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?