tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26098407124750868752024-03-12T22:54:03.570+00:00Kink for Imp - A Journey Through Poly and BDSMSharing a newcomer's exploration of polyamory and BDSM through my blogs and porn fiction.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-69367515876052938012011-07-19T18:01:00.002+01:002011-07-19T18:01:43.227+01:00Circles within circlesI have been thinking about circles. Concentric circles, full circles, spirals. The patterns we make in our lives. The patterns we repeat, the patterns we see which are not there, the patterns we make which we do not see.<br />
<br />
When I went along to my first munch, not knowing what to expect, it all but blew a fuse in my mind. The place where I'd heaped my deepest, darkest, desires - firmly locked away, and then covered over with my most mildest, simplest desires, unfulfilled; the whole pushed into a forgotten room, the door locked, the signposts thrown away...suddenly thrown open to possibility.<br />
<br />
So much was suddenly available to me, that had been hidden. I don't think I slept, ate, or made much sense, for two weeks. The munch organiser put me in touch with a potential domme - I lived for nothing but checking my emails, time after time. She showed interest, but then replies dropped off...then nothing.<br />
<br />
I wondered if anyone would ever be interested in me. Whether I was not desirable, not wanted.<br />
<br />
Jumping back to the present, I realise with something of a shock that those events were two and a half years ago, now. It seems longer, yet shorter. So much has changed, and yet so little.<br />
<br />
It's quite rare that I update this blog now. When I am experiencing sadness and confusion, I write to make sense of it. I also write when I've experienced deep highs and need to make sense of what they mean to me. As time has passed, I've grown into my stability, security, and understanding, contentment, has happened without a lengthy gestation process. And sometimes I write to record particularly profound experiences. And sometimes I don't record them, due to a desire to preserve privacy, or simple lack of time.<br />
<br />
My whole lifestyle has changed. I've got my vibe back, my mojo. In just over two years I've regained what it means to be ME. I've flourished, I've developed, I've grown. I've been through hell, and I've found my way back. I've survived.<br />
<br />
When I first discovered BDSM, and the promise of a reawakened sexuality, I fell in love. I thought I'd fallen in love with a person, but looking back, I think it's more likely that I was in love with pain. In love with sex. In love with being awake inside, again. In love with receiving attention and interest and feeling desired and wanted.<br />
<br />
I asked once, on these pages, if I would cut out these dark desires within me, if I were able to. At the time I wasn't sure. Now, I am. I treasure them, even though led me into danger. They've led me into heartbreak; they've led me into despair.<br />
<br />
They've also led me home safe again. And now, following the path, my journey has come home. There will be many more journeys, many more circles within circles, but for now, the spiral rests where it started. In safety.<br />
<br />
This is a good place, and I'm happy here.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-55984663784349881862011-01-09T12:17:00.002+00:002011-01-09T17:39:19.614+00:00'Come, Let Me Clutch Thee'<i>"I am really, really up for fucking you my darling - I really badly need to. I hope you get here soon my love so I can just get my cock out and put it in your mouth and then your cunt. You are a fucking whore my love - a really nasty slutty one. Come soon baby, I need to fuck badly - I am going to have to have a wank soon if I don't stick my cock in you."</i><br />
<br />
New Year's Day, and I'm on the train, traveling towards you, my beloved, for a weekend of debauchery. It's been a year since we first played together. I treasure the texts you're sending me, reeking with lust, as much as the anniversary gift you will give me later, when I climb into your Landrover. My submission is a capricious thing, you can never turn your back on it, but nothing coaxes it into the open more than my need to be desired. To be taken by force, is to be wanted so powerfully that need overcomes reason. And that is how I need to be needed - as part of our consensual, violent, caring, abusive, loving, relationship. The slaps, punches, kicks you throw at me, the words you scream into my face, the rage that seethes through you like your blood has been replaced with a boiling red fury - the need in you to defile me, humiliate me, stain me - it is by these things I know I am loved. The bruises you leave are your love sonnets to me; the pain as your lash pounds into my thigh, leaving it raw, a dozen red roses. Instead of a trip to Paris, you piss in my mouth and make me swallow it. You hurt me, abuse me, torment me, leave your semen leaking sticky and spent, down my thighs; and because of this I know how much you love me. Because I am a sick, sick, fucked up girl. And you are a sick, nasty man. And this is how we fit together so perfectly - a magic of spirit, body and mind as your key opens the locked doors of my anger, fear, and devotion, as if it were made to do so, as if I were made for you, and you for I.<br />
<br />
You can barely wait until we get inside our hotel room, before you tear into me. Standing waiting to check in, you whisper into my ear that if there are any more delays, you'll fuck me right there and then. You're concentrating so hard on wanting me, you fail to notice the check-in assistant has been beckoning us for some time. I am in a haze of lust, and cannot think for wanting you. I travelled light - a heavy bag filled with sex toys, a light bag filled with underwear. I'm not planning on wearing many clothes this weekend. I'm wearing what I think of as my 'rape dress' - black, frilled, see through - barely covered by my thin leopard fur coat. Immaculately made up, shaved, scented, fishnet stockings and high heels - I wouldn't dream of presenting myself to you any other way. <br />
<br />
Your need is so overwhelming you just push my knickers aside and get your cock into me. You strip me of some of my clothes during the hours of pleasuring yourself in me - bed, floor, couch, desk, bathroom - and finally you cum deep inside my arsehole once you've violated me so deeply and painfully I've ceased to find physical pleasure in it. It is for you, not for me, that you use me. The knowledge makes me cum, hard, as you're blowing your load deep, deep in my puckered hole.<br />
<br />
The next day, a playfight turns serious. You slap me in the face - I am enraged. You hit me again and again, stinging blows to my cheeks which infuriate me. I warn you, you see the humour drain instantly from my face, to be replaced with righteous anger. How fucking dare you hit me? I go for you - naked and unafraid I'll scratch your fucking skin if I can get my fingernails in, you nasty cunt. Fuck, you're SO much stronger than me - it's only when we're doing this, that I remember. You drag me across to the bed and throw me on it, holding me down. I twist and turn, trying not to let you get a grip. You push your advantage, and spank me, and my fury and indignation make the pain feel worse than it is. Furious, I writhe, and you reach for the cuffs to secure me. This means letting me go, and I huddle on the bed, spitting with temper, resolved not to let this happen. I. Will. Not. Yield. <br />
<br />
You use your superior strength to force me into positions where I can't escape, and having got half way there with the cuffs, inflict so much pain that I grudgingly accede to a truce to allow you to put the other two on. How did this happen? How did I not see this coming? I should never have let you get the cuffs on me - now I'm fucked. At some point I dig my nails into your hands and forearms, little half moon shapes filling with red and white. Serves you right, cunt. You try and stick your dick in my mouth. I refuse you. You hit me, with a leather strap. You hit me, and keep on hitting me, until the room swims and taking your stiff and swollen prick in my mouth seems the lesser of two evils. I cry out around a mouthful of you. You warn me. You're still hitting me - but every time I try and move you out of my mouth, you hit me really fucking hard, white pain instead of red. You fucking, fucking, cunt. I'm so fucking angry, I want to bite your dick off. I try and keep my expression blank, keep my rage out of my eyes, but I can't. I tell you to go fuck yourself. I spit in your face. The smile you make as you wipe saliva off your cheek, makes me feel a little sick.<br />
<br />
I'm on my back. I can't remember how I got here. There are spreader bars underneath me, and they hurt, digging in, uncomfortably. You punch me in the stomach, very hard, and unexpected. A warm, orgasmic fear pain radiates outward from your blow. You have the knife. It's 18 inches long, and you're talking about it, to me. I'm trying to concentrate on your words, but the expression on your face, the liquid meltdown in your eyes, is what I'm watching. I'm poised, adrenaline pumping, pumping, pumping through me as my focus narrows down to one thing - you, and whether you are going to kill me. I know, with absolute certainty, that I am safe. I know, with absolute certainty, that you could kill me. You run the knife over my thighs, pausing it, and telling me in great detail how, should you choose to cut the femoral artery, no ambulance could possibly reach me in time to save my life. Five minutes ago I was anger, incarnate. Now, I am fear. <br />
<br />
You twist up my nipples and hold the knife against them. You threaten me. You threaten me again. And again. I try to close my eyes but you won't let me. I whisper 'I'm sorry', over and over again. I'm crying, although you've told me to shut up, told me not to fucking dare make a noise. You've told me to look at you. I can't look away, so weep silently, watching your face and waiting until it's over. I'm such a slut that I always wear lashes of mascara, never waterproof - we both love how I look when you've made me sob. You make a sudden movement to stand on the bed - the last of my courage fails me and I close my eyes as an assault of tears sweeps over my cheeks from underneath my eyelashes. The surprise of feeling something drop onto my face shocks me open again - I think for a moment that you are cumming, but then realise you are dripping your piss into my face, onto my eyelids, my cheekbones, my chin, the mound of my breasts, onto my lips. You groan the way you do when you're cumming, but this is an altogether different experience from that of being spattered in your seed, although equally an act of declaration, of possession. But this is not delicious to me, this is disgusting. Absolutely and utterly disgusting. I stop crying from the shock of it, and not for one moment do I think to protest; once submission has taken me, I am yours. "Swallow it". My mouth curdles in disgust. "SWALLOW IT!". You finish exerting your ownership of me, with this complete and utter degradation, and leave me rigid in horror while you finish relieving yourself.<br />
<br />
You come back from the bathroom. You lift me, and move me onto the couch. You hold me close to you - I don't want you to, I'm dirty, and I'll make you dirty, too. But your will is mine. You whisper sweet things to me, of love, and need. You stroke my face and tell me that I'm yours, and that you can put your cock in me whenever and wherever you damn well please, and that this is what happens when I try and stop you. Your face changes completely as you say these words, but your hands and arms are still soft, stroking.<br />
<br />
