Then this happened…

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.

The Second Price

There’s a blog I enjoy a lot called Raptitude. Raptitude is “a blog about getting better at being human.” Yesterday’s reading, Everything Must be Paid for Twice, really resonated with me. The “second price” of everything is the effort we must expend to enjoy, or benefit from, the things we buy – or even, extrapolating here, the relationships we embark upon.

For instance, in his post, he talks about buying a book. The first price is the cost of the book. The purchase gives you happiness – you have this new book you’ve been wanting to read! But the second price is the cost of time and effort in reading it. You can’t fully benefit from the purchase of the book until you expend the time and energy to actually read it. And yet, convincing ourselves to actually spend that time/focus/energy is sometimes really hard.

This extends to lots of things. The tarot journal I bought at Christmas, the budgeting, yoga and menu planning apps, the treadmill, the garden, all my beautiful, colorful yarn, and even the puzzles and games I have bought over the years. I have books I’ve never read, games that have never even been opened, summer plants that I could have wintered over with proper care but that I let die. The treadmill – while it got a lot of use at first – has sat unused for all of the winter, when it should get the most use.

But using them, getting use out of them, costs that second price: effort. Attention. Perseverance. It’s easier to let myself do things with a low second price – play phone games, zone out to television, lose myself in social media – than to expend the effort of the second price that these things demand.

And yet it is that very effort that makes the first price so worthwhile, and every time I expend it, I am glad that I did. I have recent examples: finishing my year-ahead reading in my tarot journal, using my specialty winter gear to hike in blisteringly cold weather, completing my budget in the new app I downloaded. I finished an afghan I’ve been working on forever and discovered new games that I love. Cooking delicious meals.

Our latest Ticket to Ride game.
Winter hiking.
A year of perseverance – worth every minute to see my Mom smile when I gave it to her.
The year ahead.

Other things – things that feel like they demand a higher price, like the treadmill and the yoga app and the sock organizer (lol) – well, I just need to remind myself that the first price is only worth it if I pay the second price – and it is the effort that the second price takes that makes it all worthwhile.

So what about relationships? How does this apply?

For me, the first price of finding a new kink/D/s relationship, was vulnerability. Allowing myself to be open to a new relationship, to the angst and potential rejection and pain it could bring. That was a steep first price, but, ultimately, one I paid… as I always will.

And the second price? Why the work, of course, in developing and embracing a healthy D/s dynamic. But oh how the work makes it worth it.

Introducing My New Sir

“Turn to an entry in your journal or diary from a year or
more ago. What has changed, and what has stayed the same since then?”

In my last post I mentioned that there’s someone new in my life, and even shared the image below on Twitter after a play session the other night, but I haven’t really said too much about him here yet. Maybe I’ve been waiting to see how it settled, maybe it’s just too new (we’re only a couple of months in), maybe I just haven’t been ready to share yet.

Aftermath

Maybe it was this 5-year diary that my sister gave me, One Line a Day, in which you write (as it says) one line per day all year, then just beneath the first year’s lines, you write the next, and so on and so forth, for five years, that shook loose what I needed to feel comfortable sharing here.

The idea fascinated me – yes I can look back in this blog to see where I was and what I was doing at roughly this time last year, but (especially in the last six years) I haven’t always kept up, and when I did it was heavily self-censored and I was often deeply self-conscious (and anxious) about who might read it, and what the fall-out might be. So it hasn’t been a very accurate look at what’s really going on in my life. My OLAD diary is for my eyes only and as such, I have been very upfront about my daily life – what is challenging me, what is making me happy, what is making me sad, what I am feeling in the moment and what I have found important enough to put down in one (or two) lines there. And, as I record each day, I can look back and read where I was on that day last year.

And holy hell it’s hard to read.

This time last year…hell, all of last year (but especially the first half) was really fucking hard. It is PAINFUL to read where I was, what I was going through. What I was putting myself through. I just want to gather myself in my arms and rock myself, tell myself it’s going to be all right. It was about that time that I wrote a note to myself that I stuck to my monitor: Everything changes. I am not sure I believed it then, but I put it there, to remind myself of that truth. “It’s true, believe it!” I would tell myself if I could go back. Because it was all right, eventually. Things did change. And not because I met someone new. No, I was all right before that happened – in fact I believe I met the new person in my life – and was ready to explore a new relationship – only because I was finally all right. I wouldn’t have been ready to be here, now, if I hadn’t made it through the past year and come out the other side whole and healthy. In fact only about a week before we met I had written, “I’m all right. My life is good, just as it is.” And it was.

I mean, of course the fucking pandemic still raged. Of course my aging parents were still a challenge. Of course there were challenges in all of the changes that have happened. But I was happy, for the first time in a long time. Happy in myself. More than just “over” V, I had found myself again.

