Posts tagged: rambles

I Suppose

I should update this thing.

I know I promised you some porn a couple days ago. Sorry. I suddenly got very greedy with my porn and didn’t want to share!

Actually, all I was going to do was direct you to the Free Hardcore Gallery offered by Kink.com. I was going to pretty it all up with enticing photos and whatnot, but, meh. I’m lazy and you can click.

There are terrific still shots and some video clips. They are short, teaser clips but you can’t complain about free shit! I don’t know about the rest of you but in this recession, anything free is worth checking out. That goes double if it’s free porn, and it goes triple if it’s Kink.com’s free porn.

The recession, however, hasn’t yet kept me away from The Training of O. I just don’t think there are many sites that come close to matching O for bdsm porn.

Except for Paintoy. Dude, if you’ve never checked them out, you have to. For real. WAY worth it. Alebeard and Dru haunt my bdsm nightmares.

There. I’ve delivered porn. :-)

~~*~~

I’m starting to slide into a disgruntled state of mind that, if any of you could be so kind as to kick me in the ass so I get out of it, I’d be most appreciative.

It’s not only not an appropriate attitude to carry around, it’s just not fair to him to even feel it.

Of course, rational thought does shit-all to kick it to the curb apparently, because instead of keeping it at bay, it’s only growing day by day.

What I keep thinking is that it just doesn’t pay to even work at trying to rekindle the desires when ain’t nothing going to happen. All of that resurgence of masochistic need that broke through has done nothing but awaken desires I’d successfully squashed and I’d prefer not to want what I can’t have when I can just not want anything at all.

One way is dead.. the other way is angsty and irritable and unfulfilled. Given a choice, dead is easier.

It’s just not fair to HIM to be so grumpy about it. He’s working really long, hard hours right now. He’s out the door at 6am, he’s home at 6pm, he eats and goes to bed. Repeats it the next day. And the next. And the next… wash, rinse, repeat. He hardly wants to have vanilla sex let alone anything more involved.

When he does get a day off, he’s trying to recover. Even if he weren’t drained, the opportunity isn’t here anyway.

So. Not fair, not appropriate. Needs to be squashed. I regret that I let it consume me. I know better.

Anyone volunteer to kick me and set me straight?

~~*~~

I’ve been having a ball on FetLife lately though. I really enjoy the people I’m “hanging” with on there. Our sense of humor is similar to one another and we do nothing but egg each other on. It’s way fun.

~~*~~

The snow is melting *finally*. It’s melted enough that I’ve discovered Christmas decorations that I forgot were out there. That was just too funny. I kept peering out the window over the course of a couple of days going, wtf is that red thing in the yard?! Someone threw trash in our yard, the bastards! Wait. Is that a..? That looks like an ornament! Who the heck would throw an ornament in our yar… Oh. Oh wait. That’s mine. Nevermind.

Still out there too. I already packed away the Christmas stuff. I am not even digging it all out again. I figure if I didn’t miss it when I was putting the stuff away, I must not love it very much so… fuck it. Hello, trash day.

The melted snow has also revealed a winter’s worth of frozen dog turds, which, I have to admit, has done a lot toward healing my heart from the loss of Sutter. I will not miss poop scooping one little tiny bit!

~~*~~

Last but not least- It’s a girl. :-)

The Measure of a Man

Recent discussions surrounding nature and manhood have gotten me to thinking about what it is that makes a man. What is it that causes people to think “Now there walks a fine man!”

Since I can only draw on my own experiences, I can only dissect the manliness of the men who play a significant role in my life. This is bound to be long, possibly non-sensical. I tend to do that.

~~*~~

Dad – my first male influence: My dad could be plunked in the middle of the wilderness, like Survivorman, and come out a month later, exhilarated and ready to go again. He’s a countrified, beer-drinking, Harley-loving, hard-working, patriotic good ol’ boy.

At 18, he enlisted in the Marines. Did one tour in Vietnam, made it out alive. Volunteered for another tour and was sent home, minus an internal organ or two. He came home to an unfaithful wife who left him shortly after.

She left him, abandoning three boys under the age of 4, leaving them to him to raise. One of the boys he knew for a fact wasn’t his, one he was pretty sure wasn’t his, and one he thought might actually be his.

He was around 23 or 24 years old.

He didn’t pansy around with paternity tests like some men might have, or dump the kids on someone else. He bought a house, got a job and settled about taking care of business.

40 years later he still doesn’t know with any certainty if any of those boys are biologically his, nor does he care. Fatherhood, he says, isn’t determined by genetics alone.

A few years after his wife left, he met my mother. She was 31 years old, recently divorced and raising six kids of her own. When they got married, my dad was 29 years old.

29 years old, and the father-figure to nine kids ranging in age from 6 to 16. Eight of whom, or maybe even all nine, were not biologically his.

He worked a factory job that started at 5am. For 40 years. He often picked up side jobs, after work and weekends, farm work mostly, for extra money. He bought an old, rickety, scheduled-to-be-demolished farmhouse because it was cheap; a house that I used to hate and was ashamed of as a kid, a house with holes in the floor, no furnace, pipes that froze in the winter and a leaky roof.

