And crashing down again…

[an extract from an email to Ness, I’d forgotten how tumultuous my emotions were in those first few months, reading this brings it all back again. This was shortly after I’d found out I had to have a fairly major operation at the start of June, and after I found out it had become necessary to cancel some of the play clubs we were planning on attending just before my op.]

…but hey - there always seems to be some reason or another why it’s a bad idea for me to pause, catch my breath, and try to reflect on stuff going on in my head so I can try and share it with you. There never seems to be a good moment to find a moment for self-reflection. But there’s stuff that needs to come out, and it might as well be now as any other time since there’s always so much going on in our lives as we plough hectically along.

I just want to try and make some sense of my experiences, my emotions, and I want you to be a part of that. There are so many thoughts and feelings tumbling around I feel as if I’m going slightly mad. I’ve gone on such an emotional rollercoaster over the last couple of months. Two months ago I was staid, sensible, ‘those crazy rock and roll days are behind me now, I don’t stay out after 10pm, not at my time of life, but hey in my day I knew how to party’. Sane, sorted, wise friend, provider of good advice, a warm and generous person to be relied upon to care about and care for those people who mattered to her - and even those that didn’t. Putting others first, in touch with her feelings. Knows herself well. Stable, minimal emotional baggage, have worked through it all in my time, thankyou. Duty first, committed absolutely to my family, my work. Responsible - can absolutely be relied upon to do what she says she’ll do.

Then - within a month - I’m rediscovering energy I haven’t had since my early twenties. I’m being grossly irresponsible - staying out late, burning the candle at both ends. I’m not putting the energy or emotional commitment into work that I was previously. I’m getting so wrapped up in what I’m doing, I’m forgetting to text R, forgetting my phone, not letting him know I’m safe, not paying him enough attention. But I’m having the most wonderful, fun time. I’m feeling as if I’ve got the wisdom of my thirties and the enthusiasm and energy I remember from the twenties. I’m enjoying going out socialising again, I’m making new friends every day, I’m taking pride in my appearance. I’m trying new things and enjoying them more than I ever dreamed of. I’ve having FUN for the first time in a very long time. I’m beginning to feel attractive for the first time in a very long time. I feel…INTERESTING. I’ve got a secret, and it’s very exciting. Everyone notices. I’m losing weight - I’m sleeping less - I’m moving differently and holding myself with pride. I’m having a really, really good time. I’ve met someone special. I’m falling in love.

I’m looking at the future, and for the first time in years, it looks appealing. I’m looking forward to things with excitement. I’m leaving work on time - or if I stay late, it’s because I’m IM’ing YOU, not because I’m working overtime and stressing about leaving before I’ve finished what I need to do. Or staying working overtime because R’s out/ won’t be back for a few hours, and I simply have nothing better to do. Instead, I’m rushing off, filled with excitement, looking forward to an evening spent meeting new people, or going out with you, or just going home and enjoying the peace because I’ve got other things to compare it with - I’m not just spending yet another evening on my own in the house, alone with the cats.

I’m changing, my life is changing. I feel adrift, not sure who I am. I feel clingy and needy and I don’t like it. You’ve broken down my defences, one by one, and I’m now incredibly vulnerable. All the layers of armour, all the walls that protect the fragile, over-sensitive self I hide away from everyone but R - they’re breaking and falling apart, and I feel as if I am, too. I’ve destroyed relationships before through being too needy, too fucked up, and I’m scared of it happening again. I could hold myself together far better - put some of the armour back, keep the walls up, but it’s difficult. Do I want to? Do you want me to? I let you hurt me until I sobbed with pain. If I put some of the walls back around my soul again, I’ll never be able to experience that release again - I wouldn’t let myself cry in front of you. I’m horrified by the idea that you might stay with me out of pity.

What I’m saying doesn’t invalidate the fact that you are going through a whirlwind, emotions upside down, big thing too. You’ve got loads of changes going on in your life, you’ve just as much going on as me. So please know that I acknowledge that, I’m just taking a moment out to think about how I’m feeling about things.

I’m fighting a passionate urge to withdraw from you so you can’t hurt me, you can’t crush the fragile butterfly emerging from this new me. Part of me wants to return to who I was before I ever met you, before I ever discovered the scene or anything else, and just carry on with my boring, reliable life. And yet more than this, more than anything, I feel this deep need to be with you - to move past this stage and get to the next, where I’m more settled, secure in your love, and you are secure in mine. I want to spend every free moment with you. But I can’t - for all sorts of reasons - and I’m going to get to spend even less time with you than I thought I would, this month. Perhaps I’m a hopeless optimist, but something in me believes that once all the layers of defences are finally scoured off, burnt away, then you’ll wrap my soul in fluffy, warm things, and I’ll emerge as something more beautiful than I ever was before. In the meantime though, I seem to be a complete bloody mess and if I can get through the day without crying, it’s a bloody miracle.

I don’t know. I just want to get back some equilibrium. I want everyone to be happy. I want to spend as much time as possible with you without pissing R off. I want to not go mental again. I want to not have this operation. I want to not have it during my busiest month at work. I want you to cane me until I cry again. I want that a lot. I don’t expect you would realise, but sunday would have been the last chance for us to play before my operation - in that way, at least. I think I told you yesterday - I am craving it. I see long hours, weeks, months, stretching out in front of me with little to look forward to, a lot of pain and stress, and not much to mitigate against that.

I don’t want to be behaving like this, I’d rather have a bit of dignity, but having voluntarily made myself vulnerable in so many different ways - risking rejection from meeting new people, all the socialising I’ve been doing (new people might hate me, I might offend people I’ve met and am spending time with), going out in public in short skirts, outfits that say ‘yeah, I wouldn’t wear this if I didn’t think I looked good (setting myself up for people thinking / telling me that I don’t look as good as I think I do), letting people see my body, my reactions, in public when I play (they might be disgusted, unimpressed, think badly of me) when I express my sexual desires, talk dirty, text you, email you, write about my adventures and my fantasies (might sound stupid, might be laughed at, might get reaction of disgust, disapproval, disbelief), shared my thoughts, my past, my music, my memories, my feelings, my body with you (whole bucket of ways I could be rejected by you, there). I’ve been so brave. It’s been so hard. Guess I see my time with you as a reward for that.

The first time I played so hard I cried from pain

To really explain this little episode, I have to go back to the night before, at the LAM after party. This was my second go on LAM, and I just could not get my head round what a different experience it was, for me. I just had *such* a great time, with - for once - minimal conflict. My first LAM was terrifying, intimidating, liberating, devastating...this LAM was relaxed, fun, full of pleasure and new found confidence and new experiences and all things scrumptious which I just want to put into a little box in my brain marked 'stuff to look at when life is boring and I want a naughty little thrill'.

Equipped with a new pair of black ruffle knickers bought for me by N, who insisted I show them off to everyone, my bum received a preposterous amount of attention that night. I'm very ambiguous about that part of my body, which I've always perceived to be far too large and sticky-outy to be attractive. In my thirties, I'm starting to come to terms with it, and so I'll show it off if I'm feeling loved and wanted. It seems to get quite a lot of compliments which go a long way towards mitigating my 'does my bum look big in this?' neurosis. Having said that, my body confidence is a very fragile thing, and I'll not be coming out of the toilets any time soon if I think someone's made a nasty crack about me. Pass the tissues under the door on your way out, I've used up all the loo roll crying. Yes, I can do the social confidence thing, and pull off the act pretty well, I hope. When I'm feeling welcomed and liked, I blossom. When I feel people are judging me and finding me wanting, I curl up and withdraw. I've got minimal body modesty normally, and will quite happily throw off my clothes and pad about naked in most situations, given half a chance. Unless it's a situation in which I think people are judging my attractiveness, a sexual situation, in private or public. It's at that point I need to really fight to overcome my shyness and allow myself to enjoy the opportunity despite feeling very vulnerable.