And then I met my Sir. I met him in a hiking group that consists of kinky folks. The hikes aren’t kinky – but they are open in that we are all in the lifestyle in some capacity, new or long-term, 24/7 or just exploring, and as such it’s a very open, freeing experience. We talk about anything and everything, as varied as our travels, pets, careers, relationships, curiosities, books we’ve read…as well as kinky topics. I don’t have to be careful of how much I share about my life and experiences, and I love it and the group.

Plus, you know, hiking. The last one was ten-and-a-half miles in below 30* weather in the Ozarks. It was beautiful, it was challenging, and it was so much fun. Afterwards we all played card games and ate and drank and laughed and talked, and I was at the heart of that group, with friends – and with my Sir.

He runs the group, and as its leader, I kind of naturally gravitated towards him as we hiked that first time all those weeks ago. We talked a lot that first hike, and later I emailed him about a hike that I had mentioned. We ended up messaging back and forth, planning to meet up to do the hike outside the group, kind of feeling each other out, what we were looking for – as potential hiking partners and eventually, as potential play partners. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but his profile made him sound like someone I might be interested in playing with – I was looking for a play partner – and I told him as much.

We started seeing each other, and in a very considered, deliberate, and yet natural way, we ended up realizing that being play partners was not what either of us ultimately wanted – we wanted more. He wants a D/s dynamic. Initially reluctant to embrace that – due to feelings of betrayal of those desires in my relationship with V – I came to realize and accept that really is what I want and need. It has been since the beginning when I discovered kink. Play is good, play is fun, but I crave the depth of a D/s-based relationship. It fulfills something in me that feels hollow and empty without it. And just because it ultimately didn’t work with V, doesn’t mean it can’t work with someone else.

And so here we are. In a developing D/s dynamic.

I’ve realized, in reading through my previous year’s entries, how very broken things were with V and I. This is not to place blame on V. He struggled and suffered just as I did – maybe, in some ways, more. We neither of us was good for the other by the time we tried to get back together at the beginning of last year. I should never have said that I would try again – we were well and truly broken, and no amount of love or wanting it to be different was going to put it right. But only in reading it now, from the perspective of a year on – and in the midst of what feels like a very healthy dynamic – especially comparatively – can I see that.

But the truth is, I learned so much about myself in that last, impossible year. How can I regret the growth it brought me, even if that growth was gained through so much pain? And how would I even recognize the growth, if I didn’t have my own words – honest, heartfelt, in-the-moment words – to read, to listen to?

So anyway. That was the impetus for this post, as well as the prompt from 365 Days of Submissive Journal Prompts, a PDF he sent me from submissiveguide.com – to introduce my new Sir – Sir or SirQ – here, and also to celebrate the fact that I can write here again. (Actually it’s a task he has given me, weekly (at least) blogging.)

And ah hell, since it is my kink and sex blog, here ya go – the one “kinky” thing I did while hiking, because if there’s an opportunity to get the girls out… well, you know.

(I know, I know, big surprise, no? No.)

tell me about: sexual health – masturbation

I wonder why masturbation became such a shameful activity? It’s healthy, good for mind and body, is a simple way to inject pleasure into one’s life, and doesn’t need anyone else or anything but yourself to accomplish. (Well, most times it doesn’t need anything – some folks do need or prefer mechanical or other physical aids to get themselves to orgasm. I’m one of them. I can make myself come with my fingers, but it’s so much easier with a vibrator, and one vibrator-style in particular – a Hitachi-type – so I almost always use it, with or without various other toys.) But I – like so many other people – am filled with embarrassment and shame about masturbating – even though I find it super sexy and hot when others do it! The topic is even hard for me to write about (which is why I am writing about it.)

What is also challenging for me is getting into the mental space to have a self-pleasuring session. Without a dominant in my life telling me to do so, masturbation takes a back seat to everything else, and I often don’t think of it until I can’t sleep at night (another benefit t of masturbating – it can be a sleep aid.) This use of masturbation would probably be the one I would do, dominant or no, but unfortunately I’ve swallowed the “feel shame for masturbating” kool-aide, and so can’t bring myself to do so next to my sleeping partner. So now, living with Ad, I seldom use masturbating to help me sleep. I even talked to him about it (red-faced, embarrassed, trying to adult and failing), and asked him if it would bother him if I did. He of course said no – but I still can’t bring myself to go there. So I get up and go to my bedroom, but by that time I’ve woken fully up, and lost the half-asleep-jerk-myself-off-into-full-sleep mental space.