Then he rebuilt it. By himself. ALL by himself, while we lived in it. After work and on weekends, wall by wall, floor by floor. That house that they bought for less than 10 grand would probably appraise for 10 times that now. The house that had a dead racoon in one of the bedrooms at our first walk-through was pieced together– hand-painted board by hand-painted board, over a span of almost 30 years, and never once has any workman or hired help set foot in it.

The house was, and is still, heated by wood. Wood that he chops, splits, and stacks by himself. Has done so by himself for the last 30 years.

He’s 62 now, retired from the factory but still working 40 hours on a buddy’s farm. He’s still fixing odd bits of that house. He flies an American flag every day, a Marine flag, and a POW/MIA flag.

A purple heart hangs in a case on the wall, right next to several etchings of his dead friends names taken from the Vietnam Wall.

Does he measure up to being a man? Has he earned his manhood?

I’ll tell you one more thing about my dad before you decide that.

He is NOT the dominant partner in my parent’s marriage. Hasn’t been since the day they met. My mother is.

Oh, not in any formal way, I don’t think. Nothing labeled or practiced in the way that Master and I do. Probably, if asked, my mother would hasten to assure you they have an equal partnership.

But they don’t.

My mom calls the shots and runs the show. My dad is happy to let her. She controls the money, she controls his time, where he spends it and what he does. She tells him when he’s had enough to drink. She dictated the acceptable employment he could take, the hours he could work, the friends he could have. She plans, or unplans, his free time.

She is ‘The Boss’.

Is he still a man? Does he still measure up?

~~*~~

Ex-husband: my second male influence. This account will be much shorter than the first. ;-)

My ex-husband is your typical red-neck man’s man. He’s quite well known in the area we grew up, got married and had our kids in. He’s tv’s Cheers’ Norm character, the one everyone calls out to when he walks in any of the local taverns.

In high school he lettered in wrestling, raced a souped-up ’57 chevy at the drag strip on Saturday nights, snuck beer out of his dad’s garage.

He watches Nascar, follows football. He’s rough and tough, never backs down from a fight. He’s the one you want on your side in a dark alley. A scrapper, mean and stocky.

Lovable guy in the bar though. Plays poker in the backroom, shoots pool like a pro. He’s the party-guy, the DJ, center of attention, seems to pull people to him like a magnet. He knows where to get “things”.

He’s a lady’s man, God only knows why. Women and the irresistable pull of the “bad boy”, the one they are going to tame. Lord knows I fell for it. The one that you want only because everyone else wants him too. I remember those nights in the bars after we were married, when he was really getting into DJ’ing. There were two ways that women looked at him. One was that lustful stare, you could almost see them planning how to move in for the kill. The other look was smug, aimed more at me than him. Those girls had already had him and they wanted me to know it.

Certainly by most accounts in that crowd, he measured up to manhood. He had all the right manly hobbies and abilities, he certainly advertised his manly sexual adventures. Other men were openly envious, women were openly enticed.

He definitely ruled his roost, ruled me. He was ‘The Boss’.

A man? I suppose they thought so.

Of course they didn’t know him as I did. As I still do.

They didn’t know he often gambled away his paycheck before diapers or groceries. Or that he liked to “talk” more with his fist than his mouth. They weren’t there when the house was foreclosed on or to watch the car be repossessed.

They probably didn’t know that he skipped his daughter’s first Christmas for a dart tournament, or that he passed out in a chair at the hospital- watching his second daughter being born through a drunken haze.

They can’t know that he continuously misspells his son’s name or that he argued, incorrectly, with his daughter over when her birthday was.

I’m sure the little chippy he lives with thinks he’s a man. I wonder, sometimes, what body part he uses to talk to her. I figure that’s her mess, but she’s a nice girl and I know the spell she’s under… and I wonder.

~~*~~

Master: saved the best for last, I did. The final male influence.

Sometimes I think Master has more in common with my 13 year old son than with the other “men” in my life. He plays xbox, he plays star wars miniatures, he sneaks up behind people to scream “BOO!”, he rolls around on the floor with the dog.

He plays hide and seek with the dog, for that matter.

He likes to go sledding, he still thinks cookies and milk are yummy, he cries at sappy movies (and then tries to hide it) and wants ice cream before bed.

He whines when he’s sick. And admits it.

He doesn’t posture, or chest-beat. He doesn’t pick fights, is a peacekeeper over an instigator. He doesn’t really care for the bar scene, male-bonding, “scoring” women, or sports.

No sports. Like, at all.

He wears glasses, reads more than he talks, keeps his hair well-trimmed, dresses in khaki pants and button-down shirts and is fiercely protective of his sister.

Not your typical he-man behaviors?

He also has stepped up where another man has stepped down. Taken on 3 kids, 3 often-ungrateful, sometimes un-loveable, always-difficult teenagers that he is not obligated to take care of.

He works, 5, sometimes 6 and 7, days a week, 12 to 14 hours a day. In the cold, the wind, he comes home dirty and tired, yet he always has time for conversation and hugs.

He insists that “his” kids have the best, from cell phones to clothes, to love and opportunities. Yet, he balances it out with making sure they learn the value of earning what you have, caring for your possessions, responsibility for your actions.

