Hectic

The chaos is starting to get to me. Hell, it’s getting to everyone. We’re starting to pick at each other.

The house is newly constructed, not quite finished. My dad, who frequently does home remodeling, was hired by Master to finish the lower level, which was a huge, bare, open space. My dad is framing it in, from drywall to completion, for the kids bedrooms, family room, computer room, etc. Half of the lower level was already done, half being one bathroom, one bedroom and the laundry/utility room. The upper level was also already finished – master bed and bath, kitchen/dining room, living room, office, main bathroom.

My parents are staying in the lower level bedroom/bath. The kids are all camped out in the living room. The kids are staying up all night watching tv, messing around online. It’s one big slumber party for them. Master (and I) get up at 5am. Tempers are being tested. The lack of privacy and lack of personal space is grating on nerves.

That’s the bad news. The good news is that today, my mom and I (and the kids) can start painting in some of the rooms on the lower level. Once the painting is done, the carpet can get in. Once the carpet is in, it’s ready for furniture. Then it’s done. Then my parents go home. Then the kids move into their own damn rooms and out of my living room. Then Master and I can have wild monkey sex without worrying about either the kids OR my parents hearing.

This weekend we have to go back to the old house and get the rest of our stuff and clean up. We’re going to rent it out for now. For some reason, the idea of other people living in “my” house isn’t sitting well. It makes me … I dunno what. Not mad, but something.

The kids start school Tuesday. They’re looking forward to it. They went from a school with around 2,000 students to a school that has around 400 students. And my girls don’t have to take P.E. This is huge news to girls. P.E. is the worst class for prissy princess girls like mine. No P.E., an offered creative writing course for Am that the other school didn’t have, Jes has most of her required courses done so she’s skating through on mostly easy electives, smaller classes – the kids are damn near giddy. Of course B-man asked to take P.E., and got to, so he’s happy. Gym class over a class with actual homework? Hell yeah!

So next week – no more chaos. I can’t wait.

I will never get caught up on everyone. :-(

~cunt

The view from the back deck. Isolated much?

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Real quick

I just wanted to leave a quick note so y’all don’t think I’m abandoning the blog.

Things are still just super busy. And my parents are here visiting and helping with some construction projects so access to kink is nil. We’re slowly getting settled in, just about all that’s left is what’s being held up with the construction. School starts next week and my parents will be home by then so I expect things to settle back into a routine of some sort (I hope. Lordie I miss routine and structure!) and maybe I’ll even have some filth to share (I hope. I miss the filth even more!)

For now, the D/s undercurrent is strong. Smooth and easy. I like that. Even without the time, energy or opportunity for heavy scenes and raunchy sex, things feel comfortable and right.

Just a little bit longer and it’ll all be back to normal.

~cunt

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Moving.

Moving sucks serious ass.

The house is gorgeous. Three times the size of the other house. I am in Suzy Homemaker heaven.

The land is beautiful, too. The dog, who literally has months left, (Months, at best but weeks is probably more accurate. His arthritis isn’t responding to treatment at all.) is loving this endless land to roam. We debated on whether or not to put him down before we moved but I really wanted him to be out here with us for a little while. I can’t imagine a nicer place for a dog to spend his last bit of time. I sat in the vet’s office a few weeks ago trying to be all adult about the matter of putting the dog down, and failing miserably I might add, because there just is no sure way to tell what amount of pain he’s in vs. his quality of life. I wanted the vet to give me a straight answer but there just isn’t one.

Master has had the dog longer than He’s had me. He’s raised him since he was a puppy. He is not handling this any better than I am. The plan is to spoil the dog as much as possible in whatever time he has left. :-(

The cats are faring well. They’re intent on exploring every nook and cranny. One of them pissed on the dog’s bed. *snicker* I don’t know what he did to piss them off. ;-)

Master bought a luxurious (and expensive!) bedroom suite. I think the ‘cunt in a cage’ is being traded in for a ‘cunt in a gilded birdcage’. And I am not complaining. No Sirree Bob. The kids are no less excited than I am. This was a good decision, I think.

