Yay! I have a present on the way!
It’s ridiculous that this means so much to me but it does, and whatever.
Last night I talked with p. for the first time since C.’s bad news changed all my plans, again. Since part of my plan to head northeast included being in his city for an extended amount of time so we could pursue things on a more normal basis, and now I won’t be doing that for a while, it was bad news for him too.
Frankly I expected him to disappear for a while as he is wont to do at such times. But instead we had one of the best conversations ever; he’s learning that he can be my friend as well as my bitch, finally. And to make me smile (and show me he took my threat to take on one of the other two cucks I am talking to now instead of him seriously) he sent me a Realdoe, which I’ve been asking for since Christmas. I’ve decided I don’t looove how I look in my harness, nor do I enjoy the ten minute mood-killer break I have to take to get into it. I’ve been waiting to buy a Feeldoe until they came in a realistic color- just my preference; but I’ve already decided if I like it, I’m getting the black ’stout’ as well. So, for once, p. did good.
It should be no big thing to send me gifts. But my recalcitrant slut is soooo nervous about his conservative image that he didn’t pick up a package from me last year fearing it held evidence of his kinky desires; but all it held was an antique medical book as a gift for finishing his residency. So it was a big step… I never thought I’d be in a place where a dildo represented a large step in my most important relationship…but here we are.
I’ll be visiting him soon, so a toy review will be forthcoming, too. I can’t wait to use it on him.
sparky saves the day
Yesterday just didn’t turn out the way I planned, the whole day. But I have to say that it really didn’t matter. I had a grand time….thanks to sparky who had it all together when I simply did not.
Tardy Tailspin
My insomnia has been bad lately. So Wednesday night when I was tired at 9:30 pm, I went with it, and went to bed. And, woke up at 2 am bright eyed and bushy tailed, as my family might say. No biggie. I worked. Figured I’d sleep after taking C. to school until about lunchtime, giving me plenty of time to get ready for my V.day date with sparky. So, 6:50, we left the house, got about halfway there….remembered it was a late start day- no school until 10 am. No sleep until after 10 am. Got home at 10:30, and the phone began to ring. And ring. And ring. One call was sparky; more on that next. Anyhoo, it was 3 pm by the time I got to bed. And had to pick up C. at 6:40, with sparky picking me up for the 8 pm ballet at 7. A tight schedule. I set my alarm for 5pm. I woke up at 6:35, when a salesman rang my doorbell. 
I made the 20 minute drive to the school in 13. Still, sparky got to my place before I did, roses in hand, to see me in full bed head panic regalia, kid in tow, living room with laundry and dishes and mail all over…no helping any of that now. I rushed upstairs and into my dress, no time for good makeup or straightening my curly hair, just a quick up do and some lip gloss and mascara. Or for getting into power mode, or at least out of frantic mom mode. Or for putting my collar and short lead on sparky (the clip goes on my male’s waistband while we are out for easy access to a good tug when he needs it) and inserting his training plug as I’d planned. Which leads to the other way V.Day didn’t happen the way I meant it to.
Sometimes the element of surprise blows up in your face.
It’s totally my own fault. And, besides that, I had a fabulous time. I truly, truly did. But, spending the night at the ballet wasn’t at all what I really wanted to do last night with sparky. But, did I tell him what I wanted to do before he bought tickets like a smart woman? No. It wasn’t intentional. It was vanilla crowding my brain. Work and stress and C. and p. and the cat box and the brake job I can’t find time to go get and taxes and just thinking about filling out the FAFSA- not to mention doing it or thinking about what that means or how I’m going to pay for it. We’ve both been so busy. Sunday, the subject was the furthest from my mind. Tuesday he came for lunch and a quickie, and I was more concerned with finding time to also fit in a cropping, until he brought it up tentatively “Do you have plans Thursday?”…and it took me a minute to remember the date. I didn’t have any. We didn’t talk again until Wednesday night, both busy with work and kids. When I asked if he had anything planned, he mentioned the museum date we never got to, and I knew the museum would be closed but decided to let him figure that out and get back to me, by which time I would have a plan. And I did- you’ll hear about them later because I am carrying them out this weekend. But when he called, he had purchased ballet tickets instead, remembering I’d mentioned loving to dance, my 13 years of ballet lessons, and my love of the theater. So clearly, I wasn’t at all unhappy with the choice he made, it was a lovely date and a thoughtful plan and told me a lot about him both as a person and as a slave/boyfriend. I just didn’t feel like going downtown, hassling with parking and people; I was stressed and tired and had planned a much more private and kinky evening…and I wanted to surprise him. He said he hadn’t made reservations anywhere, and in my experience, that ends up as a V.Day at IHOP in Austin. So I thought I might be able to fit a portion of my plans into the mix, at any rate.