You carry me into the bathroom and lay me down, washing me. I watch your face, waiting for a sign that it might change again. I wonder whether you will push me under the water to see if I'll struggle. I won't struggle.<br />
<br />
You bathe me, and yourself. You lay me down in a nest of soft things and rock me, telling me you love me more than life itself. I can barely speak.<br />
<br />
I feel loved, and loving. <br />
<br />
For the first time in a month that has been stressful, my mind is still, and calm.<br />
<br />
It is impossible to find time to have all the sex we need to have together, let alone do other things, such as sleep, eat, drink, piss. And I am grateful, more grateful than I can show, even now, with my body soft, yielding, yours. <br />
<br />
I am in love with you, always and forever.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-28650866801418447862011-01-08T13:36:00.000+00:002011-01-08T13:36:02.184+00:00<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
">http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br />
</a><br />
<b>December 15 – 5 Minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.</b><br />
<br />
The recipe for chocolate and gold mouse cake is in my family cookbook. (I have a scrapbook which I write recipes in which are outstanding and I want to keep. I call it the family cookbook although christ knows who I'll pass it on to since I never intend to have children!)<br />
<br />
Never send two men into the kitchen unsupervised with instructions for doing something which involves setting fire to stuff. (lighting the christmas pudding is really a job for women, I feel).<br />
<br />
Work goes better if you don't get stressed. (D'oh.)<br />
<br />
The combination lock for the painting box is xxx (I get huge pleasure from my delicious bottles of fruity coloured inks and metallic glass pots, tactile feathery brushes and scumptious thick paint. I don't let my husband steal them because within seconds of him touching them, he's covered them in marmite and fluff, and lost them under the sofa.)<br />
<br />
You really don't like beer. No, not even cherry flavoured. (Fact.)<br />
<br />
You have been banned from drinking cider ever again by both men in your life. (Oops.)Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-84021730068662597652011-01-08T13:34:00.003+00:002011-01-08T13:35:01.957+00:00Appreciate<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
">http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br />
</a><br />
<b>December 14 – Appreciate. What's the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?</b><br />
<br />
Honestly? So many things - but this year has brought something new. My boyfriend, lover, dominant, alpha male and pack leader - mon lupe. He makes everything in my life be infinitely better. I tell him how much joy he brings me constantly, but I could no more capture in words, my gratitude to him, than the pages of a dictionary could soak up the sea.<br />
<br />
And my beautiful, close, beloved poly family, who give me support, encouragement, care, love, joy, and fun. I treasure my family, it means everything to me. There is nothing I value more.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-89470696999457057552011-01-08T13:31:00.002+00:002011-01-08T13:31:30.785+00:00Action<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
">http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br />
</a><br />
<b>December 13 – Action. When it comes to aspirations, it's not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step?</b><br />
<br />
I'm going to audition to join the Poi Passion School of Poi and Fire Performance. It means two hours of practice once a week with the dance troupe, plus unlimited practicing by myself. It would mean that I could move from the kind of poi I've been doing, to fire poi at performance standard, which would not only be good fun, good exercise, good discipline, and an outlet for my exhibitionist side, but would considerably up my game in terms of what I can achieve with poi as dance, and the better I am at poi, the greater my joy in it.<br />
<br />
I think I've got a fairly good chance of getting in. The auditions are in february, and I'll get the info I need and start creating an audition piece over the next few weeks.<br />
<br />
When I was just starting classes last year with Poi Passion, they suggested I audition, and a whole year's gone by since then. I didn't feel ready, before, as I was a beginner, and I didn't want to join as a beginner. I feel ready now.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-55975175437492718472011-01-08T13:27:00.000+00:002011-01-08T13:27:06.625+00:00<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
">http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br />
</a><br />
December 12 – Body Integration. This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn't mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?<br />
<br />
I wrote this on my kink blog back in June - and there is no better description I could write now, of complete cohesiveness.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/beauty-in-violence.html">http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/beauty-in-violence.html</a>Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-70749021365514625522011-01-01T11:03:00.002+00:002011-01-01T11:03:47.401+00:0011 Things<a href="www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
">www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br />
</a><br />
<b>December 11 – 11 Things. What are 11 things your life doesn't need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?</b><br />
<br />
I've had to think really hard about this - and I very nearly skipped the question. I checked out other people's answers in the hopes of getting inspiration - but I've come to the conclusion that, fundamentally, I don't have much in my life that I don't need.<br />
<br />
So here is my list, stripped down to basics, and only very small things. None of them are very profound, and it's more of an idle toying with ideas, rather than a passionate commitment. Maybe that's something worth knowing in itself though. I don't feel that there's anything very much I want to give up or give away - there are things in my life I value, and could do with more of, but little I need to let go of.<br />
<br />
1. Debt.<br />
<br />
Having paid off my personal loan this year, I still have about £Too Much of credit card debt and a £Much Too Much overdraft, which I could most definitely do without. My plan is to pay large chunks off it as and when I can afford it, and I'm doing pretty well so far. I managed to change my spending from 'spending more than I earn' to 'spending less than I earn and paying off debt' during last year, so that's a fucking result as far as I'm concerned. And I've stuck to that for the last few months, even over christmas.<br />
<br />
2. Perfectionism and the Overly Critical Eye.<br />
<br />
I recently heard about a small tribe with a long life span and low stress levels, attributed to their 'good enough' attitude. Rather than living by the maxim 'never put off to tomorrow what you can do today', and 'if a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well', their approach is 'that'll do', and 'I'll do it tomorrow since it's not important'. I could do with some of that, and letting go of my intense perfectionism and the internalised voice inside me of my mother, telling me that unless I've done it right now and to A+++ standards, I'll be letting myself, and everyone around me, down.<br />
<br />
3. The Belief that I'm Unattractive.<br />
<br />
It's hard to be plus size, let's face it. Previous years' NY resolutions have nearly always included a promise that this year - THIS year - will be the one in which I lose weight. Well, guess what. If I really wanted to that much, I would have done. The internalised voice is again, speaking to me of how inadequate I am, and how much better my life would be if I could just....lose....weight. Well, that's bollocks. The few times in my life I've been a size 10, I've been miserable, because my life sucked, and being thin didn't make it suck any less. Now I'm happy, and I'm damn sure I wouldn't be any more happy if I was thinner. My skin glows, and is soft and beautiful, my hair is thick and touchable, my nails are pretty and perfectly manicured. On a good day I can look in the mirror and like what I see. I'm happy and healthy. I love food, I love eating, and tasting, and smelling good, pleasurable, food - and don't want to give any of it up for a dream of being perfectly slender. My body appears to please those around me - and I've begun to allow it to please me, too.<br />
<br />
4. Anxiety and Worrying to Excess<br />
<br />
I've not had a brilliant month, I've needed to take time out to just slow the fuck down, calm down, and let my headspace settle. It's been an extraordinary year, a landmark year, a wonderful, amazing year. I've pushed my body, heart, mind and spirit to their limits, and sometimes a little beyond, so it's no surprise that I've crashed a little just this last few weeks. My energy's been low, and I've needed time to recoup, and just be quiet, and still. The old war wound of anxiety disorder has resurrected itself, and I've had a few mild panic attacks and some low level anxiety days. This has knocked my confidence in myself as a 'functioning mentalist and well person', and frightened me. I don't, ever, want to go back to being the way I was years ago where fear ruled me and everything I did was haunted by worry. While I do think that this is just a short dip in strength caused by putting too many demands on myself, my tendency to fret fret fret is most definitely something I could live without.<br />
<br />
5. Neglecting My Own Needs<br />
<br />
I have a core part of my personality which gains huge satisfaction from giving people something they need. It makes me happy, it makes me feel 'of worth', it makes me feel real. I need to find more of a balance though, between this, and neglecting my own needs to the point of exhaustion and collapse, at which point I can't help anybody, not even myself. To this end, I'm promising myself a 2 hour diarised slot of TLC time, where I will give myself nice things and look after myself, once a week. And to try and be a little more balanced in my approach to other people's needs, and my own.<br />
<br />
6. Multitasking to Excess<br />
<br />
I'm going to try and take a 'one thing at a time' approach as much as possible, this year.<br />
<br />
7. Not Tolerating Intolerable Behaviour<br />
<br />
I've made a good start on this in 2010, and in 2011 I want to consolidate.<br />
<br />
8. Repressing Rage and Righteous Indignation<br />
<br />
See above<br />
<br />
9. Being Busy Without Getting Anything Done<br />
<br />
This is connected to multitasking. I need to pare down my internal 'to do' lists to essentials, rather than flapping about constantly trying to achieve perfection.<br />
<br />
10. Working Through My Lunchbreak<br />
<br />
Really. There's just no point. I could be doing poi.<br />
<br />
11. Getting up at 7.30am, drinking tea and faffing about, then getting into work late at about 10am.<br />
<br />
For heaven's sake, I only work 10 minutes cycle away from where I live! I need to be more disciplined about not getting stuck into stupid tasks in the morning, or deciding on a quick last minute wank and then dozing off for half an hour in a pile of sex toys.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-42071896923797963002010-12-31T19:27:00.000+00:002010-12-31T19:27:58.602+00:00<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
">http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br />
</a><br />
<b>December 10 – Wisdom. What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?<br />
</b><br />
<a href="http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/integrity.html">The long version of events can be found here: http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/integrity.html<br />
