Tag Archives: submissive

Kept

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“OH! How cute. A lock on your necklace. That’s an adorable idea. I like the look.”

I hadn’t even thought the lock was visible. I smiled and reached for it, a habit that I’ve started developing since I got back from North Carolina at the end of the month. It’s just a luggage lock for right now, nothing fancy. Durable. Enough to last me until April when Ace will be in town for job interviews. But it’s a little lock with a lot of meaning.

James is the only man to own me, really own me, and there’s a part of me still that is very much his. He knows this. I know this. And so do my partners and friends. It’s.. kinda obvious. As much as there are moments when I miss high protocol I don’t feel a need to be owned by another. Being called ‘mine’ is.. lovely and goes straight to my loins whenever it’s growled in my ear. But the thing is, it is growled in my ear again. Just in a different way. 

Ace and I have known each other for a LONG TIME, at least long for us being humans in our late twenties and early thirties. I was a damn virgin when he and I started speaking, so kink was far off on the horizon of innocent little high school me. Because of that, the kink between he and I is so different than other partners where the relationships were established around kink. I stopped searching for vanilla partners a long time ago. If you seek me out and you aren’t at least french vanilla or have a cinnamon twist hiding somewhere I’m fairly certain I’ll eat you for supper at this point… So, in establishing new dynamics kink is often at the forefront.

With a dynamic like Ace and I, the kink ends up secondary to the actual partnership. It’s partially because he and I have so much history, and partially because of the fluidity in which we switch. In the span of one scene we’ve played the ‘who’s on top’ game countless times, and it’s FANTASTIC, but makes it almost impossible to continually call him ‘Sir’ with a straight face. 

Our kink was also established long after other dynamics were in place. Chris, who I’ve called my Sir since the beginning, and I have been playing for three and a half years at this point. I am purely submissive to him. Aeonyse, Ace’s other partner that will be joining us in the Bay come June, is purely submissive to Ace and has always called him Sir (..this sometimes makes me giggle). All this has led to Ace and I having to look at our dynamic, or needs, and see what terms and connections actually work for he and I. 

What we came up with was that he is my Keeper. This has turned into a HUGE point of reassurance with the whole Ryan clusterfuck (still unresolved. We haven’t seen each other since 2018. It’s March. Sigh) and so many other changes coming up. The move. Job transition to school. New career path. Wedding. Babies. EEEEEEPPPPPPPP.

Ace as my Keeper and the phrasing he uses around that has also silenced many brain squirrels from eons past, during a time when there was no chance I would ever come first in Ace’s world. He and I have had many ‘near relationships’ over the years, where there were feels and passion and desire all there, aaaand also a wife. And distance. And, life. Many times over the years we got very close and then it would stop. We would have to go back to being platonic, or he would sneak text messages after being told for the twentieth time that he was not allowed to contact me. Sometimes he would listen to that order for a couple of months and there would be no contact at all. I never expected him to stay. I never expected that in the end he would actually choose me. 

I have an amazing meta and friend that is also a life and relationship coach. She taught me about her system of ‘things’, these key phrases that she sometimes needs to hear from her partners that are the perfect reassurances for her brain squirrels. She says the ones that they need in return. Both Ace and I lose words when we are in bad head spaces, and having our own ‘things’ has helped pull me back on more than one occasion when all we’ve had were words we could say over the phone. Mine are fairly simple. 

I choose you.
I’m going to K/keep you.
I love you.
I’m not going anywhere.
We’ve got this.

Being Kept is safety, not ownership. There is no high protocol, though there are times when I kneel at his feet and call him Sir. There are times when he kneels and calls me Ma’am. It is safety. It’s.. the odd magick that Ace and I possess, that’s been there from the beginning. 

The first time I met Ace face to face I remember the shock of the ‘zing’ of connection, and the feeling of home that I felt in being around him. I don’t co-sleep easily with folks and typically choose my bed as my sanctuary, and it was a shock to sleep comfortably and through the night not only with him, but with him wrapped around me and holding me. When I close my eyes and hold on to the lock, I get that feeling. That peace of the warmth of being beside him, the calm of hearing his heart beat and steady breathing as he sleeps. The melty feeling when your body just fits perfectly locked with someone else’s and you wonder how on earth that magick can happen. 

The last night of a six day long visit in February Ace and I went in search of my lock. I’ve had a ‘mark’ from him around my neck for many months now, and it doesn’t come off. But it’s had a clasp. It could come off. And I realized over time that I did not want it to. I wanted that reminder that someone’s got me. Someone is there to catch me when I fall. He’s human. There are times when he will be overwhelmed and when our brain squirrels won’t play well together, and I know that. But he’s also proved that he can communicate that when necessary and will still do what he can to take care of me when I am not okay. Ace has stepped up and proven time an time again that I am indeed his. That he is fully choosing me, not hiding me in the shadows anymore. That he wants an actual life with me. I wanted an anchor of that reminder, something physical, for when it’s hard to remember and we can’t be physically together. And so, we decided that my mark should lock. 

It’s a little luggage lock for now. Nothing fancy. Solid. Reassuring. I still got on my knees in front of him when he pulled it out. He slipped the clasp off my mark as I bent my head. “Are you sure about this?” My head went up at his voice. “Because I’m sure. I want you to be.” 

I am. The response was confident. The lock clicked. He grinned and put the key in the box he keeps his engagement ring in, the one I gave him. I melted.

I was going home with a lock around my neck. The key would be 3000 miles away. And I honestly felt perfectly safe. Held. Kept. I had a home. One that would build into a household, a polyfam. A life 

There are pieces missing in my overall life, but I am so blessed. I am Kept. I am cherished. I am loved. I am his.

And as always, dear reader. I am yours, with so much more to come.

-Rene

 

 

Same Book, Different Chapters

Hello world.. It’s been a while. And I’m still here. Words are just hard sometimes.

Life right now is a sea of polarities and changes, and getting it all down.. There isn’t enough time. There aren’t enough words. I came much too close to disappearing.

I suppose first news.. I’m engaged. Which is odd. And mind boggling. And something I check in about probably far more than I should. My sweet Ace asked me to marry him on October 17,2018. Knowing I need to be poly. Knowing that there would be other partners, as he has another nesting partner. Knowing I want babies. Knowing all the things and loving me anyway. He has loved me, and even wanted me, for a very, VERY long time and is the happily ever after I never thought I would have. We were never supposed to end up together. We met in a chat room over a decade ago and over two thousand miles apart. We’ve always been long-distance and, I admit, not always been ethical. And he, my metamour, and a couple of kiddos will be joining me in the Bay. Ace comes in May, and my meta and the kids come in June.

Ace is flourishing as a top, which.. I’ve needed. But he is not a sadist. He can’t beat me. He’s not an impact top.

James and I are healthier than we’ve been in a long while. He’s been an incredible friend, and has dealt with the barrage of questions from friends about how he feels about me getting married. Just because I said yes to Ace doesn’t mean I would say no to interactions and adventures with James. He knows I love him to the moon and back. Lately he’s been one of the few safe places I’ve had. One of my few kink connections that I know I can lean on. The poor man has absorbed more of my tears in the last few months..but we are still on uncertain ground as far as playing goes. I asked him. I hit a wall after months of not playing with any sort of impact and I asked. He asked me why. And I told him that he was safe. He wouldn’t ask for more. He knows me inside and out. And he knows… I’m not all there right now. A soft yes turned into a maybe as the weeks have gone by and I find myself.. Still starving.

I hadn’t been to the Citadel in months. I fell into a foolish trap, and I didn’t even realize it until I was too far gone to undo the damage. Ryan and I haven’t seen each other since 2018. We talk, every day. We still do good morning and good night rituals. We play video games together, over distance. But he hasn’t seen me since December. We haven’t played since November. And we stopped having sex over the summer. We tried talking to a relationship coach and instead of tackling the issues it became that everything was my fault and I needed to change. And I did what I always do. I adapted, I changed, I bent backwards. I cried, and mourned, and.. have been slowly coming to terms with the fact that my Daddy has become the most toxic human in my life.

I still wear my mark.
I haven’t called him Daddy since 2018.
Everything hurts.