Ballet Idol
We enjoyed the presentation, which was a competition between three new up and coming choreographers who had each been given the same dancers and resources (and only 40 hours, wow) to choreograph a piece. The audience could vote via cell phone or ballot- ballet idol. And the works were amazing and added to the many recent tugs at my dancer’s heartstrings that have been popping up recently. Walking back to the car, we encountered some amazing wind. I’d worn a slinky red wrap dress and red strappy heels; slinky and wrap being two key words here. I’d also not worn panties. I don’t wear them often- but I usually will with a dress. But, I didn’t because the dress needed a slip- even a thong showed panty lines- and my only sexy slips are full body ones…aaand the dress, being a wrap thingie, was too low cut in the cleavage area to wear any of them with it. And more importantly, I had different plans for the evening. Anyway, sparky is over 6 feet tall. And I’m barely over 5 feet, even in heels. Walking uphill, crossing the street, with a wind gust of about 30 mph, I was kind of struggling to keep up, and keep wrapped, all while creating the illusion that I wasn’t struggling, or in pain from a blister, and was also totally in control of the day. Which clearly, I was not. He turned around at just the wring moment to say something about the wind not being in the forecast. “If I’d known I’d have worn panties”- I quipped back with a wink. It was possibly my best moment of the night.
We went to a restaurant after, sparky had found one that wasn’t packed, and enjoyed some conversation and wine. My entree was poor, but nothing I’d send it back for- I didn’t mind too much, the wine was good and sparky finally relaxed enough to open up some, which I liked most. He was also pretty distracted from my feeling like a complete disaster by the lack of panties and the slit in my skirt, I let him play fairly freely and he kept his decorum, mostly. At least that went as planned. We finished a bottle of chardonnay together and had desert. I’m not a drinker, and chardonnay has one of the highest alcohol volumes for wine. And the waiter kept coming over and filling up my glass while I was looking at sparky, who was driving, so smartly drank less. By the time we walked the short distance up another hill to the car, I was drunkity-drunk -drunk.
Pass the Advil
I don’t hit people when I’m drunk. I don’t put them in cages, or step on them or hurt their balls or go anywhere near dominating acts like humiliation. Or, get on my six and a half inch high heel boots and wield anything, even just to ride someone. All of which were part of my so called plan. But I do get horny as hell. So while driving home I scooted next to sparky, didn’t bother to adjust my wrap skirt which had slid open, grabbed his hand and put it on my thigh just almost grazing my labia, and sat back and enjoyed the ride. It worked. I waited till we were off the highway to reach over and run my nails over his hard cock through his jeans, and played with his cock for the last mile or two to my house. I’ll have to remember how well this worked because WOW did I get a fucking. An advil in the morning and apologize to the neighbors kind of fucking.
So, spark?
