new home ASAP with shit credit and very little in the bank. And a cat. Who is currently trying very hard to sit on the keyboard while I type.

My friends back east have started asking me what I want for my birthday.. What do I want? Honestly?

I want one uninterrupted day with my boyfriend. I want to get my favorite coffee drink at my favorite cafe in the Haight and show him all of my favorite spots, including the Anarchist bookstore where we could actually afford to shop. I want to get a new pair of boots at Wasteland and possibly a pretty dress to wear the following night at BaGG.

I want to talk.. have those conversations that only happen when he and I are on our own, and bask in the glory of having nothing to do other than enjoy each other’s company. I want to snuggle. Kiss. I want to sit in his lap and secretly (not so secretly) revel in the fact that there is a lap at my disposal whenever I desire (and/or am allowed to) snuggle.

I want him to surprise me.. to take me somewhere I’ve never seen before. He always surprises me.

I want to eat my favorite popcorn tuna roll at Saru sushi and get the yummy salmon tasting plate, and drink sake out of the pretty little glass cups that look way too breakable to be functional. I want to for once not be in a hurry, not be stressed. I want to feel just a little bit special for the day.

And I admit, I want to go star gazing. I want him to be relaxed and happy and just…enjoy the moment. I want one day that is mine.

And yes, I want fantastic birthday sex and snuggles afterward. I want marks and welts and bites and to sob and shake before being fucked into that blissful pleasure/pain state. I want to fly in the way that only submitting allows me to. I want bliss. And then I want birthday spankings at BaGG the next evening and lots of photos and spankings and bruises. I want his hands on me. Marking me, claiming me. I want that half-posessive grab on my leg he does during BaGG that I’m not even sure he notices that he does… the grin on his face that says “You make look, and you may touch, and yes she’s pretty, but this is mine.”

The reality is that my birthday is on a Tuesday… Weekdays are a hard day to get to relax during.. it doesn’t happen. James has been incredibly busy lately, which is a good thing. It means paychecks and photos and him doing what he loves…

It’s just… yeah.

I can’t take a whole Tuesday off… I have to make firsts and lasts for a new place. I have to HUNT for a new place to start with. I have to make double of what I normally do in a single month, factor in renting a truck, moving on my own, loading truck time, boxes, pet deposits..

I saw an apartment two days ago that I want with everything in me.. I’m waiting, holding my breath, hoping they get back to me and say that it’s mine. And if it isn’t? More applications. More searching. More hoping. More praying my bad credit and cat don’t make finding a home impossible.

I know why I am in the mood that I’m in, logically. I understand the melancholy. The desire to just curl up in the safest place I know and just… stay for a while. I know that this too shall pass and that better things are to come.. That I will eventually turn a corner. That there will come a time when both James and I will find that delicate balance between working enough to afford gas and not working so much so that we actually have free time to see each other..  I was just.. hoping I could actually celebrate my birthday.

23 has been hard. It’s been a bitch, quite frankly. It had a good start… I can’t complain about being a Disney princess for a day and being allowed to run rampant around Disneyland… But 23 had a lot of heartache too… a lot of harsh lessons learned and way too much time spent alone. The reality is that I like having a community.. I like knowing people, having friends.. and yes, I like that I am with someone that isn’t afraid of their kinky side… that is as open about it as I am and doesn’t go by some double name (I’m sure there’s a blog post about that sometime in the future).

I am… exhausted. Emotionally wrecked at the moment. But I’m in a state where I can work in the not so artistic way. Get me like this and I can haul ass.. Eye on the prize. I need a new home. And fuck it, I’m going to get it for my birthday. 24 is all new and shiny.. Possibilities are endless. And dammit I’m getting too old to be this lost for much longer. 24 will have grad school in it, this I can assure you.

And maybe, just maybe, I can get some cuddles, kisses, and bruises from James.. As busy as our lives can be he’s proven to be very good at making time when I need it..and knowing when I need it. Before I can fall and break he catches me and sets me back on my feet, then gives me just enough of a shove so that I can start walking again…

Gah. Okay. That sounded like a ball of mush even to me. I’m done spewing, promise.

Off to work now. HAUL ASS TIME!!!!

