Friday is Boobday, and though you can’t see much of mine, I’m happy with them today. I feel sexy in a warm, quiet way, sitting on my couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blankie, my hair missed and wild, listening to the thunder and the rain outside. It’s lunch time and I am working from home, so that means a nap after reading for a bit. I used to feel guilty when I napped at lunch – there’s so many things I should be doing! – but I don’t. At least not much. Who said we have to be productive every minute of every damn day? Sometimes … I just want to nap in the middle of the day.
So I was asked “What do you get out of this?” in a text conversation recently – “this” being BDSM. It seemed too wide-ranging a topic for a text message, and it’s something I have thought a lot about, before, during and since my relationship and subsequent break-up with V, and then also during my short-lived dynamic with SirQ. Hell it’s something I’ve thought about from the beginning of my explorations into BDSM, because to be able to answer that is to know What I Want, which seems to be the perennial question. If I know what I get out of it, and thus what I want, then I can find, or craft, the perfect relationship(s), right?
Yeah, maybe not. There’s really no such thing as “perfect,” and frankly, things would probably be pretty boring if they were. It’s the journey that matters, after all, not so much the destination. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t value in pondering on the question, in seeking out answers for myself.
Author’s note: I started this post WAY back when, weeks ago while my daughter and I were on vacation together., so some of the time references reflect that.
I wanted to blog on the topic at the beginning of the week, because it kind of fit in with that week’s Kink of the Week (Punishment) and MPB’s Five Questions (Impact Play) but, alas, time got away from me as I spent vacation time with my daughter exploring the Pacific Northwest, and both prompts are now over. I am still there in fact – we just settled into our last AirBnB here on a farm in Damascus (just outside Portland, Oregon) – but I finally have some down time to write, so, regardless of prompts, I’m going to set myself to answering the burning question: What do I get out of this?
There are many so different aspects of WIITWD (What It Is That We Do) that appeal to me, all in different ways. Here are a few.
Impact / Pain Play
So, yeah, there is definitely a headspace that goes along with impact and pain play: feeling small, feeling overpowered, feeling overwhelmed. I like the feeling of being beaten down, into a small, helpless ball, a puddle at my Top’s feet, with absolutely nothing in my mind but him (or her.) There are times I crave that, to be in that abject physical space, to be panting and gulping and shaking, dreading the next strike, and so relieved when it doesn’t come…only to be disappointed that it hasn’t come in the next instant. I want it, I don’t want it, I crave it, I’m afraid of it. I want to be reduced to that puddle of goo that can’t form a thought – even as I fear it and fight it. I want to be pushed into that space, driven there by someone more powerful than me. Someone in control that isn’t me – to have no choice but to endure.
But there are also the times that not feeling overwhelmed is the object – when I want to know that the person inflicting pain on me is so in-tune with me that they know exactly where my edge is, how far and how long to push, until I reach the exact state of almost-but-not-quite overwhelm, and pull me back from the brink and into their arms to feel safe and cared for once again. It’s a question, it’s a test – do they really know me? Do they really know when I am not going to act in my own best interests, and push myself to take more more more? Because it is also a challenge I set myself. Can I take it? Will I take it?
Then there is that other headspace, the one that is about submission, that is all about him (or her) and what they want. Will they do exactly what they desire? Do they desire it? Is this just to please me, or do they truly get off on it? Because that is so damn important to me – that it’s not just because I want it. And that ties back to the previous – because if I know they want it – and if I am feeling truly submissive to them – the more I want to please them – the more I will take, the more I want to take. The more I will push myself to take. So they have to know me – I have to trust them to know me – enough to give into that space, to let the control go.
The not-being-in-control part is huge, too. Not having a say, not having to say, not being the initiator or driver. Just being, because whoever is on the other side of the whip wants to control me, the situation, to make a thing happen – whether it’s giving me pleasure, pain, embarrassment, pride, making me obey or reveling in my obedience and willing submission. I can let my mind quiet, because I don’t have a choice. He or she and I are all there is in those moments.
And then, of course, it’s also about the endorphins. Flying, subspace, the intensity of emotional and chemical soup that we float around in during a pain or impact scene. It’s there that I find release, an exhalation, a breath, and room to breathe. A place to find quiet, to float.
And last but certainly not least, it’s about connection. The intense connection that only comes in those moments between the moments – so sharp and so clear it’s like melting into one another, sharing blood and bone and thought and desire. I crave this more than anything else, and in the end, that’s what it’s all about.