So I guess what I'm saying is - this LAM round, I was in my happy place, felt comfortable and with people who made me feel good about myself and whose company I really enjoyed, and so it was that much easier to get my bum out for perusal.

N played with me on the St Andrews Cross. She cuffed me to it at the wrists and ankles and we had quite a hard play, which I enjoyed every second of. At one point, S popped up in front of me and grinned - she is one hell of a woman! I didn't know whether I wanted to spit in her eye or scream like a girl, so I settled for blushing and hiding my head against the frame. There are very few women who can make me blush and duck my head, of whom N is first and foremost but S pulled it off twice that night!

God, what it is about that cross that just turns me on so much? It must be my favourite piece of equipment so far. I can feel myself going Very Wrong with anticipation even before I'm cuffed to it. And being cuffed to it is part of the fun - how else am I going to struggle so much without the cuffs? I'll tell you what though, they make these things for tall people, not for little shorties like me. It's a good thing I like a nice high platform boot because otherwise I'd never be able to reach the restraints! They need to think about making them a bit sturdier, too - I nearly toppled it over a few times, which is going to end in tears one day - and not nice sexy crying tears either, more like 'oh fuck I've broken my leg' tears.

I love it so much that I wanted another go after I'd recovered a bit, and so my lovely friend A was kind enough to oblige, since N was busy gossiping (sorry, discussing important matters of state...). She's the first woman apart from N that I've played with in public, and as she's first and foremost me old mucker, it was slightly wierd at first. Good though! She's such a softie that every time I went 'ouch!' she came round and cuddled me and checked I was okay. Bless her. It wasn't long before she got into her sadist mode, and that was fun. She'd picked up a lovely new flogger that she used on me and the funniest bit was where she said 'you do realise I'm flogging you to Enya, don't you? I suppose we lose all our goth points for this'. I laughed so much I nearly had to safeword! Then she carries on with 'you should think yourself lucky - I once flogged someone to the sound of Chris D'Burgh. And made them recite the lyrics'. Some people are sick - just SICK!

The evening was topped off with a lovely young lady getting an OTK spanking with her head in my lap. Crikey.

Anyway, the point of all this rambling is to explain that I had quite an impressively sore bottom the next day, and slept in a treat after a couple of pretty hard plays. The plan was to get up, and go off to a festival day nearby. Didn't happen though, mostly because I'm such a slapper even two nice hard goes on being tied up and beaten weren't enough for me, and I gave N the ole' big eyes routine and so, after 5 large cups of tea and 3 breakfasts, I found myself grabbed by the scruff of my neck and put firmly over the sofa while N experimented with her quirt.

I was wearing nothing but a pure silk kimono, and bent over on my knees with my head against the back of the sofa, and my bruised bottom up in the air. I've been so surprised at how I respond to being beaten - I should have got over the shock by now - but I was still taken aback by my reaction as I moaned little pain whimpers and noises of pleasure, all at the same time. I made increasingly loud pain sounds for N as she hit me where I was so sore already. Her hand on my head, above me, pressing me down. As the pain increased, I started crawling further and further into the sofa and away from the toy hurting me. She would stop and say 'Imp. Get back here. Now'. I would whimper and reluctantly moved back into the right stance. I began curling up into a ball - she stopped me with her voice and her hand on the back of my neck. By the end, each stroke hurt so intensely I couldn't help but cry out, and keep crying out for moments afterwards as the shock and pain from each blow took time to fade. She somehow knew this was the right time to push my limits, that I needed it, wanted it, before I even knew that it was what I needed and wanted.

As we finished, for the first time as an adult, I cried with pain, without holding back, and the purity of release was blissful. She held me, and comforted me, and slipped her hand between my legs. 'Imp!' she cried, in tones of shock. 'You really enjoyed that, didn't you?!'

Afterwards, I felt obscenely tired, and worn out just from climbing the few stairs to bed. I slept, and then for several days after I was headachey and cold, very tearful and oversensitive, achey and sad. And very hungry all the time, too. I don't know how much this was related - it may have been more connected to the fact that I started my period a few days later (two weeks earlier than expected). I also craved, and still crave, a repeat of the experience. If I could have it again right now, I would do. Want. Need. Must have - NOW!

Hmmm, I'm going to Club Twisted this weekend. *starts practicing big eyes and wobbly lip*

To submit or not to submit, that is the question...

I had a strange old experience last night, which has left me feeling kind of icky. I realised this morning, having slept on it, that part of the reason I feel squicked is because it's probably the most meaningless sexual encounter I've ever had, with people who I've not built up a connection with, who I don't even really fancy.

Which begs the question (which R put to me this morning), why on earth did you do it then?

Well, it's complicated (what ISN'T?). I initially approached BDG and MN in the context of wanting to get to know them - possibly for more than just friendship. As my understanding of my own desires and limits grew, I realised that being double dommed/ topped was a big fantasy of mine and something I wanted to make happen in reality. I started to wonder if they could be this couple as they were the first pair who I'd met who were interested in that, who I respected and could trust to respect me, and I liked as people. This was slightly hindered by the fact that I didn't actually fancy them that much, but then I'm often surprised how attractive I find people after time, once a bit of flirting and building of a connection has gone on, who I didn't find attractive initially. I had hoped that maybe something could develop.

I offered myself to MN for her rope practice, as I knew she was looking to do this. I went over there a month ago, and we had a discussion beforehand about what was and wasn't okay. I was self-conscious about taking my clothes off, but wanted to, in order to get into the spirit of things and fully enjoy the rope bunnying. She suggested introducing an element of play rather than it being all matter-of-fact rope practicing, to help reduce my embarrassment factor. I agreed, and so it started by being sensual and slow with her, with kissing and touching and nice things, and progressed onto BDG coming into the room later. He only touched me in order to help with the ropes, and I was comfortable with that. I enjoyed it, but in a take-it-or-leave-it fashion, it didn't rock my world, and I was okay with it being a bit of fun, because it mostly felt like mucking about, not anything too serious or important.

There were things I wasn't entirely happy with, though. I told her beforehand I didn't want her to touch my pussy, and during play she did lightly touch me a couple of times there. I didn't say stop though - and the reason for that is complicated and I'm going to think/ write about that in a minute. She did say afterwards, 'I was a bit naughty, but I think you wanted me to' and I suppose I kinda did at the time, but what I want when I'm turned on and tied up is different from what I want in the cold light of day, and as I see it, it's the dominant's job to stick to the limits even if the sub is gagging for it, if the the domme's been plainly told 'no, I don't want you to do that', beforehand. Perhaps others see it differently though - after all, there is the whole 'pushing limits' thing etc etc, it's quite complicated this old business, isn't it? It's a fine line, we tread, sometimes...

I was unable to say afterwards, in reply to her 'I think you wanted me to' comment, that I wasn't happy, that I wished she hadn't. Again, I'm going to think/ write about why this might be, this in a bit.

I was ambivalent about playing with them again, but overall I did have a positive experience, and with an operation coming up in a few week's time, was keen to cram in as many positive play experiences before then. Also, and this is key - I want to please people. I know they wanted me to come over and play again, and I wanted to make them happy, because they've been nice to me.

Yes, I know I know I know. It's not like N hasn't told me a million times I don't owe people anything, and that I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. It's a character flaw of mine. I'll work on it.

