To My Future Boyfriend(s)

I will cheat on you.

From the day we meet to the day we part, there will always be others. Others to take my breath away, to steal my heart from you, to make me wet. I will be with them behind your back and you will feel their presence when I am with you. It is inevitable. It is unavoidable. 

They will share our bed and you will see what they can do. You will see how they can make me scream, see the girlish excitement of love for them flitter across my face. You will see how they can change me -- forcing a kaleidoscope of emotions fractured and glued, tragically beautiful and chaotically violent into a single day. 

You will see my breath catch, hear my heart breaking, feel my limbs curl around you as I pass on their gentleness. You will see my fingers flex and bend, dancing across the air to a tune of lust, of passion, of impatience and perhaps, regret.  I may even mention how disappointed in them I am. 

Yes. There will always be others that no matter how much you matter to me, no matter how much I may call you Master or Sir or how much in love with you I fall, no how much respect I will have for you I will be thinking of them. 

I am a bibliophile. And books will always come first. 

Unless you build me a library... or give me yours. Because then, seriously, I love you forever. 

What? I never said I wasn't easy. I mean... my perfect day includes a used bookstore, the beach, food, and sex. And maybe a butt plug, but that's just for kinks. 

Photo credit here

Because I always read half naked. ALWAYS. 

The Female Sisyphus

I'm not sure at what point I dropped the ball on living any sort of life worth living but it's occurred to me I'm just exististing. What I mean to say is it would appear I've chosen to live my life on only the barest of what could outwardly called put together. I've systematically shut down any belief in myself to occomplish anything. For example, I had a brief moment of clarity and clocked myself at a maximum of 20 seconds of effort -- even on the smallest of things. 

It doesn't matter what it is: bills, finding a piece of paper, putting my clothes away, getting to work on time, eating a remotely healthy diet, accepting I might fancy someone, applying for classes, dishes, reviewing a novel... All fill me with this sense of anxiety and dread I can only withstand for a maximum of 20 seconds. It would seem I've frozen myself in this little stasis of immobility and to be honest, I'm not even sure why or how -- or how to get myself out.

Well, I know how I got here. I'm not sure what challenge I put forth to myself but what I've let myself become is pretty much my worst nightmare. It's like at some point I "failed" at something and chose this to be my punishment. I'm preeeeeety sure the punishment doesn't fit the crime. 

Whatever the events I chose to get here, it brings me no amount of comfort to chose to get out of it. Like choosing to live my life in accordance with... I dunno happiness and comfort and flow is the equivelant of carrying the boulder up a steep incline. And sectioning it out doesn't do one iota of good because I remind myself that this pebble of a task is part of that huge heavy boulder and even if I get that pebble up the incline, that huge, heavy boulder is still on my back growing like a tumor infecting my body and life with the evil partnership of gravity.

A happy thought, no?  

I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get myself out of this one this time, but I will eventually. 

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I've Basically Died & Gone to Heaven

This is the fun part where my bookish ways collide with my kinky ones. Without further ado I give you...

Fifty Shades of Alice in Wonderland (#1)

Summary (from Goodreads): Eighteen-year-old Alice is unhappy. Her boyfriend is nice and polite, but he's also quick and careless in bed, and doesn't give Alice the attention and variety she craves. But he's not entirely to blame, because Alice herself doesn't understand her own needs. She's heard about what sex is supposed to be like, but has never felt anything remotely close to what she's read about in runaway bestselling books.

BEYOND 9 1/2 WEEKS...

Then Alice follows a vibrating white rabbit down a deep, dark hole, which leads to a place beyond her wildest imagination. There are no nice boys--or girls--down here. Only those who indulge in secret, forbidden, kinky fantasies.

BEYOND PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND ZOMBIES...

Alice is confused and frightened and... aroused. She is bound. Teased. Spanked. Toyed. Brought to the limits of sexual endurance. And during her trials, she begins to understand her body's needs for the very first time.

BEYOND THUNDERDOME...

This isn't the fairy tale you grew up reading. This isn't for children at all.

This is for those with dark desires, who wish to explore erotic excess beyond the plain vanilla of everyday life. Follow Alice down the rabbit hole, if you dare...


Fifty Shades of Alice in Wonderland is slightly longer than the Lewis Carroll version, roughly 32,000 words or 115 paper pages long. Melinda DuChamp is the pen name of someone you may know.

RUNNERS UP:

Fifty Shades of Chicken I actually own and I can tell you it is not only hilarious but the recipes are delicious! The Mr. Darcy book I just fancy a peek at. I do so love a good laugh. (Click on photos for more info/ description)

Drunk Thanksgivukkah

Confession: my family doesn't celebrate Chanukkah, but I've decided to get quite sloshed anyway. Enjoy your holiday! 

Back to Business

I've just completed my first real workout since my injury. Literally. Just now. Like I've just finished stretching out and in my excitement had to blog about it. Now if I'll be honest ever since worker's comp decided not to renew PT (physical therapy) back in October I dropped the ball. Why? Excuse excuse blah blah. Doesn't matter now, does it? That's the past and this is the present.

I've been in a funky mental haze lately but have noticed over the last two or three weeks that I've stopped being in bone-aching pain after work, or that even half-assing some of my PT the sharp pains have slowly gone away. Basically I've noticed that while I'm still not 100% I feel more myself athletically than I have in a long time. I have my body back.

Kind of.

I'm still way over weight and morbidly out of shape but I've come to terms with being gentle with myself. I've come to terms with my continued need for pain killers (although that's dwindling too) because I'm a still a weenie and hell no. Life is so much better when you take care of yourself and I'm sorry, but I'm not about to win an award for being Saint of the Year because of this knee. I like it when OTHER people hurt me (read: DOM), not when my own body decides to go rogue and do it thankyouverymuch.

So I've found a fitness plan (that I've modified somewhat) that will work for me. Just like school, work, and cleaning I'm going to ease into my work-outs. Oh, but I've signed up for my first 5K (set for February 1, 2014) as some extra motivation.

BOOM BITCHES.

The Dirty Word: If

I have this nasty habit of using if. As in, "if I don't do the laundry, then I can't wear pretty clothes" ... even though I have several outfits I can wear. It's a side effect of perfectionism. I punish myself for even the slightest of infractions and criticize myself brutally, to the point of severe mental abuse. Seriously, now that I'm aware of my self-talk, I'm shocked at what comes forward.

Thankfully I've made steps in this area and each time I fall off that proverbial wagon the ground appears to be getting closer. Take for instance my most recent of falls: I've scrubbed this house in nearly every room. Organized GENERATIONS of junk (I come from a line of pack rats, and am quite determined to break it), yet I haven't completely mastered the upkeep. I've nurtured and developed what is slowly blossoming into a healthy form of OCD, but in these new habits there are faults. While these new habits do not rely on the mighty "if", I am abolishing a lifetime of unhealthy habits, and raising the bar on what I consider "living standards". This in itself is not a miraculous healing, at least not for me.