Impact and pain play can be a part of D/s, but doesn’t have to be. I prefer it to be a part of the relationship, but it doesn’t have to be…
Or does it? Can I subsist on domination that doesn’t have a physical element to it?
Hmm…no, I don’t think so. I think I need the physical, in some form. Maybe not daily, or even weekly…but it has to be there in some way. But…that’s another discussion for another time.
Right now I’m talking about what I get from D/s. I will define that as the act of giving up control to another person – not in a physical sense, as in an impact scene, for instance, but as in various aspects of my life. Obedience, submission, doing what I am told simply because I am told to do so. The hot kinky stuff: asking for permission to orgasm, being told to reveal fantasies, being made to edge or wear a buttplug or video myself… The more mundane things: what to wear, how to speak, what to eat, when to sleep, how much to exercise. I need both in a D/s dynamic. I want to be the kinky sex toy, but I also want to have a real-world dynamic. Structure and rules make me feel safe and confident in a relationship, especially when I know that these things matter to the other person as well. And especially in a relationship in which we aren’t physically in the same space every day or night, it helps me to feel connected to them.
Rules & Punishment
I don’t term these as play, because, to me, they aren’t. And they are (in some ways) outside of D/s. I mean, not really, but they have their own space because (I think) you could have D/s without rules, punishment & corrections.
I don’t need a lot of rules in my “real” life. I do pretty much as please, when I please, and with whom I please (I mean, aside from showing up to work and to fulfill my obligations to my family). I live with Adam, but I don’t ask permission to do anything (though I am respectful of his time and needs.) We’ve been together long enough, and I have been independent long enough, that it’s not really a question anymore. But in a D/s relationship, I need to know there are rules. I need to know what they are, that there are boundaries, and I need to know that I have followed the rules and instructions – or that I have not. I need expectations to live up to. And I need consequences if I have not. Punishment – preferably corporal – fulfills that need. I feel renewed, refreshed, forgiven and relieved when it is over. I have paid for my error, and we can move on.
I’ve played a lot at the edges of humiliation/degradation play before, though my preference is in the lighter side of those kinds of play : sexual embarrassment and shame as opposed to degradation. Of course, that all depends on how you define those things, though, doesn’t it? Is it degrading to be pissed on? To be called degrading names, to be given away or forced to perform sex acts? These things are hot to me: making me display myself or ordering me to perform sexually, calling me a slut or a cunt or whore, treating me as a sex object, as “holes” to be used or filled. In this kind of play, words are as exciting as the acts, and what I get out of it is pretty basic: it fuels my arousal. It doesn’t often go deeper than that. Now that I’ve said that, though, I have to admit to one kind of “degradation” play that is both a physical turn-on and does something deeper in my brain: piss play. Being pissed on, or in. It makes me feel small and…something like humiliated, but at the same time deeply owned and marked. The only thing I specifically requested of W that I only do with him was drink his pee. Of all the things we did together, that was the only one I didn’t want to do with anyone else. In thinking about it, I think that this kind of play – and how I perceive it – is very much contingent upon the relationship.
Those of you that have read me for a long time will remember my pony persona, Onyx, who was W’s, and my wild pony, Topaz, who was her own wild self, but who came out to play with Adam. And with V there was kitty, though I never truly embraced a kitty persona of my own. It was more like…bringing to life one of the catgirls he fantasized about – for him, not me. But being pony was a special place for me. I didn’t have to be me anymore…Onyx was a parade pony, a show pony, proud and a little skittish, flighty and high-strung. And I could just melt into her, and know that W would take care of her and adored her. It was a lovely space to be in. Topaz, on the other hand (or hoof), was wild and unruly. She fought being tamed and that wildness – that fighting back – was an integral part of the kind of play Adam and W did with her, and it let me not be obedient, it let me step outside my submissive self and into that other space.
There are so many more nuances to WIITWD, but that kind of sums of the big ones. Maybe I will revisit later, if other kinds of play become a topic of their own.
I haven’t participated much in this meme of late (well, any meme, really) but I felt like posting something – without knowing what – until I saw it, and remembered how pleased I’d felt looking at my breasts this morning. My weight swings wildly about 15 lbs. either way, and when it’s 15 up, it shows first in my boobs. So, though I don’t like those extra 15 lbs., I do like my breasts during that time.
BoobDay is a weekly meme in honour of chests and breasts of all shapes and sizes belonging to all types of folks.
My travel day from Mexico was something of a clusterfuck. The morning had started nice – M (my Canadian) and K and I had coffee and snuggles and played a little and talked and it was, truly, a lovely goodbye, if one can say that about saying goodbye to people you know you won’t see for probably another year. (I hope it’s not that long, but you never know.)