I arranged to go over there last night, and I was under the impression that it would be a similar experience to the one before. We had a brief chat beforehand, but didn't discuss what sort of form play would take, or limits, apart from BDG asking if he could take some photos which I would then be able to look at and delete on the camera if I wanted to.

It started off quite slow and I was okay with that. Then things moved fairly quickly. Their domming style - at least with me - is that she directs the action, and although he's co-domming, she's the top dog. I'm happier with that than I would be if BDG was in charge. I did start to feel quite 'not happy' when they put a collar on me, but held my tongue because it's a fine line between genuinely 'stop that, I'm not okay with it' and being gently pushed into things which are not comfortable for you. MN's domming style is to do the thinking for the sub - 'you're thinking for yourself again, aren't you', she'll say. 'Let me do the thinking for you, just relax, I'll look after you'.

Once I've opened up that side of my personality, once I start to submit, it's very difficult for me to stop without a REALLY good reason. I can't just switch it on and off.

I started to get more and more moments of OMG OMG OMG I'n naked in a room with two people and they're doing THINGS to me and I don't even know them properly and they're not even my friends. We're aquaintances, and I'd like to be friends with them, but we're not yet. It didn't feel like practicing my religion, engaging in a physico-spiritual experience, just kind of icky.

I've always thought that guilt and ickiness were big turn ons for me. Last night I learned that, while they might be, in the right context, or with the right person, or in my fantasies, they certainly weren't last night. I stopped enjoying things once I started feeling really guilty.

I had a blindfold on, and I was thinking, hang on - is that HIS hand? Is he touching my breasts? Cos that is a hard limit which R and I have agreed - I won't let another man touch my knockers. And I was trying not to think, as instructed, but but but....

Then later, when I could see, I opened my eyes and yes, he was. I wasn't really thinking coherently at this stage, but I didn't enjoy him touching me, I felt really guilty, I should have said something earlier but I can't say anything now, etc etc etc. I wish this would stop now and I could just go home. Just relax and try and enjoy the bits you can enjoy, I said to myself.

I also felt uncomfortable with some of the things MN was doing. I didn't mind her stroking my clit, but I didn't want her fingering me - that's for N only, right now, and I barely know MN anyway. Plus - I've got my period, and there was no way I wanted to discuss that beforehand.

So I tried to indicate my wiggling away, and she kept trying every now and again but mostly respected it, but I couldn't relax, what if she did it all of a sudden? But I couldn't say out loud, don't do that. I kept making my 'not happy' frown face (not on purpose I might add), and every time I did, MN would say to BDG, 'that's not such a pretty face, is it?!' then when I relaxed she'd say 'that's a much prettier face'. She'd said to me the first time we played, in our pre-play discussion, she feels as if she's failed if someone has to use their safe word, because she's not reading them well enough. All these things contributed to my 'not letting people down, wanting to please' state of mind.

MN was using the hitachi wand on me, and the physical sensation combined with the weird head-space meant I could have had an orgasm - but I resisted and didn't, because I only want N to have that. I opened my eyes and realised BDG was holding the wand on me, and I was really, really not happy with that. I didn't explicitly say beforehand, you're a man, you can't hold a vibrator on me, and it was sticking to the letter of my 'a man can't touch my pussy' limit, but not to the spirit of it. But you can't go through ALL the millions of possibilities in discussion beforehand, saying whether or not they're okay, can you? Anyway, I semi-safeworded at that point (semi because she doesn't actually USE proper safewords) and we very quickly wound down.

I felt so guilty, and the reality dawned that I'd have to tell R that I'd broken the promise I'd made to him that I wouldn't let another man touch my breasts. I felt sickened to my stomach and I was shaking so hard it was actually making me feel freaked out. I lay down on the sofa because I felt faint.

MN sent BDC out of the room and we discussed what had gone wrong. She said I definitely hadn't told her that BDG touching my breasts would be a hard limit, and I am sure that's true. I know she read my profile carefully, and she thought she understood what I was looking for. She blamed herself for not checking carefully, and we talked about how it was very hard, a fine line to tread between respecting people's limits and pushing them. I take full responsibility because I should have explicitly outlined what was, and what wasn't okay. I also should have safeworded earlier, but this seems to be a really difficult thing for me.

I thought, once I talked to R, and told him what happened, I'd feel better. And I did - too an extent. He was marvellous - he really came through for me. He totally understood how it had happened, and he was even empathising for BDG and feeling sorry for him! Bloody hell, he's just great, just bloody great, I am so lucky.

I also needed to speak to N, as I had some guilt there too - I felt I'd gone further with MN than I should have, as if I was cheating on N, and I needed her to know what happened. Even though that was all in my head and couldn't be further from the truth - N might not in an ideal world want me to play with others, but I know she doesn't want her feelings on that to affect what I do, limit my journey of exploration. N knew that I'd gone there to play, but I needed to talk to her about what had happened.

I thought once I'd done those two things, in that order, that I'd feel fine, but actually - I didn't. I feel anxious and with a sort of low-key panicky feeling today that could develop into a big one if I'm not careful. I will coast through the rest of the day, keep my blood sugar stable as much as possible, try and chill out, write this entry to help me think, get an early night, avoid upsetting/ stressful trigger factors today.

Lessons wot I have dun learnt from this experience:

1) always always always explicitly explain my limits. At least twice. And in writing.

2) if I really can't get my head around safewording early enough, then change the situations I play in:

3) for a while at least, if I'm going to play with any unknown quantities, specifically couples or men, only do it either at a club (where I go less deeply into the d/s dynamic), or if it's in private, N to be present. I've discussed this with her and she's going to look after me. Honestly, I don't know why I don't bloody well just give up on playing with anyone else, it always seems to go tits up (except with A, which was a laugh) BUT it's all experiential learning and nothing actually really bad or traumatic has happened, even during the not-so-positive experiences.

4) While I'm still keen to try the couple thing again, this has made me really wary. I realise that the pre-play stuff is almost as important to me as the play - the flirting, the 'will we won't we', the chase. The building of a connection and a feeling that I care about these people and they care about me. Play as an expression of affection for each other.

5) MN and BDC's style wouldn't be my cup of tea even if I did fancy the arse off them. They're not rough enough, they don't yank me about, I want more physical throwing about to be involved rather than piss-arsing about with ropes and complicated knots. This is the sort of stuff you learn during that build up period.

I had planned to go to club XS with them on friday, but this morning I emailed them and said thanks but not thanks, and explained I don't want to play with them again, although I'd like to keep in touch as friends.

I got a bit of an upsetting email this afternoon from MN saying that I hadn't been honest with them, and that's when things can go wrong. I don't know how she felt I hadn't been honest, but I can't help but feel I've fucked things up.

Behind the Mask

I'm feeling a little bit low today. It's not my way to share, when I'm feeling down. It's usually only retrospectively that I tell people I've had a period of sadness, for example. R would laugh at that - he thinks I give a constant running commentary of my status about everything to everybody, but actually he only sees that because I share everything with him. With others - not so much. So I'm not quite sure why I feel motivated to do a brain-dump today, but I'm trying something new. I would like to avoid the escapist happiness whilst out socialising followed by private misery, so I'm going to record my feelings here. By venting my feelings, perhaps a little bit of equilibrium can be attained.

I've taken some risks recently, and in doing so I've made myself very vulnerable. Maybe this is the reaction to that. I've let people see my body, and now I'm feeling unattractive, made entirely of lard, I think my hair looks horrible at the moment, I look like a twat in photos, I'm gross, gross, gross. Looking at other people's pictures and feeling wistful - it must be lovely to be like that, why do I have to be so yucky?