I was waiting to go to the Citadel with HIM. Waiting for him to be excited for BaGG again (he stopped going in November, taking away our easiest play venue). Waiting for him to make room for me again.. And he hasn’t. He didn’t. And I’m still processing that because my silly squishy mind loves him so damn fucking much that I can’t make myself walk away. I can’t make myself say “we need to talk”. And I know I need to. Poor James and Cal have heard hours of me sobbing and crying and…breaking.

And so much of of me is breaking. Is dying. The part of me that is a little is this sad, shattered thing right now too scared to show itself most of the time.

The part of me that is, and has always been a kinkster…

I went to the Citadel for the first time in months last Friday, for Bent, a party that James has worked for years. He encouraged me to come hang out and even poked my squishy sub side, asking if I would fetch sushi for him. I had to get him sushi by me and not our go-to place in Japantown..but fetching helped my brain a little. It was the most submissive thing I had done in a long time. I never thought I would miss things like sweeping someone’s floor and doing someone’s dishes but..

Sigh.

I watched. I watched a lot, and I wanted.. But I’m aware that I’m hurting too much to reach out for new connections. And I am also aware that one of the things that would greatly help the hurting is play. I watched James practice throw a new whip onto a spanking bench and it took everything in me not to launch myself onto the damn bench. I am starving. I need impact. Hard, pushing me to my limit impact. I need to break on the cross. I need marks. I need metal and whips and canes and all the things that make me fly.

And I don’t have anyone safe to do that with right now. My safe person was Ryan. He was who scratched my D/s itch.

Now…

The mental play from Ace helps, but he’s still 3000 miles away until April.

Is it horrible to say that I desperately need the ever-living crap beaten out of me? Probably. Still saying it.

For now, most of my D/s is fantasy. I’m re-reading and listening to the books and stories that got me into kink to begin with, and when I don’t miss it so much. I am the single friend at BaGG, smiling for all my friends that have coupled up while I was stuck and trying to save a relationship that had dug itself so deep into my soul.

I am in a sea of people that all know me and adore me, and I feel so utterly alone. There is no one that can catch me in the way that I need. No one that can let me fly. No one that can push those D/s buttons that I desperately need pushed. And. I’m dealing with that best I can. Some days are much easier than others. Some days my demons eat me alive and I look back on who I was and I miss her. I miss that human that would skip through the dungeon from one scene to another and go home black and blue with a smile on my face.

Bright side. It’s been so long since I played that I may actually bruise.
Down side. I have no idea what my pain tolerance is anymore. I doubt I’m still a heavy bottom.

But it would be nice to know.

I have a newer partner, Seth, that’s been living on my couch, in now in my roommate’s room, since July (my roommate of two years moved out last week). He is wonderfully flawed, a sweet cowboy that is slowly learning the world of BaGG and the misfits I call my family. He’s a country boy from the middle of nowhere, so all that city noise can be a bit too much for him but he tries. He tries with me too, encouraging me to call him Papa Bear and giving me space to little. He can’t hit me. He tries with that too. He will smack my ass sometimes during sex (and to be clear the sex is VERY GOOD. It’s just very vanilla in many ways) and bite me a little. But, it’s band aids when I need stitches. He’s put up with me so much. He’s supported me through the bad nights when I’ve come home sobbing over what asshole thing Ryan has done next. He’s a good, wonderful human that I’m blessed to have in my life.

I have others. A beautiful woman that I’ve begun seeing and that I’ve played with. It was quite fun… it made me squeak.

I need to scream.

I have a sweet Australian that returns from time to time and makes me feel like a goddess. I’ll see him again in March for a lovely weekend up in the mountains at hot springs.

I need to cry.

I am..functioning. Mostly. Hurting. But functioning.

Another biggie I should probably mention is… well. There’s been a bit of shift in gender identity. I cut off all my hair and shaved the sides, so now I have ‘the’ stereotypical queer haircut. She and her are still okay, but over the last few months they/them has become increasingly more comfortable to identify as. I don’t like Miss. I like Mx.

I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m hurting. But I’m growing. I’m back in the studio. I’m working hard at my job. I’m building a family.

 

I just miss flying. I hope I haven’t forgotten how.

It has been a long time, but I am still yours, dear reader

-Rene

When the World Comes Crashing Down

There’s no how-to for the worst. No one likes to talk about the hard truths of M/s or 24/7 dynamics; that they are hard, almost impossible to maintain. That they require time and energy and commitment on both ends. That they can be draining on vanilla life. On your mental health. That unless you have the spoons and tools and time to put into it, that you shouldn’t do it. M/s is BEAUTIFUL, but there are degrees in it. No one tells you any of these things until it’s too late. This is the letter I needed to see a little over two years ago.

Dear little lost one,

Breathe. I know it hurts. I know everything is on fire and numb all at once, but you need to breathe. It’s going to hurt long before it gets better.

Put away the phone. Out of sight, a little bit less in mind. I know you don’t want to hear this, but distance is the best thing in the world for you right now. You’re not going to wake up and have everything suddenly get better. You can’t undo what’s been done, nor should you. The world is different. There was a collar and now there isn’t. It’s okay to hurt, to feel it. It’s okay to cry, and scream like an animal, but don’t get lost in it. Each time it feels like too much close your eyes and breathe. Get through the pain bit by bit.

Next challenge is eating. No one is going to tell you to. Not even if you check that phone that should still be living in your purse for another week or so. Nothing is going to taste good. But like I said, it’s going to hurt a lot before it gets better and it can’t get better if you die of malnutrition along the way. Instant meals are your friend, for now. Consume as needed.

You don’t have to pretend that it’s all okay. I know it isn’t. Your direction is gone, and that’s terrifying. Your protector is gone. Your safe space is suddenly the most painful thing in your life. You aren’t anyone’s.

Here’s the thing. Before you were anyone’s, you were yourself.

There was a time before the collar, just as there will be a time after, and while it’s hard to remember through the haze of pain you survived without the collar around your neck. Without a man called Master giving directions. Without having to ask permission for dates, and food, and play.

Now that you’re breathing, your phone is safely hidden, and you’ve gotten some food in your stomach here’s what you do.

Keep a healthy distance to allow time and space for healing. Do NOT go to a play event two days after breaking up and try to get him to spank your ass. Do NOT then drive him home and have to sit alone in a car with him till 5 am wondering if he will touch you or not. He won’t, and it will continue to confuse the fuck out of the reality that you two are done and everything is different.

Please understand that I am friends with a good portion of exes and former lovers. I’ve identified more and more as Demi as time has gone on. It takes an emotional closeness for me to want to be fucked senseless (although trust me, that’s there), and more often than not that means a fantastic friendship is built up before romance. Even after a romantic relationship ends I have typically resurrected a friendship in its place, but that takes time. A breakup puts you much further back than the beginning. You’re not starting at zero. You’re starting at -100 for trust, caring, intuition…did I mention TRUST? All of that takes time to heal, and won’t be easy. Time apart before trying to sew any sense of relationship together is a very, very good idea. It will feel strange, but until you’ve put yourself back together and remembered who you were before you were a WE there’s nothing to be rebuilt.

You can’t go back in time. Wanting you two back together is one thing, but don’t try to resurrect what was when you spend time together. It will be very hard to call him your ex. It will be hard to say friend. Or former partner. Practice it, to yourself. And no, you’re not a freak for doing so. Practice saying his name instead of Master or Sir, over and over, until you stumble less. It’s not a curse word. It’s not too informal, and sometimes it can hurt less to say “Oh James and I aren’t together” rather than, “My ex Master”. Especially if his first name is foreign to you after having titles for so long. That little bit of the unfamiliar can give you a little extra time to adjust and heal. That phase of the relationship is over. There’s no definite on what will happen after, but you and them part one is closed.

Come up with a mantra or sentence for sticky and overly-painful situations where you don’t quite have the words. Like when someone asks you how your Master is and you just want to cry. Or scream. Or flip him the bird because he’s across the room and could see you do it. It’s going to be hard to respond with what you need to, that you two aren’t together anymore. There are going to be nights when you have to repeat it five, ten, twenty times because of circles you two run in, and it’s going to be a lot easier for the one that removed the collar than for the one missing it. These tough situations often mean freezing, or saying ‘good’ out of habit instead of answering with the long mouthful that is the truth. This will end in trouble if not remedied. Nothing causes waves more than the idea of you denying the breakup, and not being able to spit out that mouthful will look to your former partner as if that is what you’re doing. The phrase will absolutely suck, but give it time. It does eventually hurt less.