But it quickly went downhill from there.
The plan was to take K to the ferry to go on her own little adventure to Cozumel before taking me to get Covid tested and then to lunch, and then to the airport for the start of my 10-hour travel day. But we dawdled too long (none of us wanted to actually start the goodbye process, I think) at the apartment and K ended up literally having to run to catch the ferry. M and I knew where the ferryport was from the drop-off point, and pointed it out to her, watching as she hurried away from us. But as she disappeared into the crowd, I suddenly asked M to pull over so I could run after her to make sure she made it on. I ran all the way down to the port, looking for her, but finally had to give up, hoping I hadn’t seen her because she had got on okay. We did tell her to message us as soon as she was aboard, which, five minutes after I got back to the car, she did. Mission accomplished – but that sense of anxiety was to stay with me the rest of the day and night.
It started with an overweight bag at the airport, and the super-friendly-trying-to-be-helpful ticketing agent insisting I “just repack” some of my checked bag into my carry-on (10 lbs worth) to save me the $100 overweight fee. Right there at the check-in counter, with hundreds of people in line behind me. In a mask, my glasses fogging, and already feeling the anxiety from the morning and from having to rush around to find a Covid-testing station. And from knowing that when I opened my bag it might not rezip (the zipper had been off the track that morning and had taken 20 minutes to get sorted out) and that I had BDSM implements and sex toys in my bag that very easily could fall out. Right there in front of hundreds of people. I was more than willing to just pay the $100 – she was more than willing, insistent even, to help me save the fee. I capitulated and reorganized, amazingly not dumping whips and canes and a Hitachi on the floor, and managing to rezip the damn thing. (The airport personnel were not as lucky, I don’t think, as when I got my bag back in StL it had been thoroughly rifled through – but at least they didn’t confiscate anything, as they had in Cuba – I lost a Hitachi there.)
Anyway. The rest of the day was a jumble of not being able to charge my phone in the airport or on the plane, having to go through customs, retrieve my bag and recheck it as well as go through the TSA lines in Miami again, and then traverse the entire Miami Dade airport, lugging my now-20 lb carryon bag on my shoulder. All this cost me so much time I almost missed my connecting flight, even though I had a two-hour window between one and the other, and had planned to get a bite to eat in that window. As it was, all I had to eat all day was a bag of M&M’s and some pretzels on the plane. I was harried, exhausted, stressed out and starving by the time Adam picked me up in St. Louis at ten o’clock that night, and so so sick of my mask, that had been on since arriving at the airport that morning.
And, hanging over my head this whole time was the certainty that I was going to have to tell Q, my Sir, that things were just not working for me.
As it was, he was the one that brought it up in a phone call a couple of days later. It was amicable enough. There just wasn’t the spark between us that there had been early on. I’m guessing that the spark flickered out because I set off on my Mexico travels too early in the “bonding” phase of things, and he didn’t know how to create and maintain a long-distance connection. But that was valuable information to learn sooner than later, as any partner of mine does need to have that skillset – and desire. If I can travel, I will. Often spur-of-the-moment, and often with – or to – someone, but on my own as well. Working remotely has given me the ability to do that, and now that I have the bit in my teeth, I can see it happening again. Maybe not for three weeks, and maybe not to Mexico…but. It’s a possibility. I had thought – hoped – that he would be a lovely kinky hiking partner, and that we’d have three or four day weekends hiking, playing and cabin-ing, but during my trip I had come to realize that it probably wasn’t going to be. Still, I held out hope, until that last travel day, when he was too busy to text or call me for even ten minutes all that long, torturous day, when I was having a mini-meltdown and needed a strong, calming presence – preferably my Dominant’s – to help anchor me. I realized in that moment he had already checked out of the relationship, and probably had weeks before. I had known it, felt it in my gut, but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.
That’s one lesson I hope to have learned from this experience – trust my gut. My instincts had said he was just going through the motions a lot earlier, but I held on, hoping that when I got back, we’d put things to rights, and that it had just been the distance between us that had stalled things. After all, I was still really invested in the daily habits and tasks he had me do, even if none of them were sexy fun. I like having a Dominant. I crave it, really, and love being a submissive. I like having tasks, being told what to do, accomplishing the things I have been tasked with. Obeying, and feeling that I have pleased my Top. I hoped that once we had time together again, the sexy part of things would be there as well. But I think I knew, even before I left, that his heart wasn’t in it the way mine was. Not “heart” as in love, but as in the desire to form a strong, sexual D/s bond. And if I had been honest with myself – if I had listened to my gut – I would have admitted a lot earlier that I wasn’t feeling that pull to him, either. I do think he will make a good Dominant to someone – just not to me. I need obedience, but I also need heat, and it just wasn’t there for us.