He’s educated, brilliant in many things. He’s strong, big – both in size and personality. He’s outgoing, friendly, humble (mostly), has nothing to prove to anyone, ever.

He took me out of a place where I was wasting away and put me in a place where I thrive and grow. He’s bettered me, taught me, improved me- in more ways than I can list.

He’s stable and solid, predictable, forceful but not overbearing, dominant but not domineering, keeps me in my place while simultaneously lifting me up.

He is, also, The Boss.

Is that what makes a man? Being The Boss(tm)?

If it’s being dominant that measures a man, is my ex-husband just as much, or as good of, a man as Master?

If so, does that mean Master’s xbox war fighting trump my dad’s purple heart, if only because Master dominates what my dad submits to?

Are my dad’s accomplishments negated because he is in the role of the “submissive” husband?

Certainly there are men that I know that other people find to be the epitome of manliness who I find dispicable, worthless (like my ex, for instance).

Sometimes I compare Master to my dad -probably a lot of girls do, how can you not compare the differences between the two most powerful men in your life?

It is only occasionally that, when mentally comparing the two, Master comes up short. Usually that’s when I’m outside shovelling or hauling in groceries, thinking how my dad would never make my mom do this, that it would violate his sense of male chivalry or some such thing – you know, those times when I catch myself thinking more like a wife than a slave.

I’ve never compared them on a dominant level. Never found my dad to be lacking in manliness based on being the meeker of the two, never scored Master as “more manly” because he *is* dominant.

I compare actions, I suppose. I score integrity, honor, commitment. I value character, morals, ethics…

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” -Martin Luther King Jr.

My dad stood in front of a grenade.

Master stands up for me and my kids.

One is dominant, one is submissive – both are men.

My dominant ex-husband?

Is a waste of oxygen.

*nods*

Where’s the love!? :P

I’d like to add that it was drizzling rain the whole time I was out there! Hmmph. No sympathy I tell ya.

As for being naked, if the kids weren’t home I probably would have been. He keeps talking about naked snow angels and, for right now anyway, thank GOD I have kids who interrupt sadistic plans like that!

If I had to shovel that whole drive, I’d die. For real. As it is I only clear about half of the driveway, probably less than half actually, just enough to get the car and truck in and out. We have a horseshoe driveway and you can’t even tell anymore where the rest of the driveway is.

Our crazy neighbor guy came by yesterday and offered to plow the drive for $20.00 and Master was like, nah, I got it covered, thanks anyway, dude and I’m thinking yeah, right, you got it covered, ya cheap-o. :P

Kinda like how he makes me go outside at stupid-o’clock every morning to start his truck for him when he has a remote starter on his keychain that could easily start it from the living room window. He likes my “personal touch” he says. Mmm-hmm. I’d like to show him a “personal touch” all right.

The other day we were driving (to the munch actually, where we had the BEST time. The munch itself was great, but then afterward one of the girls (who we are both weirdly attracted to. I say weirdly because he and I are rarely attracted to the same girl) took us out to a couple of bars which is something we hardly ever, ever do, and being new in town we had no idea where to go anyway, but so she took us around and we had a blast and I drank too much and stuff) and he made mention of needing to piss all up in my face or something to “take me down a couple of notches on the ol’ ladder” and I replied that I was pretty damn comfortable right where I was, tyvm.

I suppose a smart girl would heed that warning and start unhooking her claws before they get ripped out, huh? I sense a come to Jesus meeting up ahead.

Well. As you can see, everything here is right back to normal. And I got my necklace back. *beams* We’re gonna be okay. I’m certainly not glad that it happened like it did, but I can see the pluses. I had some realizations and learned a couple of things. I have a little better perspective and insight. So, yanno, every cloud has a silver lining, right?

:-)

~me

“It is a smaller thing to suffer punishment than to have deserved it”

Master never lets me online anymore. Srsly! I try and cram in like 20 minutes when I get home from work in the morning, but after that, nothing. Like He thinks I should be focused on Him and on my chores. The nerve!

So I’ve really really missed the routine I used to have of posting at this time of night when He was away. The house is quiet, I’m relaxed, I’m just sleepy enough to babble incessantly. It’s my favorite time to journal. And He is not here to tell me no. :D

I have punishment on the brain (go figure). The need for it, the use of it, people’s attitude toward it. I’ve read a few things, some that were insulting, some that were understandable, some that were downright brilliant.

When I first discovered the world of bdsm, I thought punishment was a part of it for everybody. That consequences logically followed rules and expectations. The struggle for control, the bending of wills, working to learn obedience – discipline and punishment. In my naivety, I thought a lot of things were universal; that we’d all get along, that we were all on the same path and that we’d all end up in the same place. Oh what a rude awakening I had coming to me.

I’m curious now what people think of punishment, what you all think. What place does it have in your bdsm relationship, and if you aren’t in one, what place do you think it should have, if any? What is your opinion of those who “play punish”? What do you think of couples who disguise their kink behind domestic discipline? Do you think the word ‘punishment’ is incorrectly used, when a more appropriate word like discipline or training is more fitting?

Are you of the mindset that a submissive should just behave and that punishment of any sort is ridiculous? Is there a point where repeated punishments for the same offense seem to point to a deeper problem?