Anyway, Master’s up and yakking my ear off so back to the boxes I go.

~cunt

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The one where I gloat about how much better my relationship is than yours.

I just had to poke my head in and say that I think my in-person relationship is way better than your online relationship. That’s right. Better.

And I’m tired of tippytoeing around people’s widdle fewings. There is no such fucking thing as ‘fully submitting’ through the internet, no matter how slutty your SL avatar is.

I think people who claim online relationships are just as good, if not better than ‘real time’ (because oh how they suffer all alone) are delusional.

I read a page some time ago about cyber and in-person relationships. The specific mechanisms for relating, or how people connect to one another on the most fundamental level, is via the five senses:

*hearing the other

*seeing the other

*touching the other

*smelling the other

*tasting the other

Hearing. Voice tone. Inflection. Emotion. Meaning. All that is absent in a text-based conversation. There is little spontaneity. You can reply to your cyber-love at whatever pace suits you. You have time to think about what you want to say, to perfectly compose your response. That comes in pretty handy for those awkward or emotional situations in a relationship, no? Not even the speed of IM can replace the forced intimacy that occurs in a face-to-face conversation.

There is so much I can pick up on just by hearing Master say one word. Any word at all. And vice versa. Anger, happiness, weariness, angst, irritation, joy, arousal, skepticism, surprise, pleasure. So dependent have we become on the interpersonal exchange of sound that on the occasion that we’re reduced to communication by text, it is not uncommon for one of us to misunderstand the other’s words, based solely on not having an accompanying tone to put it in context.

Seeing. Facial expressions, body language, all the visual cues are missing in cyber-only relationships. The lack of visual cues coupled with being unable to hear voice tones leaves a cyber relationship ambiguous and depleted. It’s a guessing game ripe with misunderstandings and transference. Just look how easily and quickly a person’s post on here is taken as a slam, a flame, or an insult purely because one cannot interject tone or facial expression into the written word.

Just as hearing Master’s tone of voice communicates as much, if not more, than the words themselves, so too does seeing his body language. The way he’s sitting or standing, the way he’s looking at me, the expression on his face, the arch of his eyebrow, the tilt of his lips. We can have a whole “conversation” without uttering a word. I know if I’ve been pleasing, or not, simply by looking at him.

Touching. I could quote a myriad of medical and psychological sources that discuss the importance of physical touch. It should be common sense though, so I’m not going to. Google is your friend if there is any disagreement on the importance of touch.

It almost seems silly that I would have to make a case for physical touch, or have to describe the value of it. It’s inconceivable that anyone would disagree. Cyber sex over being fucked? Cyber spankings full of words like ~whack~ and ~thwap~ vs. being pulled over his knee and paddled? A {{hug}} compared to the warmth and tightness and security found in his arms? A dark monitor that leads to a cold empty bed or curling up next to him, my head on his shoulder, his fingers tracing the curve of my breast?

Smell and Taste. These two senses stir up powerful emotional reactions. It’s been said that smell and taste are “primitive” sensations, but the two form the foundation for deep intimacy – maybe because they ARE so primitive and fundamental.

When Master has to travel I curl up with his pillow when I go to bed. His scent, so powerfully HIS and so comfortingly familiar. I sniff at his cologne bottles, hug his jackets and unwashed shirts. I miss his scent when he’s gone and I search for it until he comes home.

And taste? I hunger for his taste. His lips, his tongue. His chest, even his feet, his groin, his semen. Do I think having that taste lingering on my tongue and dwelling deep within my throat is better than reading “I just came. Mmmm.” in my msn window? You bet I do. Far, far better.

Hearing, seeing, touching, smelling, tasting. They’re the sensations of lovers. Rarely does a person connect in person by one sensation alone. Rarely does a relationship grow to it’s full potential by one, or even two, sensations. In cyber relationships these sensations are separated, dissociated. Or neglected completely. That leaves things flat, stale. It’s when the sensations mingle and play off each other that we can extract meaning from them.