Clearly, sparky and I are getting along famously. But do I feel …’it’? No. But do I feel spark? Well, I don’t know. Maybe. I did find myself thinking of someone else several times. Several times. And kicking myself in the ass for it the whole time. I was impressed. I started the day thinking for sure this guy had half planned a possibly bad date that would fall apart, and as it turns out I was the bad date that fell apart, and he made me feel like a queen anyway. He was thoughtful, anticipated my desires very well considering we’ve been on a total of 8 dates together, and I enjoyed seeing him finally relax and be himself a bit more. He brought flowers. The ballet…on his own. Not a word about my being a disaster, or not getting spanked, but that may be because of the dress and the panties and the fact that I did manage to terrorize his nipples, at least. And then there’s the cervix pounding. I think if I don’t look hard for that spark and put some kindling on it, fan it a bit, I’m probably pretty dumb.
Just the way it is. Performed by Ms. R and her backup singers, the Vainglorious Exes.
“it’s just the way it is”…
When p. said this a week or so ago, it really pissed me off. Really. And it really worked on me for several days, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. Or, more accurately, I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, remember why. While trying to stay physically busy and mentally distracted, somewhere between vaccuming and finding a well hidden php parse error for a client, a little recurring memory in the back of my head set itself free and wafted through my thoughts:
that’s just the way it is”
…echoed through my head in a cacophony of several voices from the past that I have worked hard to forget.
And suddenly I knew, remembered what “that’s just the way it is” stands for. Again.
I sat, a little woozy from the sudden rush of memories and voices and mental images. Working backwards, I recognized L.’s voice immediately, the man with whom I had my last long term, and cuckolding relationship. Telling me on my 30th birthday that it didn’t matter that he finally -after years- could tell me he loved me, or that my daughter had grown so attatched to him, or that we worked so perfectly together both in and out of bed. It took weeks of fighting to get him to admit the reason. Which was, that I was, and in his eyes always would be, an escort. As he’d suggested when I hit a rough financial spot, and helped me become; and that this ultimately meant that he couldn’t commit to me. I made the biggest gesture to him I could think of, ‘retiring’ publicly and replacing my website with a message to my clients about why, and a personal message to L. expressing my wish to do whatever it took. In the end, it was still ‘just the way it is’.
Harmonizing above L.’s deep voice was K.’s. He was an awkward Canadian salesman I dated for a couple of years during one of my ‘off’ stints with L.; and lucky to have me. He had initially met me as an escorting client who reached out to me personally when my daughter was injured; but when it finally came down to brass tacks, he made no bones about not committing, at all, because of how we met. “That’s just the way it is…” – I do recall those words fitting into what I wish had been our final conversation. He showed up 9 months later in legal trouble, hoping to save his visa status with a marriage proposal, possibly the only one I may ever recieve. Made in the car as I drove him to pick up his car post jail stay. I never wanted ejector seats in my car quite so badly as I did at that exact moment. What a cherished memory. That’s just the way it is.
There were a few chorus boys, minor flings that could have been much more, singing along in the background a refrain of “just the way it is..is..is”. None of them left enough of an impression to remember the circumstances, but the phrase stood out. And the reasoning behind it was all the same.
Then my first real love, S. broke through in a clear solo, reminding me that I wasn’t really the ‘resume’ wife he needed for his military intelligence followed by medical career. Despite the years I’d spent putting him through school, the support through military basic and tech school and an overseas station during which his non-custodial daughter was severely abused by her stepfather and there were all manner of legal proceedings and difficulties to manage stateside, and during a trip I’d made to help him prepare for another overseas deployment. “That’s just the way it is”. He did say it. Followed by a dear jane letter a few months later, telling me the woman he’d itnroduced me to so I’d have someone to run errands with on base during my visit (another deployed soldier’s soon to be ex wife) was now his wife, and never to contact him again. And he repeated the refrain as if it was some sort of justification or explanation.