If punishment is a factor in your life, is there/has there been any struggle to find one that works? Have you, as a masochist-submissive, willfully been disobedient purely for the sake of being punished? If the whole punishment “scene” is an actual admitted kink of yours, can you also have genuine punishments that don’t trip the trigger? Is it possible to maintain the punishment dynamic if you don’t both have some element of punishment kink? I mean, if there isn’t some area of eroticism about it for one of you, do you see it working in any capacity?

And lastly, does anyone who does incorporate punishment in their lifestyle acknowledge the extreme difference between a punishment spanking and a non-punishment spanking and how one cannot replace the other? That simply “asking to be spanked” does not scratch the right itch or feed the right hunger or soothe the right burn.. that there is something, something heavy and sinfully exciting and deeply satisfying that is only ever touched by being harshly, forcefully, and thoroughly punished… that no matter how good you want to be, no matter how much you dislike His disappointment, no matter how ashamed you may be… it’s there and it’s strong and maybe, just maybe… it’s conquering that need that is the real path to submission? Or is it? Is it just another harmless but misunderstood fetish, just another point for people to judge or claim superiority on because they’ve never felt it in that way.

What do you think?

Cold. We has it.

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I’ll give you one guess as to who the snow shovel bitch is. Who needs Curves when you have snow!

I look like a heffalump with a head in my winter garb though huh? :D Like that kid in A Christmas Story.

It’s only -14F (-25C) with the wind chill today! Purt near having a heat wave. Must be why Am went to school wearing capris and sandals. She said “you can’t let the cold interrupt fashion, Mom” and rolled her eyes like I was retarded. Silly me, worried about frostbite and hypothermia. Damn overprotective mothers anyway.

So I got my message from the Universe this morning and it just cracked me the fuck up. It said, among other things, “Gabriel, did you register kaya’s epiphany yesterday?” Hee hee! I love it when it’s spot on with something. It makes me giggle.

Master is still sick, though on the mend I think. He’s done nothing more than go to work and go to bed and hasn’t read anything lately. So I’m still quitting but it’s still not an approved quit. I wonder, do I need to come up with a different name for him? If I’m not a slave, then I shouldn’t call him Master, right? I had some ideas for a new title. Maybe you can help me pick.

Satan.

The Grand Poobah of Cuntville.

Mofo.

Billy Bad Ass.

Demon Sadist of Cunt Street.

Teh Boss

Zorro

Beelzebub.

or Babycakes.

One of the commenters on that last post (Fyre) left a hilarious list of slogans for my new-found cunthood. I picked out my favorites to choose from.

“Have it your way.” Burger King

“Just do it.” Nike

I gotta say, the Nike slogan is one that Master The Grand Poobah of Cuntville (I’ll just try them all on for size) says to me fairly often. “Be like Nike, cunt. Just do it.” So that’s got strong possibilities.

Although I really like the Burger King message since that IS what I am preaching.

I suppose I should come up with my own anyway. “Just do it your way”? *snicker*

Acronyms are harder than I thought. I’ll have to remember this for a cunt cupboard activity.

COHIP (Cunt Ownership Has It’s Privileges)

FOSIM (Fuck Off, She Is Mine; or FOHIM – fuck off he is mine)

ACWA – (A Cunt With Attitude)

CUT – (Cunt Under Torture)

Anyway… time is up. Later gaters.

~cunt

I quit.

So here is something that’s been rolling around in my noggin for a bit.

I had a lightbulb moment. It started as a flicker but it’s grown into a steadily burning fact. I’m gonna go with it.

I quit. I quit the whole BDSM, Master/slave, dom/sub … thing. I quit.

I don’t GET it. I mean, really, it’s so simple now that I see it. All this time that I’ve struggled and argued and confronted and and and.. just.. gone on and on about this, that and the other, trying my god-damndest to GET it.. and I don’t.

But now I know WHY I don’t.

I’m not doing it! I am not doing what the BDSM’ers are doing. Nope. Not at all. I don’t even understand what they’re doing anymore.

I’ve been a square peg trying to shove my way into a round hole for ages and ages. I’m like the Rabbi at the Catholic convention, not quite understanding why he’s drawing conflict every time he opens his mouth. Because he doesn’t know he’s a Rabbi and not a Catholic.

So.

I am not a slave. I sure as fuck am not a submissive. I may have certain aspects of my personality that mimic those of your stellar slaves and subs. But on the checklist of BDSM-defined slaves and subs? Nope. Ain’t working.

I am a cunt. Nothing more and nothing less. As far as I know, there are no rules or guidelines or right or wrongs to cunthood. I think that I get that Master gets to define my cuntness.

See, I am in this state of cunthood for a reason. I came into this relationship wanting some very specific things. And, to top it all off, I not only think I deserve them, I demand that I get them. I demand that I get them OR I retaliate by witholding my own contributions to the relationship. Apparently, that does not mesh well with the slave board of ethics.

I’ve just gone round and round with it. I don’t GET how someone gets nothing out of a relationship. I don’t get why in the hell they would even sign up for that! Nor do I understand how it is that they *create* happiness out of it. Happy with nothing? Say huh? What the fuck does that mean!?