Well, I mostly made it. Thought I’d end the way I started, with another travel day. “Start as you mean to go on,” right? The undies were cute, but the day was a misery. I was glad to be home when it was done, but what a long, trying day it was.
The last couple days after my last post were a mixed bag. My mom went back in the hospital, work was incredibly busy, and I was living more like a local, just living my life and trying to get by, than like an adventurer exploring my new world on my own.
Oddly enough, that settled me into this space in a way that felt…more authentic? Getting up, doing my morning routine, walking to a little coffee shop I’d found, then working hard all day, dealing with the complications of my aging parents and a sister stretched to her limits by having to deal with everything on her own, I experienced what it might be like to be an expat here. What the rhythm of a life apart here might be like. I opened my door and let the humidity enfold me like a warm, wet blanket, listened to the sounds of traffic and the cacophony of birds, to the men on their food-and-drink bikes calling out their wares; had a beer in the tiny, lovely backyard after work, took the trash out, dealt with tropical bugs and enjoyed a refreshing, cooling rain late one afternoon.
Last night, my last night on my own in Tulum, I wandered back up to the restaurant and shopping district I had found the last time I ventured out, and had dinner in a delightful little outdoor restaurant with trees in the middle of it and fairy lights and cool trip-hoppy music, and sent back Marco Polos to my people back home, because I wanted to share the magic I was feeling with them. I listened to the cadence of a language I have vowed to learn before I come back (everywhere I went I tried out new phrases, asked “como se dice…?” and tried to stretch my very limited vocabulary.) I felt at once a pang of longing to be home where the world was familiar and known, and the magic of being somewhere wholly new and enchanting – and that was, even better, becoming quickly known and familiar as well.
I had an interesting exchange with Sir, trying to explain the mystery and delight I felt in the dichotomy of being both wholly in the moment here and yet still able to recognize the gentle ache of longing for home, my dog, Adam – even him, though we have not known each other for long. Apparently he is not able to experience more than one thing in that way, and I felt a little sad for him. My world is such a wonderful kaleidoscope of experiences, thoughts and emotions all tumbled together, while at the same time each being experienced in its own, exquisite perfection (even the sadnesses, the pain, the sorrow) that to not experience it that way feels like a constriction. My goal, my desire, is to open my heart to all of it, to not deny one iota of my existence and to experience it all in its immediate, messy, tangled glory. Maybe, on a baser level, that is why I can experience pleasure and pain at the same time, orgasm through the lash of the whip, laugh through my tears.
Today is a beach day with the Canadian and K, though our snorkeling trip got canceled due to rough water. I’m looking forward to lazing about under the shade of a palapa, talking, and watching the clouds race across a painfully blue sky while the turquoise sea crashes against the rocks. Tonight I head back to the Canadian’s place in Playa del Carmen with him and K, and then Saturday I am headed to the airport and back home. I hear it’s cold and snowy there, and I am relishing the feel of an icy wind again, of a brisk hike bundled head to toe, of seeing stark, naked trees outlined against a gray sky. And to finding my home routine again, before I set off for another adventure, this time to the Pacific Northwest with my daughter in March.
And since I am behind so far on February Photofest, I’ll share a slideshow now of these lovely days I’ve had here in Mexico, from the mundane to the naughty to the magical. I hope you enjoy seeing them as much as I did making them!
I’ve fallen down on the Photofest by a few days, but I’m going to cut myself some slack – the Canadian and I spent a couple days at a resort, playing like tourists, and I think I only got my laptop out once. Then we had a travel-and-get-acquainted-with-my-new-place day here in Tulum, and then he left to go back to Playa del Carmen and I spent the day at the beach and indulging myself with a massage by the ocean and some alone-time.
Now I’m set up here in the sweetest little AirBnB, where I’ll be on my own for the next three days, before he comes back, bringing Kitty with him. I haven’t seen her in two years, since Cuba, when I first started seeing him, though we have kept in close touch on Messenger, FaceTime and Marco Polo all this time. And then? It’s back to the airport and home again.
But today…polka dots.
Of all the panties we’ve been taking pictures of this trip, these are the Canadian’s favorite, or so he has said.
I almost forgot to post my picture for the day yesterday, so the Canadian “helped” me find the “motivation” I needed to get it done.
Front and back.