</a><br />
But the short version is that, back in June, my beloved husband made himself seriously ill and did himself a mischief, not through misfortune but through willful and reckless lack of care; of himself, his health, and of my devotion to him.<br />
<br />
For the first time in our relationship I took a radically different approach, and left him to deal with the repercussions. He was never, at any point, in real danger, but instead of making it easier and more comfortable for him, I withheld my help and support. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, one of the most necessary, and the wisest.<br />
<br />
Since then, he has taken a considerably different approach to his healthcare. We have both worked on decreasing his dependence on me, and at the very least, trying to ensure his laziness and carelessness don't impact me unduly. It is possible to love someone very much, and find them exasperating. I love ALL of him, and don't need or want him to change. However, enabling his poor behaviour wasn't doing either of us any good. Putting into practice the adage 'the only person's behaviour you have control over, is your own', was extraordinarily difficult, but extraordinarily overdue.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-23166395464877536702010-12-31T19:25:00.000+00:002010-12-31T19:25:48.687+00:00<a href="www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/</a><br />
<br />
<b>December 9 – Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.</b><br />
<br />
This was a really hard question to answer. Have I been to any parties? I'm not sure as that I have. I've had days and nights out a plenty - pubs, clubs, munches, picnics, barbecues, bonfires, dinner parties and a ball. There's no single event that stands head and shoulders above the others. I've probably had the most fun, just a few days ago with my poly family gathered around me to celebrate christmas. Thoughtfulness, love, care, support, and good humour was evident in everything, from the gifts exchanged to the activities, the story reading and the hysterical screaming 'I'm on fire, I'm on fire, oh my GOD!' which issued from the kitchen.<br />
<br />
I would say that the Debutante Ball to celebrate my friend Jessica Coming Out as a cross-dresser and general purpose pervert, was pretty spectacular. There were dozens of people came to show their goodwill, bringing food, drink, and dressed up to the nines, drinking champagne under a canopy in a huge garden, while we listened to speeches, and later, our very own West End professional singer, followed by increasingly drunken karaoke. I was not on good form due to an upsetting incident early that morning, which will be known only as PorridgeGate. Setting that aside, it was a wondrous event. I was nearly in tears - in a good way - with appreciation of just how much effort went into making the day as perfect as it could possibly be, from so many people wishing Jessica well.<br />
<br />
The moments I remember are watching him, and his adorable fiance, roll on the grass, wrestling and giggling with puppyish abandon. The kittens belonging to our host, crept out from behind tables to watch. One of them let me pick her up for a cuddle. It was so hot I carried glasses of ice water to all the hard workers, putting up the marquee and setting out the tables and chairs.<br />
<br />
Later, when I came back for the party, Jessica was transformed, manifesting that inner glow which fills the person who is comfortable in their own skin. She was radiant, and blonde, and her white dress enhanced the bloom of a young woman on the edge of innocence, just beginning to take her own steps in the world. She had come so far, and my heart filled with such pride I almost couldn't bear it. Her fiance in her incarnation as Master Bez, looked like masculine perfection in miniature, oozing a lusty and piratical sexuality which would become stronger during the course of the evening, under the influence of strong drink.<br />
<br />
I loved that people had brought food and drink to contribute, there was a powerful sense of community, of group identity. I have a very strong memory of a very drunken friend, dancing merrily to the karaoke in her steampunk corset and many layered skirt. If anyone could have called the Sidhe back from Faerieland that night, it was she.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-2566601727308054902010-12-26T10:06:00.000+00:002010-12-26T10:06:22.316+00:00Beautifully Different<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
">http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br />
</a><br />
<br />
<b>December 8 – Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.</b><br />
<br />
Christ - what about me ISN'T different? I'm not sure how much of it makes me beautiful though! I've always been distinctively unusual, freakish, weird, odd, peculiar...take your pick.<br />
<br />
I spent a lot of time when I was young, at school, trying to copy what other people were doing, work out how to just 'blend in'. It really didn't work though, because every now and then, I would just do something considered quite thoroughly odd, and my disguise would fall away, leaving me exposed to ridicule.<br />
<br />
That's because kids are little shits though, and by the time I turned fourteen, I'd embraced my inner wierdo. There was a sense of 'might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb'. If people were always going to bust me as a freak, no matter how I tried to hide it, I might as well not bother to hide it and just really fucking go for it. It was a profound shift in thinking towards 'yes, that's right, I am. And your point is?'<br />
<br />
And bizarrely, I find most people are drawn to it. It really does light me up - perhaps because I've accepted and welcomed who and what I am. I am so utterly, unashamedly odd, so brazen about my strangeness, that it seems to compel people to look closer. My hair, the way I speak, my singing voice, my dress sense, the strange little stories I tell, my approach to life, not to mention my sexual proclivities...sometimes complete strangers get so fascinated they start asking me the most outrageously personal questions, almost as if, by stepping outside what's considered normal, I've put myself in the public domain. Quite often people will just touch my hair and start looking at it, even if I've never exchanged a word with them!<br />
<br />
Sometimes I do get a little sad that I can't just be normal - I'm not, and never will be, a 'joiner'. I will always be on the outside of any group activities, feeling resentful and irritated. And some people find my strangeness repellant, and a little frightening.<br />
<br />
But mostly, if my differences don't make me beautiful, they make me what I am. And I value them for that.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-21782739126064604832010-12-24T10:19:00.000+00:002010-12-24T10:19:58.965+00:00Community<a href="www.reverb10.com/the-prompts">www.reverb10.com/the-promptsb</a><br />
<br />
<b>December 7 – Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?</b><br />
<br />
Without a single doubt, it has been the kink community, both online, through <a href="http://www.informedconsent.com">Informed Consent</a> and <a href="http://www.fetlife.com">Fetlife</a>, and the support network of friends I've made through these and the 'in person' continuation of that. I've now got a group of people so solid, so strong, that I can go to them with anything, worries about my kink, my husband, my boyfriend, my other friends, my job, house, cats, anything and everything.<br />
<br />
It's through these people, that I've begun the ongoing and neverending process of defining my own kink. What makes me hot, what does not. I've also been able to manifest my kink through first, the wrong people, then, the right people. And frame the experiences I've had, give them context. It's made me more 'okay with my kink'. There's no question that I needed the community to help me do that.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-67505496356926415052010-12-21T11:37:00.000+00:002010-12-21T11:37:40.761+00:00Make<div class="entry-item"><a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/" id="link_1">www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/</a><br />
<br />
<strong>December 6 – Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?</strong><br />
<br />
The last thing I made, was a christmas present for my husband. It was a painting, not at all in my usual style, but trying my best to do 'representational art' of a shared little story we created together. It is soft and sweet and loving and, I hope, he will think it's fantastic. I really can't draw or paint in that way, but it's less of a 'look how talented I am, isn't this good?' thing, than a 'I worked really hard on this and even though I'm not very good at this, I'm pleased with the results because I know you'll like how hard I tried to make something for you' thing.<br />
<br />
I've painted for quite a long time, abstracts in mixed media usually, increasingly three dimensional, tactile, and multi-sensory. They are usually quite textural and sometimes scented - although not always. It's not been until the last year that I've had the courage to show my work, or give them away as gifts; despite having been asked to make custom work specifically for friends before, I didn't really believe that anyone would value it that highly. <br />
<br />
For the first time this year I put a higher value on my work - and it's currently on exhibit at the Caroline of Brunswick in Brighton. Which makes me happy and proud :-)<br />
<a class="cssButton" href="javascript:void(0)" id="previewButton" onclick="void(0);" target=""><div class="cssButtonOuter"><div class="cssButtonMiddle"><div class="cssButtonInner"></div></div></div></a><br />
<a href="http://littleimppainting.fotopic.net/c1906175.html" id="link_2">littleimppainting.fotopic.net/c1906175.h<wbr></wbr>tml</a></div>Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-40635994137644184772010-12-16T16:25:00.000+00:002010-12-16T16:25:18.776+00:00Let Go<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/</a><br />
<br />
<b>December 5 – Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?</b><br />
<br />
I let go of the last semblance of a normal sexuality, this year. Why? Because I had to.<br />
<br />
I couldn't, now, go back to how I was before. I was 100% faithful and monogamous to my much loved husband and partner of 15 years. But I was unfufilled sexually, because I, ladies and gentlemen, am a pervert. Unless someone's smashing me around the place, or violating me in horrible and tawdry ways, or delivering obscene quantities of pain, I'm simply not going to get my rocks off.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong - I like sex. I LOVE sex. I can enjoy sex, loving, gentle, sensual sex, without a BDSM element. But it won't set off fireworks in my brain. And by that I don't mean simply cumming. I can spend 4 minutes with a magic wand and do THAT. I mean the white hot radiating sense of utter RIGHTNESS that follows in the wake of pain, and submission.<br />
<br />
I am in the incredibly fortunate and privileged position of being married, yet free to seek sexual fulfilment outside my marriage, in close and loving relationships, with the full support, understanding, and generous permission, of my husband. Blanket consent, no limits, but a don't ask don't tell policy in the details.<br />
<br />
Christmas last year was a bad time for me, and our marriage. I started to wonder whether this poly business was ever going to work out for me, or us. Whether I would have to try and find the way of living without the joy that my newfound sexuality brought me. <br />
<br />