I’m really unclear on how to maintain friendships with people who don’t see it like I do. I don’t mean that everyone has to agree with me because *obviously* people do not. And I can be friends with someone who doesn’t agree with me. It’s simply a matter of you do your thing and I’ll do mine, right?

Except.. no. I don’t know how that works really. Because being around someone who sees what I am doing as *wrong* has a certain effect on me. And that effect is not conducive to a zen state of cunthood. Sure, we could tiptoe around a conversation, careful not to step on a trigger button that might offend the other.. but that seems like a lot of work. Work that is perhaps doomed to failure?

Religion and politics, with power&money coming in a close third, are the root cause of the wars being fought. Religion and politics are a way of life. A value structure. Morals and ethics, your belief system, your reasons for getting out of bed every day. It’s all wrapped up in the way you LIVE. It’s because those on one side think their way of living is right and better and more just than the other side that they strive to either force their way on the other or, worse, to eliminate the other. That’s maybe how I view the approach to living this sort of deviant lifestyle, too. This is my way of life, it’s my reason for living, it has far-reaching, long-term effects on myself and those around me, yet, inevitably either I or someone doing it differently, tries to push that on to the other. It’s impossible, when you feel  strongly about what you do, to keep your opinions to yourself. Sincerity leads one to want to convert another. “Just listen to me. I am right! I am happy! And you will be too once you do it my way!”

So how does that work then, to have friends who feel just as strongly as I do about how they are doing what they are doing? How can they not attempt to convert me? How can I not attempt to convert them?

I know that some of y’all find extreme satisfaction in service. Me? Not so much. It really depends on the situation and what prompted the service, but service all by itself sucks ass. I get to say that because I am not a slave and I don’t *have* to either pretend I like it or turn it into something I like. I DO it because I am a cunt and I am an owned cunt, and my owner/ruler has told me to. But I also get to grump and complain while I do it because he doesn’t give a fuck HOW I do it, only that I get it done.

But I can’t talk about how I grump and complain and stomp my feet and sigh and throw my hands in the air.. because in the land of slaves, that’s shameful behavior. Best case scenario- it’s frowned on, worst case scenario- it’s grounds for ‘release’. And.. not only am I not free to talk about it, neither is Master! The judgments surrounding the type of Master who would tolerate such behaviors? Profoundly ridiculously insulting. Honestly. Not even Master can admit that he enjoys it. Not even if he explains that knowing that I don’t want to serve, but do it anyway, is so much more of a turn on for him than happy-happy joy-joy, thank-you-for-letting-me-serve-you-Sir, can-I-kiss-your-feet stuff.

I am possibly maybe a masochist. I do not eroticize pain unless I do the paining to myself. Pain… hurts. A lot sometimes. It makes me squeal and beg and cry and try my damndest to get away from it. That’s generally why he ties me up first. Because I’ll bolt, given the chance. He likes that too. He also likes that I crave and need and want and beg for exactly the sort of beating that I hate. Makes his job easier I guess. He’s not reduced to having to kidnap unwilling girlies from the street to scratch his itch. He has me. A willing participant to torture. A cunt.

Stoic, calm, submissive behavior during a beating bores him to tears. He wants reaction. He wants panic. He wants tears and snot and begging for mercy. Any attempt on my part to withold such reactions only results in a harder beating and a very unhappy sadist. I’m not so sure that my fighting during a scene qualifies me for slavery. It seems like I should be graceful and silently grateful to be getting it. And um.. fuck that. It hurts. But it does qualify me for cunthood according to my made-up rules.

You know what else I don’t get? The whole spiritual movement in BDSM. I am not one of the cool kids who has reached that level I guess. To be honest I think y’all are making it up but I won’t tell you that because “just because I don’t have it doesn’t mean it isn’t real” and all. I know that so I generally extend the benefit of the doubt to you all. But in my secret bitchy place (which is not so secret but very bitchy) I think y’all are full o’ shit. (grins)

But that’s okay! Because as a cunt, I don’t have to be spiritual. I don’t have to be anything but what he tells me to be. The only worship I have to do is to a cock and the occasional stinky set of feet. And even at that I won’t be reveling in the privilege. I’ll be wrinkling my nose and telling him his tootsies are rotten.

I don’t have to find joy where there isn’t any. I get to frolic in the things that I hate with a passion. I get to have my “force fetish” scratched without it having hidden meanings of anything bad. I get to dance out of reach and sing “make me” and then run like hell, because he will make me and it will hurt.. and I love it. I get to say ‘no’ and ‘fuck you’ and ‘kiss my ass’ and I get to be stubborn and willful and difficult. I get to cry and I get to say how much I hate it and I get to ask for something more and I get to tell him that he is wrong sometimes.

I get all of that, and more, because I am not a slave. I am a cunt. And cunts have different rules. So there.

So you see? Bitchy opinionated cunts have no place in the world of BDSM. What I want, where I’m going, how I’m getting there.. it’s all at odds with the way the rest of the BDSM culture is going about their business. This should mean that I’m no longer going to be told how I’m doing it wrong because I’m not doing it. Make sense? You can’t tell me I’m a bad slave anymore because.. hahaha! I’m not a slave. Not even a sub.