There are other times men in my life have used the phrase, too; which is why I’m surprised it took me a week to recall the real meaning. I can remember my father, a military officer and non-custodial parent most of my life, explaining to me glibly why I only heard from him once a year or so with the useless euphemism. Or my daughter’s father, explaining to at age 18 to 15 year old me why he couldn’t be bothered to help me figure out what to do about my unexpected pregancy, or a decade ago why he’d left the country to reside where his child support couldn’t be legally collected and would always drive nice cars, dress well, and live grandly, no matter what I thought C. needed from him. That’s just the way it is. It’s a more comfortable way for those with an emotional bunker mentality to say “I’m going to think of myself first”, and by “myself” I mean the reality of the vainglorious hauteur, not the high-brow noblesse that people like this have become in their own heads.
I don’t like to let these people enjoy their comfortable little lie to themselves. I usually find a way to extract a confirmation of the real reason, in one way or another. This time, it was a brief email message to p. Friday morning; composed like a mirror so that how he responded, or didn’t, would make the truth an unavoidable elephant in the room. No response. It’s early yet to ‘call’ it (not really, but work with me), but I’m pretty sure I know now why it is just the way it is.
M&M types
Last week I was enjoying the company of a long time good friend, one time client, who has become somewhat of both a benefactor and a mentor over the years. We scratch each other’s backs when it’s needed; and he’s known me since my fist months as an escort, through my cuckolding relationship, and other romantic dramas. He is *very* vanilla; and while he knows OF this side of me, he neither understands it nor wishes to. Which is ironic, because he is so very submissive and has done so much for me over the years that would easily surpass anything the subs I’ve mingled with have in the way of service and worship. From gifts to manual labor, if I just ask, it’s mine; he hears all about my love life, and we always do what I want. I get all the oral sex I want, and if he comes to visit and I don’t want sex, it’s fine with him, he just spoils me instead- or leaves me alone if I wish. Details of his personal life, too, would read like most subs chastity blogs. He’s just not a masochist, and like so many with only popular cultural exposure to BDSM, doesn’t understand the difference between masochism and submission, or that they can exist separately, as can dominance and sadism.
Anyway- in the midst of our play I had temporarily lost control of my senses and dug my nails deep into his arm, drawing blood unknowingly. When I saw the mark a few minutes later, and apologized, he said
“Yeah, you know I’m not one of those M&M’s”
and we both laughed at how bad a joke that was. I thought about explaining to him that indeed, he was ‘one of those’ – just not an ‘m’ type….but why ruin a good thing?
Maybe he just coined a new term for vanilla men with no apparent interest in kink, but whom are submissive in their relations with women. And, while my M&M is a really nice thing to have…this visit just left me realizing that this door to my dominant side, now open, will not be easily shut, and M&M’s don’t work well as pervertables, and are just not going to satisfy any more.
Fear Factor
Something I’m experiencing- a LOT- with the subs who have shown interest in me whom I’ve taken simple initial steps to know, seems to be an unsolveable connundrum. Actually, two.
First, I’m finding that subs are contacting me coming on very strong in the “I’d like you to do THIS to me” department. Which is fine; I know men are prone to extreme fantasies, particularly when a strong need goes unmet. The problem arises when these men can’t differentiate for themselves which fantasies are just too far to really undertake for them- for real, and spend months leading you (me) into the beginnings of a relationship BASED on those fantasies and desires. Often, misrepresenting their level of experience; and probably never intending to follow through from the beginning. Sometimes an actual connection takes place, so they carry it further than they might have planned until it comes down to brass tacks and time to meet, or do something related to the extreme fantasy they used to connect with you. And then they freak out and disappear without so much as a word. It’s not just the pig I talked about yesterday. In fact, it’s happened with every submissive I’ve tried to get involved with. Sometimes before fantasies are even discussed; often standing me up for a date. And eventually, often months or sometimes years later, they return to tell me they were just scared, found me so overwhelming and powerful…and I am left dumbfounded because having someone just skip out on me with no explanation really doesn’t leave me feeling all that powerful.  And generally, I try to avoid going into extreme desires up front in a potential relationship; so most of the time it’s the gentlemen who have instigated not only the fantasy but a flurry of intense exchanges and pushing me to move faster, farther. I resist, and if over time they allow me a bit of trust, I often take what they’ve said they want and run with it….a bit scared to cross a line but confident that this is what they want. And then, suddenly they don’t. It’s …. hard. Having been out of a relationship so long- which ended with the use of my dominance as a scapegoat for our difficulties, and newish to exploring this as a personal (not for pay) journey, it really shuts me down and makes trying to feel confident in what I am doing (much less just- confident) very difficult indeed.