Each time I feel like I've fallen into squalor just because I haven't put away the sheets or hung the clothes because I'm too tired I get to remind myself that I've made the bed, done the dishes, cleaned the bathroom, swept the floors AND given the dogs a bath. So really one fall from grace isn't all that bad.

It might take a few more tries, but I know I'm well on my way to perfect imperfection.

Confessions

Dear Lord, I know I am ready. I stand at the new plateau achieved ready to fly. I am so grateful for all I have accomplished thus far and I ask for you to guide my heart to the next destination. I open myself wide to the Ultimate Love. I let any remaining fears of inadequacy drift from me as I soar to success. I know you touch all in my life, blessing me with joy, happiness, and fulfillment. I experience your grand design with patience and peace. With this I honor You by loving myself unconditionally and unquestioningly. I give to others this same unquestioning love from the overflow -- attracting and receiving it back to me perfectly. I release this into the Infinite Universe thankful to know this to be true now in my life, unfolding more perfectly than I can imagine.

And so it is. 

Amen.

Original photo link

Battle of the Blogs

This isn't a new conundrum for me. I've been stumped as to how appropriately handle the situation of reviewing erotica and am failing. I might have this blog, wherein I am "anonymous" (my breadcrumbs to who I am etc are fairly large), but when it comes to books I have created myself as a brand, of sorts. I contact authors, customers, and publishing houses through me -- the face-to-a-name me. I love what I do and it's kind of my drug. However because of my new interests a good portion of the books I read are being left out of reviews or conversations and I'm not ready to scream to the world I'M SUBMISSIVE! There is a big difference between the sprinkling of romance reviews and reviewing an erotica. Mostly because, frankly, I'm just not comfortable with that level of exhibition.

So, I come to you guys. How should this be resolved? I'm open to all ideas, although I know my limitations. I'll be starting school come January, which means a lot tighter schedule and less time for social media. Your input is much appreciated!

Crushes

I can say unabashedly that I love BuzzFeed. It's one of those sites you go on and come up for air hours later, not even knowing any time has passed. Anyhow, I fell upon yet another one of their informative videos. This one about crushes, which hits pretty close to home.



Remember this guy? Through online chatting, I made a friend in a Dom. It definitely crossed the "friendship" line at some point (at least for me), but I think we both danced around it pretty well. It was the first time that I had remotely felt lust, kindness, etc. towards a man (since my injury or breakup). And shortly after I posted that about Him, He disappeared. I blame Night Vale's mysterious hooded figures. I think He got too close to the dog park.

Or, it was His demanding job. Who knows? Life is interesting like that and these sort of Universal teases gifts happen to me frequently. And while I'm not exactly lonely, the experience and lingering tendrils of a crush have left me more wistful than not. Sprinkle in some holiday warmth and you've got a relatively realistic girl dreaming again. Also, baking. But that's a whole other post.

No Shave November

One Sided

I've been wanting to write this for a long time, but I let life get in the way and all that. After reading a kind comment posted here I felt compelled to set things straight. Also, break the usual boo hoo post. Here's the thing: I mostly write when I feel compelled to get something out of my head. As a way to find objectiveness and, so that I can remember. 99% of the time I don't remember what upsetting thing happened from week to week. And as I move forward, the upsetting nature is diminishing due to my ability to process life in a healthier manner.

That being said, I live a pleasantly boring life (it's really not that boring to me, but terribly boring to write about). I don't know how to wax meaningful on the pleasantness of my life. I don't know how to convey my contentedness because, well, I experience it and don't need to study it? Journaling has always been my way of working through my emotions, the excess of energy in whatever form. As my happiness baseline is brought to a level that's more in balance... I don't write. I don't feel any right to write about how keeping the sink and kitchen relatively cleaned for over three months and what an accomplishment that is for me (and how I slowly build upon that cleaning schedule every week). Or how I'm really well and truly going back to college next year and how filled with hope and joy that I'm actually following my dreams. How, on the overall picture of things, I am grateful for how my life is and where I'm headed.

I'd feel braggy and weird if that's all I wrote about. Despite my post from months ago, this is a sexy community. We might not always write about a scene, but I don't have a couple's experience significant enough to share. And even if I did, would I really write about it? Who knows?

Life is changing for me in leaps and bounds, subtly and not so subtly. This commenter reminded me of how I want to present myself. Reminded me of my goal to be a role model, reminded me of why I'm going to school to obtain a doctorate. I've worked hard to better myself in real life but perhaps -- just perhaps -- it's time to better my online presence as well.

Cracked

This is one of those moments where I wish I had a Dom to turn to. To give me direction, to give me palpable purpose, to be the bridge between my aspirations and reality. To be that gentle hand that turns rough when called for. Because I may have grown into a woman in most respects, but I have allowed myself to become so hollow and fragile without even realizing it. 

After posts like the last-- ones I have come to refer to as mental vomit (as in, after you get it out of your system, you feel better) -- I do indeed feel better. And I did, somewhat. I got what I can only describe as my life, my essence back. I felt again. And then I hit the big wall and shut down completely. Like, bipolar only smile-at-work-get-in-car-fuck-the-world-I-hate-you. Kinda how I felt a few months back when the pain got to me. 

Honestly, I wish I were a more positive person. 

Anyway, I was feeling pretty shitty about myself and why I couldn't tolerate more stuff and be a better person when I got off work today when I learned that I had apparently agreed to help with way more than I had bargained for. Long story short, mom's redoing the backyard, painting, repairing, etc and asked if I could be available. I answered in the affirmative, but dates and times and specifics were never discussed. As you might have guessed... It's an accident waiting to happen. Come three days before, she starts dropping hints and I'm completely clueless. Enter tonight: the day before and she tells me the whole shpeel of what's really going on. I apparently agreed to be at the house with the dogs the entire day, five days straight (and I have work and other appointments... Which I've canceled for this God damned thing). I get the massive breakdown of missed conversations and a lot of assumptions between both parties but hell. The whole blowup of her throwing what can only be described as a panicked tantrum and yelling hysterically that she's totally unsupported, while I just say OK and take it....

I'm caught between how little it matters and how frightened I feel. How I don't feel safe as a person, how little my life matters in the grand scheme of things and how (for the moment) a majority of me would really like to throw in the towel. 

And while that part of me would love to go down any number of the in-the-end unpleasant imaginings my brain has concocted I mother fucking can't. Seriously, I physically and mentally can't. Even now when I have had all kinds of negative self talk rolling around in my head and have even teared up a few times the gosh darn stubborn light of me won't go out. 

I'm still requesting a hug. From a really yummy smelling man. And a kiss and a snuggle would be nice too. A good murmuring of "my pet" thrown in for good measure. 

Even in times of struggle I am spoiled and demanding. It is the way of things and I am OK with that. 

The Wall

I've hit what most runners like to call "the wall". The mental block that tells you, "you can't go on. Everything hurts. Just stop. PLEEEEEEEEEEEZ?!?!" Normally, I'm a fan of the wall (in fitness). Or more accurately, I'm a fan of mustering up whatever I've got in me and kicking down that God damn wall to find the land filled with rainbows and a bath.