But, to be honest, I'm used to feeling like that - it's not such a big deal. The fact that I've exposed my naked body to ridicule can join company with exposing my clothed body to ridicule on a daily basis.

It's the stuff in my head - my mind - that I'm feeling the most self-disgust and loathing for right now. I feel ugly - in my head. I slept badly last night and had nightmares. For the last couple of days I've been feeling fragile, insecure, unlovable. I've firmly set that aside and got on as if behaving as if I wasn't feeling that way.

I've written some things recently that I wish I hadn't. The whole blog thing - I've never written down anything like that before. Neither am I in the habit of writing down fantasies or erotic stories. I've never done it before - ever. I have to force myself past the inhibition - because I know if R read it, and be really uncomfortable, finding it overly sexualised. His reaction would be to laugh, nervously, and then quickly change the subject, if he ever saw anything like that. The same way he reacts if I try and be overtly sexual with him in any other way. And this makes me wonder if perhaps others react like that, too. Perhaps they wish I would keep my thoughts to myself, and not embarrass them by sharing TMI.

I've written down a couple of fantasies recently, and sent them to N, and now I'm wondering why the hell I did that. The first one was relatively tame, to test the water, as it were, and the second one was more edgy. I know it grossed her out, and she didn't find it erotic. She said it was interesting, and revealed a lot about my mind, but when I asked what, she basically said - don't go there. Leave it.

I feel sickened by my mind, my body, and my sexuality at the moment.

Part of the reason why others have always perceived me as 'odd' is because I make them uncomfortable. I'm too quiet, then this is followed by something TMI and unusual coming out of my brain. This disquiets people. Am I doing this to all my friends and they're usually just too polite to say? Is my sexuality something best left unexplored and unfulfilled, because I'm basically so damaged that I'm broken?

That's when I'm not pissing people off by being an anally retentive control freak and annoying everyone in my life by planning things in advance to the nth degree.

Definitely having a couple of days where I just feel like going out to the garden and putting my head face down in the soil and letting the rain fall on me.

And now I'm worrying that by sharing how I feel, I'm being all high maintenance and drama queen, and needy, and demanding things of people. I find it very difficult to ask for what I need, in many respects. It's hard for me to ask for reassurance at the time when I need it - usually because it means I'm feeling vulnerable, and showing that, asking for something, means making myself even more vulnerable. Fuck, I can't even get this bit of myself right. What a mess. Just - what a mess.

Two more bites of the apple...

I had two new experiences last weekend, to add to my collection of 'steep learning curves'.
I went to a members only play club, and it was both terrifying, yet reassuring; alarming, yet comfortable; strange, yet familiar.


I remember when I was 15 years old, and I went to my first goth club. I'd always been on the outside looking in - until that day. I grew up in a small town, where I was, literally, 'the only goth in the village' before I even knew I was a goth my own self. It took somebody yelling 'oi, fuck off, goth' to even make me consider maybe I was one of them funny goffick types.


The main rock/metal/alternative/goth club in those days has long since disappeared, but still conjures up a thousand cherished memories for many people who used to go there regularly. The first time I went there was the first time I'd ever been to a nightclub, and the first time I ever felt a part of anything, instead of being separate; included instead of excluded. I'd found my family - and even now, I love those moments when you walk past someone in the street who's a bit alternative, and there's a little twinkle; not even so much as a nod or a look, just a silent acknowledgment that yup, we're in this together.


Even though I was nervous, and feeling a little flaky, faint, even... that same buzz filled me when I walked into the room at the members' club. There were knockers and willies everywhere, I hardly knew where to look, but at the same time it all felt very natural and un-intimidating. I found it hard to meet anyone's eyes - but at the same time, I felt they were all On My Side. I was with the ever delightful N, who took me round the room to look at the equipment. I felt a little like a large but nervous dog with a very long tail - I was suddenly made of Tense and convinced I was going to blunder into someone/something and knock them/it over, which would in turn cause some kind of domino effect leading to everyone and everything in the club falling over, and glaring at me before sighing and rolling their eyes...


I was really starting to feel a little odd by this point, which may or may not have been exacerbated by a tight corset, choker, two large cocktails with lots of booze in, and a residual 'I've not been well, you know'-ness left over from a lurgy.


N flexed her domme muscles and inserted me into the strange suspension lattice with leather straps, which wraps around you and lifts you off the floor. Unaware that I was ailing in a consumptive fashion, she over-ruled my reservations and popped me inside. I get a bit claustrophobic at the best of times, and this damn near finished me off. Fortunately, alerted by the clammy state of my forehead, she removed me swiftly before I Came Over All Peculiar in a more spectacular fashion. I can see myself trying again at some stage when I'm feeling more myself, but it's never going to be a favourite. Unfortunately, she likes it lots, so I could find myself spending quite a lot of time in it when I inevitably misbehave...


Once I'd recovered to her satisfaction, she hauled me off to try her next toy. Oh gosh, how I was protesting...


She borrowed two fine young men to firmly strap me onto the table. I was facing forward, and my legs were spread, and tied at ankles, thigh and waist. My arms and wrists were cuffed onto the table also - it was supposed to be impossible to escape from. Even before the first cuff went on, an anticipatory warmth rushed through me. One thing that frustrates me is that I have to behave until I'm secured down - I would really love to be dragged (preferably by my hair), kicking, biting and screaming, over to a piece of equipment, able to lash out and fight even while I was being securely strapped into restraints. This would probably require a few burly types though. I'm stronger than I look and it wouldn't do it for me unless I could really writhe around without hope of escape.


Once I was safely lashed down (and I managed to get in a few verbal threats to the crew members helping N - something I later regretted...) I felt free to thrash about wildly. I was really unsure about flogging, beating, caning etc when I first stepped onto the scene, thinking that it would be just the d/s dynamic that would really do it for me, along with liking it rough. Turns out - I really REALLY like being hit with things. My body says 'yes, YES, YESSS!!' even when my mind says 'no, please, don't - you're hurting me...whimper...'. I wouldn't describe myself as a pain slut - although I like a bit of pain - but there's something about the feel and sound of something thudding into my flesh, or stinging my skin, that just sends me a little crazy - especially when I can let loose because I'm tied up. The fact that the implement in question is being wielded by a well fit bird who I happen to adore insanely, is nothing to do with it, of course 


It was while cutting loose in the above fashion that I managed to disentangle one leg from the straps on the table - several times. N was already on the verge of unleashing more severe discipline as a response to my accidentally calling her a bitch a few times, and my refusal to hold still so she could tether me back down led to her calling over the guys to pivot the table - who were more than happy to do so after my offer to punch them in the balls, earlier. I suddenly found myself upside down and screeching my head off. It was either behave and let her strap me back in, or stay upside down until I fainted. I chose the former option. Even I'm not that stupid.
With the straps pulled really tight, and the table back in the upright position, I still felt as if I was falling - but this time it was into a pit of moral depravity that I just wanted to roll around in until I was covered in dirty, perverted filth. MMm, that's right, grab me by the hair at the back of my neck and rub my face in it. Yum.


After being upended twice, all the fight had gone out of me, and I submitted meekly(ish) to further torment. Because I'd been a bit naughty, she finished off by offering me 20 seconds of nipple clamps (which I HATE) and 20 strokes of the cane. Well, actually it turns out I am that stupid, because I chose the cane. As she undid the straps and helped me down, where I slumped onto the spanking bench to take my punishment, I wondered what was wrong with my brain that I would choose the worst of two options. Even though I knew it would make her hit me even harder, I couldn't resist yelling a little, and smacking my hands into the bench, it just hurt so much.