The other – sort of related- problem is …how do I put this succinctly? I can’t begin to count the number of single subs with personal ads looking for cruel, thoughtless, selfish, bitches that specifically state if you have a nice quality to your personality at all don’t bother, you aren’t Domme enough. And, you know, all of those are great qualities to explore in a D/s relationship- it’s part of the attraction to me- but… I’m more multifaceted than that. It seems empathy and a happy demeanor are NOT often on the wish list of single, looking male submissives. And it also seems accepted knowledge that if you are a generally nice person and don’t choose to stomp around looking angry and calling all men in sight ‘bitch’ all the time….that you aren’t domme at all. I wonder who these men think they are looking for. Fembots that don’t exist beyond the role they play. And you know- I have NO problem with the mean, total bitch domme stereotype. I know they are out there and hooray for them and their subs. But I just never thought of submission as becoming a doormat; I think it’s beautiful- and in order to really get to know someone so I can trust them enough to be a total bitch without having it turned against me, I have to start out as my boring nice self. I can’t imagine wanting to be with someone in a relationship- a real one- and thinking that they’d never laugh with you, or consider your feelings, or just like to be fun and silly or sweet and tender every now and then was a good thing; even IF eventually you both want her to have total control and use you like a toy. We aren’t singularly dimensional… dominant women. Any women. And thinking that we should be really is objectification on a level that just blows me away.
What brings this about is that the pig who’s been playing games with me …. both of these issues (in large part- but not completely- in large part he is just an ass) are a problem for him. And I think he sees a bit of the light at the end of the tunnel, but isn’t sure what it is. (I have more to write on that situation, but it will have to wait for this weekend.) But he’s not the only one. I’d posted an ad for a cuckold about half a year ago, emphasizing clean up duties as a requirement; and had many enthusiastic responses. I pursued one. After about six weeks of just talking he was given his first assignment- a photo of cum on his lips. And it came to deadline day- he called and chatted with me- acting so excited. He had pushed the deadline and so was left to manage his task without my participation; and the appointed hour came and went. I called, several times- no answer. Spent a few days trying to communicate – using a firm tone, being understanding, shaming him, every approach I could think of- all to no avail. Two months later, having finally gotten over it and involved with another interest, I receive a passionate email explaining how he actually wasn’t sub at all, but was just to ME, and had gotten squicked, but then couldn’t get me off his mind, and knew he needed me to do all that we had talked about to him. Recently, six months after meeting, he sort of completed his task. Sort of. And you know what? Had he been honest about it being a new and scary exploration for him I’d have never asked for it and we could have approached it much more gently and gradually- or perhaps not at all.
I just wish that- when getting overwhelmed with fear that they’ve gone too far- or when approaching a (dominant) woman to explore something that may not ever materialize…that you guys would just give us some credit and be …simply….honest. Say “Can we explore something that is a bit extreme for me and might not happen for real?”, or “I’m sorry, I need more time” or ” I need a few days to think on my own” or just “I’m not interested anymore”. I mean really. If a woman says she’s looking for an LTR based on consentual slavery, or cuckoldry…and you’re not sure but just curious…just SAY so. Don’t pretend you really plan to try and enter that LTR just to talk with her about your cuckold fantasies that you know you can never follow through on. Most of us are fine talking about fantasies that may never happen, and appreciate why that is so. We just don’t like being mislead. It’s rude, hurtful, and using someone else’s kink and feelings to satisfy a whim. I can’t imagine anything more disrespectful. Well, ok, so I can. But you know what I mean.