Decide what level you wish to be involved in the community. Or rather, what is a healthy level for you to be so. Relationships tend to change our relationships with the communities around them. Some need a break to recover. Others want to throw themselves back in at full speed

Be careful with breakup burnout. It’s a thing, where suddenly you go from taken to banging everything that moves until you crash and burn into an emo pile of woe and angst. Breakup rebounds are legit, just be careful you don’t throw yourself in with such gusto that you forget to feel the feels. And yes, feeling the feels is required. Numbing it with others won’t work. They’re not going to be able to itch that scratch that only one specific top cam, no matter how many souls you bottom for. It won’t make that itch go away. You’ll still want that specific touch, and the more you try to replace it with others instead of letting yourself feel the pain the more likely you’re going to cause more emotional trauma.

You matter as more than just “X’s Girl”. I know that’s hard to fathom after being someone’s is your entire identity. You were someone’s. Now, you are you, and that can be an amazing thing in and of itself. I know it seems like a lonely thing right now, but it being you and not the Master you always hide behind gives you space to sparkle. Be seen. And yes, you do deserve to be seen and you are worthy. Give it time. Give it some play parties that you go to alone, maybe ones you never went to with him. Give it nights out with friends that know just how to distract you and maybe even dates with other partners (especially if you’re poly).

In time, your relationship with your former Master may not be what you would want, but it will be what you need. It’s hard. You want them to scoop you up again and call them yours and bite you. But then you see the bags under their eyes, even when they aren’t having to worry about scheduling you in. You see lack of room for a partner, or all these issues you never noticed were there. Do you want to rebuild a friendship? Do you want to distance yourself and wait it out and see where romance could go? Do you want to continue to adapt to he changing relationship, or do you want to cut the chord. Guess what? You aren’t a slave in this choice. You have equal say in whatever this future will become.

Rebuilding anything will take time, and it very likely will not give you your hearts desire, but rebuilding at the start of friendship allows something unique. Suddenly your former Master is a man. He’s taken off his high horse and is human just like the rest of the men and women around you. Suddenly, flaws are visible. You watch and see mistakes. You see where something is his fault, or where he caused that. You see that not everything that went wrong was your fault. That there were two flawed humans in a relationship and sometimes that doesn’t end well.

You were human. So was he. That is allowed. And here, with formalities removed, you have the power to tell him no. To say something is too much. To call him an asshole and unfair when he’s being an asshole and unfair. You have the power to ignore your phone, and to avoid interactions and to draw boundary lies.

You both have the power to say what you two adapt into. That may mean a platonic friendship, that may mean a new romantic relationship with a switched up dynamic. That may mean both of you going separate ways down different paths. Either way, you will go on. You are more than just your Master’s. IF your brain is unkind and tells you that the opposite is true, you can always count on this.

Your Master picked you for a reason. There was something about you, in the beginning, that drew their eye. It was there before. It will be there again to draw another eye. You are so much more than just your Master’s, and if anything you will grow from this experience. It will hurt, and ache, and I can’t guarantee or promise that itch to be under that particular hand will ever be scratched for another. It hasn’t for me. I can’t promise that there will be a time that you aren’t hyper aware that he’s there, or what his needs are, or if he’s sick or tired or cranky.

I can say that in time you will laugh again. That food will taste good again. That eventually the hurt lessens, even if the small ache never quite goes away. You will come away knowing yourself better, both in what is healthy for you emotionally, and what you have the capacity to overcome. You are so much stronger than you think you are. Let a powerful relationship teach you, not bring you down.

I learned from my collar coming off that I was resilient as fuck. That I mattered in the community as more than James’s sqeaky toy and somewhere along the line had become an asset to them. I learned how to properly get in to a Citadel event when you weren’t a plus one, and discovered that I enjoyed being able to get myself in without the help of others. I enjoyed once again choosing what kink events I was involved in and which ones I missed. I controlled my schedule and didn’t have to double check with another every time I made plans.

You are so much more than what you think. You are capable of so much more. It’s okay to change with the loss of a collar. I can’t wear collars that lock, it’s a hard limit for me now. It’s much easier to be led by a harness than by a leash. I don’t submit as deeply as easily as I once did. There are lots of trust road blocks, and often play dynamics go at a very slow burn buildup for me. But I discovered a dynamic I didn’t even know existed in me with the partner that followed my Master, and while some itches aren’t being scratched so many new ones are. Different is very okay, and there’s so much more out there than M/s.

There is more than just this relationship. You will keep going. You will be okay.

Yours, then and now

Rene

 

 

 

 

 

Three Necessary Pieces

I was having a rough time of it last Wednesday, so much so that I decided that going to BaGG that evening would be too much for my fatigued body.

I was hitting drop from all angles and just needed to go home. At that moment in time, however, I couldn’t. I didn’t have my wallet. Foolish me had forgotten it in a jacket pocket back at the apartment and I was waiting on my roommate to bring it when she came to BaGG. On top of that, I hadn’t gotten to duel with James yet.
He rolled in when I was lost in melancholy thoughts and pulled me out of them, slamming me with a new brutal deck that I both hated and loved at the same time. There was no way that he didn’t see how eager I was; that he missed my eagerness when I begged for a duel. It remains our play; as safe as it can be nowadays. We are incomplete, he and I. The story isn’t finished, and forcing chapters to completion hasn’t helped. Because of this, we’ve mostly just left it be. I push back when I need to. Like with Surrender; I begged for photos of my partners and I and pressed how important it was that they get captured (an entry for Surrender shall follow later). And he did as I asked, often taking shots when I was too far gone to notice where the camera flash was coming from; piqued in an intense orgasms or being shocked by a violet wand. He’s good like that; capturing those unfathomable moments, but I digress.
I’ve been through four Surrenders and seven cons total; con-drop is not new to me. I knew to pace myself, to give myself Monday off from work, to sleep in and self-care. What I hadn’t expected was the whole separate drop when Ace left.
At the very beginning of our dueling a dear friend, Sage, joined us in our little corner of Wicked Grounds. She passively worked while commenting on our game from time to time, chuckling when James made me curse or when I begged for mercy. When his alarm went off to go over to the club James pulled me into one of his REAL hugs and humored me; he let me bury my face in his hair, relax in his arms for the briefest of moments and let the tension leave my body. There is still something about James’s scent that drives me bat shit; I’ve never been able to figure it out and I’ve never been able to shake it, but in moments when I am at my limit I am grateful for that fact. I’m grateful for the knowledge that a hug and a moment of touch from James is usually enough to calm me down.
Sage remained behind after James rolled off to the club, worried eyes on me. She asked what was wrong and I explained that I was just feeling… off. That I was tired and feeling at my emotional limit and just wanted to go home. A call to my roommate had informed me that she was still 40 minutes out and I was done, so very done. And frustrated without enough gas to get me back.
“And it’s been..how long since Ace left? 24 hours?” They had met at the con when Ace was on security duty and I was curled up at his feet. She had seen him throughout Surrender and began singing his praises when I told her it was his first con, ever.
The truth is, Ace had blown me away that weekend. I hadn’t expected him to take to Surrender like a duck to water, and he had. He made new friends with ease and giggled each time he mentioned my name to find that these new friends knew me already. He excitedly gobbled up information from classes, learning for himself, for me, and for my dear meta (his nesting partner) back home. He even got in a little pick up play and was a good, brave boy and bottomed to me. He paced himself well, ate when he needed to, and blended into my crowd as if he had always been there. And it had felt like he had. My Ace, my constant anchor, navigated my world with shocking ease that there was so much reluctance to give him back. I knew I had to, and know that I always will, but it was not easy.
Ryan, on the other hand, struggled more. He attempted to make new connections but I saw him drifting back to knowns. He circled back to me whenever I was working and spent more time messaging me on shifts than socializing with new people. Another bottom he plays with was also at the event, but with restrictions that prevented him from playing. He kept me going and pleased me to the best of his ability, but having never been through a con didn’t know how to pace himself. He was burnt out by early Sunday evening, unable to do the final scene that he and I had talked about. And yet still, even while he was burning out completely, he took me to the hotel restaurant to make sure I was fed and not crashing with five more hours left that evening.
And then there’s James.. Balancing Ryan and Ace, while also remembering what Surrender was, what it meant to James and I, was hard. There was an ache there when it reached late into Saturday and I hadn’t quite connected with James yet… It’s hard, with Ryan around. The two butt heads at an almost toxic level at this point and don’t particularly social well with one another anymore. When Ryan left early on Sunday it was.. a slight relief. I drifted upstairs to a cigars and chocolates social and found James playing with the cigar cutters up there. We talked, joked, even flirted a little, and I made a point in saying that I would be there till the end and I wanted to say goodbye (the year before I hadn’t had the chance to because of my security shift and it..bothered me a great deal). We talked, shared stories, smiled…and I felt better.
I relayed all this to Sage when she asked about my Surrender, and she smiled as I voiced my frustrations over James and Ryan. “You know why they fight, don’t you?”
“Because they’re two Dominant assholes in a pissing contest?”