My social reserve had pretty much disappeared by that point, having just shown my knickers to everybody in the club whilst upsidedown, so I relaxed enough to chat and talk rot with some lovely people. I peeked out from under my eyelashes at the delicious MT. Sitting next to N and MT and watching them interact was so much eye candy that I Came Over All Wrong. So much so that N had to take me off to play AGAIN! God, it's like I've become INSATIABLE! Damn that woman, she knows she only has to look at me and smile and I'll have a serious incident of Wrongness In My Knickers. Which will be shortly followed by showing said knickers to everyone in a five mile radius. Thank god all my underwear is so pretty. My husband said to me the other day 'I can tell you've been going out a lot, you've got all your best underwear on the washing line'. Damn straight, mister!


There were a couple of men who I liked the look of, but I am completely incapable of approaching assertive men without going all girly and blushing. One day soon I would like to play with a man, as long as he could stick to my limits. But I would much prefer someone to approach me, anyway. I quite like the idea of a man grabbing my wrist and dragging me off, protesting, to play, without even asking me. Realistically though, I could never allow this to happen, but the illusion of it would be delicious. N and I discussed how she would make the perfect intermediary for this, clearing play with me first by subtly checking whether I found someone attractive, and using her judgement to decide whether they were a safe player and if she was happy with it. I would never play with anyone I didn't want to kiss. In the case of men, I'm not going to kiss them anyway, as I'm married and that's a hard limit for my husband and I. But the hypothetical acid test still applies. And I would expect any woman who liked me enough to hurt me, to want to kiss me.


My final play of the night was the one that I enjoyed the most. My favourite St Andrew's Cross, being spread and shackled...pulling and tugging against the restraints enough to leave bruises on my wrists, but never able to get free. Able to cry out, without fear, yet at the same time knowing she would hurt me more because of it. Safe in that knowledge.


I crashed out afterwards into serious sleepy mode, and we left soon after. We'd both been up early, and although we checked into our hotel at 3pm, we hadn't got any rest because we'd spent all afternoon and evening fucking, playing, then fucking again. We barely made it to the club at all..


The next morning, we were virtually thrown out of our hotel where we'd overstayed past the checkout time. Ahem.


A medium sized drive later, made longer by a stop in a pub for lunch in the middle of nowhere, and my inability to perform basic functions such as putting water in my bag without leaving the top off, we arrived down south for what would be my first private play party, conveniently situated in a surburban house with its own dungeon.


The host and hostess of the party are such lovely people, it was very easy to relax and enjoy the rather strange ambience caused by having a cup of tea, whilst watching a naked man have clamps attached to his balls whilst lying on a table being beaten until he bled. I found his pained cries rather difficult to take, so removed myself to the kitchen, where my empathy was rewarded by seeing the host play with his sub. She was tied up with rope, and it looked so pretty, it made me envious. He touched her so tenderly, I found myself both aroused and moved. In the lounge, our hostess continued to give Mr Naked Man what-for. And again, despite his agonised yells, she touched him with huge compassion and gentleness, when she wasn't actually hurting him. There's something so beautiful about watching play like that, it makes me feel very privileged to witness it.


As much as I love watching others play, the highlight for me was being taken into the dungeon, stripped, tied up and beaten. The only clothes N would let me keep on, were my hold-up fishnet stockings and my bondage shoes. On the wall of the dungeon is the most solid cross I've ever seen, made of huge chunks of wood, and attached securely to the wall. A system of ropes and pulleys keeps the cuffs in place, so my arms were over my head and spread apart, and she opened my legs and cuffed them to the bottom of the cross. Opposite me was a huge mirror, and my vision was filled with the site of myself displayed and bound for her pleasure, and on the other side, N herself holding various implements of torture and beating me with them - across the breasts, on my thighs, and between my legs. I kept opening my mouth to swear and then catching her eye, and for once in my life doing something clever and thinking better of it. I managed to kick my way out of the restraining ropes a few times, but resisted the temptation to boot her in the leg. Even though I'd been extraordinarily well behaved, I still got punished though - this time I had to choose between nipple clamps, or her. I chose the clamps. Ow ow ow ow ow. I do believe my lower lip actually wobbles when those horrible things are put on me. But she can do far more hurty things to me than any piece of equipment, so I reckon I made the right choice, that time.


She let me out of the cuffs and shoved me roughly onto the oversized spanking bench in the middle of the room. Her hand in my hair, grinding my face into the leather, caused my buttocks to automatically thrust towards her. She mashed my face into the surface of the bench, as little moans escaped me. She put a mindfold on me (like a blindfold but you can open up your eyes, although you can't see anything but black). She alternated a beating with stimulation from the hitachi magic wand, which just fucked with my mind. I heard the door open and several people came inside, whispering, but I had no idea who, or how many, there were. My cries grew louder as she beat me with a toy made from little stainless steel balls, I wriggled and writhed under her hand and would have cried if she had carried on much longer, or if we'd been alone with no-one to witness my disgrace. She took pity on my whimpers and ended it with two loud, hurty thwacks from the flogger.


After a come-down from the experience, and a chat with some of the other partygoers, she took me home, all sated and satisfied and happy. The next day at work, a colleague accused me of looking so pleased with myself, I was dribbling smug all over the table. Every time I have had to deal with something frustrating this week, I let my imagination fill with beautiful images from the weekend, and think 'if you could just see what was going through my mind right now...or if you could see the bruises...!'


I would thoroughly recommend it as an anti-stress technique 

What happened at Guilty Pleasures

OR Why I Got It Wrong and What I Learned From It

I'm a fan of Laurell K Hamilton's filthy vampire stories, so a club named Guilty Pleasures, after the first book in the series, had inevitable appeal. Couple this with the promise of goth, metal, alternative, industrial music and it's irresistibly enticing!

Before I went to GP I negotiated with BD that we would play together. Ever since we first met I'd been intrigued by his ability to turn on the Look and the Voice and make me blush and go all coy and drop my eyes. I talked first to my husband and then to N, and they were both okay with it. BD and I had a chat about what my limits are with men, and what sort of thing I might like and not like (which was a really difficult conversation to have, drawing as I was from an invisible pallet due to my lack of experience). He knew this would be my first play with anyone other than Ness, only my fourth play altogether, and my first play with a man. So I was pretty confident it would be a straightforward, enjoyable session for both of us. BD is a friend, and I trust him. Ness would be present all the time, and I feel safe with her. It was in a reputable public club. What could possibly go wrong?

I know you're all rolling your eyes, sighing and putting your head in your hands. I'm an idiot, okay?

The answer is - *I* went wrong. I made some mistakes, but I was learning, and I'm still learning about what can go wrong and how to do it differently next time.

I'd played with N earlier in the evening, but not hard. BD had found someone to play with earlier, too, and so it was quite late by the time he took me over to the A-frame, chained my hands over my head, and cuffed my ankles to the sides. So far, so good. Then he blindfolded me. I didn't really want that, but I'd dropped into sub mode already by then, so didn't protest. Unbeknownst to me, BD was very sweetly checking with N every time he did anything. "Is it alright if I pull her knickers down?", he asked. "Help yourself, love" I believe was the gist of her reply.