So do I believe that my relationship is better than your cyber one? Indeed I do. Do I get that you don’t want to hear that? Ayep. I get that it brings to light everything you are missing. I get that you don’t want to have that pointed out to you. I get that it makes you angry. I get that you spend a lot of time justifying how you’ve settled and I get that you try real hard to convince yourself that you aren’t missing everything that you know you are.

I also don’t care. You’re a big girl and I ain’t your momma. But I’m also not going to downplay the very real and very difficult sacrifices I made and chances that I took to make this relationship real and special and in-the-flesh just to save your feelings. I’m not going to equate your internet-based submission with mine. I’m not going to validate your role-playing or feed your delusions. I may be a smug little bitch but I’ve fucking earned it.

What you are doing is NOT the same. Not even close.

Reality is better.

~cunt

(I might even post more yet. I’m so sick of boxes I can’t stand it.)

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Later Taters! …………… psych!

I’m not quitting. Yet. I guess it’s not “time”. But that’s okay. I’m not disappointed or anything. I’d miss it anyway. Sometimes I just think I know everything I need to know and then I find out I don’t know jack about shit. ;-)

I do think that this might be my last post until we get moved and settled in, though. I am one busy stressed out biatch these days. Master has a lot more faith in me than I do, that’s for sure. Everytime He calls and I try to warn Him that I may not have everything done that He’s told me to have done, He only replies with a very confident “You’ll do it, cunt” and moves on to other subjects.

So. I guess I’ll have it done. Somehow.

So far I’ve sorted through every drawer, closet, box, corner, cupboard, bin and shed on this property, and sorted it into a keep or sell pile. I’m supposed to have a moving/rummage sale before He gets home. Every phone call is filled with me asking if He wants to keep or sell some item. And because I’m a dumbass and didn’t price any of the stuff as I sorted it, I’ve had to pull each item out again and mark it. I’ve got two days left before the sale and I’m about 1/2 done with the pricing.

Plus there is the normal everyday stuff that doesn’t go away no matter what. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, the garden (which just makes me cry to leave. *sniffle*), kids, animals, etc., etc. And I want to get all the school shopping done here so I’m not having to do that in a new town. I know where everything is here. Finally – and just in time to leave it.

About 2 days after the sale, He’ll be home and then we’re out of here. Know what I have packed? Nothing!

I’m about to the point of renting a dumpster and tossing it all. Think He’d notice?

But I’ll get it done. I have to. He said so.

The kids are doing well. They seem to be looking forward to the move. I took the girls to the salon and got their hair did. Jes went honey blonde, Am went a really gorgeous deep brown/red. And I sat there watching, and really really wanting to get my hair done. To do something different, something spur of the moment, like a short bob with blonde highlights or fire-engine red with a curly perm or even jet black with spikey layers. I used to change my hair color and style pretty frequently. Of course the girls don’t help with their badgering “come on, mom. do it. just do it” But, *dramatic sigh*, it is what it is. And what it is, is not my hair. This boring, straight, long brown mess is what He likes, what He’s grown it into, and that’s that. Strange, the things that drive home the point of being owned in the course of a day, huh?

Something else that occured to me as I stood there among the hip stylists and self-consciously fingered my plain ol’ ponytail was just how much time I spend disliking this bit of me that He loves. How often I complain about it being in my eyes, or getting snarled around my collar, or yelping because He accidentally catches it and pulls it. How I try to weasel my way into a lighter, and easier style, by asking, not for a cut because that’s forbidden, but for layers or to have it thinned.

I just need to stop. It’s really not that hard. He likes it. It’s long and thick and unruly and incredibly not hip. But it’s exactly what He wants.

Just as having the house packed is what He wants. So off I go.

Y’all take care. I’ll bbl. :-)

~cunt

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“All her shining keys will be took from her, and her cupboards opened, and things a’ didn’t wish seen, anybody will see; and her little wishes and ways will all be as nothing.”

I’m getting ready to dismantle the cunt cupboard. The eyehooks, bolts, chains. My stash of kleenex and chapstick. My slut blanket. *sniffle*

It’s a very sad affair. The new house won’t have a cunt cupboard, at least not right away.