“Well, yes. But there’s more to it than that.” She paused. “Who has your collar?”
“But that doesn’t matter! The collar is null-en-void. It’s been discussed that if we restart we restart fresh and-”

“And you’re right. It doesn’t matter.. The restart, that is.” She smiled, sadly. “You love each other. It’s very apparent, even in small things. That love is very there, and very apparent to anyone with eyes. It’s only a little threatening to someone who wants to be important in your life, especially when you love the other person more.”
I sat, gobsmacked for a moment. I had been wrestling in my own head for months with my feelings for Ryan and James, trying to tell myself that those with Ryan were growing while those with James were fading.
“You two aren’t done, you and James. You aren’t in your final form yet. Right now, what you two are in is limbo, and it’s driving Ryan crazy. You two are either going to grow closer together or further apart, but until then the two are going to fight over you like open game because they both see you as their’s. Whether or not a certain red head admits it.” She smirked. “You are still his, Rene, and that’s okay. You’ve learned to live with that in a way that is much more healthy for both of you, but it’s a different type of love than what you have for Ryan.”
“And I do love both of them! I love Ryan very much!” And it’s true, I do, with a depth of feeling I didn’t think myself capable of.
“Oh, sweetie, I know you do. It’s just different.” And then my wise friend told me about three crucial love figures in ones life, and about how I was blessed to have all of them, whether or not they worked out.
There’s the one you learn from, the one love stories come from, and the one that stays.
Ryan is the one I learn from. Since being with him I have truly learned what self-care is, and how to better take care of myself and set my own limits. I eat better, sleep better, and I honestly relish being Daddy’s little girl. I feel taken care of, loved, cherished…but not claimed. It’s a soft love, a nurturing love. I enjoy doing his dishes, helping to tidy around the house, and yes, I enjoy the fantastic sex.. but even our rough is not too rough. There is a softness and a sweetness to Ryan that I cherish; a rarity that  you don’t often find in tops. There is also sometimes a cockiness about him in that Father Knows Best sort of way that often rubs me the wrong way.
“I had a Ryan for YEARS”, Sage shared with me. “He taught me so much about myself; how to live, how to be, how to help me be more me. I’m incredibly grateful for the time we had together, but it’s not the kind of mind blowing, bone-deep soul connection love I had with my James.” She locked eyes with me. “And you know exactly what I mean by that.”
She’s right. I do. James is the one my love stories come from. It is a bone-deep love that I can’t shake, no matter how I try. It’s why his scent gets to me, why I’m hyper sensitive to him being in a room. Why my loyalty to him just..doesn’t sway, doesn’t go away. Because those moments of sweetness exceed any others even as the sour moments destroy unlike anything else. He has the power to rip me in two; he always has. He almost did once. There remains this pull between us; this interaction that goes passed friends but doesn’t know where to extend beyond that. I can see why that’s a threat to Ryan; because if that gets re-established, then he gets bumped from spot one, and he knows that. Then James gets all the power again, and Ryan doesn’t want that. Right now, I don’t want that, but I miss sweet kisses and brutal hands.
“And then there’s your sweet boy”, Sage said, smiling wistfully, “the rarity we all search for. A gods honest everlasting love.”  The one that stays.
My Ace, my beautiful rarity. Without him, loving the other two would be impossible. He has been my anchor, platonicly and otherwise, for a decade now. When my engagement ended he was a text away. When my first boyfriend broke my heart I could call him. We Skyped to make each other laugh through the tears when his wife and him had a fight or I broke up with yet another partner. He’s always been there, the carrot dangling in front of my face just out of reach. While I may not be able to share a bed with him every night, and while our lives are in many ways very separate..they have always included the other. Even when we weren’t actively engaging with the other. When we lost contact I thought about him, and he about me, and we both knew that eventually one would reach out to the other and all would be right with the world again.
And so it was. And so it always will be.
If I didn’t have my Ace, I would not survive Ryan and James; the ebb and flow, up and down intensities of love. My good, sweet, mellow boy that takes to my world like a duck to water… because he’s always been there, and was always supposed to be there.
“You have what so many of us search for, especially those of us that are poly. You have managed to find an actual love of your life, and hold on to one another for all of this time.” She got tears in her eyes as she said this, and I smiled. “Is it any wonder that you’re dropping, honey, with all these moving parts in your life?”
No, it was no wonder..and after the talk with Sage so much more made sense. There is a lingering of guilt there, for James being the one I write love stories about…but I can’t change my nature, and what I am instinctively drawn to is..him. The edge of him, the gruffness, the growl with a hint of sweetness… What I knowingly go to are soft, kind hands that hold and caress and teach. What I’ve always known, always wanted, and will always gravitate to is an open heart that constantly wishes to learn more, see more, do more, and sees all of it eagerly and wide-eyed with an innocence I don’t think I’ve ever possessed and a nature that is truly… good. No ego. Just good.
Willow gave me gas money to get home when I collapsed in the chair across from her, more emotionally exhausted than I was at the start of all of this. “Go home. Rest. And smile.” She grinned. “It could be worse. Your soul mates could be boring, complacent partners instead of the pains in the ass they are. Now where would the fun be in that?”
Where would the fun be, indeed?
Yours, piece by piece
-Rene

Smol Problems


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

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

Snip-Slit-Slip


I got to go play at Daddy’s last night after work, and after a couple of incredibly stressful days.

I needed to decompress, and of course he knew that. Daddy knew about my bad days, and that I had been squirmy most of the week… Daddy lets me tease him sometimes with pretty distractions from Tumblr. Whenever I ask if I should stop distracting him, Daddy says, “don’t you ever, kitten.” And I smile. A lot.

Yesterday we were both tired. We had been running, trying to adult on both ends, and it meant that we finally got to calm down and focus on each other hours into when our date technically ‘started’. I love tagging along to Daddy errands and helping…but we were both squirmy and tired and…we didn’t watch as many cartoons as we normally do.

I was wearing big girl clothes from a job interview earlier in the day; sheer black pantihose and a form fitting deep red dress that has always brought me luck in the past. I had kept the clothing on on purpose. I knew Daddy would love the outfit, and I knew that there were several runs in the pantihose, meaning that it had lived its lfe and deserved to die an honorable death.

I found out several months ago that a meta I have become fast friends with had a fondness for sharps. This is a fondage we VERY much share. I have enjoyed knife play since before I ever identified as kinky. I’m a sensation slut, and the cool steel against skin combined with the adrenaline of the fact that it can easily slice my flesh (because, YES, I love playing with working blades) for some reason makes me absolutely drenched. My body and mind still, and I all but purr when the blade skims over my flesh. I like to share with partners, and gift-giving is a huge part of my love language.. For some reason blades are high up in the hierarchy of gifts I give if I love someone. If I give you a blade, you are a significant fixture in my life.. You mean something. Chris has a blade from me that he often beats me with. James has countless blades from me of different styles (him being an avid sharps collector himself). Ryan has received two blades from me so far as I endeavor to grow his sharps collection for all of our pleasure.