I don’t submit. I don’t acquiesce. I don’t do anything of the sort. I offer myself up to be conquered. Overpowered, crushed, beaten, reduced and trampled. Repeatedly. It’s how we do it. It’s what floats our boat. A constant and ongoing process of trampling, up until, once and for all, it’s done.

When it’s done… you won’t have to listen to me babble about it. I’ll be squirreled away, taken out to be beaten and used and put away. Those are not the obvious slave aspirations, but they ARE cunt aspirations.

I am reinventing the wheel. *beams*

I don’t fit in, and more importantly, I don’t WANT to anymore. Y’all do your bdsm thing. We’re gonna do our thing. Now I just gotta come up with some cool acronyms and catch phrases.   ;-)

~cunt

(I suppose I should add in here that I’ve not yet informed Master of my decision to reject all things BDSM and possibly, maybe, tonight or tomorrow or whenever he reads this, I will be retracting my statements. But until then, I quit.)

rayne’s view

In the comments on the Opinion’s post , rayne, of Insatiable Desire said this:

In a Master/slave relationship? The burden lies with the slave. A master is free to do pretty much whatever the hell he wants. Including waffle. Before, during and after training. Granted it’s probably better to be consistent and not always give in at least in the beginning while building the foundation of the slave’s training, he really doesn’t have to. It’s the master’s responsibility to train the slave in the way most pleasing to him. It is her responsibility to remain in her place.

I admit I don’t like to hear that. Because then I have to fix myself instead of pointing to Master and saying “YOU are doing it wrong.”

And who wants to see their own faults? Not me.

But we have been exactly right there. EXACTLY in that spot with me having to stop the finger pointing. Or, to have Master take my pointing little finger, turn it around, and tap it gently (or not so gently) against my breastbone.

That happens about once a month or so. ;-)

I have said to Master, in many repeated conversations, that yes of course he has the right to do “this” however he wants to. In whatever manner pleases him. He can be a hardass or a waffler, he can ignore me or use me or.. whatever. It is not my place to dictate the details.

But. For every action, or non-action on his part, there is a reaction on my part.

How could there NOT be? How can I claim to be so in tune with him, so deeply and psychologically affected by him, and then maintain myself so strictly and stoically apart from whatever it is that he is doing?

It seems simple cause and effect. A lackluster Master gets a lackluster slave. An attentive Master gets an attentive slave. A waffling Master gets a waffling slave. A strict Master gets a well-behaved slave. I mean, isn’t the whole point that the Master *creates* the type of slave that he desires? How does that happen if I essentially ignore his input and do it my way the whole time?

If my inclination is to be a submissive and my job is to submit, and I can maintain that strict submission regardless of the input that he’s putting in? I simply do NOT see how I would be expected to react so easily and so strongly TO his input. He doesn’t want me to be doing things on my own, in any fashion. So is one expected to maintain themselves while still fostering that insane independence?

I think, maybe, if I’m understanding rayne’s comment, you take an established M/s relationship where the expectations are clear and at certain times, life interferes in some way or another. At that point, and in MY relationship, the burden falls on the slave. I know my rules, I know what’s expected of me, so if there are deliberate failings, then yeah, my fault. I fucked up.

If he excuses it, or ignores it, or worse, approves of my “fuck up”, then he is also at fault. That in no way lessens my mistake, don’t get me wrong. I think it just then becomes a dual, and equally shared, fuck up. Which, if not nipped in the bud, becomes a self-destructive pattern.

It wouldn’t be as cut and dried as me saying “Oh lookie. I made a mistake. What are YOU going to do about it?” But maybe I do think it should be HIM saying “Look. You made a mistake. What are YOU going to do about it, and what am I going to do to make sure you don’t make this same mistake tomorrow?”

But even then, that all depends on what kind of slave the Master wants. I do agree that a Master is not *obligated* to do a damn thing for his property. Nothing at all. I am not part of the crowd that feels a Master has a duty to care for and nurture his slave. But I do think his input and intention directly influences the outcome. As it should.

How can someone say that they are only influenced by the good stuff and not the bad? I’m not sure I get that. Someone will say that they respond to this type of training or that they listen and take to heart when he does or says this and they are shaped by that input.. and then not listen or take to heart when it takes a turn for the worse? How does that happen?

~cunt

(I feel like I need to add in here that I’m only taking the comment and expanding my thoughts on it. She may very well have meant everything that I’m ‘adding’ or she may not have. I was just using it as a starting point to a further thought process. I love rayne. and you should too. go read her. :D )

Make up your own title. I’m too lazy.

I can’t top last year’s Valentine’s Day post and since I still feel the same way, I’ll just be lazy and link to it. :-)

I’ve been thinking on the comments that are still coming in on the last post. MJ’s slave said that I have the best discussions, but the truth is, without all of you taking the time to comment and participate, I’d just be talking to the wall. So thank you for speaking up.

It can be hard for me to reply to the comments all the time. I don’t think I need to explain all about time and chores and other responsibilities and such. We all understand that life isn’t lived here at the monitor (cuz if I did, my ass would be blistered. Which, really, is awfully tempting considering the current dry spell. Oh resist the temptation, self. Master is not appreciative of that sort of manipulation!)