I almost forgot about it actually. Master had to remind me. Imagine the surprise and disgust? curiousity? on the faces of the people we’re renting the house to if they were to unlock that tiny, knee-high door and see my cave of wicked deviance.

I told Master we should take the door off the cupboard too. *I* think the door gives it away but He doesn’t seem to think so. I mean really. Heavy, short door with a lock on both the top and bottom on what is supposed to be a little storage spot for Christmas stuff. What? Were the ornaments trying to escape so we had to lock them in?

I suspect He’s too used to seeing it to realize just how suspicious it is. Especially if you add in all the other things around here. Ringbolts in the ceiling beams, strategically placed eyehooks around the bed frame, etc., etc.

Well, maybe they’ll use them. Kink is all the rage these days.

Oh. I’ll be sorting through, and packing up, all of our toys and stuff soon. I’m kinda thinking I just don’t want any of those kinky books I bought awhile back. I don’t think I care how other people do it. Master’s doing just fine. I should probably spend more time “reading” Him than reading how others think it should be done anyway.

So is there any interest from anyone in buying them? Obviously I’d sell them cheaper than what I paid but to be fair, I haven’t even opened the majority of them. Make an offer if you want. They can all be found on Amazon.

I have:

The Surrendered Wife: A Practical Guide To Finding Intimacy, Passion and Peace by Laura Doyle

The Knots Handbook (Step-by-step Instructions for Tying Any Knot) by Randy Penn

(all sold. Sorry!)

I should have another clip sale too. I can mail them on a cd. If anyone is interested in that, email me. kaya (at) underhishand (dot) com.

~cunt

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Friends of Jefferson

An important member of the sex-positive community urgently needs our help.

Jefferson—blogger, educator, and dear friend to so many of us—is at this moment fighting a court battle with his ex-wife, who is seeking full custody of their three children.

Jefferson’s love for his children has been well-documented on his blog One Life, Take Two for years. His ex-wife has stated in court that he is a “great” father who loves his children.

However, among her claims is that his bisexuality makes him an unfit parent.

Jefferson needs our help now. As a writer, his resources are limited. The costs of fighting this case are mounting quickly—and will certainly run into the tens of thousands of dollars.

As of today, there is an urgent and immediate need for at least $20,000 to cover costs associated with attorney fees and those of the law guardian who has been appointed to represent the children.

If he is unable to pay these fees by August 11, he will be forced to relinquish custody of his children.

This case is of concern to anyone whose sexuality does not fit the standard mold—because it could happen to you. This case is of concern to all writers, because Jefferson’s blog is being used as evidence against him—and that could have repercussions for our First Amendment rights.

Here’s how to help:

Make an ANONYMOUS, TAX-DEDUCTIBLE contribution to Jefferson’s legal defense by visiting the Sexual Freedom Defense and Education Fund at:

Sexual Freedom Legal Defense and Education Fund

There you will find out how to donate to Jefferson’s Defense Fund via PayPal or if you prefer, check or money order.

Please note that you MUST mention that your donation be used for the JEFFERSON LEGAL DEFENSE FUND.

One Life, Take Two has been relaunched with information about Jefferson’s ongoing case. Be sure to visit his blog for updates. In the meantime, you can contact Friends of Jefferson directly at friendsofjefferson@gmail.com.

Feel free to copy this and post it to your blog or any email lists. Or link back to this post. More graphics may be found here.

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Can I have some cheese with my whine?

I just don’t think I want to do this anymore.

Blogging. Not bdsm.

The bdsm is fine. Actually nothing has changed since the whole expectation/desire dilemma I posted about last month. He’s not bending to my will and increasing the play or giving me that which I crave (or used to crave). He’s doing nothing differently at all. And maybe that’s what makes it better. He is consistent, if nothing else, and consistency brings about it’s own relief.

He expects that I will toe the line and so, I do.