Daddy led me of the couch and through his apartment, stopping briefly to pick up one of the blades I had given him. “Come with me, kitten” he purred, sadist smile on his face as he led me to the bedroom.

He slipped my pretty red dresss up and off, setting it safely aside before spinning me and having me face the bed. I heard the click of the knife coming out and bit my lip, holding off an orgasm when I hadn’t asked permission yet.

He attacked my waistband first, making quick work of it and my upper thighs. ” Oh goodness.. How attached to these panties are you, kitten?” Apparently, Daddy had sliced through the back of them. They still stood, but my red lace panties now had a slit right above my naughty back door.

There are times when Daddy is incredibly tender with me. He holds me, REALLY holds me, cradling me to his chest while I sit in his lap or simply surrounding me with his body. He makes me feel small, and safe, and cherished, and every time he’s done it in that moment it was the best feeling on the entire planet.

This was not one of those times. All the pretties from Tumblr in the last week had been rough. Being fucked with a hand wrapped around the throat or covering the nose, or both. Face fucking. Lots, and lots of face fucking. Hair pulling. Fucking within an inch of your life. I REALLY needed to be taken, and take Daddy did.

He grabbed me by my throat and squeezed before turning me and pushing me on to the bed, so that I was looking up at him. I couldn’t see the knife anymore. Daddy was on top of me, choking me, pushing down on my chest, teasing me. I sqirmed, I cried. He made me cum, purring out “cum for Daddy” over and over again.

He moved down my body, off the bed at one point. I felt cold, cool steel between my legs and then heard the sound of lace tearing. He sliced my panties further, exposing my bare princess parts. The legs and waistband were still in tact and Daddy hesitated. ‘Oh fuck’, I thought, ‘he’s going to fuck me through the panties.

And then his face lowered between my legs. Something he has, never, ever done before… I’m 90% positive that some of the mental, ‘oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck’s became audible at that point as Daddy teased my clit with his tongue. I get eaten out once on a very rare occasion. I’m an internal girl, and so it’s not something I honestly ask for when I know a partner has talented fingers and an amazing talented cock. There was something about the image, though, of Daddy’s head between my legs when I’ve so often been between his, that caused a ripple of pleasure I hadn’t expected. It was.. hot, the image almost surpassing the act itself. Almost.

The scruff of his beard created an usually delightful sensation as he teased and taunted licking and sucking and poking and doing godde knows what while I gripped the bedding like my life depended on it and tried not to curse as I slowly came undone. I cum at the drop of a hat…with almost anything. Only two partners have ever gotten me to cum while eating me out. It’s just a rarity to me.. I’ve faked it in the long past to make partners happy back when I was monogamous.. but..fuck.. There was no faking anything last night. Daddy drove me over the edge before crawling off just long enough to cut off the last of the panties, baring my pussy completely before he climbed on top and slid inside of me, fucking me with a hand wrapped around my throat. He came close to choking me out a couple of times… it’s a sensation I greatly enjoy and ahve missed… I trust Ryan enough that I think I honestly would enjoy him chocking me out and fucking me… but part of me is afraid of squicking him out with how rough I am willing to play and how much I trust him…

Thoughts for another day.

He fucked me, thoroughly manhandling me and positioning me as he pleased. I came, and came, and came, coming undone again and again, wrapped around his cock. Daddy is good to me. He always makes sure I cum a couple dozen times when he’s enjoying his hole.

He slipped out and decorated me, making a mess as he growled out an order to come with him. I, of course, did, and was all but purring by the time he cleaned both himself and I up and crawled back into bed. He pulled me into his arms, both of us panting and sweaty, and slowly, our breathing calmed and synched. Before I knew it I was asleep, surrounded in a cacoon of warmth and afterglow.

I still haven’t figured out how. But somehow, Daddy seems to always know exactly what I need.

Yours still purring,

~Rene

In My Defenses

It’s amazing how people and habits shift as time goes on. You think yourself the passive observer, and then you discover that you’ve become something that you never thought you could be.
When I was being mentored, I was bothered by how Cal compartmentalized his partners, both past and present. We were all placed in boxes with different labels, and he would divy up his attention between all of us depending on how much value we had to him, and what priorty we had in his world. As someone new to poly, it bothered me horribly. He was never fully present when we were together, and compersion was a very new, unknown phoenomenon to me at that time. I felt neglected, but malliable. I morphed into what he needed me to be.
It wouldn’t be the last time I morphed; accomodated to suit the needs of partners. Ryan calls it resiliency. I suppose I am resilient. I survive. I go on.
I did it with Kane, attempting to adopt the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ mindset to function through the relationship and not feel like his dirty little secret. I’ve done it with Chris, sensoring what I share with him and put on him so that I’m not too much of an emotional burden when I know he’s going through his own emotional work. And Godde knows I’ve done it with James; walking on eggshells and morphing to his emotional means and depth, limiting myself to keep him comfortable. And my sweet boy, my Ace.. he has so many brain squirrels of his own, a world away. He.. did not react well to some of mine. Certain things just don’t need to be talked about between he and I, especially with so many other things on his plate for the time being. I’m in his life and I’m not all at the same time. Grey… pops up too sporaddically to really share things with. No one, romantically, has seen all my bits and pieces. Ever. Even when I was monogamous. Hell, even before I was dating, I morphed and adapted to be the shadow that followed my pretty best friend around through high school and middle school.
And that scary, scary thing that I’ve never done is the main thing that Ryan is asking me for. Uncensored, unboxed, unmorphed, me.
I’m. Not sure I know who that is.
I realized while Ryan and I were talking the other night just how much my poly practices began to resemble that of my former mentor. Instead of putting my partners in boxes, I put myself in them. I cut off certain aspects of myself that I deemed “too much’ for them to take, sometimes without asking, because I became use to partners like Kane and James. Loving, good men, but with so many stressors of their own they couldn’t handle mine. Kane saw one of my anxiety attacks at one point and absolute froze; he had no idea what to do. How to fix it. I remember the lost panic in his eyes… and knew I would never let him see one again.
There’s always been fear as to how easily Ryan has gotten under my skin.. Bit after bit, he’s hacked at my armor, dug out the holes of my past, and tried to heal what he could. He is.. a Daddy.. A caring balm unafraid to push and correct me when necessary. And he’s wormed his way deeper than I ever thought I would let him. There was a DO NOT PASS GO line when his primary partner was in the picture, but they parted ways a month ago and since then… That line has been erased. With that invisible barrier no longer in place, suddenly a lot more of me is aired into the light. I find myself showing him more, and more, and more…pieces of myself that no one has seen in years, if ever. And he still wants more. He hasn’t shrunk away from the danaged parts of myself. He tries to push me through them. I am grateful..and also overwhelmed. Terrified. Spent. Last time someone tried any sort of process like this… Well.. James had a tougher lover approach, but…
Yeah. You get it.
The last talk between Ryan and I got..intense, raw. I found myself much too bare underneath his gaze; he sees too much. I could be wearing a fucking parka and he would still see too much. He knows my manerisms too well at this point, and could see when I slipped back into old defensive habits. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I fidgited. I refused to touch him. I tried to put my walls back up while he asked me, over and over, what was wrong. The more I shared, the more he seemed to ask the impossible of me. The more got shook loose. The louder my head got and the harder it became to actually answer him. The more intensely he stared.
“I will nto let you think of yourself as a burden. I. WILL NOT.” But… that’s all I’ve ever been in my mind. A weight carried until dropped. Shaking an idea that’s been with me for twenty six years is… Is it even possible?
For the longest time, my nickname has been Shadow. My friend back in NJ, Dragon, gave it to me a world ago.. I think we were twelve or thirteen at the time? For half my life, I’ve been the little shadow. The reprieve for others but never for myself. The safe space without safe spaces that simply fades into the background when no longer useful. It’s a solitary existence, but it’s suited me relatively well until now.
Now, my Daddy is asking me to shine. And.. I don’t know how. I know in some ways.. I shine at parties, and at BaGG. I put on a persona and can perform like nobodies business. I kick ass in a world that so many fear entering.
But in the normal world? How do I shine in the normal world?
I have always been overlooked. I don’t mean that in a self-depricating way, just as a fact. I’ve always been the supporting cast rather than the star. The backup that keeps the others going, the supportive best friend to the pretty, sexy girls who dress girly and sexy while I tend to be plain. Even now, I’m sitting around in one of my dad’s old button ups, hacked up jean shorts that are two sizes too big, and an ill-fitting but comfy tee shirt from Surrender years ago. How do I shine, when I’ve trained myself so well to hide?
I.. I need help. And I’m so scared to ask for it.
If I let him in more.. if I show him all of me… then what? Ryan asks me often, what is it that I’m not telling him. What is it that I’m afraid to share.
Everything, love. Everything. You are the first, the only, to ask me to share so much… and I’m not sure I know how. I’m not sure I have words for the fear and panic in my belly at you seeing too much..at me loving you too much. At me letting myself fully fall.
If I hold myself in check, if I block parts of me off, he can’t reach primary-level closeness in my mind. He’s not one that practices hierachy, and for the most part I’ve stopped as well.. But. He was never supposed to get this close, never supposed to see so much.
Physical pain is so much easier for me to process than emotional pain. It acts almost as a relief, especially on days when I am feeling more masochistic. When Ryan and I were talking I got defensive and laid the bratty sarcasm on hard, hoping that would stop him from trying to dig deeper. He treatened to beat my ass with a broom handle and I almost jumped for joy at the chance. Yes, beat me. Make this horrible feeling and buzzing in my head stop. In odd ways.. it was a reality check.. The more in pain I am emotionally, the more I crave the outlet physically. The physical pain silences the emotional and buries it back down deep, and I can continue functioning.
He didn’t beat me. He continued talking.. and my loud brain spiral has continued.
There’s a familiar panic in my soul. It started when I sat with my parents, waiting for an event last week, and the subject of Ryan came up. My parents are trying their best to understand poly, and kink, and to their credit they haven’t run screaming yet. They have a rhudamentary knowledge of my world, and work with what they can of it.
“So,” my dad asks, a grin on his face, “is Ryan your primary?” The only question he could think to ask to try and explain the closeness between my partner and I.. To explain to himself why I light up when he walks into a room, or my body relaxes just a tad more. Why my dad saw me more and more with stupid, shit-eating grins on my face every time Ryan was mentioned. And the term triggered so much in my screwed up little head.
Brain squirrels. Horrid, rabbid brain squirrels. They haven’t ceased knawing on me since then. Because what if the answer is yes. What if it’s no. What does that all mean. Can I even do that?
…is it safe to love him that deeply?
If I show Ryan all of me…do I get the same level of transparency in return?
Do I take the risk? Or do I do what I’ve always done?
Do I run like hell?
I could run.
.
.
.
……
No I couln’t.
There is a part of me that loathes myself right now. I felt the changes in my yesterday; the armor that I had let fall away steadfastly being put back into place. We were outside Ryan’s work. He was talking to me.. and I only half heard him. He kept trying to meet my eyes (something I’m bad with in general with people.. I can only really do it comfortably with James and Ryan) and I kept looking at my heads.. I kept walking defensively, with hands in pockets, and hesitated to return touches from him and reach out to him when he reached for me. I could feel myself closing in. Backpetaling. Going “Nonono! You got too close! You’ve seen too much! You’re done now!”
… I don’t.. I don’t want to. I REALLY don’t want to… But something got shook loose the other night. My head is so loud… and I am terrified. And I don’t know how to tell him how I need him. How the fuck do I do this?
Yours, torn to metaphoric pieces,
-Rene