Well, that's not quite how things have been going since the weekend. It would appear I've slipped from tired to just plain sloth. And while sloths are cute, they are rather slow, sleep most of the time, and only poop once a week [video]. Me? I've slipped into my rarely eating habits again for some unknown reason, sleep until I have to get up, and lie in unless absolutely necessary. My old skills as a star procrastinator have aided these new habits.

Basically everything is in terms of "I have tos," which makes for rather interesting conversations with myself of what classifies as "I have to".

Out to Lunch

Good morning all! I've been rather absent from the internet lately. Mostly for the very fact that I've been quite proactive in life, funny how that one works doesn't it? 

I'm not ignoring you, I promise.

I've gone back to work and that takes up a good chunk of time... mostly because the recovery time after multiple days in a row or a full 8 hour shift is about 20 hours. The wonderful news is there is progress on that front as well. I've realized life is like that: you identify a problem area of your life and you tackle it until it becomes manageable... and add it to your Filofax of good habits. If it needs tweaking over time, one adjusts and refocuses.

The other reason I've been staying away? This single business. It's been slightly getting to me. Not that I need someone right now, and I know God has his own timetable that I would rather follow, but my first instinct is to shy away. There is no end goal, my submissiveness isn't a priority and I don't have anyone of authority in my life to say otherwise so... the kinky part of me has been filed away somewhat. Do I get lonely? Of course I do, but that's a reflection of my own fulfillment in life rather than anything else. Do I get horny? Well, yes, occasionally.

But the whole point of this process I'm going through is this grand goal I have, chipping away at it one moment at a time.

207.2

That's my weight*.

It's the heaviest I've ever been.

I've always being an active gal, even if I overate or binged, you'd bet that I would work at least a good portion of it off. Hell, I'm really lucky that if I actually workout and eat right my body does this magical transformation thing and reverts quickly back to what I like to call "my healthy baseline."

I got injured back in the end of February. That means almost 8 months of basic inactivity. And lots... I do mean LOTS of binge eating bad bad food. Food to make myself feel better, foods that were easier than walking around a supermarket high out of my head on pain killers to mask a level of pain I've blocked out it was so consuming. I've basically gained 40 lbs. since my injury. And it's time I put a stop to it.

This is no longer some girl's struggle for weight loss, the symptoms I'm exhibiting are those OF AN ADDICT. 

I dodged alcoholism, a coke habit (seriously, ew, never took it), and even a pill addiction (which my parents used all three & more -- my dad still uses).  And yet the feelings and habits I have come to associate with unhealthy foods... they fall more in the category of "eating disorder."  I am fully aware of the power I have given to food. I am fully aware of how dejected I get after a "workout" (translation: a 5-10 min SLOW walk, if that).

I'm also fully aware and ready to confront the severe negativity I have towards my body. How I've noticed lately I look at my stomach and say/ think how ugly I am... when in reality I'm still fairly attractive. If you saw me, you wouldn't know I was over 200 lbs. And that healthy, active girl... she's still in here. My mouth waters just thinking about a nice bowl of spinach and carrots (I have a serious love affair with those two); I still get jazzed about walking (even if I'm limping after 5 minutes); I still dream about doing another 5k, 10k, half-marathon, marathon, and yes, even a triathlon.

And what's been my mantra? What helps me when I get overwhelmed by change and all the other things I have to improve upon in my life?

*Weight fluctuates, it's not the most accurate way to tell progress. But my clothes have gotten tighter too, so, ew.

On Becoming a Woman

Over the last few months, slowly but surely, step by step, I have taken great pains to better myself. I have taken responsibility of my life and, although there are little slip-ups, on the whole things seem to be coming together. I'm still not quite there yet (the job situation is still iffy) but I've endured to dress for the job I really want: a cozy, well-payed part-time receptionist job that fits neatly into my school schedule. You see, now that I've pretty much gotten the internal workings of a confident individual the next step on this path is to fulfill a dream of mine:

To become a lady. 

I have sincerely admired those women who wake up at 5:30 in the morning to pamper themselves. To pluck and shave and blow-dry and style until all is in place. Who make their appearance seem effortless, and a personality that shines to reflect it. I'm not saying that description is going to be me, I know my own limitations and, frankly, I have different goals. But their essence? The beauty that shines from within and is enhanced by how they care for themselves, how they are kind to others? Yeah, that's what I'm after. 

And wheeew, it's hard y'all. 

I am a yoga pants, athletic shoes, race shirt, shop at goodwill, off the rack, hair out of my face kind of gal most of the time. But what I'm after, a reflection of respect is in order. That means well-fitting clothing, kitten heels, skirts, smooth legs, styled hair, etc. It means eating better, getting my hair done at a salon, plucking my eyebrows more frequently, going to bed at a reasonable time... It means being a reflection of my best self. 

The prepping. Oof.

I know it's not really going to be that hard in a few weeks, or months, or whenever it becomes second nature. Right now is a growing period, and I have to just get used to neatness and order and discipline. Because, baby, I have big plans for my life and this is just one element.

Hope

I've been feeling the full spectrum of feelings that I think a single submissive can feel over the last few weeks. From subtle emotions to loud and extravagant "OH MY GOD MUST WANT," you name it, I've experienced it.

Thankfully I have ways to channel them effectively, but that still doesn't mean I don't find some of them... disconcerting. To me and my lingering fears of abandonment, the more tender feelings of, "oh yeah, that's what I want in my life" put me on edge of breathe SG, BREATHE and run, go, ignore, run away! I've gotten pretty good at letting that last one go, for the most part.

This has stemmed from an online correspondence between one Gentleman in particular. Whether He is aware of it or not (which I suspect He is), He has made an impact on my life. He has given me hope through flirty friendship that there's going to be someone out there in tune to me and my idiosyncrasies and me to his.

Because of His distance from me, I can explore safely my insecurities, I can be gently coaxed and accepted through all my wackiness and "weaknesses". And I can be cool with Him. I can be myself. Conversations are easy, they are fluid and fun and silly and it is what it is, and I am immensely grateful for even this gift of hope that I've been given in our interactions. I am grateful to renew my faith, and I am grateful for whatever comes next too.

Sucker Punch

This is a very raw entry I am going to write. I write it with the sole intention of getting it out, voicing my exposed feelings so that I may move forward, bringing about the best outcome for all.

Over the past two months I really felt like I've been taking these big piles of SHIT (self-growth springboards!) in stride. I haven't freaked out (or if I have they've been short lived), I've been good. Really good. Amazing and wonderful and this past week it felt like everything was going to come together with my head held high, a better person: confident, self-assured, witty, fun, beautiful -- balanced.

I was basically LIVING that.