Yours, feeling old

-Rena

The Man That Came Back

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I love Rocky Horror nights.

I grew up with Rocky Horror. I’ve gone to shows in five different cities across the country, helped out in a few crews, had a couple very brief appearances as Colombia on one cast when I was skinny enough to pull it off, and know every single damn thing you’re supposed to scream at the screen by heart.

I love Rocky Horror nights even more when they’re James’s Rocky Horror nights. His friends are awesome, the show is entertaining, it gets me to actually talk a little bit to people.. and I get actual alone time with my boyfriend.

I enjoy BaGG with James. I enjoy sitting in the back of the Citadel with him watching him take photos. I enjoy Wicked Grounds with him… But time alone with him is a special treat. It’s what makes my heart race and gets those stupid, silly grins plastered on my face, for no other reason other than we talk.. No filter, no one else butting in, just us. We go off on tangents, and smile, and laugh, and have inside jokes, and it makes Rocky Horror fifty thousand times more enjoyable.

And I LOVE Rocky Horror as is.

And so, at the end of the night of giggles and snuggles and kisses..and a little bit of kinky fuckery (because, let’s face it, it’s us) I said goodnight to my Sir and slipped inside smiling. It was late, but my landlord keeps odd hours, and it was also the first of the month. So I ran upstairs to give him my rent check.

He was stoned off his ass..and I’m not saying that in a mean way. I am very 4/20 friendly. But he..was no longer coherent. He told me when I gave him my check that what he was about to say had nothing to do with the check. He said he grew up in this house, that he had had a hard week, and that things were changing. That, because of a feeling, he was giving me my 60 days notice. He would meet with me tomorrow to discuss with me.

I was stunned. Shell shocked. I briefly begged for my apartment back out of sheer terror before my landlord sent me downstairs.

I vaguely remember fumbling for my phone. I don’t call James. I text him, quite happily, on a regular basis and poke him if he gets lost in Workland too long, but I don’t call. We’re both awkward as hell on the phone, we see each other a couple times a week normally, text a lot… I don’t call. Somehow, in my shell-shocked state I called him.

I was shaking, and crying. I needed him… That is a sickening feeling for me. Needing someone. I take great pride in being able to function perfectly well on my own. I clean up my own messes. I keep my life together. I get by on the skin of my teeth sometimes but dammit I get by. Normally the pride and that little bit of logic that I have keeps me from doing things like dialing my boyfriend’s number and sobbing into the phone until he turns around and drives back to my notapartment. Normally I wouldn’t have let him see me sobbing at all.

I have no memory of that lovely gap of time between after the phone call and before he came back. The next thing I remember after calling him was clinging to him and sobbing. He didn’t shrink, he didn’t drive away. He held me.. he calmed me down. I went from being alone and scared to being surrounded by warmth and safety and a calm voice telling me logical next steps. Post on Fetlife. Go on Craigslist. Post on Facebook. Put up specifics for him to re-post.

He let me ramble. I hiccuped and cried and shook and got his shirt all wet..I kept him up later when he had to go home for breakfast. He snuggled and kissed and nuzzled and talked to me in that voice that turns me into a melted puddle of warm and fuzzy. The voice that only comes out when we’re on our own. It’s the tone that goes along with things like kissing me on top of the head or pulling me to his chest, so that my head rests right under his chin…

When I would have worked myself up again he had me meet his eyes, focus on him. “Hey. It’s going to be alright. You know why? Because I said so.”

That was about where it dawned on me, in my sniffily state as I stood in his arms. He came back. He actually came back. I looked up at him, a little in awe, and ask him why.

He shrugged, his arms still around me. “You called…”

That’s never happened to me before… someone coming back like that.. The closest I came to a crisis with Kane was finding a cockroach in my bed and freaking out. I had called him, just wanting to hear his voice so that I could calm down and he sent me to voicemail, because it was too late and he needed his sleep for work tomorrow. James had to drive over an hour back to his place.. It was nearly dawn as it was. He could have told me just to go to sleep. My mind would have calmed down eventually, just as it did with the cockroach. Ewwww cockroach.

James came back.. He didn’t run when I freaked out. He calmed me down, gave me logical next steps, and made my racing mind slow down enough for me to actually see that it would be okay.