Ace in the Hole

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I’m sure this will surprise most of you.

There was a time, long ago and far away, when I was an innocent virgin girl.

Okay, it was LONG ago and far away, but it was indeed a thing. I was a virgin until seventeen. At sixteen, I was restless. My libido was in full swing and I rarely slept before two or three a.m. during the summer months (…that hasn’t changed much). So, being a restless 90’s child, I would go onto one of the few forms of electronic entertainment that I had that wouldn’t cause a lot of noise. I went on to online chat rooms, back in the day when most internet people were catfish and it was still much more of a dangerous place.

On one of those restless nights, I got lucky. I met a twenty-one year old from North Dakota. He and I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning. He told me of his visits to Rome and Helsinki, far away exotic places that I had very little concept of back then. My world was a cage, trapped in a small town in New Jersey, and here was a handsome man offering me a window into another world. We would talk for hours, on and on for week, and my poor little heart didn’t stand a chance. I fell. Hook. Line. Sinker. I fell for him.

Of course, it was an abstract sort of first love. There was the reality that I was a poor sixteen year old and North Dakota was far away. Visiting was an impossible idea at the time, and so I let myself love him. Because I knew I could never have him.

Time passed. Years went by. I remember the sadness that struck when Ace told me he was engaged to a local girl a couple of years later, not much older than myself. At the time I was very much monogamous, and knew that in that world marriage meant there really was no room for my little fantasy. He was lost. Someone else had won him. In the early days of his marriage we didn’t talk much, as life got in the way…but through time, from time to time, my phone would buzz and there would be a text from Ace. We would pick up right where we left off, talking about everything and nothing.

During all this my world was broadening. He was still in North Dakota, but I was in Boston for school. He would call me while running errands for his brothers or on nights alone while his wife was out and we would talk into the wee hours of the morning as we once had. Gradually Skype became a more normalized thing and we saw each other’s faces… and other things sometimes. There was always a flirty energy between us…and often that would cause blocks of silence where we couldn’t talk to one another. Feelings would rear ugly heads and we just…couldn’t. But we never fully left each other’s lives. I would watch his posts. He would watch mine. We always found one another again and continued to talk.

It’s been almost ten years since he and I first began to talk. In that time I’ve had my series of relationships, including a short engagement, and moved from New Jersey to Boston to San Francisco. He picked up and went from North Dakota to North Carolina with his wife and child, and gradually began his own discovery of kink and polyamory. The stars began to align where we were once again on the same wave length as we had been a world ago. We were both poly, and kinky, and for the first time ever I had his partner’s blessing to pursue some sort of..thing with him. But. I don’t do distance anymore. It’s just too hard, and so Ace remained a relatively abstract concept.

Sometimes I make very poor, masochistic choices for the right reasons. One of those was deciding that I was going to find a way to finally, FINALLY see Ace after Fusion this year (I promise there will be a Fusion entry as well. There’s a draft, I swear). Him being an eight hour drive from the campground was the closest we had ever been to one another. He was separated from his now-ex wife, and his adorable kiddo was with grandparents for the summer… We made a date. He got off from work and I drove as fast I could after camp to make something that had been abstract for so long a reality.

Driving through con drop is not one of my brighter ideas. I was wrecked, dealing with mundane blowups (June is trying to kill me…more on that later), and frantically calling my roommate during anxiety attacks to help remind me where the break was on the car when I got out of control at one point. I was exhausted, functioning on almost no sleep, and fucking determined.

The first time I saw him, he had his back to me. He was watching TV. I let myself stand there for a moment and just take in the sight of flesh-and-blood Ace. The summer night was perfectly warm. There were lightning bugs dancing in front of his window. The air was just the slightest bit muggy. It was… surreal. It was happening. He was real.

I knocked on the door and was in his arms before I knew it, and then REALLY in his arms as he picked me up, excited. “You’re here! You’re really here! You’re real!” he said over, and over, and over, putting words to what I was thinking. He smelled surprisingly familiar, right, easy, and I quickly felt at ease in his arms. And then he kissed me…and as far as first kisses go… Whelp. Remember the ending to Princess Bride?

I am a lucky. Fucking. Bitch.

After ten years I was so afraid there would be no chemistry. Which. Would be fine. We had been forced to be platonic before. I could do it. In fact, the opposite was the case. The top had been let off of ten years of sexual tension and we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. He gave me the tour of his apartment and I found myself craving contact with him. A hand on my hip, or in my hair, or on my ass..just to remind me that this was real. That he was real. That we were actually seeing each other.

It still feels like a dream.

I was the bad one that started stripping first. He pinned me to the ground, eagerly grinding against my ass before flipping me over and diving between my legs. I have never been so eagerly eaten out in my LIFE. I don’t like it typically. I’m an internal girl. But my Ace’s tongue is incredibly skilled. K was screaming his name and bucking under him in a matter of minutes. 