Tonight I got one big sucker punch to the gut that I didn't see coming. I mean, I get the why of it. I can see the bigger picture but God DAMNIT I'm tired. I'm tired of being that girl. That cliched mid-20s girl who doesn't have her shit together with no money. I'm tired of of the chaos I've built and I thought I was making it better. I thought... I KNOW I am. I know I am. I have to believe I am or else I risk falling really far back down.

In my deepest heart I look at my troubles and think, "this is not my life. This is not how it's supposed to be." That spurs me on, I guess. Because I know my potential, I know how amazing I can be... how much more amazing I can be. How if I can get my shit together, then I'll be able to help others that much more, I'll have more to give. I'll....

I know now and days everyone is like, "being weird is cool! Being weird makes you unique!" Well, I'm here to say I've got enough unique to last me a lifetime. I just want to be normal. I want to lead a normal, peaceful life. I WANT MY LIFE TO BE RIGHT. 

Yeah, I think I got most of it out.

........

Tune in next week when SG talks fall and obsession with pumpkin spice lattes!

I am Needing of The Sex

Ever since I read Renee Rose's figging post last week, almost immediately followed up by Safe in His Arms (also by Rose, review to come) it would seem the floodgates of horny have opened. Normally, when I'm on lockdown/ single, as the longevity of my singledom stretches I only ever get randy enough to masturbate once a month (usually when I'm ovulating). Also, this horniness only lasts 1-3 days and abruptly stops. It is as if my logical mind says, "body function, I will allow this time, but seeing as there are no prospects available we will conserve the sexy!"

Anyhow, you might have noticed some changes happening in my writing. If not, that's OK too, I mean, I don't tell you guys everything.

BUT I DIGRESS.

It's been almost a week, and I am still abundantly aware of my state of want. Of wanting ropes and spankings and double penetration; of salivating at the thought of a hand around my throat, a command in my ear; of the flutter in my heart when I think of being fondled in public, an outwardly innocent swat of the behind, with so much more meaning beneath the surface.

And here's the kicker: I'm not LONELY.

It's an extremely strange and wondrous feeling to experience something reminiscent of the past yet oh so so different. I'm not jealous, I'm not unhappy, I'm just plain as horny as a 14 year old boy. Who just happens to be a 26 year old woman who really really really wants to get spanked and slapped and oh so deliciously possessed. And perfectly OK with the fact that she's not right now.

Does that make me weird?

100%

Life is a funny thing. Life can BE fun, or life can be hard. Most, I think, would say life is a mixture of both. Events can be dramatic catalysts, either plunging someone deep into the bottom murk or fling them high -- arching into the great beyond.

There's a reason I haven't really been writing submissive posts. One, I'm single and have a limited pool of experience. Two, the experience I do have, while fun, a great introduction, and exciting at the time, now appears paltry and lame; childlike, if you will. Three, I am almost unrecognizable emotionally from who I was even a few months ago.

Four? (this is the big one) I am 100% selfish, committed 100% to myself and my responsibilities. I still might be on temporary disability, but I am working my ass off. I became a big-girl landlord and had to evict my last tenant and deal with the blowback of emotional friends of the tenant, and almost an entire household worth of items abandoned in my condo with no possibility of reclaiming from tenant or parents (who bought 95% of what was left). Add to that my commitment to self-improvement, balance, and health... I'm one busy girl. And frankly, I'm not done yet. I'm not done finding who I am, I'm still learning to know with certainty that I am living a life in line with my values, my truths.

So yeah, I have NO CLUE what type of submissive I would be towards someone right now. I can't even think it. Because I have no fucking clue the whole picture of who I am right now. I know a humans we are never really done finding ourselves or enjoying new passions or finding what works for us. But I feel compelled to find at least a base point.

I feel like to be the girlfriend or wife I want to be (caring, strong, daring, compassionate, intuitive of my Master's needs, etc) I have to know my own basic limitations, feeling strong and bold enough to not take certain types of shit (read: drama). Also, I feel like I should be able to do certain physical things, of which are pretty shitily limiting (but getting there!).

The good news? Oh the good news is I feel alive, I feel brave and free and safe and I know I'm pretty fucking sexy for it. I notice men looking at me again. I am aware of my body in a new way, I am aware of my accessibility, my ease of conversation, of flirtation, even. So God bless the man who can claim my hot piece of flesh and mind.

Oh yes, when the time comes I will be ready. And I it will be amazing.

TMI Tuesday: September 3, 2013

This TMI Tuesday is all about sex and cars. Which is good, because being a sex blog... these answers (or at least one of them) actually has to do with a sexy story.

1. What type of vehicle do you use regularly? Truck, car, bike, etc.
   A little (yet incredibly spacious) Toyota Matrix, which I love but I really need to take better care of. 



2. Do you use public transportation–bus, train, metro/subway, cab? How often?
I live in Southern California and while they are beefing up the metro system, it's probably not happening as quickly as it should so more people can use it (I have seen the plans.. they are grand and must be done right). Although Pasadena and LA proper are the exceptions -- Pasadena especially. Since I do not live in either of those cities, I drive everywhere. Another fun fact: my one and only bus ride ended up with me being stranded and having to be picked up by my future first boyfriend (that was our unofficial first date). Mainly because it was one of those "push you into the pool even though the kid can't swim" lesson from my Chicago born step-mother. Funny enough I rock the NY subway system though. 



3. Have you ever had sex in/on public transportation? Tell us about it?
Good lordy no. But I do have a penchant for stroking the men I've dated in public. And then giving road head to finish them off. 



4. I know most of you have had sex in a car or truck but how many times have you had sex in your present vehicle?
Way to suck the fun out of the question. My car is what would could be lovingly be referred to as "my personal hobbit hole" where another, more tidy person would call messy and cluttered. Both may be accurate at any given point. Anyway, this usually prevents any canoodling to occur in my car.


5. When was the last time you had sex in car or truck type vehicle? Was it with a known person or a stranger?
The last time I remember having sex in a car was just after high school with a boyfriend turned friends with benefits. He had a Volvo and went all gentlemanly and laid a blanket down in the hatchback area. To say it was boring would be an understatement.  


6. Have you ever had sex on a bicycle or motorcycle?
I'm not quite sure how one would go about that comfortably. 


7. Stick shift or manual? Why?
I'm a little confused by this question. Is this like the "coke or pop" debate? AREN'T THEY THE SAME THING WITH DIFFERENT PHRASING?!?!?!  Do they mean stick-shift or automatic? Ask me when you get your shit together, question. 


8. Ever had sex on the hood of a car?
No, but I can't imagine it being comfortable?

Bonus: 
You are walking down the street. A very sexy and nude person (gender of your choice) pulls up next to you in their shiny new Mercedes Benz, they lower the window and say, “Do you want to ride in my Mercedes?” What do you do? Tell us what you want to do on that ride?
First of all, let's go with a sexier car... like Audi. That shit can GO. Now, if this really happened to me I would run away AS FAST AS I COULD. That's crazy-person behavior right there. But hypathetically, if I threw caution to the wind, I would probably go nude, get to know said person in water. Then a few days later after some crazy fun-times adventures (innocent and thrilling). After which point there would more than likely be road head (I have an oral fixation and a thing for slight danger, what can i say?) and out of the car sexy sexy good times. I know, I'm weird. Even hypothetically. 