In preparation for this piece, I masturbated yesterday in the middle of the day. Even home alone, though, I had to go up into my bedroom, shut the door and get under the covers. Ridiculous for a grown woman! But that’s how deeply the feeling of shame and embarrassment runs in me. I tried again last night, in desperation when I couldn’t sleep, but couldn’t get to an orgasm. It was frustrating and ultimately more unsatisfying than if I had not tried at all. I really needed my kink-partner- on-hiatus’s words in my ear, his nasty stories in my mind, his instruction and direction, to get me there.

I remember some delightful sessions where my kink partner and I played with that shame – he was very good at those games, ordering me to masturbate in deliberately humiliating places and ways, and it was defininitely not the effort it is to get to orgasm the way it is now, when I do it without his direction. A lot of my mental kink is playing with those edges, those things that feel taboo, and he used those spaces a lot in our psychological play. I miss those games with him, acutely. I wonder if he misses them too?

I thought about doing a “daily” masturbation session for this piece, each time with a different toy, and reporting on them, but I am not sure I could commit to it. For one thing, I’d have to do it during the day if I wanted privacy, or tell Ad what I was doing and go off into my bedroom of an evening, and that feels embarrassing – the kind of embarrassing that doesn’t get me off (shame games don’t work with he and I because we don’t have that dynamic.) And because he is not in a sexual space right now, that notion is even more fraught with anxiety for me (what does he think, is he sad I’m not sharing it with him) – not a good place from whence to start a sexy session.

But maybe I should do it anyway to normalize it? Okay, so he’s not in a place where he wants sexual activity, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being sexual (this goes for my kink partner’s headspace as well) so maybe I need to take back that space for myself. I dunno. Sounds all gung-ho and strong, modern woman, but the reality is what I’ve said up there – it just doesn’t work very well without being directed to it.

Anyway, in anticipation of maybe trying to do a “once a day, different toy,” marathon, I thought I’d get an establishing shot – here’s my sex toy stash! If it happens, I won’t be reporting on it daily (way too much pressure that I know I’d never make good on!) but I might do “round-up” posts. Keep an eye out for them – and let me know if any of these look particularly interesting – that might help get me over the “hump” late at night when I need something extra to get there!

#sinfulsunday – sucking (in a good way)

The Canadian told me he had read an old blog post of mine, The Joy of Sucking Cock (which is, possibly not surprisingly, one of my most-read blog posts.)

Based on that, “Your task today,” he said, “is to demonstrate yourself sucking 6 different cocks – bio or not.” Now, I don’t have one bio cock I can demo on at the moment, but I have plenty of pretend ones. And look! My lipstick lessons came in good stead as well.

This also goes along well with this month’s theme: “I am…”

“I am a happy little cocksucker!”

My favorite is the bottom right. What’s yours?

Go checked out all the other Sunday Sinners, telling us about who they are!

a to z challenge: w is for wants & needs

During this hiatus that my kink partner and I are on, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about wants and needs. What do I want in a kink relationship? What do I need? Do I need kink in my life? Do I need sex? I’m getting long-distance kink right now, and it’s lovely, but I miss hands-on kink. And sex. And feeling someone’s desire, at close range. I miss kissing and being held and being desired physically.

I asked Adam why we stopped playing. I had just read a post from this very blog (Mouth) in which I talked about going to a kink event with Ad – just he and I – and we played. A lot! And it was fun. But it’s been years since he took an active role in our kink life. Yes, he’s played with me with other kink partners, and he’s even played with me alone when I have asked him a couple times. But while he was never toppy or dominant before, now we don’t play at all.

The thing is, I thought it was me, not wanting to play with him because he’s not dominant enough But what he said was, “I’m just not in that headspace.” And that gave me pause. It’s not me (I’ve been feeling guilty.) He isn’t interested in kink. So my feeling that I just don’t have that connection with him is actually correct – and it’s no one’s fault, I knew all along that he wasn’t kinky for himself. He did it for me, because he dug the fact that it affected me so much. Not because he wanted/needed it. And that’s okay. We have other things we share. But…I do want those things. I think…maybe…that I need them. I mean, I’m pretty sure I need kink to get off. I’m just programmed that way.

Part of my issue right now is that I’ve just started a new anti-depressant. And I feel…a little dulled. The sharper edges of my libido, which had been ragged and snarly since I haven’t played with anyone or had sex in weeks with anyone, have been smoothed down. Is that just a result of getting used to not being with someone? Or is it the medication affecting me? I don’t know.

I’ve thought about playing with others. Dating others. In fact I have a few irons in the fire – an old flame; a girlfriend I’ve played with before; a new boy from OK Cupid. And I can honestly say that none of those situations are just me looking to (selfishly) scratch an itch. I genuinely care about the first two, the last is a flirtation that yes, I might not have entered into if my kink partner and I were seeing each other right now, but it’s fun and sexy and gives me a little spark. And then there’s my Canadian – topping me and tormenting me from afar.