He started spanking me for a warm-up, and I must admit, that was quite hot. It's been 13 years since a man who wasn't a member of the medical profession has touched my naked bum, and under these circumstances, it was really rather saucy. He moved onto beating me, and as usual, I started to get quite cross, and swore, shouted, and generally carried on in an unseemly fashion. And naturally, he started to beat me harder as a result. It very quickly stopped being enjoyable and moved into the realm of something to be endured. I'm not quite sure why I had it in my head that there were only 2 options: A) grit teeth, endure until it was over OR B) call a safeword, stop play entirely.

There were, in reality, many other options, of which the favourite would have been C) agree beforehand a method of checking in on my pain levels - for example, asking me out of 10 how much it hurt, and agree beforehand a number above which I didn't want to go, e.g. 5/10. However, D) whisper 'it's getting a bit much, please back down a bit' to either BD or N would also have been sensible.

I'm very confident and assertive in areas of my life which I'm experienced in. But this is so far out of my comfort zone that I worry and fret and think that I'm getting it wrong, I'm cocking it up, I'll get a rep for being a nob-end and everyone will hate me. I'd heard about 'topping from the bottom' and 'bratty subs' and didn't want - couldn't bear to - be looked down on in that way by the friends I'd started to make in this new community. Everyone's been so kind to me, BD's been willing to give me my first play with a man, he's been a friend to me. It seemed that choosing option C or D would be a poor way to repay him. I realise now that there's a subtle but distinct - and vital - difference between trying to dictate the agenda, and letting your top/dom know when you've reaching your limits. I still struggle very hard with this, but I'm still learning, and I hope I never stop being open to learning.

Because I'm a friend, BD was speaking to me in quite a joking tone, and N had to encourage him to try and sound like he meant business, because she knows I like that. The pain got more and more intense, and I lost my temper, which just made BD bring out his cane and christen it on me. He was trying to make me guess what the toy was ('Is it a flogger?' 'no...whimper', 'is it a paddle' 'nooooo...don't...', 'what is it then?') and I was refusing to say, even though I knew what it was. He started caning me in time with saying in a ridiculous voice 'It's BD's new cane! It's BD's new cane!' which caused N to look at him and raise her eyebrows in 'have you ACTUALLY gone MENTAL?' semaphore. It just shows how much I've recovered from the experience that I was lying in bed between my husband and Ness the other day, started thinking about this, and was giggling hysterically but trying to keep quiet so I wouldn't wake them up and have to explain myself!

But the caning was far, far too much pain. N kept coming to my front and checking on me. She asked if I knew my safeword, and I said yes. She asked BD to tell me what my safeword was, so that I would know that he knew it. So why didn't I safeword? Why take option A over option B? I'm still not 100% sure. I'm stubborn by nature, and prideful. I had heard doms say that they think they've failed if a sub has to use their safeword, because they've not read them right, and I didn't want to let BD down. BD and N interact in a very teasing fashion and I didn't want BD think himself a stricter dom than N, more able to administer discipline and bring me in line when I started shouting and swearing. I had to carry on yelling at him, for just as long and as hard as I would with N. Wouldn't want him to think I'm scared of him in a way I'm not scared of N - it would be letting the side down. And once I'd sworn and shouted at him, I had to take my punishment. I'd made my bed, as it were, now I had to lie in it and get beaten. I couldn't escape by safewording. It wouldn't be fair or honourable.

All these thoughts were at the back of my mind but I wasn't really thinking during the scene, just reacting. There was a point where I mistakenly thought I'd heard N's voice in the other room. I thought she'd left me alone with BD. I started sobbing, and he was banging on about being a dacryphile and how my tears would only turn him on. So I yelled 'they'll be tears of rage in a minute if you don't piss off and leave me the fuck alone!'

Not unreasonably, this got me a few seriously hard whacks, and I was quite prepared to suffer them as due consequence, when it suddenly occured to me I was about to black out. I'd been so pre-occupied by the pain and my emotional response, that I'd been unaware of the fainting sensations creeping up on me. I muttered 'feel wierd...faint...let me out' and I broke out in a sweat. The light darkened to a single spot in my eyes, there was a high pitched humming noise, and my heart was pounding. I knew it would only be moments before I passed out.
Within these rapidly passing moments, BD and N had me unchained and lowered me carefully to the floor. It seemed forever and a day to me though, and I had a powerful urge to pull wildly against the chains, but I had to flex my willpower as I knew this would only make it harder for them to release me. They both went into first aid mode, checking my reactions, giving me juice and a sweet when I was ready. My over-riding reaction was one of shame and guilt - I'd screwed it up, I'd made a nuisance of myself, I was looking like the biggest twat in the world. Poor BD and N, being lumbered with a mook like me. Everyone can see me making an arse of myself. it was the end of the night and the club organisers were trying to clear up so they could go home, and I was getting in the way.

Of course, everyone was kindness itself in reassuring me that this wasn't the case, that it happens a lot, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I wasn't being a nuisance - but that's how I felt at the time.

I got well enough to sit up, then stand, then be helped down the stairs by N, during which I came over all peculiar again. Every time I touched the memory in my mind, a fresh wave of sick dizzyness came over me. My mind was protecting itself, but trying not to think about it was almost as hard as ignoring the proverbial pink elephant. BD waited with me while N brought round the car. He held me close because I was shaking and so cold. I felt fresh waves of faintness; my body remembered it was this man right here holding me now who had hurt me. And yet, conversely, I also felt a yearning to be around him. I was strangely disappointed when he left.


I stayed with N that night and my mind and body were galloping headlong furiously, fuelled by body chemistry and unable to rest. It took hours, and N gently stroking my forehead, before I dropped into an exhausted and troubled sleep.

I woke the next morning feeling stricken, my thoughts and stomach churning. When I checked the mirror, the sight of the bruising nearly made me throw up. I've not got a weak stomach - I'm a first aider at work and have happily mopped up blood, piss and puke , I've bandaged up innumerable fingers sliced open by scalpels in the pursuit of art (don't ask...) but knowing you are looking at damage caused by someone which you asked them to do to you, you let them do to you - it's very different.

N settled me on the bus home. I'd been advised I might start feeling odd again about twelve hours after the event - and unfortunately this co-incided with an unavoidable one and a half hour bus journey. I rang my husband and asked if he could meet me at the bus stop and walk me home; only about ten minutes away but up six flights of steep stairs in an alleyway. I'd already given him a brief summary on the phone, and only needed to fill in the gaps in person. I was worried about how he'd react but simply wasn't able to cope with thinking about that too much as my brain was overloaded enough. I needed to rest and went to bed, but when I got up, I had to face up to him. He was absolutely furious, although he never raised his voice or acted as if he was angry - I just know him so well that he might as well have shouted, it was that obvious.
He said that from his point of view, another man had beaten His Wife almost unconscious for his own sexual pleasure, In Public, (there were definitely capital letters in his sentence), so much so that she could barely walk the next day.

We had the 'yes, I see why you might think that and be angry, but that's not really how it was, it was like this...' conversation. He felt plenty better after lots of explanation, reassurance and discussion. I, on the other hand, felt like shit. What the fuck was wrong with me that I would let someone do this to me? That I could hurt my husband so, for my own selfish reasons? I felt like a bitch, a slut, a sick freak. My husband refused to even look at the bruises - they disgusted and repulsed him. I was disgusted and repulsed by myself. For a few days I felt like turning my back on the scene altogether and never looking back.

But...time passes, the memory settles in, it no longer stings like a nettle every time you touch it. And the trouble with turning your back on something you really want is that it always ends up looking over your shoulder and whispering in your ear. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone screws up. It's what you do next that counts, as someone very wise pointed out to me. And what I did next was go to Club Crimson and have the most fantastic, hot as fuck play.

Betrayal

I am just letting off a bit of steam, so no big deal.