There was groping, and playing, and flirting before we stumbled our way to the bedroom, both of us refusing to fully take our hands off of one another. Pardon my gloating, but my godde that boy has one of the prettiest cocks I have ever seen. He is thick enough and long enough that he’s a challenge for me to take… but not so big that I can’t deep throat him. 

I hoped we would have chemistry. I didn’t expect mind-blowing sex. Again. And again. And again. We took a break for food and to sleep, but I can’t think of a point when we weren’t touching somewhere. Hands. Overlapping legs. Me snuggling into the nook of his shoulder. Not even morning breath stopped the kisses. When we weren’t kissing or fucking we were talking, just as we did eons ago. He told me the intimate details of his world. I shared more of mine. 

There isn’t enough time. There never is. He took me to breakfast at an adorable coffee house. As we ate tasty treats he told me more about his amazing child and how much he loved his community. My heart twisted. I was so happy he had found home… And I selfishly wish I could take him to mine. He’s so far away. So. Damn far away. 

It’s been a long time since I have been around someone who’s a soothing balm to my soul… and that’s what Ace is. He pulled me out of an anxiety attack from outside stressors faster than anyone ever has. Being around him calms me down, just as James always has.. and yet he calms me in almost the exact opposite way of James. Instead of a man of few words my Ace is a wordsmith. A beautiful, wonderful wordsmith that showered me in compliments and kind words. 

There’s always been a switchy energy between us. Out of all my partners he is the one I have always felt the most equal too. We are both… fragile in certain ways. Both familiar with brain squirrels pertaining to matters of the heart. I am often pulled out of brain spirals through acts of submission. Focusing on the needs of others fixes my headspace. 

I didn’t know if it would be the same for Ace. He began to spiral at one point and I just… had to fix it. A part of me came out that I didn’t know existed. A Domme. Not a service top. I dominated that sweet boy. I crawled on top of him and rode him with no inhibitions, knowing he wanted me, knowing I drove him wild. The moment he drifted I had him focus on me.  I told him that all he had to worry about in that moment was pleasing me. 

He called me ma’am. For the first time ever that made my pussy wet. 

Yes, he was my sweet boy, and he let me fuck him at my leisure until I wanted him on top again. And then he pleased me with his cock, fucking me until we both toppled over that delicious edge. 

In about 24 hours we found that edge six times, sometimes with him as the dominant partner, sometimes me. After sex we would find equilibrium again snuggling in one another’s arms. I’ve never had such a fluid relationship before.  The switching happens naturally, with the top roll being filled easily in a split second by the proper partner. 

I’ve never wanted to be served before. Never desidered to collar a boy and have him sit at my feet as I socialize in Wicked Grounds. I am naturally very submissive… but also very protective. The desire to help the one I love won out, and even became extremely pleasurable. He is my boy. We belong to one another. 

And I am utterly fucked. 

I thought foolishly getting together after ten years would sate some urges. Instead it was like lighting a powder keg. A hunger that hadn’t existed before now eats at me. I want more of my Ace, both as my sweet boy and as my Top.

We have a lot of exploring to do, he and I. This is the tip of the iceberg with our dynamic, and I know that… Now we are learning how our lives can possibly fit together. He has a partner with a child, and a child of his own to worry about. I have three partners, a complication, and a community. We both have our homes. And there is that fear of once you leave the Bay Area you can’t return. Selfishly, I want him with me, in my world. I want to show of my boy at BaGG and the citadel. And yes, I want to sleep in his arms at night. 

I miss him horribly, and it’s only been a couple of days. Ten years, and it felt like coming home when I was with him. My mind is terrifying me. It’s thinking long term. And that scares me. I’m anxious to get my mark on him, to claim that part of him that submits as mine. And I am anxious for him to claim me again. 

I love you, my sweet boy. I’m.. scared, but excited for the journey ahead. All will work out when the time is right, just as it always has. I will see you in my dreams ❤

Yours hopelessly in love, and suddenly switchy,

-Rene 

 

Adrift

adrift

It always happens this time of year.

Fusion is approaching. This will be my third year going, and my second anniversary with Chris. I find myself… more unsettled than ever.

Technically I have four partners… I joke that I have four partners and a complication.

The first is my Sir, Chris. I’m proud of us for making it two years. There have been some… severe bumps and nightmare metamours along the way, but we’ve still managed to be a thing. I enjoy our D/s dynamic, and I find great comfort in the ease that has always existed between us when we spend time together…but at the same time I have felt more and more ‘friend zoned’ lately with him.. That spark, that desire that once had him frantically running to a 7/11 to buy condoms so that we could do it in my childhood bedroom just… hasn’t been there lately. I sleep in my dog bed, which I love, but it leaves me… wanting when I know that another partner gets to sleep beside him at night, and frequently. I’m fighting the ache of displacement with him, and honestly hope that Fusion will ease some of those aches and reinforce our dynamic. Fusion has always been good for us.. I am hopeful it will be that way again.

Then there is Grey… We are fantastic when we are together. It’s just.. The getting together part that is hard. I think the last time I saw him was around March.. I can’t even remember at this point. It’s on both of us. My schedule, his crazy life with his awesome life. Poly can be complicated, especially when you throw in the demands of work and home. I miss him, more than I’m probably willing to admit out loud. I miss his touch, him growling in my ear.. his hand wrapped around my throat while his other sneaks between my legs and..

Gah. Rabbit hole. Sorry. Summation, I miss Grey. He doesn’t even know Ryan is my Daddy; it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other…

Ryan has the patience of a saint with me at times… Easily the most emotionally accessible of my partners, he’s also human. For some reason days when I get overloaded tend to allign with the same days he is, so the few moments when I would let myself go, “I need my Daddy..” just don’t happen. I don’t let them. I can see him balancing me and my meta best he can, as well as trying to make room to date others… and he tries. He does. There are times when I just feel… forgotten. Like my meta’s shadow. Part of it is because I am the second parter. Secondary or not, I’m entering a dynamic that’s already been established, and that can be hard. She had dibs on certain days of the week long before I arrived, meaning less time for me off the bat. I’m… scared of time right now, with Ryan. I disappear for two weeks on the 18th, and then by the time I get back he’s off on a meditation retreat. I’m scared our dynamic will fizzle while I’m gone, especially when I’m off to something like Fusion. I can feel my emotional walls going up; can feel myself bracing for the inevitable letdown that my brain is convinced is going to happen. I don’t want to shove my Daddy away… If anything I want the opposite.

And then there is Ace, a partner I haven’t talked about on here. He and I have the loosest D/s dynamic.. We’ve also been on and off for almost a decade. I credit him with poking my kinky side before anyone else. When I was sixteen he and I started talking, and though there were gaps in-between he and I have never fully lost touch. Ace is currently where I was last year; dealing with the recent death of a primary relationship, and slowly gaining ground back to peace and emotional health. I’m grateful to have such a sweet, loving creature in my life…but he’s 3,000 miles away most of the time, works opposite hours of me, so that I am sleeping when he is awake and vice versa, and has so much on his own plate that tackling mine as well would be some sort of cruel joke to play on him. I won’t do that to him. It’s easier to try to help him than to try and decode my brain squirrles.

There’s my complication… the same one that’s been there for a year. James. We finally had a fundraiser for him, a week ago. For a single night I saw a James I had not seen in a year. I saw MY James. Sweet, and open, and loving, and willing to go to the deeper, darker areas that we don’t touch to keep the peace. I got my hopes up that maybe, just maybe, we were making progress… I’m not naieve enough to hope for a relationship right now, but I felt this rush of hope that maybe we were to the point where we could negotiate a scene. I wanted to kiss him, hug him. And he let me. And then he snapped back like a rubber band so hard I got whip lash. It’s been a while since he’s gotten me to cry.. Both last Wednesday and Friday he managed it, lashing out at the only safe person to do so to… My James, who does not do emotions, had to deal with a lot all at once. He’s compensating for it. I know that. But still… Godde does it hurt.