Something like this is… stressful, intimidating, and trying. I fall into routines really easily and like the comfort of routines. It’s easy to become complacent. To get used to a ‘normal’, and I admit that I have. I like my dinky little apartment… but there are some serious pros to moving. Poe no longer constantly getting fleas (and by constantly I mean he’s gotten four flea baths, been professionally groomed, the apartment has been bombed 3 times, he’s had 3 doses of Advantage and wears a flea collar… the struggle is real), my boyfriend not having to pop off a wheel to get in and out of my place.. Actually being able to shower with my boyfriend. Him not getting into a fight with my bathroom every time he comes over…

Dare I hope for a bath tub? Dare I dream? Ohhh bubble baths from time to time would be so nice…

And a non-psycho landlord who isn’t half out of his mind most of the time would be a huge plus.

I hope for positive things. Good changes.

Now to continue packing up my apartment, stalking Craigslist, and searching Fetlife for more kink friendly housing.

And just because Poe and I could really use a new home.. I’m looking for a room in the San Francisco Bay area. About $1000 a month budget. Must be cat friendly because of Poe. Kink friendly and wheelchair accessible both pluses. `If anyone knows of anything… Contacting me is definitely okay.

It’ll all be okay.. I have faith.. And in reality I am a very lucky girl.. I love who I belong to. I actually have a man who cares enough to come back when I need him…

How could things not end up being okay?

Yours, as always,

~Rena

Training Thoughts

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Yesterday was an exercise in “distract the pixie”, where I had been so determined to get my damn work done so that I could relax afterward and not stress as much about money.

Ha. Haha. HA.

The good thing that came out of this distraction was coffee with a friend of mine. Squeeks is a switch, and one of my few friends actually really close to my own age. She’s been in the scene even longer than I have, and is actually the reason that James and I ended up close. We’ve been friends for a good while now, but she moved back down to San Jose from San Francisco after graduating from college so I don’t see her nearly as much.

She was going to an event at the kink.com Upper Floor, I was putting off driving in circles. We both had time to kill, so I collected her from the Mission and we went to go catch up.

After much cuddles and a couple spankings to make the people in the coffee shop twitch (tee hee…) she started poking me about my relationship with James. She… kinda continually whopped the two of us upside the head until one of us finally asked the other out, and as I said she’s friends with both of us, so girl gossip happens. And so I smiled, and I giggled, and I sighed a bit, and I talked about being in a healthy relationship for the first time in a long while.. and how difficult it seemed to be for me to wrap my head around the feelings that had started to come up.

We started talking about Kane, and about how much damage he actually did to me keeping me a secret for so long. As much as I loved him, as much as I always will, there is a part of me very angry at him for how ashamed he acted of me. For all that he promised.. he disappointed a lot, and I still have quite a bit of trouble actually saying that certain things were purely his fault.

Casting blame on a Dominant has always been difficult for me, from the start. When something goes wrong my mind goes to “What did I do and how can I fix it?”, which isn’t always how it should be.

“It’s because of how you were trained,” Squeeks told me as we munched on our coffee house treats. “Consciously or subconsciously, you were trained to cast the blame on yourself, when a lot of us were trained the opposite. When my primary was training me he told me, over and over, ‘If something goes wrong it’s on me, not  you. I’m your Dominant, I’m your caretaker, and I’m supposed to have control of your care and your training. If that goes awry it’s on me, not you.’ You seem to always do the opposite. You shrink like you want to disappear or like you’re about to get hit with a newspaper. It’s not something you think about, it’s just something that happens. Your mind and body automatically respond that way.. it makes me sad.”

Honestly? It makes me sad too. I’m not quite sure where that reaction came from.. whether it’s a blender effect from a few bad relationships mushed together or from back in the beginning of this journey with the Cal and girlfriend debacle.. or even more ripple effect from Kane.. But it’s there, built in.

Retraining yourself is not the easiest thing in the world.. All of us have had to do it in different ways, with different behaviors. It took me a good 22 years to look in the mirror at myself and see someone beautiful and not a bloated whale who should be a size 2 looking back. It takes some months to get into a healthy exercise routine and see working out as a good thing to be enjoyed and not a painful struggle. Routines and thought patterns, once set, are extremely hard to shake.