Instead, I now find myself within the tight-knit security of an extended poly family, who have brought such comfort, love, pleasure, kindness, support, and open hearted generosity into my life, I at times feel quite overwhelmed, and always grateful. <br />
<br />
Ready or not, things pass into our lives, and then leave. You can't always control when this will happen - the only thing you can guarantee, is that change WILL come. I would never have sought this change, I didn't anticipate it, and yet when it came, and I had to let go of being a monogamous, faithful, wife - it was one of the most <i>right</i> decisions I have ever made.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-67419549843962643562010-12-16T16:23:00.000+00:002010-12-16T16:23:38.076+00:00Wonder<div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/</a></b></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strong>December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?</strong></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">cultivate |ˈkəltəˌvāt|<br />
verb [ trans. ]<br />
2 try to acquire or develop (a quality, sentiment, or skill) : he cultivated an air of indifference.<br />
• try to win the friendship or favor of (someone) : it helps if you go out of your way to cultivate the local people.<br />
• [usu. as adj. ] ( cultivated) apply oneself to improving or developing (one's mind or manners) : he was a remarkably cultivated and educated man.<br />
<br />
Strictly speaking then - I haven't. Rather, I have had a sense of wonder grow, unaided, within me, this year. It has been thrust upon me, without intent or effort.<br />
<br />
I have watched, amazed, while people close to me behaved, thought, spoke, felt, in wondrous ways. <br />
<br />
An example: a close friend got 'outed'. Instead of withdrawing from the rural farming community he lives in, ashamed and embarrassed, he made a deliberate choice to nurture his sense of pride and embrace his identity. He told people, 'If you choose to judge me, that is your prerogative. If you choose to laugh at me, again your prerogative, but I may judge you for doing so'. He understood that the only person's behaviour you can control, is your own. Which he did, with extraordinary dignity, and in so doing, filled me with a sense of wonder, and delight, that I hold the honour of considering him a friend.<strong> </strong></span></div>Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-52465089604360184652010-12-07T17:57:00.001+00:002010-12-07T17:57:54.663+00:00Moment<a href="www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/</a><br />
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December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)<br />
<br />
There are so very many precious and shining moments this year, that I keep nestled close to my heart, that choosing the one where I felt most alive is impossible. This then, is merely the first one that came into my mind, when thinking about the question.<br />
<br />
When I first met my dominant partner, I was like a badly beaten rescue dog - coming to a kind hand, but fearing a blow. Eventually he coaxed me closer and closer, until I started coming to him of my own accord.<br />
<br />
I set out so many limits and boundaries, which he encouraged me to do - recognising that unless I felt safe, I would never open to him at all. Acknowledging that I had the right to do so, could and should do so. Gradually as my trust grew, I was able to let down my boundaries, and dissolve my limits, one by one.<br />
<br />
We had been in the club, and it took time for us to make our own headspace together, and ignore the talking around us, block out the laughter and other people. Then - bang - he was there, and he took me with him. I was suddenly getting fucked over, he was smashing me with his hands, the world disappeared: he was totally and utterly focused on me, and only me. And I, him.<br />
<br />
I screamed into his face, spitting, angry, scratching, and he was sweat oiled muscled rage made manifest. I made him work for it, and he took me down, down with him into the dark, with growls and snarls and violence and rage.<br />
<br />
Afterwards, as he wrapped me up, warm and safe in his arms, I told him for the first time that I loved him. He told me, later, that I was a goddess for him, in the club, perfect. Violent and perfect. I was his hard-won prize, his woman - his.<br />
<br />
As he drove me home, he slid his fingers inside my messy pussy, warm and wet. He made me cry out for him, never mind the danger of the car just de-railing itself right there and then. He pulled off into a layby, pushed me down into the seat of the car, and chose to get his scent on me and his seed on me. He had beaten me bruised and now he would mark me again - because he could.<br />
<br />
He shoved his jeans down, and tossed himself off into my mouth, holding me down on the seat, forcing my mouth open with his fingers. He made me lick his balls while he jerked off into my open mouth, and then forced me to drink his cum - all of it.<br />
<br />
I experienced the complete and utter bliss of being made to drink his cum, as he emptied himself into me, emptied everything he had, and I adored it. I loved every moment of it, I loved the taste of him, I loved being made to do it, and I loved the quiet words of adoration that he whispered afterwards, words he wouldn't even remember later, through a haze of brain white-out and bliss of his own. That moment, by itself, was worth living for.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-16100537629819532532010-12-07T11:30:00.002+00:002010-12-07T11:30:40.763+00:00Writing<a href="www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/"></a><br />
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December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Author: Leo Babauta)<br />
<br />
I spend enough time doing things that I *have* to do. With work, housework, mundane tasks, there's plenty in my life that I need to get done, even when I don't feel like doing it. More and more recently, I've come to value the times when I can just do, what I feel like doing, when I feel like it.<br />
<br />
I never write because I should do, or have to. I'm not a professional author with deadlines to meet. Which means that I have the luxury of letting passion to create, carry me away, as and when it happens, rather than forcing it. And even if I WAS a professional writer, why on earth would I want to eliminate all the pleasures in my life? If I did nothing other than write, I would have nothing to write ABOUT - no inspiration, no richness of experience to bring to my words.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-59241409794850667062010-12-06T12:36:00.000+00:002010-12-06T12:36:12.854+00:00One WordI'm a little late to the party....but...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/</a><br />
<br />
December 1 – One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you're choosing that word. Now, imagine it's one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you? (Author: Gwen Bell)<br />
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<b>Growth.</b><br />
<br />
Everything in my world - EVERYTHING - has grown and blossomed this year.<br />
<br />
Implicit in growth, is restoration and repair. Around this time last year I was in a bad place. Here's a little story - one which I need to tell - which is just a small example but a good one.<br />
<br />
Last year, I was in an abusive relationship. I had my husband (R) to love and hold and squeeze me, and I was also in a relationship with two people who assured me of their loving care, that they would protect me and keep me safe, and enjoyed my increasing dependency on them. I was encouraged to lean on them, for support, and help. And I needed quite a lot of support and help. R was ill, I was struggling to come to terms with the direction all my relationships were taking. The abuse was mostly emotional, sometimes subtle, confusing, and utterly cruel.<br />
<br />
One play date fell just as I was about to go on holiday. R was happy for me to play on the condition that no marks would show when I was in my bikini. So I set out specific boundaries for this occasion. It was a clear agreement, clearly communicated and understood.<br />
<br />
They beat me, and went too far. One person held my breasts, while the other, hit them. The resulting deep tissue bruises were clearly visible over the top of my bikini, and through thin clothing. They took six weeks to show significant signs of healing, and it was months before the skin was completely clear. I slathered on arnica cream day and night, but still the bruises stayed - black and huge. R was angry with me, he felt it showed no respect for him, and he was right. He was repulsed by my naked body, and I took pains to hide it as much as I could. Sex ended in spectacular failure when I took my top off.<br />
<br />
The worst thing though - was that I defended them. I tried to laugh it off, even showed my friends the bruises, seeking confirmation that for a dominant, getting carried away and going too far, was normal. I defended them to R. The person who hit me, gloated, boasting about it and telling me how aroused it made them, how they enjoyed it and felt pride in it.<br />
<br />
I wasn't able to tell anyone how unhappy, how betrayed I felt. I couldn't even admit it to myself.<br />
<br />
When that relationship ended, spectacularly, as could have been predicted - I was so lost, so alone. Over the last year, I've healed, and flowered beyond my expectations. I've come into my power, as a person, as a woman.<br />
<br />
The mind heals, but the body remembers. It doesn't make me upset to talk about these things, but when someone beats my breasts, I instantly start to sob. At a play party a few weeks ago, with the Ladies Who Play (an all female space where we can enjoy casual, playful BDSM), I had an extended beating on the breasts, and a hard session with three gorgeous women. The moment I was hit in that place, I immediately began crying, a grief stricken outpouring that I couldn't hold back. The body remembers.<br />
<br />
I pushed through, and received the pain, which on my breasts was given mostly by my very old and beloved friend. It was cathartic in the extreme, and afterwards, as I was held and stroked and calmed by women, telling what had happened to me, I felt something deep, deep inside me, relax.<br />
<br />
And now, when I'm hit there, in that place which was once such a hotline to my tears, it is the same as when I am hit anywhere else on my body, in mutual pleasure and excitement. And reassurances and support will be given, and it will be done with affection and respect, not motivated by spite and vicious cruelty.<br />
<br />
In this small way, among many, many other ways, I am healed.<br />
<br />
If I hope anything for next year, it is that I consolidate the things that I have learned, the new relationships I have built, the old ones that are flourishing, and the growth I have felt within me this year.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-88301501478088179022010-11-22T07:42:00.000+00:002010-11-22T07:42:42.565+00:00Little Imp's Guide for Girls with Difficult MimsysHaving been <a href="http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/11/orgasm-addict.html">cursed with a Difficult Mimsy</a>, now that the curse has been lifted [insert Magic Wand joke here], I feel it is my duty to make the following public service announcement:<br />
<br />
<b>Little Imp's Guide to Having Your First Orgasm, for Girls with Difficult Mimsys.<br />
</b><br />
<b>1) Are all the Bits present and correct?<br />
</b><br />
Far be it from me to medicalise a person's sexuality, but if you've got to middle age and been bashing away at your clit with knife, fork, and lobster hammer for years and nothing's happened, it might be worth going to the doctor to check all is well.<br />
<br />