But do I need any of this? For that matter, do I need it from my kink partner? If, when things settle down with him and we see each other again, if he was to say, “nope, don’t want that anymore,” what would I do?

I don’t know. Does a thing have to be a need? Can’t I just want it in my life? Can’t I just say, I want this in my life, and have that be enough.

I don’t know anymore.

I got to this topic by way of Marie’s post, Life happens, love binds, on the topic “When Life Gets in the Way,” from the “Tell Me About…” meme. That topic is over, but it still resonated with me. A lot of what I am going through is because life got in the way – of my kink, of my kink relationships. The pandemic, life going sideways, lockdowns and border closings, depression and anxiety, it’s all taken a heavy toll. I get that when the dust settles everything may – probably will – look different. But right now, life is standing there being a bully to us all. And so I sit here and wonder: What do I want? What do I need?

a to z challenge – v is for virtual date

So I had a virtual date with the Canadian the other night. Our 1st in a very long time – talk about life getting in the way of kink! He’s always very specific about my appearance and deportment while on our v-dates: for this one it was posture collar, stockings and a garter belt, stilettos, nude otherwise. He also directed me to have my Hitachi, a crop, a glass dildo and my metal buttplug handy.

And there was to be a correction, a consequence, because I had been unable to complete one of the tasks he had set for me for that week. But because I had a good reason, it was not a punishment, precisely, just s small reminder that rules are rules.

I had to do corner-time.

Jade being cornered.

I won’t share all the rest of the details of the rest of the date – I am sure you can imagine them, given the “what to bring to the date” list. But here’s a shot of the posture collar – and me after our date – to help with those imaginings.

a to z challenge – p is for pikachu

But probably not the Pikachu you may know (and, if you’re me, love – yep, I’m a Pokemon Go player, and I wanna catch’em all! Okay, I’ll stop there. But seriously, if you play and want to friend me, I’m PiecesofJade on there too – I always like to gather new Pokie friends!) Anyway, this post is only tangentially about something Pikachu-like, but it made the “p” for the Alphabet Challenge work, so here we are:

That’ right, it’s a Pikachu Buttplug. As my local kink partner used to say – anything can be made kinky. So what’s up with the Pikachu buttplug? Well, I’ve started accepting tasks from my long distance dominant partner, M (the Canadian, as I usually refer to him.)

This hiatus that my local kink partner and I are on is necessary for us both, but it’s left a vacuum in my life where I used to have the structure of a loving, rules-based D/s relationship. (It’s also left a big hole where there used to be sex and kink, but that’s another story.) Now, I am not rushing in to have those needs met by just anyone else. What we had was deep and abiding, and can’t be replaced by some dial-a-Dom on the internet. Nor am I ready to give up entirely on it coming back to us, and as such, that part of my submission truly is still his to Own, if he ends up wanting it back. But meanwhile…meanwhile, there is this hole inside of me, there are these needs I have.

Step in – and up – My Canadian. He knows me as well as any, and he recognized that I’ve been kind of floundering about without the structure that D/s provides, and he asked if I would like to engage in some D/s-based activities with him while things get figured out with my local partner. I miss the structure of rules-based D/s, and he has always wanted to engage in more D/s with me, but the situation and timing was never right for us to do much in this way. It appears that time is nigh – I agreed, and here we are.

Week One of beauty’s tasks!

Today’s task:

It’s “Yellow Monday.
Wear one item of yellow clothing;
eat one yellow food;
find a song with yellow in the title;
find a yellow sex toy (either owned or on the internet.)”

I was not really surprised to realize I don’t have a yellow sex toy. I thought one of my glass toys would have yellow on it but was disappointed that none of them do. Oh well, that meant I could go window shopping online. And how fortuitous – someone actually wrote an entire article about yellow sex toys! And that, of course, is where I found the Piky Buttplug.

Next up, I had to finnd something yellow to wear. Strangely enough, yellow isn’t part of my wardrobe. I couldn’t even locate an blouse with yellow on it, though I know I have a summer dress or two with yellow flowers on it, but I haven’t unpacked all my summer clothes yet. But hey, I have a bright yellow jacket! So, maybe not sexy…or, maybe…?

I like that it matches my butterfly.
And check out my pandemic hair! It’s grow out a lot.

Next up, find a song with Yellow in the title. “Yellow Submarine”? How about “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree”? Nope, I went with something a little more modern, from one of my favorite bands, Counting Crows, “Big Yellow Taxi.”

And lastly, a yellow food. How about some canned peaches! (Yumm it will soon be time for fresh peaches…)


And there you have it. A Pikachu (and etc.) Task completed.