But I'm really shocked. I was logging into IC earlier when another profile name came up - and I quickly realised R must have made a profile. I logged in as myself and went to look at it, and the profile was blank but found he's posted this:

"Hi, my names Mo and I'm not the usual board member I'm the wife of a BDSMer and looking for advice/support for myself!

I've been married to my husband for 15 years and we have had mild Bondage roleplays before but recently he has become really involved in clubs/events which I have given my blessing to as it is not really my thing but I did not want him to feel frustrated or denied being able to explore this side of his nature.

However I still have worries, that:

a) He wants to try lots of new things.. what if he goes too far one night or wants to go further sexually than I am happy with (yes I know oral or full male-female sex generally never happens at most BDSM clubs but theres always what goes on behind closed doors..)

b) what if he gets bored with the sexual relationship we have together or merely indulges me out of a sense of obligation? or simply doesn't have the interest or energy for it after being out at his clubs and meetings?

c) What if he simply becomes too attached to someone (possibly younger and prettier than myself) who shares his interests in bondage and all things BDSM? I do fear that it will lead us apart one day.

While I have given him my blessing it dosn't mean I don't feel the stirrings of jealously or resentment sometimes, even if we have an agreement and it is all very above board.

Any advice or support would be great, thanks."

(obviously he has changed many of the factual details to protect the guilty)

I waited until he came home and asked if we could have a chat about things. I explained that I'd come across it and wanted to talk - asked him how he was feeling now, and we had a good full and frank discussion. Prefixed all my statements with 'I feel' and calmly and collected explained that I was quite upset and felt a bit betrayed, I've gone to a lot of trouble to be completely honest with him after all, and I expect the same in return.

I do so enjoy other people offering un-asked for advice (un-asked for by me, at least), about our relationship of 13 years. It's not as if I have regular, totally open and honest discussions with him, and beg him to tell me all his thoughts and feelings on an almost-daily basis, or anything like that.

R has said several times that he doesn't really want to go to a club or munch with me - he wouldn't like the music, he hates meeting/ talking to new people, he's totally uninterested in it sexually, and would get bored by midnight and want to go home. And if I wanted him there, I'd damn well invite him. It would be like going to a bellydancing workshop with him - he'd know nothing about it, have no interest in it, it would embarrass and inhibit me to dance in front of him, I wouldn't enjoy myself, and neither would he. I'd be constantly worried about him being bored or getting pissed off, and I'd have a crap time.

If anyone tells me I really ought to tell R how angry I feel, then they can fuck off, because they don't understand the dynamic between us. He knows I'm not happy about it, and what purpose would it solve to shout and scream at him, just to make myself feel better? I'll feel like a cunt, he'll probably be really hurt, so what's the point? I just need to vent about it a bit because I am FUCKING PISSED OFF.

it makes me feel like it's some guilty little secret, some dirty nasty thing I'm trying out. And if ONE MORE CUNTING BASTARD tells me how lucky I am to have such a kind, considerate, understanding husband, and how grateful I should be, I WILL GO INTO FUCKING ORBIT.

YES, I am extremely lucky, yes I am grateful, yes he is considerate and kind and understanding. Tell me something I don't know, fuckers. I've been telling everyone who will listen how special he is since we got together. But has anyone thought how it might make me feel to be told this over and over and over again? and does anyone bother to add 'and of course he's lucky too'? OH NO. Heavens forfend.

I should be SO INCREDIBLY GRATEFUL because of course, being a faithful wife for 13 years to the point of not even looking at other men or finding them attractive for the majority of that time, not doing a single thing without discussion and consent from him first, looking after his wellbeing, the household, our finances, the housework, making friends for us both, organising our lives, keeping him healthy, always always always putting his needs first - that's just expected of me, right? I should be so so so fucking grateful that he's allowing me to become a fulfilled person and just once, just for this one thing, ask for something all my own which isn't driven by someone else's needs.

And instead everyone's like 'you're so lucky, I hope you're suitably grateful, you should really appreciate him' and I DO, but you know what? Don't I deserve to have this? Because the subtext of the whole 'you're so lucky' thing is that I'm somehow getting more than is due to me. Because I'm just some kind of fucking cunt and don't deserve to have my needs met, don't need anything for my own self, am being incredibly selfish and should be super-grateful that I'm being allowed to indulge myself like this. Well thanks. No really. I just love to be made to feel like shit, it rules.

So I should just carry on, sleepwalking through life, repressing every ounce of sexual desire, losing my energy, my sparkle, myself. And then, this happens, and it feels right, and beautiful, and spiritual, and satisfying and fulfilling. But it's not natural and right and beautiful apparently, I'M SO LUCKY AND I SHOULD BE SO GRATEFUL that he's letting me. As if my body doesn't belong to me. As if I don't have the right to have anything good. Well, do you know what? JUST FUCK OFF. JUST FUCKING FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK OFF BECAUSE I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK.

STOP FUCKING TELLING ME WHAT TO DO! STOP FUCKING TELLING ME TO BRING R ALONG TO MUNCHES AND CLUBS WITH ME! I don't WANT him there! It would RUIN it for me. But oh no, R's feelings must come first always and always and screw mine. The fact that I would feel intimated and embarrassed and unable to be sexual when he's there is obviously far unimportant in comparison to how he needs to be reassured. HOW DARE I HAVE NEEDS OF MY OWN???!!! Never mind what I want, even this tiny piece of my life I have carved out for myself, a space I'd hoped to make where I could have a little bit of 'me-time' and not have to think about putting other people first, is apparently being invaded by every other fucker who I've connected with who seems determined to put R first. Thanks guys.

why the fuck should I ever get anything good anyway? Obviously i'm just some sort of selfish cunt who doesn't deserve it. FUCK YOU, YOU MOTHRFUCKING DOG SEMEN STAINED PIECES OF SHIT.

/end venting. Will go off and have cathartic cry and will feel better soon.

Clubs and My Collapsing Morals

I feel as if my level of club-going is gradually rising up some sort of perve club thermometer scale. It started with Torture Garden in Brighton. I'd been to TG a couple of times before, years ago, but in the capacity of 'a bunch of goths going out in some pretty clothes to see and be seen'. This was a very different experience, because although I didn't play, I was a self-defined newbie to bdsm and framed the outing for myself very firmly identifying it as part of my journey of sexual experimentation.

Or at least - that was the plan. Despite being with some lovely people, relaxing enough to zone out on the dance floor for nearly an hour, and being lucky enough to be the meat in a sandwich of two stunning women, both biting my neck at the same time, something which should have turned me to absolute jelly - I just wasn't having fun. I found the setting intimidating and disturbing, and not in a good way. There were far too many people, and the venue was stuffy and overheated. Many of the people watching play were detached and judgemental. My libido shrivelled in the face of this scrutiny -  I swore I would never expose my body to ridicule like that, never play in public, in front of people. The cruel little jibes which were being made about the play were about girls with the most perfect of bodies. My God, what would they make of ME?!

After this experience, I went really quite reluctantly to Tipping The Velvet, with N. Even the thought of any public play here, with the TG format very much at the forefront of my mind, made me feel a bit tearful. However, TtV was so different from TG it was like another world. Now TtV is my sort of club - catering to all the senses, and with a warm, welcoming, nurturing environment. I was still pretty freaked from TG, and although there were a very much smaller number of attendees at TtV, I was still intimidated about playing, because there wasn't anyone there who wasn't a stunner. Gradually I loosened up though, as everyone was SO friendly, SO kind and warm-spirited, and eventually I felt able to let N tie me up to the St Andrews Cross and hit me with a bunch of stuff.