It’s kind of funny now. I stumble across other submissive’s journals now and then where she’s detailing those things that she needs – the rules, the discipline, the structure, the use, etc. Detailing what she needs in order to remain at her “personal best in service” and I just smile… Seems like we have no idea how well we’ll remain at our “personal best in service” regardless of what it is we think we need. Regardless of what we don’t get.

I had all of these things in mind when I first was drawn to bdsm. The things that I thought would make me feel owned, make me feel submissive and controlled and used. Turns out I wasn’t right on a single one of them. Not one.

Oh, not that those things of my early fantasies don’t make me feel *something* when I get them. They sure do. I feel lots of things. Pain and fear and arousal and humiliation – just to name a few. But those things don’t drive home the truth of being what I am. They’re too fleeting, too… superficial.

Here’s something that makes me feel owned. Master calling my place of employment, telling them that I have too many things to do at home to continue working there and that, as of that moment, I was finished.

Master informing me that my things to do at home involve packing up the entire house because we’re moving to another state. In a matter of weeks.

Him driving me to said state, pulling up in front of a house I’d never seen before and saying “here is where you’re going to live”. Him pointing out the seclusion, the isolation, the surrounding wilderness with that wicked little gleam in His eye and uttering ‘cunt in a cage’.

And then He left, traveling, leaving me with detailed instructions on what to do and how to do it and not once, for one second, does it even occur to Him that I will either not do it, or not do it right.

Sometimes I don’t know what to make of that kind of level of confidence and certainty. I don’t possess that. I don’t know how He does. Sometimes I think I want to see it falter, if only to reassure myself of His humanity. But I suppose I do better, convinced as I am, that He’s a God trapped in human form.

So. Not a single stroke. Not one tear. No sexual acts or golden showers or hours spent locked away. No nothing. Yet I’ve never felt more like property, never felt more powerless, never believed so deeply that I am owned, forever and ever amen, as I do right now.

As I was saying about blogging. I just don’t know where it fits in anymore. I don’t need it as I used to, it’s ceased to serve a purpose, except perhaps one of mild frustration. My life is traveling it’s course, the course mapped out by Him some several years before. The pieces are falling into place, the time is coming at a rapidly exceeding pace.

I no longer fight it or try to make sense of it. So why?

For now, the short and easy answer is because He’s not told me I can quit yet. I don’t know if, or when, He will. But if He did, I’d be ready.

I guess it goes without saying that the next couple of weeks will be pretty busy for me. I’m going to ask for a posting reprieve (again). You all have a good one. Maybe I’ll see ya on the flip side.

~cunt

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My Week In A Picture

;-)

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Parenting

I’m going to weigh in on the parenting discussion because I’m as opionated as the next person.

First, as the parent of teenagers I want to debunk the theory that it gets easier to “do” bdsm as they get older. Not true. It’s neither easier nor harder, they merely present a whole new circumstance to work around the older they get.  Suddenly they know exactly what those noises are, they are not satisfied with the b.s. answers you can give a small child, they’re nosier, more perceptive, more knowledgable and ask harder questions.  They watch and listen and they can no longer be distracted by The Wiggles or a Disney dvd. They *might* be gone more as they develop social lives of their own but they’re never all gone at the same time and you are no longer in control of when they come home. Unexpected and unannounced is the name of the game with teenagers. It’s harder to plan when they start taking control of their own lives, not easier as parents of toddlers expect.

So keep on waitin’ and wishin’ for the magical ease of older kids. By then mine will be grown and gone and *then* it *might* be easier and then I’ll be laughing while y’all bemoan the difficulties of doing bdsm with teenagers in the house and wishing they were easy-peasy toddlers again.

Second, discussing bdsm with your teen. I’m on the fence with this one. I understand what’s being said about answering their questions with age-appropriate information and I certainly don’t disagree with that at all. I do that myself with my kids about all matters, be it sex or religion or politics, whatever. But I do not, as a rule, reveal personal information about *my* relationship or my sexual practices. If one of my kids were to come to me asking about bdsm, I think I would assist them in finding the answers without letting it be known that I practice it. I think you can be the honest, supportive parent that you should be and you can guide them to the correct answers and steer them away from the incorrect information without having to divulge information about your sex life that they really don’t need to know. Hell, I’m 37 and I still don’t want to know about my parents sex life. I know they have one, I don’t care to know the specifics.