BONUS, Bonus: 
What is the sexiest thing you have ever done in a vehicle?
When I was 17, almost 18, I had my first sexual partner. He was not my boyfriend and despite his douche-baggery is still considered my top sexy times. Every time was dirty and raw, primal and rough. You could say I was loosely taken in hand by him. Anyway, one time after work he told me to meet him in the parking lot of a local bookstore. I got into his passenger seat but he was already in the back, calmly waiting for me. Earlier in the day he had noticed I was wearing a skirt and had told me to take off my panties, so I was pretty much sopping wet by the time I met him in his car. Slowly, carefully and as sultry as I could I stepped through the partition in the seats and slid onto his lap. He had loosened his top button and I could feel him hard against the coarse fabric of his jeans. The zipper bit into my sensitive flesh, but I didn't wince. He just stared up at me for a moment, hands gripping my thighs. He whispered something I can't remember and suddenly pulled my hair, exposing my neck. He bit hard, licking angrily, moving his mouth lower, unbuttoning my shirt to reveal my breasts. He pinched and grabbed forcefully my left breast, working my right with his mouth but the pain did not register. I began to grind against his jeans, my juices seeping into them. "Unzip them." I heard his command before he bit my ear. I melted into the sensation, barely registering my hands before I slipped him inside of me. We both sighed. Sweat began to trickle down my face as I moved with a grace I did not know I possessed. The windows quickly fogged, but just before they did I saw lights upon us, and a growl of "Pass us, do not pay any attention" as if he could command the world. I slowed, panic of being caught rising, but he quickly dug his nails into my thighs saying "keep going, don't stop." He guided my hips to his, continuing the rhythm I had started and the car moved passed. Grunts, moans, and slaps of flesh melded together as time slipped from us and the passion grew. Soon, almost too soon, I grabbed his shoulders and dug my nails in. I didn't shout or scream, I just buried my face into his neck and sighed with release. He too, was nearly finished and he bit my nipple to focus me. I may or may not have shrieked slightly, but it did the trick and I continued to glide him smoothly in and out of me. It was exquisite. I know I smiled. First I heard him mutter something inaudible. Then, as hungrily as a starved animal he forced my body to him, pressing his palms to my ass to hold me there and I felt him shudder inside of me. 


If you would like to join in to TMI Tuesday, just go to the TMI Tuesday blog and see who else participated, or participate yourself!

How Do I Love Myself?

It's a little known observation that in the past, I have a food addiction. When I'm anxious, or sad, I usually go for something sweet, something fast foodie and binge.... and when things are really bad? I swing in the complete opposite direction and only eat one meal a day, usually dinner.

I've been running on a cup of coffee in the morning and "dinner" at night for a little while now. This weekend I barely could get myself out of bed. Hell, I wouldn't even be drinking coffee if it wasn't the reason I set up to get myself out of bed.

Why have I let myself get to this place? What great boulder did I place in front of myself to stun me so? Well, simply it has been through self-actualization. Logically, if you dig deeper into your emotional bank of goodies, you will discover the seeds, the points of origin. And once those seeds have been struck, they seem to blossom outwards, vibrating with paralyzing vulnerability. At my core, two tender seeds have been struck:

Self-Love

&

Self-Acceptance

My brain cannot form what is going on, other than healing is taking place. I am cognizant that I need to allow the shifts that are occurring to happen. That I just need to allow my own radiant self-love, my own infinite self-acceptance to occur. That forgiveness is essential and I cannot move forward until I let go. Until I tell that scarred, frightened beyond words little girl inside of me that she is OK. That she is safe and that the adult me has got her back. Because Love is eternal. Because God is the Infinite and cannot ever stop or die or be limited by anything. Because the past is the past and placing fault upon myself or others does me no good now.

Shock

I'm pretty sure the state that I'm in is best described as angry as fuck shock. Hollow, numb panic too. I assume responsibility for some of the things that have occurred but I'm pretty sure that I am dealing with WAY MORE than what any 26 year old should be dealing with all at once. It's not all bad and, trust me, I'm surprised at how well I've been holding it all together. And after I had my cry/ies (oh, and called the church's prayer line like four times this morning -- not including my own mantras and prayers I've been doing) I can already numbly accept how this is can better me. How I've learned to set limits and priorities that are in line with my core beliefs and in harmony with how I want my life to be.

No one can say I'm not a quick study.

There's a saying in my spiritual community that basically says that if you're praying / living in accordance with/for something and pretty much the exact opposite happens or you are confronted with a great deal of unpleasantries... Well, that just means that you're letting go of the fear/ block to receive the thing your soul most wants. And you know, keep the faith and don't lose momentum. Miracles happen and all that.

Here's to miracles and faith, my friends.

TMI Tuesday: Aug 20, 2013

I recently found the TMI blog through (now) unknown general blog hopping. I am so so sorry for not being able to remember / promote the hilarious blog I first read it from. These things happen with me. Aaaanyhoo, I'm a whore for these things and I'm going to start playing along dang nabbit! FORWARD AND SO FORTH!!!

1. I once overheard in a bathroom, “There is nothing as over-rated as sex or under-rated as a good bowel movement.” Discuss.
   Oh that poor soul. Clearly whoever coined this phrase has not experienced good sex and has never been sick or constipated. Taking the body for granted, methinks. 



2. Friendship lasts longer than cumming. Which of your online friends that you’ve never met would you like to meet in real life? Which do you think you could become life-long REAL friends with? Actual friends, like going out to coffee and movies with, gossiping with, kissing on the forehead, hugging, loving?
I would absolutely adore to meet Desi Daasi. If possible, I'd love for her and Swami to "kidnap me" and drag me to India if they visit relatives or something. I can't really describe my level of fan-girl for India (as a complete white girl from So. Cal.), but I have always felt really close to the culture and have had beautiful friendships with Indian transplants in the past. Add M/s to the mix and I'm kind of in Heaven! Bre is most likely the one that I could see having a drink with and meeting for chats, etc. She has got to be one of the sweetest I've err... read about? For someone so young she's got the innocence of her age, yet the wisdom of awesometown. Both ladies rock, either way!



3. In a parallel universe, who out of your blog or Twitter followers would you most like to spend a steamy evening with? What would you do? Why them?
Hahahaha! Oh, that's too funny. None. I'm really bad about fantasizing about things that couldn't come true or are sexually unattainable. The question is kind of a turn-off for me, actually.



4. (multi-part question)
• a. What method of stimulation (intercourse, oral, manual, toy, whatever) gives you the strongest orgasm? 
Intercourse usually does the best, but I can't rely on it alone. Variety is the spice of life and all that. What works best is another human kissing, licking, biting, pinching, etc in all the right ways. I mean, I've orgasmed from a guy going to town on my neck once. When I fantasize about it now I add a few sharp slaps to my cunt for good measure. Because that's just how I roll. 