Five wonderful people. Five very different dynamics with their own separate challenges… and no anchor. That’s where I struggle. There’s no main, safe person to go to when my emotions become too much. No one to cling to to bring me back when I begin to drift away. I could reach out to Ryan, or even James..but Ryan has been so overwhelmed lately… and he has my meta. James… he overwhelmes himself, and I’m lucky to get an answer from him most days. Ace tries. He tries so hard..but my dark days are… bad. Dark. And with him trying to get over his own I don’t want to infect him with mine.

So here I sit, feeling more along than I have in a while despite all these amazing, loving people in my life. I still reach up to my bare neck and sigh, missing what used to be there; knowing that I’m not at a place where I could have that again right now. I miss the anchor of being someone’s, and that fear exists that no one will ever want me to be theirs again. That I will find all the other pieces of my puzzle.. except for that last one that makes me whole.

I try not to dwell, and to be grateful for what I have…but there are nights like tonight when I am truly lonely. My beloved roomate is curled up with her primary, more content than she has been in days because he’s here. I’m on the couch, restless at 2:30 in the morning and unable to motivate myself to sleep alone yet another night. There are these broken, jagged pieces of myself that cut away at the parts of myself that I thought I had built up… The parts that want to be a kink educator, that shine at things like Bondage a Go-Go and Citadel events. I am the little thing that does tours, and leads discussions, and is always there to get that last clean up shift to make sure that everyone gets out of the Citadel on time. I’m good at it.. I think..maybe.

Fusion, as beautiful as it is, tests me. It’s complete immersion into this world of kink for a solid week straight… and it’s a lot to take. I find myself looking at it similarly this year as I did my first. I feel..disconnected from it, unsure, overwhelmed at the idea of being gone so long and at what I will see and experience there. I don’t know if I’m open to new partners, or pick up play, or exploration with others as I have been in the past. I am freyed and covered in battle scars. You have to cut mighty deep into me to cause either pain or pleasure..and it’s hard for a stranger to get there in a week. I wish..  I wish I had some direction. Some marching orders to follow. Go to these classes. Wear these outfits because it will please me. Get pictures of yourself doing this. I miss that.

I’m going into camp with no plan or goal in mind… I hadn’t even planned on going this year. I’m going because Chris made it happen. He wanted me there, and there I shall be… but my walls are so far up with him as well. I don’t know what I’m doing, or how to make this feeling of being lost go away. I feel as if I am adrift in the middle of an ocean, miles from everyone. Unreachable. Eventually a boat will find me and fish me out, or I will drown.

And if I drown.. does it really matter? There are echos in the back of my mind. Yes. It does. No. It doesn’t. The argument as to which is the truth.

So… adrift I shall remain, in a sea of emotions that I don’t understand right now, and don’t quite know how to sort through. I suppose this is how one learns to be their own anchor. To not need anyone.

I should probably sleep.

Yours, restless

-Rene

Teacher, Mine

Relationships go in cycles, or so it seems. At least, mine always have. Those who are meant to stick around in your life cycle back around in one way or another.

One of those that has cycled back for me is Cal, the person who started all of this. I still chuckle when I think about how I was when I started this journey. Monogamous, green, terrified of pain. Spankings were far from enjoyable for me and knives terrified me.

Now, most of that is the opposite.

Cal and I have danced around each other for years now… and we’re still dancing. It’s never been the right time. Things have always gotten in the way. He hasn’t been available. I haven’t been. And so, I swallowed the bits of desire that remained after his last breakup and told myself, over and over and over, I would be a safe person for him. I would be a friend.

What I didn’t factor in was that nothing about Cal is safe. At least for me.

I have several people that have always been kryptonite for me, just on a visceral level. James is one of them. He gets to me on every level. His voice, his smell, his presence… Cal is another one. When I was his mentee I would sleep in tee shirts that smelled of him. I think I still have one of his old green shirts stashed away that I sleep in on colder nights (I don’t normally wear shirts to bed. I get strangled by them). He figured out how to fuck my mind before he ever got to my body, which hardly helped things when I was first starting out. And he was protective of me. All things that give me a lady boner.

He started coming to BaGG, on and off, a couple of months ago. He saw James again (James doesn’t like him), met my Daddy and my Sir. BaGG… is a work in progress for Cal and I. The first time he got me shit faced on scotch and left me before saying goodbye and after making out with me. Several times. And telling me that he would be there long after James was gone, and we would end up together because we’re both too broken not to. The second was similar to the first, only I was more sober and stuck him on a stool for the last hour of the night to sober up while I rubbed at bruises he left on my neck. He’s into breath play, which is something I also love, but when he’s drunk his hands are very rough. And I was afraid.

Still. There had been kisses. And hugs. And he called me little one.

I found myself protective of this man, broken again by a relationship that I saw going down in flames long before it did. And I found myself terrified of him as well. He apologized for the incidents and promised to try and manage the alcohol more. He’s hurt, physically, and not eating as much as normally, and so alochol is affecting him more strongly than it normally does.

There is a war in my head when it comes to Cal. There is the good, protective friend that kinda wants to guide him back into our local scene and then there’s the submissive chomping at the bit to prove herself to him. To show what he missed. It’s the submissive that gets me in trouble, in ways that I didn’t see coming. And it’s the submissive that still.. can’t help but react to him. Smell. Voice. Presence. ESPECIALLY when he milks it. When he purrs my nickname after too many drinks and I tell my brain to shut up for a minute so I can enjoy.

He’s gotten better. We both have. Thank godde for time, firm boundaries, and bunnies. He has a new love that has slowly wrangled a lot of the darkness he has been carrying..and it means he’s behaving a lot more. And she is lovely.. Full compersion here. She’s the right age and the right temperment to actually be GOOD for him after his string of lemons, and I’m happy for him. I truly, honestly am. I just…have brain squirrels.

Last week, Cal came to BaGG. I was freshly back from a trip east and felt like absolute shit. I now know I probably had a fever..but I was determined to go. My friends wanted to see me. My meta wanted to talk about her trip and mine. I wanted my time with James. I was getting there.

I spent a good portion of the night on my knees, which were so sore they could barely support my weight. I didn’t think about this, until Cal saw me do it in the back of the smoking alley.

His hands were in my hair before I could warn him not to. He pet me gently, and I purred. Daddy was right in front of me. I knew it was safe, and Cal kept saying it wasn’t sexual. He was careful not to call me my nickname. I was careful not to call him sir. We were Cal and Rene and it was just a few head pets when I was in pain.

Later in the back room, he hugged me hard. He gets emotional after a few drinks and has a habit of thanking me for still being around.. which I appreciate. The hug captured my head. He had his hand in my hair and pulled, hard. I whimpered and reached for Daddy’s shirt, tugging just as hard. It was a signal we had agreed upon earlier in the evening that I would do when I was scared. Daddy interviened, gently pulling Cal off of me while my meta calmed me down. I blamed the last double he had and tried to shake it off.

It’s just with alcohol that I find myself on edge with Cal. When four or five drinks are removed he’s a safehaven. I crashed at his place after a play party last weekend, grateful for the couch and a day when I didn’t have to pay a bridge toll in order to get to work. He hugged me hello and I smelled him and immediately knew cuddling was out of the question. I put a big, fat blanket between he and I on the couch until he went to crash for the evening.

The next morning I tried to sneak out, dressing quickly for breakfast with Chris and scampering out the door. I dressed quickly before tossled hair and a furrowed brow stumbled outside, slightly confused. He was adorable. Bits of me melted that had been holding firm, and I smiled. He hugged me goodbye a beat too long. A dangerous beat. I wanted to kiss him.

But. I also want his head on straight. I want him established with his new parter. I want him happy and mostly whole. I want him to know that I am safe, and stable, and honestly pretty fucking close to poly saturated right now. I want to see more than one BaGG in a row without me getting scared of him physically harming me.

I want time, that lovely balm that heals all things, to finally decide the course for Cal and I. I keep telling myself that we are going to be friends. Friends are safe. Friends are good.

And all my instincts keep wanting more.

Yes, Cal is my teacher from a world ago, but lately we’ve been teaching each other. We talk daily, reading one another and keeping each other in check. For now, this is healthy.

For later?

I don’t know. Time will tell. Time always tells. For now, I have brain squrrels and he has a bunny. And this is how it should be.

So, what have you got left to teach me, teacher mine?

Yours, playful,

-Rene