Anyway, so one of the things that I really love about all of you is that you don’t wait for me to carry on the discussion. You respond to other comments and you seem to be wonderfully polite in disagreeing when you need to. Most of you don’t seem to mind that you’re using “my place” to talk without me. I love that. Sometimes, especially on LJ, I’d get a comment apologizing for monopolizing “my place” to carry on a comment-discussion, but I never cared about it. I always read, and even if I can’t participate, I still feel involved just by reading.

So! Since I can’t give each comment it’s proper reply, I’m going to pull some stuff out here that I think bears further thought. It all deserves more attention but take that up with the Boss Man. Y’all are far enough away that you can do that in relative safety. ;)

Admittedly without all of the background information on a couple, it’s impossible to make a determined judgment on the questions I asked. I agree that for some, it is simply going to be a matter of time and experience, and that in the initial stages of just getting your feet wet with the whole D/s dynamic, mistakes will pile upon mistakes. I think those of us who make it out on the other side expect those mistakes to happen and don’t see a mistake as the closing chapter. When it merely becomes another learning opportunity, your chances for success rise exponentially.

Maybe it just comes with age or wisdom, the realization that nothing in life is easy, and if you want something bad enough, you fight for it. I do think that Doms and subs alike step into this relationship with stars in their eyes, and visions of floggers and blow jobs dancing in their heads, find out that it rarely works that way, or if it does it’s accompanied by many periods of crap, give up and move on to the next “my O/one” who sounds so perfect on MSN, only to find the exact same problems following them from relationship to relationship.

The grass may always look greener on the other side, but those of us who fell for that generally found out that it’s only greener because it has shit smeared in it.

Though that in itself can be a tight line to walk too. At exactly what point DO you give up on a relationship that is not meeting your needs?

Some days, I am so incredibly grateful to have Master.

I’m getting sidetracked.

One comment contained a quote from luna_lux that made me think. She said: “i read something a while ago about the difference between “agreement” and “submission”. if i agree that everything that’s done to me is erotic and comfortable and makes me happy, then i am not submitting, i am *agreeing* to obey. i submit when i comply and obey and am forced to do things that i am not in agreement with. ”

That’s probably why there is a trend among submissives to begin to feel un-owned. To think that the leash has been let go when in truth nothing has changed. When the rules become commonplace and the service is routine and the play is repetitive… what was once edgy becomes standard.

ADL’s. Activities of Daily Living: The things we normally do in daily living including any daily activity we perform for self-care (such as feeding ourselves, bathing, dressing, grooming), work, homemaking, and leisure. The ability or inability to perform ADLs can be used as a very practical measure of ability/disability in many disorders. (from MedTerms.com)

ADS’s. Activities of Daily Submission: The things we normally do in daily living, including any daily activity we perform in service or worship (such as sexual favors, s&m participation, maid duties, serving) for our Owners. The ability or inability to perform ADS’s can be used as a practical measure of contentment/happiness in many submissives. (from me)

How often, and how quickly, do those ADS’s become that “agreeable, erotic, comfortable and make me happy” routine that fails to stimulate the submissive’s nature. The need and hunger and ache that attracted a submissive to submission in the first place? And how hard do they then start begging, asking and pushing for more? Desperate to feel this: “i submit when i comply and obey and am forced to do things that i am not in agreement with.”

Desperate to feel submission, and not simple agreement.

And how hard will a Dom fight that? Fighting the ever-popular ‘topping from the bottom’, resistant to giving a submissive what feeds her. Determined not to be manipulated or led or coerced into changing the rules he likes, unwilling to up the ante purely for the submissive’s sake.

Or maybe he is willing to placate her desires and lays down things he cares nothing about. A quick fix for a big problem, a rule list that not even SuperDom could police. The submissive becomes another full time job that he can’t keep up with, and worse, his disinterest creates doubt and fear in her, making the “reward” that he should get a non-existent prize.

What a negative and vicious cycle that is. And neither of them with any ill-intent at all, I’d bet. I can confidently say that because I’ve been in it. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

What’s the answer? Fuck if I know. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it is always this ever-changing cycle that sometimes feeds itself and sometimes feeds on you and sometimes starves away to nothingness. Maybe it is a forever quest for answers that don’t exist.

I know that I am currently in a period of “everything that’s done to me is erotic and comfortable and makes me happy”. I know that it’s wearing thin. I know that Master, currently, is pretty happy with this easy sort of submission and quiet service. I know that he does not expect, nor will he tolerate, any antics on my part to raise the bar. I know that I’m beginning to feel… empty and colorless.

I guess in some sick and twisted way, this comfortable and happy submission will turn hateful and black and difficult, which should then fit the bill of “submission” based on the definition of it being “forced to do things that i am not in agreement with”.

Except, no matter how much one tries, it never seems to work that way, does it?

*sigh*

This was so NOT what I set out to post. I had every intention of highlighting pieces of the previous comments that I wanted to discuss more, and instead I went off on a tangent. Now time is running out and I can’t even finish one thought at all.

Bah.

Well, maybe tomorrow.

~cunt

Opinions?

So… I have a question.

Let’s say you have a Dom and a sub. (not us, and not anyone I read regularly. this is just a process of thought after reading a message board posting a few days ago.)

