Circles within circles

I 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.

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.

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.

I wondered if anyone would ever be interested in me. Whether I was not desirable, not wanted.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

This is a good place, and I'm happy here.

'Come, Let Me Clutch Thee'

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I feel loved, and loving.

For the first time in a month that has been stressful, my mind is still, and calm.

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.

I am in love with you, always and forever.

http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

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.

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!)

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).

Work goes better if you don't get stressed. (D'oh.)

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.)

You really don't like beer. No, not even cherry flavoured. (Fact.)

You have been banned from drinking cider ever again by both men in your life. (Oops.)

Appreciate

http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

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?

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.

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.

Action

http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

December 13 – Action. When it comes to aspirations, it's not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step?

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.

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.

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.

http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

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?

I wrote this on my kink blog back in June - and there is no better description I could write now, of complete cohesiveness.

http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/beauty-in-violence.html

11 Things

www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

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?

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.

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.

1. Debt.

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.

2. Perfectionism and the Overly Critical Eye.

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.

3. The Belief that I'm Unattractive.

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.

4. Anxiety and Worrying to Excess

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.

5. Neglecting My Own Needs

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.

6. Multitasking to Excess

I'm going to try and take a 'one thing at a time' approach as much as possible, this year.

7. Not Tolerating Intolerable Behaviour

I've made a good start on this in 2010, and in 2011 I want to consolidate.

8. Repressing Rage and Righteous Indignation

See above

9. Being Busy Without Getting Anything Done

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.

10. Working Through My Lunchbreak

Really. There's just no point. I could be doing poi.

11. Getting up at 7.30am, drinking tea and faffing about, then getting into work late at about 10am.

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.

http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

December 10 – Wisdom. What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?

The long version of events can be found here: http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/integrity.html

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.

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.

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.

www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

December 9 – Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Beautifully Different

http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/


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.

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.

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.

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?'

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!

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.

But mostly, if my differences don't make me beautiful, they make me what I am. And I value them for that.

Community

www.reverb10.com/the-promptsb

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?

Without a single doubt, it has been the kink community, both online, through Informed Consent and Fetlife, 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.

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.

Make

www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

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?

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.

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.

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 :-)

littleimppainting.fotopic.net/c1906175.html

Let Go

www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

December 5 – Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

I let go of the last semblance of a normal sexuality, this year. Why? Because I had to.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 right decisions I have ever made.

Wonder

www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

cultivate |ˈkəltəˌvāt|
verb [ trans. ]
2 try to acquire or develop (a quality, sentiment, or skill) : he cultivated an air of indifference.
• try to win the friendship or favor of (someone) : it helps if you go out of your way to cultivate the local people.
• [usu. as adj. ] ( cultivated) apply oneself to improving or developing (one's mind or manners) : he was a remarkably cultivated and educated man.

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.

I have watched, amazed, while people close to me behaved, thought, spoke, felt, in wondrous ways.

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.

Moment

www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Writing

December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Author: Leo Babauta)

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.

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.

One Word

I'm a little late to the party....but...

http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/

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)

Growth.

Everything in my world - EVERYTHING - has grown and blossomed this year.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I wasn't able to tell anyone how unhappy, how betrayed I felt. I couldn't even admit it to myself.

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.

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.

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.

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.

In this small way, among many, many other ways, I am healed.

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 Imp's Guide for Girls with Difficult Mimsys

Having been cursed with a Difficult Mimsy, 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:

Little Imp's Guide to Having Your First Orgasm, for Girls with Difficult Mimsys.

1) Are all the Bits present and correct?

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.

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.

2) Location, location, location

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.

3) Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither was a Magic Mimsy

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!

4) Tools of the Trade

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.

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.

Everyone's different so see what appeals to you.

5) Different Strokes for Different Folks

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?

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?

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?

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.

6) Practice, Practice, Practice

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.

Then you can teach other people how to do it to you!

7) The Tao of Wanking

Do not let anyone put pressure on you to cum. That's like a cold shower on your mimsy.

8) Schrodinger's Pussy (stretching the metaphor rather)

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!

9) Advanced Class

Buy a magic wand. No, really.

10) Go forth and cum!

Orgasm Addict

Oh, 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.

The irony of it is that orgasms used to be such an area of difficulty for me.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Yeah. Things are good. :-)

The Thirteen Gifts

"Birthstone" - Definition: gift of a precious material, traditionally associated with a month and believed to attract good fortune.

Opal

October's child is born for woe,

And life's vicissitudes must know,

But lay an opal on her breast,

And hope will lull those woes to rest.

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.

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.

Topaz

Who first comes to this world below

In dreary November's fog and snow,

Should prize the topaz amber hue,

Emblem of friends and lovers true.

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.

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.

Turquoise

If cold December gave you birth

The month of snow and ice and mirth

Place on your hand a turquoise blue;

Success will bless whate'er you do.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Garnet

By her who in January was born

No gem save garnets shall be worn

They will ensure her constancy

True friendship and fidelity.

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.

My eyes pupil-blackened and wide with fear, I nodded yes, my mouth slipping open in terror.

"Well crawl over there to the phone and call someone who gives a fuck."

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...

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.

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.

Amethyst

The February born shall find

Sincerity and peace of mind,

Freedom from passion and from care,

If they, the amethyst will wear.

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.

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.

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.

Bloodstone

By her who in March was born

No gem save bloodstone shall be worn

They will ensure her constancy

True friendship and fidelity.

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.

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.

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.

Diamond

She who from April dates her years,

diamonds shall wear,

lest bitter tears

For vain repentance flow.

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.

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.

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.

Emerald

Who first beholds the light of day

In spring's sweet, flower month of May

And wears an emerald all her life

Shall be a loved and a loving wife.

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'.

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.

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.

Pearl

By her who in June was born

No gem save pearls shall be worn

They will ensure her constancy

True friendship and fidelity.

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.

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.

Ruby

The gleaming ruby should adorn,

All those who in July are born,

For thus they'll be exempt and free,

From lover's doubts and anxiety.

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.

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.

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.

Peridot

Wear a peridot or for thee,

No conjugal fidelity,

The August born without this stone,

`Tis said, must live unloved; alone.

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.

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.

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.

Sapphire

A maiden born when autumn leaves

Are rustling in September's breeze,

A sapphire on her brow should bind;

To bring her joy and peace of mind.

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.

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.

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.

Black Opal

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.

Your thirteenth gift: you help me to forget, by helping me to remember.

"We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full." -Marcel Proust.

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.

Thankyou, my Wolf.