… Like right now.. I’ve been fighting going to work, because it’s not nearly as fun as other things I could do, but I need the money, and coming up with all of my rent in a week is not a fun social experiment with Leather Alley coming up… so…

Time to start making some healthy mental habits. I’m off to work.. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Not that I’m that old… but still.. It’s hard to change mental patterns, but not impossible.

Especially given the right support, and a healthy environment..

Right. Work. Off I go!

Yours, as always

~Rena

Exploring New Ground

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Tomorrow I leave for Fusion, a Dark Odyssey event in Northern Maryland. The event consists of 5 days of kink, INTENSE kink, classes, bonding, camping, etc.

When I originally bought my ticket, I was in a very different place with a very different relationship dynamic. I bought it missing the connection I had felt at Surrender between D.O members, and with the hopes of further exploring a connection with somehow I had met at the event outside of the “crash, bang, boom” as he put it.

Now, going, it’s almost like starting from scratch. I am in something new and shiny with someone who just doesn’t do relationships (something I’ve heard over, and over, and over), who for some reason picked me. The question is, will he keep me or will I bore him?

I have been back in New Jersey almost a week visiting my family before Fusion (the excuse that allows me to go to the event)..and I am at the point of crawling out of my skin. I’m blessed to live in a kink bubble, where all of my friends are in the scene in some way. I didn’t even think about vanilla repercussions for kinky actions before I left. I asked James to mark. I don’t have a collar yet (and I don’t want one yet. I take the commitment of a collar seriously. It’s something that’s earned with time and not something that appears just because you say you’re in a relationship with someone) and I needed something for my frazzled subby mind to feel claimed when I’m going to an event where many MANY others will be touching, and taking, and fucking, and spanking me. And, short term, it worked. I love when he bruises me. I wear the marks with pride.

…My parents…not so much. Hearing what I do is one thing. Seeing visible proof of the type of relationship I am in? … Probably a bit too much for them, along with me trying to justify why I have the marks. “I’m going to be gone for so long, and I’m going to a big kink event without my significant other. Seeing the marks makes me feel possessed even when he isn’t here.”

…Bad choice of words resulting in multiple lectures about how “loose” I’ve become. I’ve written multiple times about how open minded my parents are, and they really are. They will just always see me as their little girl, and processing the fact that their little girl craves being bruised and marked up is too much for most parents that I know, even mine.

Fusion… I’m still torn about it. Yes, I’m excited. I got my tent. I’ve got the extra phone chargers, a rough schedule of what I’m up to, a notebook for classes, more outfits than GODDE because dammit I’m gonna look cute if I’m gonna be photographed. But I’m still nervous. I know Smith and I will cross paths, along with his partner, and I’m not sure what will bother me more. If he acknowledges me or if he doesn’t. I don’t care about any kinky fuckery we engaged in. I care about the loss of a friend… so much so apparently that I’ve had rather vivid nightmares depicting multiple reactions from him if we cross paths. Why am I going on my own? Why did I think this was a good idea???

Before I left for my trip back east I stopped by to visit my friend Lexi. She humors me and listens to me ramble…probably much too much… and I did indeed ramble about James. It’s been a while since someone has gotten to me as much as he has, gotten under my skin, and she let me gush about how sweet he is, let me ramble about how nervous I was and how new and shiny things were and what on fucking earth was I doing. She smiled when I squeed about being in a relationship again..actually being someone’s girlfriend where that someone is willing to show me off to people. I exist, everyone knows it..and it’s a nice novelty after being a secret and a second choice.

We talked about my worries about Smith and any conflict between him, his partners, and I. She just laughed. “You’re not a drama starter, pixie”, she told me. “You’re not going to go looking for a fight you don’t want. Besides, before if they messed with you they were messing with me, along with others. Now?” She laughed. “They’re messing with James. Not something someone does unless they have a death wish. He chose you, sweetie. That means a LOT, especially from him. He doesn’t take someone on lightly.”

Logically, I know all this. But logic and I don’t always get along, especially when emotions get involved.