Also, are you a mental? Because whilst chucking the odd Wobbler shouldn't interfere, if you're rigid with anxiety constantly, or stuck in bed sobbing 24/7, it's probably best to get that sorted first before you tackle your Unmentionables.<br />
<br />
<b>2) Location, location, location<br />
</b><br />
This is not something you're going to achieve under time constraints, or stress. If you've got a selection of children/ partners/ pets/ work colleagues banging on the door of the lounge/ bedroom/ bathroom/ stationery cupboard, it's going to put you off a wee bit. So find somewhere that you can, at the very least, lie down comfortably, for at least an hour, in peace and quiet. It doesn't have to be a secret, but in my experience there's nothing less likely to lead to an orgasm than pressure. So having your boyfriend doing Hopeful Face afterwards is not going to help. You may want to develop a habit of 'taking long baths with the door locked while listening to the radio', for example.<br />
<br />
<b>3) Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither was a Magic Mimsy<br />
</b><br />
You should be prepared to put in the overtime on this one. It's worth it - you're doing something nice for yourself. Think an hour a week, on a regular basis, for the foreseable future. Don't make 'having an orgasm' the goal. Make 'playing with yourself and enjoying the sensations' the goal. And if you think an hour is a long time - for years it used to take me at least an hour to reach orgasm, every time!<br />
<br />
<b>4) Tools of the Trade<br />
</b><br />
You're going to need some equipment. Unless you've never so much as touched your ladies front bottom before, get busy browsing the sex shops. Online is okay, but in person is better. Really, you need to be thinking D batteries, not AAA, okay? Go for something you can use on your clit, which vibrates. I wouldn't recommend a hitachi magic wand or equivalent for a beginner. Twenty minutes with one of those and your clit'll go numb, which is NOT what you want.<br />
<br />
You could try a rabbit style vibrator (one with clit stimulator and dildo all in one), or a clit stimulator and dildo/ vibrator for insertion as two or more separate things.<br />
<br />
Everyone's different so see what appeals to you.<br />
<br />
<b>5) Different Strokes for Different Folks<br />
</b><br />
Find out what does it for you, what gets you off. Is it soft or hard? Porn - and if so, what kind? Erotic writing with an emphasis on sensual, or nasty videos? Does it need to have a BDSM element?<br />
<br />
Do you like to wank on your front, or on your back? Lying down, or squatting? Music, or none? Do you like to use both hands, or just one? Do you need to feel submissive, or dominant, or neither?<br />
<br />
What do you like to fantasise about? Do you need something inside you to cum, or just on your clit? Arse or pussy? Lights on or off? Morning, noon or night? What temperature should the room be? Naked, or semi-naked, or clothed?<br />
<br />
You need to get your body, and your mind, to the same place. You need to be physically and emotionally comfortable, and able to explore and let your hands and mind play.<br />
<br />
<b>6) Practice, Practice, Practice<br />
</b><br />
It might take you a dozen times, to find the golden combination that sends you over the edge. Or you might go off like a rocket within five minutes of trying. But be prepared to put some time into this. The more you wank the better and easier it will get, to come to orgasm. It's a learning curve.<br />
<br />
Then you can teach other people how to do it to you! <br />
<br />
<b>7) The Tao of Wanking<br />
</b><br />
Do not let anyone put pressure on you to cum. That's like a cold shower on your mimsy.<br />
<br />
<b>8) Schrodinger's Pussy (stretching the metaphor rather)<br />
</b><br />
Don't let your orgasm become the focus or end goal of sex. Orgasms are like a shy cat, hiding under the bed. They may or may not be in there but the moment you lift the sheet up to check, they bolt. They don't like to be looked at directly, it makes them feel self-conscious!<br />
<br />
<b>9) Advanced Class<br />
</b><br />
Buy a magic wand. No, really.<br />
<br />
<b>10) Go forth and cum!</b>Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-66412125980418030922010-11-22T07:37:00.002+00:002010-11-22T07:37:34.257+00:00Orgasm AddictOh, I am a nasty, slutty whore. I'm going through one of those phases at the moment where I can't keep my mitts off my mimsy. I keep grabbing every spare moment when my husband leaves the house to fit in a quick magic wanding before work.<br />
<br />
The irony of it is that orgasms used to be such an area of difficulty for me.<br />
<br />
I'm 34 now, and it wasn't until my late 20s that I learned how to have an orgasm. And it *was* a learning process. I felt like such a massive freak, not being able to cum. Every time that orgasms came up during girly chit chat (talking about them that is, I'm not referring to a massive lezz session. Although... ) I would feel like a fraud, and try to find some way to exit the conversation without lying or confessing my inadequacy.<br />
<br />
And that *is* how I used to see it. As a flaw in me. As my body not working properly. Or me being too mental. Broken. Stamped with a big 'FAIL' over my aunty mary.<br />
<br />
I put such pressure on myself that I gave up. Rather than trying, then constantly failing, I gave up trying altogether. Attempts by myself, or partners, made me feel stressed and miserable. Everyone else seemed to achieve it so naturally...so effortlessly.<br />
<br />
Then one day I just snapped. Bought myself a rabbit vibrator and just went for it. Looking back now, I'm not surprised I'd never cum before that day. I'd never allowed myself to fantastise about anyone but my partner. I'd never been at ease with my own body. I'd never owned a clitoral vibrator. I'd had few lovers, all of whom were inexperienced.<br />
<br />
It took a few goes. I had to learn not to get uptight about it. I also had to learn not to be scared I'd wee myself. A few towels sorted that out. And then suddenly - one day...oh my god. It was like a bloody cork out of a bottle of champagne. For the next few months I practically wanked my clit off.<br />
<br />
Over the next few years I came to think of orgasms as something I had by myself - not something to be shared as part of sex. I could only cum using a vibrator on my clit; and I only knew one way of cumming. I tried a couple of times to introduce it during sex, but we both felt awkward and uncomfortable. Again, I felt like a failure, with bits that didn't work properly, and had to be stimulated mechanically, like some sort of broken doll.<br />
<br />
But over the last couple of years I've learnt so much about my own body, and the way my sexuality works. First, I learnt what it was like to let someone else bring me to orgasm. Then I learned what it felt like to cum, not as an end destination, pressured, but just as part of ongoing sex where everybody may or may not get to cum at some point but it doesn't really matter if or when. Then I learned that other things make me cum, too. That it was possible to have more than one kind of orgasm, and that different things could bring it about.<br />
<br />
I also learned that having partners who were not worried about it, who would happily enjoy my orgasm if or when it happened, but were not focusing on that as the be-all and end-all of sex, was extremely liberating. And I started having orgasm after orgasm, different kinds, in different ways, during sex. I learned to just....be.....during sex, without thinking - well, anything at all, really! It's taken a lot of experimentation, different people teaching me different things. I had quite a turn when I started gushing for the first time, for example. I thought I'd suddenly become incontinent. I was rather alarmed.<br />
<br />
I've also needed to learn not to give a damn about how I look, feel, or sound, during sex. Noises and liquids and god knows what coming out of my body, and I'm just relaxing into that now, really, instead of getting really tense and worried like I used to.<br />
<br />
The last few years have been a pretty steep learning curve for me altogether. I used to blog regularly on livejournal, and I was reading through old entries dated back to 2001. I was actually looking for a 'guide to orgasms for girls with difficult mimsys' blog I'd written, after my first orgasm, but sadly couldn't find it.<br />
<br />
I was struck by the picture that emerged of my life, just reading through titles of blog entries. For so many years, I was such a sad, scared, lonely girl, just struggling constantly to keep my chin up with the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was carrying so much baggage, so many burdens. And gradually I let them all go, one by one. I used to hate by body and my face, and myself. And now, I wouldn't swap my life, my body, my face, for anybody's at all. Because they are mine. They belong to me. And those I choose to share them with.<br />
<br />
Yeah. Things are good. :-)Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-76503957403262085482010-10-20T17:43:00.000+01:002010-10-20T17:43:25.538+01:00The Thirteen Gifts"Birthstone" - <i>Definition: gift of a precious material, traditionally associated with a month and believed to attract good fortune.</i><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #999999;">Opal</span></b><br />
<i><div style="color: #999999;">October's child is born for woe,</div><div style="color: #999999;">And life's vicissitudes must know,</div><div style="color: #999999;">But lay an opal on her breast,</div><div style="color: #999999;">And hope will lull those woes to rest.</div></i><br />
Halloween parties and bonfire smoke. A year ago today my husband was in hospital, I was tearing myself apart from the inside, and my world seemed to be falling apart, piece by piece. The celtic new year begins on Samhain - 'Summer's End' - and for me, it was not just my summer, nor even just my year that had ended. Black as burnt branches in the fire; silver as the shimmer of frost, red as my heart was raw. Opals are fire and ice - too much trouble caused by heat in my cunt, too little warmth returned to my heart in love, burnt from passion and lack of grace.<br />
<br />
Yet because of you, October and all its woe was a gift, a new year's gift. A burning out of old wood to make room for the new growth to come. And somewhere in the world, although as yet unknown to me, you were waiting. Waiting for me, as I was waiting all my life, for you. Although it would be some time still before we both knew that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #f6b26b;"><b>Topaz</b></div><i><div style="color: #f6b26b;">Who first comes to this world below</div><div style="color: #f6b26b;">In dreary November's fog and snow,</div><div style="color: #f6b26b;">Should prize the topaz amber hue,</div><div style="color: #f6b26b;">Emblem of friends and lovers true.</div></i><br />
I threw my last ember of hope into the wet mist and watched for fire. Eleven months ago I huddled in my cave, grey outside and inside, damp misery clinging to every moment. But something in the fog was shining. I braved making contact with you, in desperation for the relief of pain, and the desire to be fucked like I needed to be fucked. From the first we talked of everything and nothing - rape play, hosing me down with your piss, the contradiction of a whore who'd never been fucked, and the delicate joy of words. I feared a false dawn, that your fire would be nothing more than illusion, lights in a gas fire rather than true flame. But Topaz is constancy, loyalty, friendship, the balance of emotions, and the strength of the shoulder to lean on. And you showed me all of this.<br />
<br />