The Dom is a “waffler”. Waffler is my term for someone who, well, who ‘waffles’; on rules, tasks, chores.. whatever. They’re easily talked out of a punishment or cave in to the sub’s arguments. You know what I mean, right?

Good.

Actually I’m going to turn this into two questions.

The first question is this: Which of the two has the burden of responsibility to fix that? Does the Dom need to “step up” and behave like a dominant or is the sub in the wrong for trying to negotiate/weasel in the first place?

Logically, it’s both, right? Both people need to step into their “roles”. But, gosh, I’m always one to look to the Dom for fixing the wrongs in a D/s relationship. Of course the sub can, and should, actually BE submissive, but if the Dom consistently waffles, is the sub fighting a losing battle anyway?

Which brings up the next question.

If a Dom *does* consistently waffle, or is just lazy about the act of dominance, if it’s easier to give in than to stand strong, or whatever… do you think the Dom is hiding, or in denial about, a submissive nature?

A submissive in Dom’s clothing.

That kinda makes sense to me, when this sort of interaction is more the norm in a relationship than not. That the two in question need to switch roles. It’s almost as if they’re denying their true inclinations, because, doesn’t it seem like submissive behavior if the Dom constantly caves in to the submissive’s prettied-up demands?

Or, maybe it’s just become habit, or tiresome, for the Dom to always have to fight to get that submission. I can see that too. But that defeatist attitude isn’t very domly-like either. That’s submitting to your submissive.

Hm.

Whatcha think?

And the beat goes on…

Or at least I imagine it is for somebody. There is precious little beating going on here.

But I’m not driving so I’ll “suffer” through it like a good little soldier.

~~*~~

I’ve discovered that the key to not caring about being “bashed” online is to consider the source. There are very few people that I’ve come to respect (in as much as one CAN come to respect a person through a blog), and even more that I don’t respect. So when someone whose own life is incredibly fucked up makes statements about my life? Um… yeah. Carry on with your bad self. Things here are Normal Norman Rockwell compared to you.

~~*~~

I think the kids are in winter hybernation mode. They absolutely do not ever go anywhere anymore. This makes it difficult to engage in anything dark and dirty. But maybe Master and I are in hybernation mode too. I’m not sure either of us really *want* to engage in anything dark and dirty. We’re much more apt to snuggle in bed and watch a movie than anything else.

Not that I mind that at all. There is more to us than kink! Besides, if we’re supposed perverts then isn’t engaging in vanilla stuff the real kink? Varying from the norm and all that jazz.

~~*~~

It’s too bloody cold to even think kink anyway. Negative temps, wind, snow.. bah. Who wants to get naked when it’s -24 outside?? Sooo ready for spring. This has been the worst winter that I can recall in a long, long time.

This weather makes trying to housebreak a dog extremely unpleasant, too.

~~*~~

Yesterday was Am’s birthday. She wanted to go shopping at the mall, so off we went. She’s such a clothing junkie. Typical teenager I guess. I like shopping with her. She’s fun. It was a good time.

We’re just finishing up a remodelling project in her room. Remember that red and gold gaudy monstrosity I did in her room a few years ago? She finally matured out of that. Last time all I did was slap some paint on the walls, this time, we (and by ‘we’ I mean Master) did it right. New carpet, new outlets and lights, new furniture. It really looks nice, the color scheme turned out great. I had doubted her choices of lime green paint with black & white accents, but I have to admit that it looks really nice all put together. More grown up.

So then she dyed her hair blond with pink stripes. Meh. Can’t grow up TOO fast. ;)

~~*~~

We’ve been talking about me getting a job a lot. It’s not about the bills, or about me needing to work… but more about him getting full use out of me. He’s kinda stoked on having been successful with things so far so he’s seeing what else he can make me do.

But he wants it done without compromising what he already gets out of me. Should be interesting to see how this turns out.

It’s ridiculous to say that he doesn’t want more money. Besides Mr. Trump, who says that? But the clips4sale site and the kinky crafts aren’t doing all that badly either. So I think he’s already making money off my ass! Maybe he’s getting greedy, eh? :D

I guess he gets to be. That’s one of the perks of being The Boss.

Anyway, it’s an experiment to see what happens. Can he make me a “cash slave” without losing any of his sex and laundry and maid slave?

He’s laid down some guidelines about it, listed what it is that he’s not going to risk merely to get a few extra bucks. So the search for now is in doing things at home. In a couple of weeks he’s taking me to the local community college and we’re going to see about classes that will give me the skills I need to work at home. I’m pretty excited about it. I’ll be able to be useful in a monetary way without being absent. There is a whole lot that can be lost merely by not being at his beck and call 24 hours a day. To have him say that he’s not willing to give that up for a dollar or two is pretty comforting. Damn near makes a cunt feel special. ;)

In fact, what he said was “so I can pull you out of the cage when I feel like having you make some money.”

*twitch*

Plus I think this is a great opportunity to take some classes that will improve my service skills if he’s agreeable to it. A cooking class or maybe a masseuse course or two would not be a waste of time or money (in my opinion). I’ll not *only* be pulled out for sexual use so why not learn it while I’m still allowed “out”?

~~*~~

Anyway. That’s the “master plan” so far. Ta-fucking-da.

~cunt