The logic of “I am his” slowly gets worn away by days trapped in a time warp 3000 miles away. I love my family, I do, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been gone from my kinky little world, especially for this long. There’s only so many times I can say “I miss you” and not feel pathetic.. which I kinda do. It hasn’t been that long. It’s been a week. I’ve done long distance relationships where I went months without seeing my boyfriend and I was okay.. But I also skyped with that person, and had nightly phone calls, and sent photos back and forth and… yeah.

I’ve mentioned before how tactile I am. How I need touch from a partner. Being away from someone who I’m used to all but mauling me twice a week while immersed in this time warp environment has not been good for my girl brain, at all. He’s given me time.. he texts me when he can, and I appreciate that. I smile every damn time I see a text message from him. But I keep waiting for something to go wrong.

Because when I was with Kane and I came home, something always did.

Not a single holiday passed when we were dating where I wasn’t crying, missing the connection between he and I. I would go weeks without hearing his voice and seeing his face and it would KILL the part of me that craves connection. Trying not to go into panic mode with James when I’m this far away for this long has been an interesting challenge. He doesn’t do selfies, can’t Skype, and has shitty phone reception.. so my options are limited to words showing up on a screen. And I can feel the disconnect, the removal from the world I’m normally happily a part of.

When I’m fully immersed in the SF Kink scene I have no jealousy issues, and no self-doubt issues. I can tell from the way James looks at me that I am his, even when he goes off and spanks others, kisses others, etc. Most of the time I’m such a voyeur that I love to watch him do bad things to others, and the idea of watching him bottom for someone actually turns me on quite a lot.

Tonight, my jealousy spiked, along with my insecurities, while I was packing for camp. I was texting with James and he told me that he had recently reconnected with an old friend, and that they had bitten him last night.

Girl brain did very bad things. My lovely girl brain immediately tail spinned, going “That’s it! That’s the bad thing! You’re about to be downgraded, girl. Forget keeping that girlfriend title, forget having that talk about being his primary partner. FORGET IT. There’s no way you can compete with someone he has history with, especially when you’re this far away for this long. Of course he’s playing with someone else! You’re practically unreachable for almost a month. What did you expect?”

Now, logically I realize that my girl brain is on crack. A man like James does not randomly go “Ummm… YOU! I pick you!” after years of not having a relationship and just drop them like nothing. I know he cares about me. But I feel so damn isolated out here, and he’s out there having fun, and seeing friends, and playing.. and all my insecure bits say, “This is a very new relationship.. perhaps too new to survive you being gone this long…”

I am scared of Fusion, but I also think I need it to get my head back on straight. I am a kinky little creature. I’ve gotten into a pattern of play, between BaGG and dungeon parties, and too long without it does not make for a happy pixie. Specifically, and I hate admitting this, too long without seeing James. Without kneeling at his feet, or curling up next to him, attempting and failing to brace myself for the slaps and nails and kisses that make my knees week. I want to see what this other kink community is like… and I admit, I’ve enjoyed planning things with James in mind. I’m putting myself out there with getting photos taken. I normally hide from the camera at all costs… but I’m with a voyeur, and I aim to please.

This is new ground for me all around.. new kink event, new relationships, new boundary lines with the parental units…

Time to finish packing.

Yours a little out of sorts..but I’m getting there

-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

The Shrinking Man

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I love the Dominant men I’m involved with, in their different ways for the different relationships I have with them. I’ve gotten the closest to three; the man that found me, the man that owns me, and the man that pushes me. Each relationship is radically different from the last, with different levels of closeness.

Despite all the differences between the men and the relationships I’ve had with them they, along with most Dominant men I’ve met, have had a common trait; one that often clashes with the submissives in their care.

Submissives, by nature, are made to share. To be emotionally honest. To share every last detail, last thought, with the Dominant men in their lives so that the Dominants can be assured that their submissive is healthy, physically and emotionally, and that this relationship is still okay for both of them. In essence, we talk a lot. We share a lot. We can yammer until we’re blue in the face, especially if we’re nervous (just ask Kane…).

Dominants, from my experience, tend to do the opposite. They take any emotional burdens in on themselves. They want to process through emotional stuff on their own. Smith gave me the term “shrinking man”. He’s admitted to shrinking when he’s upset, or going through a hard time. He pulls away, gets quiet. Trying to balance and talk to submissives turns into another emotional burden, making the situation worse.