• b. With what method of stimulation do you get the most orgasms? 
Anything? I always have little mini-ones, but I don't know if I'd classify them as "orgasms" anymore. I mean, after finally figuring out what works for me (being Dominated) and OhemgeeTHAT'Sarealorgasm?!?! I like the everything package. What can I say? I'm playing catch-up for lost pleasure. 
c. If the answer to a is different from the answer to b, what’s wrong with your life? Dude, what? I take umbrage to the phrasing of the question regardless. 



5. Would you rather have a life where you only had sex once a year for 2 minutes or where you have to have sex, every day for a minimum of 2 hours?
I love playing "Would You Rather!" And frankly, this one is disappointing so I'm switching it up a bit! New question: "Would you rather have sex once a year for a minimum of 12 hours or where you have sex everyday, but only for 2 minutes?" I'm taking the everyday sex either way. :P

Bonus: 
Is there anyone on your partner’s side of the family you find hot? If you could hook up with them without anyone finding out (ever!) would you?
I was never attracted to any of my ex's families. When I was younger I was attracted to my 3rd cousin, twice removed (or something like that). That is, until the whole "it's your family thing" kicked in.


If you would like to join in to TMI Tuesday, just go to the TMI Tuesday blog and see who else participated, or participate yourself!

Brain Dump

This is a pretty empty post, I will not lie. This weekend, while eventful in my head, what outwardly very, very sloth-like. Seriously, I looked and felt like a couch potato/ mildly depressed teen staying in bed / pajamas most of the day. And yeah, the mildly depressed part is accurate, I can admit it. Everyone has those kinds of days.... or weeks.... or whatever. To each their own and all that.

Anyway, Mondays are actually one of my favorite days. They give me a sense of new, of opportunity. As paralyzed and stuck as I have made myself over golly knows how long... I detest idleness. When I worked full-time and had a M-F schedule, weekends felt so gross to me because I didn't reach out and create fun, productive days (also, any doctor's, contacts, etc, that I needed to reach were CLOSED. Don't they use the 50 hr work week that I did?). But hey, now is not then and now I can have the attitude of: Today is Monday, today is a blank slate. Today I can be grateful for the mini-recuperation, the opportunity of emotional awareness. I can be super grateful to learn that, "oh, that's why I reacted that way. Oh that's how I forgive myself."

You know, the little things.

It's weird, as I have been changing my thinking and learning to not only acknowledge what I have been doing lately, but I instead use the events before me to my advantage. In my eyes, if it can get me to be more compassionate, to see God in EVERYTHING, I can mostly accept being my own personal guinea pig without grumbling (hey, I'm not perfect). And hey, who cares if right now -- today -- I'm really starting my day at noon? I can't -- I WON'T -- harp on myself. I'm just going to do the best that I can and feel good about myself. Because feeling genuinely good about myself makes me more productive, happy, and a way more helpful person to the world.

Also:

Happy Monday Folks!

Slipping into Old Habits

I haven't handled this week as well as I would like and I have noticed that I have been slipping back into myself, stuffing my feelings as a result. The problem, at its base core, is that I cannot seem to properly express myself and it has led into some fierce negative self-talk, resulting in making myself feeling like pond scum (or at the very least deep sea dweller. Have you seen those crazy fish? They glow!). And you know what? I hate it. Not just the situation(s) that I am learning from, but from this emotional flagellation of myself.

It started early in the week with my increasing inability to, well, successfully orgasm during masturbation. I respond best to physical experiences or memory recall of something that truly happened to make my alone time that much more pleasing. Somehow, in my mind, if I can recall how a hand feels against my skin, or how the air seems to grow blissfully heavy with lust when I am looked at a certain way... I can trick my body to give me the release I need. But we all know my only frame of reference and that just sucks balls. Bonus? I can't run to give me the masochistic release of that sweet pleasure-pain.

While we're on the subject of my fitness level, or more specifically my knee, I'll let you in on a little secret: I've been getting pissed as all fuck because of it. I've been in constant pain since last week. Basically, it's been like a migraine or menstrual cramps -- sure, I can pop Ibuprofen like its candy to dull it, but that's just a cover-up. Result? I feel like I'm being Chinese water tortured to death with this thrumming undercurrent of pain that zaps me of energy pretty quickly. And the anger is fueling me the rest of the way. I might just have gone bonkers from that alone by now. Scratch that, I'm pretty sure a few screws have come loose.

The other thing that's been gnawing at me is this: I'm going back to college. Or at least trying to. And in this minefield of insecurity that I have, confessing to my mother has resulted in her being about as helpful as Gladys Kravitz. I recognize she's trying to check in, but when I have no news to give other than "yes, I did do xyz." or am unable at this time to be all ra ra ra to MYSELF about what's going on (for fear of failure) I don't feel I can be successful in answering her questions. But what happens when I express this to her? I got the guilt trip of the century. "When you're closed off like this it makes me feel like I'm the worst parent in the world. Can't you at least try?" I mention how uncomfortable it makes me. "Well, can't you at least try?" And when I curtly tell her about it being informative, apparently that's her cue to ask 20 questions. 

Conclusion?

*snark*

Private Moments: Flirting with Red

It happened naturally. I had brushed the contact solution from my lashes and on a whim curled them with my mother's discarded device. But when I looked at myself that morning, I felt the urge... my eyes were missing something. My hand rummaged in the carefully placed makeup bag in the bottom dresser drawer. The smooth glide of the zipper sent an electric thrill up my arm. It seemed like nothing, yet felt like my little secret. A light black film coated my lashes with each quick stroke -- one... two.. switch. Top and bottom. I blinked and enhanced my eyebrows; something was still missing. My eyes flicked to the bag. Resting gingerly at the top was my most coveted item: bright red lipstick. 

I'm not a girl who normally wears makeup. Chapstick is about as close as I can get. I'm not opposed to others wearing it, in fact I always associated makeup (done right, not caked on) as a form of self care, a way to be feminine -- to the point of idolizing old Hollywood actresses with the dramatic look. Alas, no matter how much I flirted with it, or what I tried... it never stuck. My face felt too suffocated, or the mascara would bother my contacts, or in the case of the red lipstick ... I never felt that bold. 

My mentality towards myself has obviously been changing, and as a result, my physical appearance has slowly been shifting. My body is gradually leaning out, my hair got a dramatic change (I got BANGS!), and, now, rich accents on my face. I feel sexy, empowered, and I feel naturally drawn to things that will reflect that. Other things, too, are culminating for my success and I am tentatively giddy about those as well. 

I will admit, in this buried corner of the community, a sly smile picks at one side of my face as I think of my wrists restrained behind my back, hair mussed, and red gloss covering my Master's* cock. 