My god, that is so sexy. Feeling your limbs spread apart and pulled, bound, out of control. How exciting to feel a hot rush of anger and know I can't hurt anyone, I can't explode the world, I can't destroy anything. At that point I was still trying not to hurt her feelings so I was shocked at my own self when I called her a bitch and told her to fuck off. Several times. I fought so hard she had to put the waist strap on - she told me afterwards she was worried I would have the whole cross over on the floor. She was a little concerned and not sure what was happening in my head, so she came to the front and said 'Do you still love me?' I kissed her...

Afterwards I was all floppy and feeble, and she wrapped me up in fluffy blankets and put me to bed right there on the floor, on the mattress we'd brought with us. At TtV you can stay overnight if you bring a bed to sleep on - considering its location, that's a great option.

The next day we went to LAM, and went to the aftershow party with N, BD and JM. I was quite relaxed by then, and looking forward to some more play. Until we went back upstairs to the party - and to my horror all the fear came flooding back. The venue was brightly lit, and people sat watching the small amount of play as if it was some sort of cabaret. I almost expected a man in a top hat to come out and compere. I suddenly felt like crying, a small part of which was disappointment, knowing there was no way I could do this. I watched with a mixture of interest and envy as N gave BD a good warm-up. How simple he made it seem, how naturally and casually he schucked his clothes and let people watch the expressions on his face, and the marking on his body develop. In contrast I felt my cheeks blaze just walking across the floor to the toilet!

And yet, and yet, and yet....I wanted it. You know those television dramas where there's some sort of disaster, and you get the set-up beforehand? And it's usually something small and insignificant, for example, a piece of glass in the sunshine on a forest floor, that in reality no-one would bat a falsh eyelash at, but because it's Fiction you know without a doubt it's an Important Piece of the Story? That's how I feel about BDSM. As if my internal landscape is being remade and reborn in the forge of sexual desire. And it all started with something so small, but the Story was waiting to happen even before that - for always before that. And it can't not continue to happen, I have to follow the Story now, as the plot unfolds and the fire burns down the forest...

So I let her tie me to the spanking bench and flog and spank and paddle and cane me...and I thrashed around so much one of the crew came and checked on us, and N had to hold me down with all her weight across my back. And obscenities poured out of my mouth and it....felt....so.....goood. I wanted to grind myself into that damn bench until I burnt a hole in it. But afterwards my brain exploded, and I felt ashamed, and found myself crying desperately on the way home. I needed time to process the experience, and reflect on it. Once I'd done this, I had nothing but positive feelings about it. I was glad I'd done it, and looking at my impressive collection of bruises made me feel naughty and saucy and all things hot.

My next outing was to Guilty Pleasures in Hastings. The club was amazing, and kitted out wonderfully. I had fun chatting to lots of new people, and we had arranged I would try playing with BD. This was to be my first play with anyone other than N, my first play with a man, and lots of other firsts besides. After a short session where I was chained with my arms above my head to the cross, and faced front while N lifted my skirt and did some quite obscene things to me, late in the evening BBD took me off and tied me to the same cross, but facing inwards. N was there all the time checking on me. But my head was in such a muddle I didn't use my safe word when I should have, and came over a little peculiar. Within moments, both of them were helping me recover, but I had to have a little lie-down on the floor. It was quite possibly the most embarrassing thing that has happened to me in years. For extra social awkwardness, the club organisers were trying to clear up as it was the end of the night. They couldn't have been more kind, but I still wanted to find a cavern somewhere in the middle of a sparsely populated desert and live in it for the rest of my life.

I was shocked and upset about it. Even just thinking about it afterwards, made me feel faint again, until several days later. My husband was furious, and quite appalled I'd been so stupid, and worried it could happen again. But, you know what? After a little time passed, I'm okay with it. It happened, it taught me a lesson, I've moved on. The bruises have almost faded, and as my body recovered and healed, my mind did too, on much the same time scale.

My most recent visit was to the launch night of Club Crimson. It was a great venue, with blinding music, an astonishing array of kit. Esinem's rope demo made me go All Wrong - especially when he pulled out the big knife. I could feel my eyelids fluttering just watching. I was so turned on I needed play shortly afterwards, and N was kind enough to oblige. She chained me to a big frame with my wrists in cuffs but spread apart over my head. She didn't chain my ankles, which in hindsight may have been a mistake, as I nearly took out the wall in front of me, and a kind observer had to move the kneeling bench out of the way so I didn't trash it. She pulled my knickers down and spanked me - there was no need to pull my dress up as it was so short just putting my arms over my head did the job nicely! She yanked my hair right back which makes me just 'ahhhhhh' gently. God, I love being roughed up. I just want to be dragged about and thrown around and have my hair pulled lovely and hard, and my neck bitten over and over again. I've never met anyone willing to physically force me to their will before, and I think I would struggle not to find anyone attractive who could shove me roughly up against a wall just with the strength in their body. Or drop me to my knees by my hair. Or...

ANYWAY. It's probably a good thing I've got N around to put a brake on my libido. If anyone she didn't approve of tried to touch me, she'd probably whip them a new asshole.

She worked me over until I'd gone from desire to anger to submission, that delicious journey that does the trick for me very well indeed. By the time she'd finished with me I'd pretty much stopped swearing and saying 'no'. I wanted her hands all over me, and anyone else who wanted to touch me too, well that would have been welcome. I was all floppy and pliant by that stage.

My next outing will be Sweet Torments on saturday, and I can't wait. I think I'm ready to try something REALLY naughty...

A SubJective Perspective of Kissing

I remember the year I grew strawberry plants for the first time. I was so excited, every day after work I would race home and burst into the garden, eager to check the progress of my little fruits. One berry in particular was the first to ripen, and I watched as over the weeks it grew bigger and the red flush developed, the skin so taut yet so soft, and on the day I put it into my mouth it was so luscious, so ripe and perfect as I ran my tongue over it I couldn't imagine anything I wanted to bite into more.

I was wrong. The feel of her lips as I run my tongue over them is a thousand times more desirable. It's as if she's swallowed the sun and she's burning me from the inside out. I can feel her mouth with every part of my body. I want her to consume me, destroy me, and just as I think I can't control myself she will slide her hand around my throat and oh so gently, put the lightest of pressure on my windpipe, just so I know who is driving the kiss. She could collapse her hand and stop me breathing in a moment and I'm not strong enough to fight back. And instead of hurting me, the little fear just thrills me - and I think, anything, you can do anything to me, I want you to.

If I've been very good, I might get the special treat of feeling her soft, sweet touch move down my throat, and her teeth in my flesh. I can feel my breathing change as she bites down - hard - on my neck, and the pain that isn't pain floods through me as for once, my mind and body are connected and there is no more conflict. No more thought. Just sensation.

Comedown

[An entry from my private journal the day after coming back from my first play session and weekend away with Ness…]

Right now I am feeling mostly…meh. I had an amazing, mind-blowing, emotional, sexual, physical journey of discovery this weekend, but at the moment I’m worrying about R and feeling like a bit of a heel. I should have kept him better informed about what, where and when. I should have kept in touch with him more by text and phone. In my defence, he’s asked no questions, looked into the distance while doing something else while I was briefing him about the weekend to come, and sent me minimal text messages too - but considering that’s his normal approach to keeping informed about what I’m doing and he relies on me to do the honours for him - I fucked up. Guess the whole escapist, ‘me-time’ irresponsible thing went to my head.

Feeling a bit tearful now actually - think I will wait until tomorrow to update properly about how wonderful it was.