I wasn't ready to believe that you could be a friend and lover true, but you lent your strength to me despite my fear. This was your gift to me in the first month I knew you.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><b>Turquoise</b></div><i><div style="color: #6fa8dc;">If cold December gave you birth</div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;">The month of snow and ice and mirth</div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;">Place on your hand a turquoise blue;</div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;">Success will bless whate'er you do.</div></i><br />
A splash of bright colour in the ice. Ten months ago I met you in person. I saw the way you moved, the sensual, coiled violence living inside you, and realised I needed you to fuck me, rough and hard. You were funny and kind and clever, and I laughed for the first time since October on the night I met you. <br />
<br />
You made it easy to be me, I didn't have to hide anything as I slutted around, flirted, kissed pretty women tasting of mulled wine bent over the table in front of you. I taunted you, begged you to fuck me in an alleyway, but you were gentle with me, seeing the fear underneath my brashness. From that first night, you protected me - even against myself. I begged you to beat me and fuck me - you stroked my hand. I opened myself to your kiss - instead you bit my lip as you looked into my eyes. Every bit as sensual, leaving me wanting you, leaving me wanting so much more. <br />
<br />
Turquoise is for honesty, healing, regeneration and protection. You waited for me to come to you, knowing that if you moved too fast I would disappear. Again and again I pushed you away, tearful even as I did so, icy streets and frost inside the car. I wouldn't let you inside my heart or my body.<br />
<br />
You wanted to beat me until I bled, fuck me until I was raw, bugger me until I was stretched open on your cock. You wanted to fucking ruin me - and yet all this month you held yourself back. We kissed, stroked, held; you pinched and bit me - but nothing more. You let me heal and lick my wounds while your arms held me safe, gently steered me away from self-destruction, and waited, waited, waited until I was ready to let you enter. This was your gift to me in the month we first kissed.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><b>Garnet</b></div><i><div style="color: #990000;">By her who in January was born</div><div style="color: #990000;">No gem save garnets shall be worn</div><div style="color: #990000;">They will ensure her constancy</div><div style="color: #990000;">True friendship and fidelity.</div></i><br />
Blood spatters in the snow. Ten months ago we played for the first time. Unsure, hesitant, scared still, I invited you into my house. "Are you afraid?", you asked me.<br />
<br />
My eyes pupil-blackened and wide with fear, I nodded yes, my mouth slipping open in terror.<br />
<br />
"Well crawl over there to the phone and call someone who gives a fuck." <br />
<br />
Spit flew into my face from the violence of your words. You opened your fist and slapped me, first one cheek then the other. My breasts, shoulder and wrists were left bruise-dappled, ripe from your taking. I was swollen for you, bare and open, waiting, breathless, waiting...and and...<br />
<br />
You pushed me - pushed my mind, opened me to embracing possibilities and unfamiliar play, but you did not push the fat head of your cock into my unwilling pussy, you did not open my cunt on the thick shaft of your dick - because I had told you no, and you listened. Garnet enhances sexuality, sensuality - red gems shimmering in the jewel chest of my memory. <br />
<br />
You gave me back a little of the power which had been taken from me. You gave me pain and you gave me fear. These were your gifts to me in the first month we played together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #d5a6bd;"><b>Amethyst</b> </div><i><div style="color: #d5a6bd;">The February born shall find</div><div style="color: #d5a6bd;">Sincerity and peace of mind,</div><div style="color: #d5a6bd;">Freedom from passion and from care,</div><div style="color: #d5a6bd;">If they, the amethyst will wear.</div></i><br />
Corridors and alleyways, all mixed up. At last, an outlet for my passion. You made me cum everywhere, anywhere, however you chose, wherever, whenever you chose. Your cock was only ever out of my mouth so that you could get your fingers in my slutty pussy. You ripped my orgasms from me, tearing, mauling, dragging them out of me - until I was shuddering, unable to walk, staggering, ruined with lust. Down alleyways against a lamppost, on sofas in pubs, in public toilets, in my hallway before I'd barely closed the front door, you took me. On my bed, on the floor, on the sofa, in your car, in nightclubs - your fingers always on, or in, me. <br />
<br />
You learned how much I love to please, how much I adore giving for the sake of giving. Amethyst is for stability, peace, contentment and calm, and these things became mine, as I learned to trust you, and to trust myself again. We spoke words of love, whispered and exchanged; heart's balm, heart's peace.<br />
<br />
You gave me sexual contentment for the first time in all of my life. You fell in love with me, and I with you. These were your gifts to me, in the second month of our life together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #93c47d;"><b>Bloodstone</b></div><i><div style="color: #93c47d;">By her who in March was born</div><div style="color: #93c47d;">No gem save bloodstone shall be worn</div><div style="color: #93c47d;">They will ensure her constancy</div><div style="color: #93c47d;">True friendship and fidelity.</div></i><br />
Dark dens and musky animals scents, rumpled furs making a nest, stinking of sweat and cum. Safety, warmth, happiness. "Fuck me anywhere, any time, in any way, that pleases you", I said. And you did.<br />
<br />
So many years since I'd welcomed a new lover into my body. I was remade, like a young girl losing her maidenhead. You spilled my blood on the sheets, made your mark on my body. Knives, leather, fluid bonds that do not constrain yet are unbreakable. Bloodstone opens all doors for its owner, breaks down the walls of prisons and brings the possessor that which he desires. And we do desire each other so much that we cannot stave off our skin hunger for long.<br />
<br />
You beat me until I bled, fucked me until I was raw, buggered me until I was stretched open on your cock. You fucking ruined me. You pushed the fat head of your cock into my willing pussy, and you opened my cunt on the thick shaft of your dick. These were your gifts to me, in the third month of our life together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #eeeeee;"><b>Diamond</b> </div><i><div style="color: #eeeeee;">She who from April dates her years,</div><div style="color: #eeeeee;">diamonds shall wear,</div><div style="color: #eeeeee;">lest bitter tears</div><div style="color: #eeeeee;">For vain repentance flow.</div></i><br />
Spring sunshine, new growth and the earth heating up. As I started to lean into you, my life became suffused with your presence. I started to trust you were not going anywhere. Little things meant so much. A walk by the riverside, dragging me through the undergrowth, a quick rape. Borrowing our friend's flat and dungeon, exploring the limits of what my body can stand. <br />
<br />
Beginning to understand what it means for you to be my dominant partner, and what it means when I submit to you. A blurring of the lines between play and everyday life. You are always dominant to me, always. Sometimes I will submit easily, fluidly, contentedly - and sometimes you'll force me. But I always submit. You give me no other option. You rip away my defenses, leave me nowhere to hide. The diamond stands for abundance, enhancing relationships and increasing inner strength. You give me an abundance of love, of pain, of fucking, of care, of support. You shower me with it so that I no longer feel starved, scratching around in the poor dry earth. Instead you soak me in warm summer rain.<br />
<br />
I no longer fear constantly that what has been given, will be taken away. This is your gift to me, in the fourth month of our life together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #38761d;"><b>Emerald</b> </div><i><div style="color: #38761d;">Who first beholds the light of day</div><div style="color: #38761d;">In spring's sweet, flower month of May</div><div style="color: #38761d;">And wears an emerald all her life</div><div style="color: #38761d;">Shall be a loved and a loving wife.</div></i><br />
Burning kindling, firewood, sparks and embers in the air, drifting down like tiny comets. You asked me to jump over the fire with you, and I did, becoming your wife in all ways that matter. You asked me for forever - and I smeared your sweat on my body as I told you, 'yes'. <br />
<br />
You left a bruise on my cheekbone which lasted for weeks, turning emerald green then royal purple. I wore it with more pride than a ring. You abused me with your fists, punched me, spat on me, pissed on me, raped me, choked me with your hands around my throat, with your cock closing my airways, and then wrapped me in your love, your tenderness - slept beside me content, knowing your baby was safe in your arms, and in love with you. Emeralds mean eternity, fertility, the stone of wisdom, and of love from the pure of heart. You purify me, you scald my soul clean with pain.<br />
<br />
You give me the peace that lies in the heart of violence. That is your gift to me, in the fifth month of our life together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: white;"><b>Pearl</b></div><i><div style="color: white;">By her who in June was born</div><div style="color: white;">No gem save pearls shall be worn</div><div style="color: white;">They will ensure her constancy</div><div style="color: white;">True friendship and fidelity.</div></i><br />
Moonlight tears, dry by dawn. A month which tested my strength. Tired from long hours of work, I struggle to cope when my husband is ill again, brought on by his own foolishness. It hurts me so, and I question my integrity, when my patience begins to run out. Soothed by you and your generous heart, I begin to place boundaries, carve out a space of my own, create a refuge for myself which I will not give away. I learn to turn the responsibility, the duty of care, back to where it should be. I am not a nursemaid or a drudge for my husband, you help me to see that. Pearls are for purity, integrity. I can be a slut and be pure of heart. I can be a whore and have integrity.<br />
<br />
You teach me how to be both the girl who can't say no, and the woman who can. That is your gift to me, in the sixth month of our life together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Ruby</b></div><i><div style="color: #cc0000;">The gleaming ruby should adorn,</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">All those who in July are born,</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">For thus they'll be exempt and free,</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">From lover's doubts and anxiety.</div></i><br />
Sundrenched fields of hay, a puppy pile of dogs to sleep under, all of life glimmering with a brilliant allure, ripe for the taking. We revel in the joy of each other's bodies. Touching is still precious, and necessary, no less so as time passes. Parties, clubs, meals, food, drink, sleep, all are expendable in the search for more time in each other's arms. I call you Sir, or Master, when sunk deeply into submission. You call me your baby, your fucktoy, your slut, your whore. <br />
<br />
I begin to lay down, one by one, the heavy burden of armouring my soul against attack. I allow you liberties I've never before given away. I let you see my pride, my eagerness, in pleasing you. I arm you with a thousand ways to hurt me and trust you not to use them for harm. Ruby is for devotion, courage, and happiness. I find the courage to be happy in my devotion to you.<br />