There’s nothing wrong with not being an emotional talker, with not wanting to express every last emotion and empty out what’s going on in your head. It’s just such a different approach than most submissives take on communication and processing emotions. This can be a bit of a mental mindfuck for subs, especially inexperienced ones.

This journal entry hits close to home for me.. it’s something I personally struggle with, seeing those I care about in emotional turmoil but being unable to help as they help me. A Dominant’s job is to be able to put together all the pieces of their submissive. To know what makes them tick. Know what their triggers are. In that knowledge, they ease their submissive during tough times more so than anyone else. Kane is the first man to see me at my worst, my most depressed, and know exactly how to bring me back from the emo ball of doom that I was in. He did it so easily, so effortlessly, that I hadn’t even noticed what he was doing until after, when I was curled up in his arms and my mood was 20 times lighter.

As a submissive, it’s hard not to feel like a failure when you can’t do the same for your Dominant, or a Dominant in your life. We want to make everything better, to please, it’s a need for us. We need to make it better… or we’re not doing our job, right?

Wrong. This can be the HARDEST thing for a submissive to process. Submissives, who are groomed to be emotionally open and pleasing and cause pleasure for those they care for and trust.

Sometimes you just can’t make it better, and that’s okay.

You, as a submissive, are not a failure if you can’t pull a Dominant in your life out of his funk or mood. It’s hard, because your focus is on them, You get pleasure from their pleasure..and if there is no pleasure for them… falling into their spiral of unhappiness is all too easy. “Why should you be happy” the bad voices say “if they aren’t? Why should you do well, take care of yourself, when you can’t take care of them?”

Because, in the end, taking care of yourself is your job. Yes, you gain pleasure from pleasing Dominants. Yes, I’m sure you care about the Doms in your life, probably even love some of them, or all of them, or one of them. Maybe you only have one spectacular Dominant man in your life who owns you, and you completely come undone for him. Maybe you have other players in the band who don’t have quite that much power over you, but let you come undone all the same. No matter how many men you have holding the flogger in the wings, you are, in the end, your Dominant’s prized possession. If you are not in working order, not taking care of yourself, you cause so much more harm than good.

The easiest way to help a Dominant who cares about you is to care for yourself. Keep going, Don’t shrink when he does, but don’t push either. Continue with your day to day life and do things that make you happy. Keep yourself okay, so that when they’re okay again you’re emotionally healthy enough to really be in their lives. It’s okay to be supportive, to let them know that you are there if they want to talk, or lean on you.. or, you know, beat some of their frustrations out on you if that’s your thing. But it needs to be okay with you, subby sub, if they say “Thank you, but I have to get through this on my own.” It’s not personal, it’s not against you. You are not a bad submissive. Your Dominant is just human, just like you are. Humans have flaws; cracks in their armor, even humans you worship, kneel in front of, and beg to use you for their pleasure. Dominants are not gods.

Polyamory adds a whole other twist to the mental mindfuck of pleasing the Shrinking Man. My friend says often that polyamory helps make you a better you, and that each partner helps bring out different parts of yourself. That may mean that when Mr. Domly Dom goes into shrink mode he turns to another partner instead of you.

This is not a personal attack, subby sub. You are in that person’s care for a reason. They play with you, or date you, or do wonderfully wicked things to you, or snuggle with you, for a reason. If you are in their lives, you hold importance to them and you have to remember that. Polyamory is a juggling act, making sure that every partner feels special and unique and secure in their particular relationship with you. That particular relationship may mean that another partner shoulders the heavier emotions so that your particular relationship with Dommy Dom remains healthy.

I have heard it said, and have said myself, that being a Dominant is a damn hard job. Supporting your submissive, anticipating their needs, and thinking of 12 different outcomes to one event is hard work. But being a submissive can be hard as well. It takes courage to submit, and strength in knowing when to submit and when to merely support. Don’t let the shrinking scare you off from the Dommy Dom, and please don’t read this thinking that all Doms shrink. Hopefully, this will just help a couple subs navigate emotionally choppy waters if it does happen. If you support the people in your lives, and still manage to support yourself, you are a good submissive. Keep going. Things will get better.

Yours hopefully helpful,

Rena