*sorry to get your hopes up, but as of 8/12/13 I still do not have a Master. :P

A Prayer (4)

Oh Lord,

I am so grateful for this moment, this exact second of consciousness to be present. I am so blessed to be as aware of the beauty of the Universe, right here and now. I breathe Your holy nature, letting Your peace flow and expand in my chest. Mmm yes, I am so grateful for this awareness, knowing there is no separation from the Infinite. To know and be seeped in this knowing, this eternal love. I accept this abundant, overflowing presence of God into my life touching all areas of my life, releasing all perceptions of lack in my life. I raise my hands to the heavens and shout, "I am a reflection of God! God is the Infinite! God is good and provides all!" And in this moment I am certain of it. Because I affirm this for myself I know that the Holy love, joy, and prosperity envelopes all souls, all realities, all points in time where there is perception of lack and undoes any unrest. In this knowledge I release my word into the Law, the majestic Infinite, as the Universe says "YES!" and is returned to me multiplied beyond my imagination. 

And so it is. 

Amen.

Personal Growth is a Bitch

I say this with love and, trust me, now that my little freakout is over, I have more respect for the process than ever but all the same...

Personal Growth is a BITCH

When we last left our intrepid vixen, she was facing off a most formidable foe -- her fears actualized before her. She had tools on her side, a training area of sorts, filled with strengthening exercises from multiple senseis and access to some pretty kick-ass weaponry. It was going well out on the battlefield between her and her nega-self. Each slash brought her closer to victory, but ho what is this? A trickery of the eye as her enemy seemed to grow larger with each gaping wound! The beast before her groaned and a deluge of spittle and blackened blood oozing slowly out of its gashes showered our sassy heroine.

She could not help it, a scream ripped out of her throat. Pure terror rang across the field, shaking her very soul. Fueled by instinct and old habits, she ran. Tears flowed freely from her eyes blurring her vision, but that did not stop her momentum. She did not stop to hear if the beast had followed, she felt its old blood seep through her skin, feeding from her fear. It was with her, vibrating out, filling her with dread. At last there was a river and her footsteps slowed. Clothes and all she entered the water, her salty tears escaping into the flowing stream.

The water was clear, the current gentle. It pulsed in time with her heart and soon her breath slowed to match its perfect nature. The tears abated, and her enemy's blood was washed away. The thoughts, the dread that had been gnarled inside her mind, the raw fear that had suffocated her heart began to lessen. With each breath she became more aware of the unity of her and her surroundings, of the Infinite nature of her true being. Reminded of her real kick-assery, she tentatively stepped out from the stream.

She was herself. And she was ready to conquer.

And so, she walked back to the battlefield. Instantly the beast turned to her, eyes large with lust. Although still yards away its rancid breath stung her eyes. As if it were a vase of beautiful flowers, however, she closed her eyes in serenity and breathed deep. Then, her stance broad, arms bent at her sides with hands curled into fists, she smiled.

"You are pure," our vixen said to the beast. "You are a tool to be utilized and mastered and I thank you for your presence. I release the power I have let you have over my life and recognize the truth. I am willing to stand and fight for my well-being."

The beast charged, a lumbering affair that could only be described as comical. Our heroine flexed and relaxed, ready to strike. Each blow she administered was delivered with ease and soon the size of her foe diminished. Before long it was a panting heap on the ground. While it might never be fully defeated our sexy siren walked away from her fears confident and ready to continue her journey, her training for the betterment of her livelihood.

Step by Step

For a little while now, I've been seeing a psychotherapist. For the past month, week after week, I've had surprising sessions. Revealing sessions where I've broken down and shocked myself at my deep emotions. True burning hatred, sorrow, and regret have brought me to tears each week with long-buried fears. It's helped me to be aware of just how frightened I am, dreams I thought I had buried, people I thought I had forgiven and showed me how paralyzed I've made myself. How emotionally I've fixed my life upon my 8-9 year old self and the resulting tragic loop.

The funny thing is, now that it's out... I've been getting pretty good at the "day by day" thing. I've silenced the perfectionist/ "not good enough" voice in my head, for the most part. I've felt... normal. Everyday I have been facing a little bit of these fears, riding out whatever comes up and apparently the Universe thinks I can handle MORE than just what has come up in session. Two events happened over the weekend, one striking deep into my most sensitive insecurity and the second forcing me into a form of action.

I admit it, I checked out this weekend. Hell, I'm fairly certain I manifested a MASSIVE migraine as a way to hide for a number of hours. And even this morning has been bumpy. My insides feel twisted and each simple task forward leaves anxiety in its wake.

But each step is a lesson in mind mastery. It is a boot camp of self-discipline.

And that's all it takes, for now, is a simple step forward. One at a time.

Jealousy & Other Funny Emotions

I know I recently posted something similar to my thoughts today, but it bears mentioning again. Why? Because I am a complex woman who likes to make things more than they really are.

I often try to soothe the hardships of being a submissive single by coming to terms with it. By reconciling the fact that I have time to figure out what type of submissive I want to be, shaping the type of relationship I want, what I am willing to do or not. The problem? I'm more of a learn while I go sort of girl. I'm overly curious of the mechanics of psychology, senses, and what evokes particular emotions from not only myself but others that I surround myself with.

I knew in theory that because I liked a man (prior to discovering my sub nature) to press his body to mine, trapping me, forcing me to be his property -- I know, I know, how I didn't discover BDSM sooner, I don't know. Anyway, because I knew I had a long history of enjoying being "forced" upon, limited in movement, I knew I would like bondage. It was not until I felt the exquisite nature of soft rope around my torso, or the cool metal of spreader bars on my ankles that I could appreciate the true sensation. That thrill of seeing my playmate's eyes dance with pride at his beautiful work and by extension, me.

So when I read the majority of Dominant or submissive blogs out there -- mostly who are in committed relationships, a small part of me is envious. Happy and excited that they experience things as they do, giving me ideas and awakening me to something I hadn't even considered myself inclined to want (this happens a lot), but nonetheless jealous that they get to experience it and I do not at present.

Intellectually I know how silly this is, and as time goes on I lament how inexperienced I am, yet equally know how lucky I am to have found my place sexually. It is apparent, very apparent, that while I attempt to consciously and unconsciously suppress my sexuality I cannot deny who I am. I am, with no hope of going back, a submissive-slave female. And I need a Master.

With this in the forefront of my brain increasingly as the months go on, I wonder should I seek to be trained? Is it even possible to go against myself and have a purely physical D/s relationship with no emotional consequences?

While I don't think this is a possibility, I wonder what other ways can I satiate this need inside of me?

Delayed Gratification

A while ago I promised myself that I wouldn't post anything that sounded whiney and packed with self-pity. Hence the silence. I re-injured myself on Monday and set myself back a bit when I was making the most amount of strides. It would appear my no self-pity journey has a little ways to go. But during all of this, as I attempt to better myself, I have stumbled upon a few things -- epiphanies, if you will.

There is much to recommend me to this lifestyle, one I have spent many months actively away from. As such, I feel the passion for it fade as I try to ignore that part of myself. I have had mild success, which only brings about a melancholy when I remember the fun I had. I have yet to find the perfect balance of acceptance and faith. On one hand I understand that I am most important and to dream of a partner at this stage would be utterly ridiculous, but the heart wants what the heart wants and so the hope remains.