<br />
You use my mouth until I retch bile over your cock. You use my cunt until it's swollen and sore. You tell me I'm yours, and I belong to you. And you teach me to believe it, with fist, cock, and cum. These are your gifts to me, in the seventh month of our life together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #93c47d;"><b>Peridot</b> </div><i><div style="color: #93c47d;">Wear a peridot or for thee,</div><div style="color: #93c47d;">No conjugal fidelity,</div><div style="color: #93c47d;">The August born without this stone,</div><div style="color: #93c47d;">`Tis said, must live unloved; alone.</div></i><br />
Cum stained fishnet stockings, ripped by knife blades. You show me off in a dogging spot, glorying in the crowd of men who surround the car, kneeling on the bonnet to get a better look at me. You show me off in a club, before ruining me with fist, knife, and your piss, splashing steaming hot and strong-smelling, onto my face, into my mouth. You rape my mouth, and then later, territorially fill my knickers with your cum again. <br />
<br />
You watch as my friend kisses me, and fantasise about her fisting my slutty little pussy before you fill me with your spunk. You take me to the edge, over and over again. You violate me with brutal dildos, with fingers, your hand. There is no degradation you will not subject me to. The peridot enhances fidelity, love, trust and openness. And I am open to you, body, heart and soul. I eagerly lap up the terrible treatment you abuse me with.<br />
<br />
I embrace the dark, sick and twisted side of my sexuality. With each way you use me badly, my soul flowers, night-blooming petals opening under the moonlight. This is your gift to me, in our eighth month together. <br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue;"><b>Sapphire</b> </div><div style="color: blue;">A maiden born when autumn leaves</div><div style="color: blue;">Are rustling in September's breeze,</div><div style="color: blue;">A sapphire on her brow should bind;</div><div style="color: blue;">To bring her joy and peace of mind.</div><br />
Black leather and blacklight. In amidst a tangle of limbs and fucking, we exist in our own space, your dominance of me unquestioned as you force me to cum on your fingers, lying across your lap in a room full of strangers. You take me out to dinner - late at night because your priority is to feed me with cum before other food.<br />
<br />
You abuse me with cock. You tell me how to take it, where to take it, and when to take it - and I am eager to please. Our edge play takes us a little too far, I suffer temporary damage from it. Frightened, I retreat, but you come after me. Delving deep into the trust I have for you, you find me, and bring me home. I am becoming someone new. Not impervious to damage, but able to recover from it. Sapphire brings peace, watches over long journeys, and opens the mind towards understanding. Sapphire stones are thought to maintain the hope needed in order that our deepest desires and dreams will be fulfilled one day.<br />
<br />
You watched over me, you brought me peace, and you opened my mind to understanding. You fulfil my deepest desires, my darkest dreams, and give me grace. These are your gifts to me, in the ninth month of our life together.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #444444;"><b>Black Opal</b></div><br />
One year ago, I was broken, and now I'm whole. I dance, paint, write, laugh, live and love in the sunlight, and under the liquid moon you make my best nightmares come true. <br />
<br />
Your thirteenth gift: you help me to forget, by helping me to remember. <br />
<i><br />
"We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full." -Marcel Proust.</i> <br />
<br />
As the world turns, and we come close to another summer's end, a new year's beginning, I hope for a year of chances to show you how grateful I am for these thirteen gifts.<br />
<br />
Thankyou, my Wolf.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-19926547402117291412010-10-13T15:13:00.000+01:002010-10-13T15:13:26.519+01:00Shadow of the Woods<i>I am not bound for any public place, but for ground of my own where I have planted vines and orchard trees, and in the heat of the day climbed up into the healing shadow of the woods.</i><br />
-- Wendell Berry<br />
<br />
I have no fear of fear. I am comfortable with fear, as I am comfortable with pain. It is familiar to me, and therefore not terrifying, not like it used to be. Worry and anxiety still have the power to wrap knots around my core, clench fingers cold and white so they lose their power, sicken me and weaken me. But I am not afraid. <br />
<br />
Nevertheless. <br />
Sometimes, I should just shut the fuck up, sit back, and enjoy the ride.<br />
<br />
Tears and trust. Comfort, of different kinds. He holds me, very close. So close, so warm, so safe. He will make everything better. I've never been the kind of girl who has to try hard to trust. When I give, I give everything. I don't know how to love someone, without trusting them; no reservation, no restraint, no sense of caution or holding back. My heart is without limit or inhibition.<br />
<br />
I know he holds back - preventing himself from getting hard on this occasion as I talk about fucking, cock, sex that is right, sex that is wrong. He chooses not to rip my clothes off, stick his dick in my mouth as soon as he comes in the door. This time. Instead, he chooses to soothe me with love, soft words, gentle kindness. I pull him close, strip our clothes away, pull him into bed with me so I can feel skin on skin, words moving air onto flesh, close, closer, closest. Still he exerts his will on me, choosing not to abuse. This time. Only when my tears slow a little, and my heart beats with lust instead of lingering shame, does his will change.<br />
<br />
He tells me with his body, where to touch him. How to touch him. In gratitude and joy I eagerly give pleasure. Hand to body, lips to skin. My tongue blissfully gathering the desire that rises from him. It is only moments though, before he takes control of the method I use to please him, forcing my head down, his hands coiled in my hair, twisted, twisting. I cannot get away, I do not want to get away, even though he fucks my mouth like a cunt, fucks it so hard I am bleeding, my tongue and lips are sore, the skin splitting as I ripen for him. <br />
<br />
He knows that when he enters me after using me so, I will be poured out like buttery cream on my thighs, he will slide in as big and hard as he is, up to the hilt, deep in me, touching so far inside I would be hurt if I wasn't spread so open for him, my lips fluttering apart to receive him before he even touches me. He plunges inside me and takes his pleasure in me, using me like his fucktoy, even as he burns me with his love. He burns for me. And I give him everything, everything, in return.<br />
<br />
"Tell me what you want, what you need", he demands. I know without question, without thought, what he means. <br />
<br />
"I...I want..."<br />
<br />
"You want cock. You want to be fucked. Say it. SAY IT!" he threatens. He raises his hand as I stammer, looks at me with warning, with violence in him. He looks at me again in threat, and I give him what he demands, he takes it from me. I fear, not the threat, not the violence, not the blow, nor the pain, but his displeasure. For want of his praise, I give him what he takes from me. I speak, and my reward is his smile. "Good girl. Good girl". He drives his dick into me, pistons in and out of me. Pulls out, flips me over, fucks me hard. Stops. <br />
<br />
"Do you want me to stop?"<br />
Some other lover might sound gentle, caring, thoughtful, when asking such a thing. He makes it sound like a warning. 'Do what I tell you or I'll fuck you up. You know what I want. Do it.'<br />
<br />
"No, don't stop", I whisper.<br />
<br />
"You want to be fucked hard. Say it!"<br />
<br />
I say it.<br />
<br />
Again he drives into me the thought, the belief, the knowledge; the certainty that I am allowed to want sex, I am allowed to want to be fucked, I am allowed to want cock, to want his spunk, to want to be his whore, his slut, his fucktoy.<br />
<br />
Used. Oh, the joy in it.<br />
<br />
Abused. Ah, the trust.<br />
<br />
When he tells me to cum, he makes it sound like 'you fucking bitch!' instead of permission to orgasm.<br />
<br />
I beg him, I ask him, I plead with him to let me please him, I tell him I want his cock, need his cum, must be fucked, have to be fucked hard, that I need to be his slut, his fucking whore, his nasty little cum splashed fucktoy.<br />
<br />
And I am. Because he makes me. And if I can't, he will force me anyway.<br />
<br />
I am a good girl. HIS good girl. His semen spilling like milk into me, marks me so.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-36199233451881107682010-10-05T16:42:00.000+01:002010-10-05T16:42:10.322+01:00Three"What she had begun to learn was the weight of liberty. Freedom is a heavy load, a great and strange burden for the spirit to undertake. It is not easy. It is not a gift given, but a choice made, and the choice may be a hard one. The road goes upward towards the light; but the laden traveller may never reach the end of it."<br />
<i>The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula Le Guin</i><br />
<br />
<b>The Sunday</b><br />
<br />
The body as metaphor for soul. <br />
<br />
This is not what happened.<br />
<br />
Some secrets I. Keep. Still.<br />
<br />
I listen, drenched in submission. I choose the wrong route, but I don't regret.<br />
<br />
I fall down on the path and hurt myself I am covered in dirt from the muddy earth, I dig my fingers into it, claw frantically, scoop up palmfuls of it, smear it over me, drink it down, splash my lips and face, with fractured bones I crawl at snail's pace. Running is a distant dream and I'm good at forgetting, erase the knowledge I have ever played in the mud and danced in the dirt. The path seems too hard, my limbs too sore, I hurt, I hurt. I hurt, I hurt.<br />
<br />
I call for you please come and help me, I can't stand by myself. You can't see the fracture, the bones aren't sticking out. I hush myself, rock quietly back and forth, my voice is steady. You call out to me the best path, point the way, tell me I'm ready. I am in pain and I cannot follow you. <br />
<br />
I retreat, but you follow me. See, aghast, my hurts. You pick me up, take me home, bathe and splint my broken bones. You take my pain away and replace it with yours. You clean the dirt from me and replace it with your own, then make me brand new again with your softness, your love, your possession. You carry my burdens for a little while so I can begin to walk again. Months of healing condensed into hours of fucking. You force new joie de vivre inside me with your hands, with your cock.<br />
<br />
<b>A Saturday</b><br />
<br />
A victorian, cast-iron bed. Suede lining, dark purple, in patent black leather cuffs. They hold my wrists against the metal, black-painted. Matching ankle cuffs and a spreader bar, lashed with his old and fraying belt, to the foot of the bedstead.<br />
<br />
The rain pours down outside. He would toss me into a pit of muddy, rain washed broken glass and fuck me, uncaring of my pain or discomfort. The knowledge of this is my heart's balm, bringing me peace.<br />
<br />
He beats me and I scream. I scream the way animals scream - unselfconscious, desperate, terrified. A gurgling sound travelling the spectrum of pitch and tone.<br />
<br />
He climbs between my stretched wrists, and fucks my mouth. I hear the rain, and a roaring sound that is inside my own head. I'll be sick, I know I will be sick. My head is tilted back, at this angle I don't know what will happen. Will I breathe it in, will I choke? Could I die from this? My fear is stronger than my submission, I close my mouth, pull away. He forces my mouth open with his fingers, fucks me anyway.<br />