However, I do not agree that it qualifies as child abuse to share that information about yourself. I don’t think the child will be scarred or traumatized or set on a pre-determined path toward submission. I think people who think that don’t give children enough credit for having brains of their own. And that’s sad.

Third, there’s lots-o-talk about “abandoning” your child for bdsm, because Master said so, because Master became abusive to the child or because the parent decided the kid was ‘in the way’ of mom’s kinkified future. Here’s my take on it.

People, both mothers and fathers, leave their kids for a LOT of reasons. I fail to see why some reasons are glorified while others are raked over the coals. A young mom with no money who gives her baby up for adoption because she recognizes that she cannot provide as the child deserves is glorified. She’s selfless, it’s done for the ‘right’ reasons, blah blah blah. Another woman involved in bdsm who sees herself and her new found interests as being harmful to her child and gives her child up for the exact same reasons (she recognizes that she cannot provide as the child deserves ) is raked over the coals. She’s selfish, stupid.

It’s not only not fair to rake someone over the coals in that manner, it’s just not *right*. The person who selfishly chooses to keep that child in a situation that is not healthy is the one to be condemned. Not the one who makes what is probably the very hardest and most selfless decision in their life, to place the kid out of harms way when that means placing them with someone other than you.

I had a bff throughout high school. It was her lifelong dream to be a wife and a mother. She took child care classes, she had a babysitting business. She lived and breathed and planned and fantasized about motherhood. She got married after graduation, she had a baby. The most loved and doted-upon, chubby, blonde baby boy you’ve ever seen. 4 years later, her life changed. Her husband had an affair, she filed for divorce, her world fell apart. She started hanging out in bars, sleeping around, discovering a side of life she had never seen. There was a custody battle. More than likely, she’d have won. Back then the courts still tended to side with the mothers and it was the father who’d been unfaithful. She knew she’d win. She chose to back out of the custody battle and sign the kid over to his father. Why? Because she knew she was involved in a lifestyle that was not stable enough for her son.  She knew she wasn’t ready to quit it. She loved him enough to make the choice that was in his best interest, not in hers.

She put up with the same sort of insults and judgement from ignorant, narrow-minded, holier-than-thou mothers who think the sun rises and sets on their precious children.

Here’s what else I think. I suspect that some of the disagreements surrounding this have a lot to do with the age of the parent, as well as the age(s) of the child(ren). Those of us who are a little older, and who are in the homestretch of parenting, can far easier visualize life after kids. I don’t think parents of toddlers can do that with as much clarity, or with the same brutal honesty that we can. Toddlers consume you. Teenagers leave you time to contemplate.

What we know, what we understand, is that active parenting is a short-time affair. It doesn’t seem like it when your kids are 3 or 4 or even 9 or 10. You see endless years of always taking care of them. Your kids get up to 15, 16, 17 years old and adulthood is in the blink of an eye. You weigh 18 years of parenting against 60 years of marriage – or 40 or 50 years of lonliness should you have sacrificed your relationship for the sake of being the more self-righteous parent. I think parents of older kids have a different perspective when talk turns to “abandoning” your child for your mate. Having to choose one or the other.  Walk a mile in their shoes before spouting off about their motives or intelligence.

Ideally, a parent chooses a mate that is healthy and loving and provides well for their child. Preferably in a relationship where having to issue threats and ultimatums like “be good to my kids or else!” don’t ever have to be uttered. Those kinds of threats seem counterproductive in my mind.

I understand momma-bears, I’m one too. I love my kids more than I can put into words. But I’m also a good wife, and I do not put my kids before my husband. Someday the kids WILL grow up and move out and I’ll have lots more years of marriage left. If it’s considered selfish or stupid to place my relationship with my husband as a priority, then I’m selfish and stupid.

I’m okay with that.

~cunt

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