Which, among other self-realizations, brought me to the awareness of yet another reason why I love the Dominant/ submissive, Master/ slave relationship: the act of delayed gratification.

I have long admired Doms who sew, bind, manipulate long scenes. I can understand now the self discipline it must take to achieve an end goal. Whether it is anal or suspension or blood play, they must take the same amount of pleasure that a sub may or may not feel about the end goal, but the Dom must assume the role of authority and take pleasure in the most minute of steps forward. I must admit that the slow pace that is set more than a little turns me on.

Mostly because at this time I possess little of the discipline I need to achieve any ounce of delayed gratification. And I strive to emulate as least some portion of the attitude described above in my own life. I seek to change this, of course, and once dispensing of most of my self criticisms (a.k.a self sabotage) I have had a toddler's amount of success. Which is to say, I try to giggle when I fall and try to walk again.

And now I must be an old biddy and rest my knee as I knit.

Angelic Specters

It is one of those nights.

When the feeling of being single leaves me equal parts hopeful, equal parts empty.

It is that moment upon waking I feel so divinely connected to the phantasm of my partner that I plumet at realization. That I still feel buoyed by hope when impact should leave me crushed. Those fleeting seconds where I still feel the whisper of his touch upon my cheek and a faint tickle of his hair at my ear.  Wherein I feel as if this is the dream and that beautiful, intimate moment was reality.

It is still too fresh, too raw for me to make clear sense of it but I will say that after my tears -- even as my tears fell -- I bowed my head in gratitude. I thanked God for the renewed spark.

I have always felt him there, whoever my mysterious partner may be, connected to me by an invisible string; Just floating out there in the aether, biding time or whatever one's soul does awaiting the precise meeting moment.  Each passing year, intermittently, I've felt him closer. Last year it was if I could just feel him beyond my reach.

After tonight, waking from my dream I feel him as a second heartbeat. There is no longer a string to connect us, there is simply no need. I feel as if the final piece has fallen into place, as if the is no need for  wondering or searching or even cultivating what I want, there simply is. It is the surest I've ever felt, as automatic as breathing or blinking.

I have been given the gift of peace.

And I want it made certain I remember that.

Resting

Well other lovelies of the internet, as of last week I have officially foregone the cane and am now walking relatively well on my own. Pain is minimal but it is becoming extraordinarily clear that I am beyond out of shape.

Each night I am exhausted. Each morning I wake up to do it again. Each day my body feels as if I have gone to boot camp, nearly every muscle collectively groaning. Although I average 10 hours of sleep a night the large dark circles under my eyes coupled with the infantile stumbling I fall back on, it is not a stretch to say I dissolve into a zombie when tired.

Which is often.

And dreadfully comical.

Since I have moved in with my mother a few weeks back, along with making a few internet friends, the moral support has been overwhelming. It picks me back up again, slaps me mentally back into place, urging me forward so I may fully align back into myself. I must admit, however, that while I state "I am feeling more myself" often to others about my  progress, this is not entirely true. Because the SubGirl now is different from the SubGirl pre-injury.

I can't quite put my finger on it (as it feels more subconscious than anything else) but I'll catch myself being more determined and productive. Going out of my way to better me and my surroundings. And if anything that is why I will be eternally grateful for every tear, every "my world is coming to an end" thought, every cry to the heavens for pain relief, and most importantly every moment where I questioned myself.

So if I'm tired or sore or shambling around, who am I to complain?

Undone

As I awaken to the possibilities and break open this coffin I have built for myself, I am keenly aware of the state of inaction I remain in. There is excess energy that is spilling out into empty space. I see there is no partner to greet me, to grasp my hand, to drag me to that special place I desire.

I crave to be undone, shattered into a thousand pieces, to cry out in pain, in ecstasy, in an overwhelming of senses. I desire the ultimate release, to shed my old identity -- that which is not necessary -- and be caringly put back together.

Where there was fear, there is none now.

The mental draw licks at my skin ever so slightly. There are whispers, hope, that tickle the air.

In the empty space there is security.

For through it lies my other half.

Book Review: Bared to Him

Summary (from Goodreads): When stern, handsome, powerful, and rich Phillip Dettmer offers to all make Myka Monroe's BDSM fantasies come true, she's oh so tempted. She has always dreamed of being with a man who would be relentless in his expectations, a Dom who will push her to the edge, giving her the climaxes she craves and the bondage she needs. But she had never imagined that Phillp Dettmer would lay her bare to him, mentally and emotionally as well as sexually, or that the experience would change her life forever, leaving her stronger and more able to ask for what she needs.

Rating: (3/5)

Kink Factor: High, but very introductory. Still pleasantly steamy.

First Thoughts: "Well that ended far too quickly for my liking."

Review: Bared to Him is a short novella, originally published in an anthology (Bound to the Billionaire) and lacks the finess of a full story that I have come to love about Cartwright's works. Playing on the story of a newly awakened sub, the scenes are tame compared to veteran erotica stories, but don't let that sway you from an enjoyable, hot read. Perfect to whet your appetite, there is anal, humiliation, "punishment", and yes, bondage. However, if this story does leave you craving more  -- as it did me -- pick up a copy of With this Collar (#1) also by Cartwright.

Update

Well, I did so hate leaving the blog with just the last post, but I haven't had time to remedy that. So here I am, making time so that I'm not all woesy poesy. When I wrote you guys last a lot was going on. I was having a hell of a ... however long it was. Moment after moment I was getting punched in the stomach and it felt like I was emotionally clawing my way up to survive. So, much of that has been remedied and my mental state was in tact a few days later. My plate is no longer as full as it was.

Now that my basic needs are met, my submissive side has come back full force and I promise, for the most part, this blog will get back to being a submissive blog.

Hot Mess

My self esteem and motivation has taken a nose dive lately. Dangerously, and to a level I do not feel comfortable with. I suspect part of it is due to not being able to afford birth control this past month, thus my state of massive dejection. And lack thereof to get me out of such a state.

But I think this is part of a bigger problem.

My life is pretty turbulent and maybe for the first time I'm realizing what being an adult is. I've slid past the point when I can be bailed out and I'm flailing. I'm drowning in my own experiences and I truly don't know how to turn my life PERMANENTLY around. Life isn't about struggle. It's about joy and laughter and beauty and love. These are things that I know so deeply in myself I don't understand why I haven't been manifesting or working towards it. I feel like I have some sort of missing piece or a glitch that others do not that makes me the way that I am. That keeps bringing me back to this place. I don't care if the time frame is weeks, months, or years, I'm tired of not being my best. I'm tired of failing all the time. I'm tired of the struggle, I'm tired of the lack.

And for the first time... a large portion of me wants to give up. Live in mediocrity. Accept the struggle as my life.

And that makes me weep the most. Because I really really really don't want to. I might be alive if i did, but I wouldn't be living.