<br />
I am grateful.<br />
<br />
He beats me again. Defeated, broken, I sob and swear at him. I know how pitiful I am. He makes me feel ashamed, dirty. Again, I am grateful. <br />
<br />
The rain has become a thunderstorm, I can hear thunder, see bright flashes of light, but I don't know if they're outside the window, or inside. He makes me sorry for the screaming and the insults. I am warned not to make a sound, or move. I'm terrified. He works me over until I'm screaming more and more and again in my head, but I'm too afraid, far too afraid. Tiny, hushed sobs escape my lips, I feel saliva pour from my mouth, but I can't speak. He parts my legs, I don't resist. He fucks me until he releases a flood of cum deep inside my cunt.<br />
<br />
He uncuffs my wrists, removes the bar, rubs my skin, draws me close, tenderly. He whispers words of love to me, cherishes me. I look at him with glassy eyes, touch my lips tentatively. He understands. "Yes baby, you can speak now, and move".<br />
<br />
I am grateful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>A Friday</b><br />
<br />
It isn't until late at night, that we eat. Food, drink, sleep, basic needs, all ignored while he slakes his thirst in me. And I, equally thirsty, drink down his lust. <br />
<br />
Each and every day I have had him in my life, I have become...<i>more</i>. More confident, more at peace, more creative, more balanced. I have the confidence now to make a special effort with my dress and appearance to please him - and to tell him so. Months in the making, I am now someone who can do this without fear - fear of trying but failing, to please.<br />
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Tiny pieces of my soul, healed, flowering. Withered, forgotten, parched - parts of me I thought had died, parts of me I never knew existed; thriving now in the abundance of care and love, lavished on me. Learning to trust in this plentitude, learning not to fear that it is a finite amount to be used up, or that it will soon be taken away.<br />
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Waking, finding him not in the bed with me - hating it. As he walks in the door again my heart binds to his. He is part of me, without him, there is something missing from my own soul.<br />
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Finding the confidence to truly understand - he never does anything he doesn't want to do. I can ask - I have permission to ask, to request, to state a desire - and I can believe, trust in him to always take exactly what he wants from me, regardless. <br />
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Asking gives him more power, not less. Gives him the power to grant my desire, or not. I ask on this day - ask for the cane - and he grants it. <br />
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Different, but equal. Our pain play before has taken a different shape. This time I moaned, thrust my hips against the ground, begged for more. Sometimes, overcome, he had to stop to fuck me. Sometimes he built up the pain and took me further than I would have chosen. He fucked me until I was exhausted and dry, and then as I whimpered little tiny hopeless pain noises for him, he blew his load inside me. I am always, always, so very grateful, so very astonished, to find myself His.<br />
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Three times he fucked my cunt, came inside me. <br />
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Three times he made me his. <br />
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Body, heart and soul, I belong to him.<br />
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And I am grateful.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-20755543622155994862010-10-05T15:23:00.000+01:002010-10-13T15:33:48.473+01:00Learning to say "No"This week, I have learned to say, "No".<br />
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I have learned to say, "No, it was not my fault".<br />
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For the first decade together, my husband and I struggled to cope with the fits he had, caused by diabetic hypoglycaemia. There was then a gap of 5 glorious fit-free years before he began having semi-regular seizures again.<br />
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I wrote about it at the time, <a href="http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2009/10/slut-wife-or-both.html">here</a><br />
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and <a href="http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2009/11/it-happened-again.html">here</a><br />
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The very first time he had a convulsion, I blamed myself. I hadn't spotted the signs of hypoglycaemia in time, even though I knew he was diabetic, and I didn't take the correct action. I even got angry with him because he was acting so strangely.<br />
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I was told by a doctor at one stage that a first fit often paves the way for others. I felt that if only I could have stopped this first fit from happening, then he never would have had any. If only I had noticed in time, been more intuitive, been less suspicious, been more alert, been a better person...<br />
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But that's bullshit. Even if it hadn't happened sooner or later, I didn't cause his fits, because I didn't cause his diabetes. I did the best I could at the time.<br />
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Neither was it my fault that he continued to have them, and continued to not manage his diabetes as well as he could have. I wasn't a failure as a wife, it wasn't because I was a bad person, and not loving enough, supportive enough, caring enough. It was, and is, his own responsibility to manage his condition. I've always poured out my love, my support, my care, onto him. That's got nothing to do with why he has seizures. It is HIS job to take care of himself, first and foremost.<br />
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When he began having fits again, I was away over in Hastings with my partners of the time. I felt guilty for not being present when it happened, and I believed I might have prevented it if I had been. One of the partners in question was angry with me, unreasonably, on a matter unrelated to my husband's illness. She cut off communication with me for a while, and this compounded the feeling that I'd done something terrible and wrong, which I was being punished for. Somewhere along the line I connected the two things and deep in my heart, I felt I had caused my husband's fits to re-occur.<br />
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But that's bullshit. It was not, and is not, my fault. I had done nothing wrong, now or then.<br />
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I knew all this intellectually, but on sunday night I woke up at 4am, knowing it, unquestionably to be true, in my heart.<br />
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And so in such small ways are we healed.<br />
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<a href="http://www.pond5.com/stock-footage/509254/time-lapse-of-dying-red-rose-11a-isolated-black-time-reverse.html">The last year of my life.</a>Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-8122081956928042532010-09-10T08:32:00.000+01:002010-09-18T08:34:54.941+01:00BecomingI'm going through a very productive, creative phase at the moment. I'm making paintings at a rapid rate, and for the first time, having the confidence to try and sell them to the public. I'm exhibiting some of my work in my local kink-friendly alt pub, over the next few months.<br />
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I've been modelling, and creating a portfolio I'm really happy with. This has changed my perception of my own face and body. I'm not sure if I've actually got better looking as I've got older, or if it's just taken until my mid-thirties to believe I'm not actually unattractive. There was a time when I hated my face, thinking only that I looked like a victim. And I've always had a tempestuous relationship with my own body. But right now, I feel; if not beautiful all the time, at least; beautiful every now and then.<br />
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I'm taking care of myself, with a good time balance for loved ones, friends, boring stuff, work, 'me' time.<br />
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I'm writing, which comes and goes, sometimes I'm hugely prolific in a THIS HAS TO COME OUT! NOOOOWWWW!! way, and sometimes waiting until I feel inspired again.<br />
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I'm learning poi, and finding myself drawn more to the poi dance and flow side than tricks. I know I'm pretty good at it, and people seem to like watching me, but it's the way it makes me feel that I love, and I've learned to just zone out from any unintentional audience so I can sink into the dance.<br />
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I'm fulfilled sexually, probably for the first time in my life. I've developed a strong, and much-appreciated network of friends. I feel comfortable in myself - in my integrity, in my polyamorous lifestyle in a way I never thought would be possible.<br />
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People who've got to know me over the last couple of years might find this hard to believe, but before I discovered BDSM, I spent a couple of years in what I like to call my 'Brown Period'. So-called because my mood at the time was mostly brown. I was quite content, but not what I'd call happy. I spent a few years really doing nothing much more than sitting on the sofa knitting, playing with the cats, reading prolifically, working hard, snuggling up with my husband, and going on vigorous bike rides and walks. Like I say - all good, but not...me!<br />
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I'm quite experienced with being a massive headmental, and this wasn't extreme like some of the depressive or anxious episodes I've experienced. It was just...brown.<br />
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Okay, so I went on a sponsored hike through New Zealand and raised a few grand for the RSPCA during that period, so I wasn't completely dead! But I'd lost my spark - my mojo - and I started to drop out of contact with all the things I love that make my life so happy. I stopped looking after my appearance, I stopped going out and having fun, I stopped seeing a lot of my friends. I stopped listening to music, or dancing, or making music or art or writing. I stopped living. I was just existing.<br />
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And now I'm flowering. Savouring the world. Opening petals outward to the sunshine. People who I see who I haven't bumped into for a few months, keep telling me I look 'radiant'. So either I've developed a massive tummy (lol) or I genuinely am blossoming. I love my life. I love my poly family. I love the fun things, and the important things, and the precious things, that are in my life. And there are a lot of them.<br />
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Thankyou world. I'm so glad to be here.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609840712475086875.post-83521123031379304852010-08-09T08:32:00.000+01:002010-09-18T08:32:54.482+01:00HappyI am happy. Really, really happy. Not just content. My life is full of joy.<br />
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It's all been worth it.Little Imphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05624598287471086370noreply@blogger.com0