when darkness closes in
needy and earnest
hollowness overflows and
things take on a certain sparkle
breaths come quicker
hands clawing and grasping
reaching for an unseen
to lash out and kick the unyielding structure
to feel the roughness on my skin
to scrape my cheek against its concrete solidity and coolness
to grind my flesh against it in rebellion and
to know that it’s not going anywhere
there is nothing i can do
the intoxication of helplessness.
Loss is a weird thing. Whether you expect it for years, or it happens overnight, it rams you square in the chest and takes your breath away with grief. When my sister died it all happened very suddenly. i got a call that she was in the hospital, and part of me thought it was another one of those things where she didn’t feel well but she would go home soon. She didn’t end up going home, instead dying of sepsis. It all felt very sudden and unexpected.
My aunt though, she called me two weeks before our wedding, and told me she wasn’t able to come. She had been sick for weeks, and finally saw a doctor, only to learn that it wasn’t the flu- it was lung cancer. Inoperable, incurable cancer. Suddenly she had a shelf life. She kept giving us estimates from her doctor- she ended up fighting death for two and a half years. Much longer than any of us expected. She and i have always had a special relationship. She was the judge who facilitated my adoption. She was the one who suggested i start a cafe as a child- named the Star Cafe- and encouraged me to follow my dreams. She was the one to inspire me to learn my first song on guitar, a song from a CD she had mailed me. She is the one who sat me down and told me how to handle the legal battle between my ex and i when he and i split up. She has always been real with me, always encouraged me to be myself and take care of myself. She is even who i named one of my children after.
We had two years of email exchange to make sure we both knew how we felt about each other. And yet, last night, seeing in my inbox that she was gone, the grief washed over me. She wasn’t going to reply to my latest message.
i cried for a little while. Mostly because she left behind her husband, who has been her life long companion in all things. The idea of being left alone like that, after all the adventures and memories, it shatters me. i cannot imagine what it would be like to lose Lars. In fact, one day i hope we go together, gently in our old age. Death terrifies me.
As i fell asleep last night, it popped into my head that she is the only person who ever nicknamed me. She called me bird. i never really knew why. She just always answered the phone cheerfully- hi bird!
There is a song by Alela Diane called Oh My Mama. In this song she sings:
Oh my Mama
She gave me these feathered breaths
Oh my Mama
She told me use your voice
My little bird
She said sing sing sing sing sing sing melodies
And she sang sang sang sang sang sang melodies
Our mamas aren’t the only ones who give us melodies to sing. Sometimes other people step in and grace us with their songs, with their influence. Sometimes they’re more effective than the mamas. i won’t hear my name as bird anymore, but my dear aunt lives on in her namesake, my small daughter, and in the fact that since my babies were born, i have called them my little birds.
Way back when we were writing a post about pervertables, Daddy and i took a shopping trip. We jokingly decided we would see just how many things we could pervert, and i flippantly tossed a packet of clothespins into the basket.
Fast forward to now, and Daddy decided it was time to use them.
Sometimes when you buy clamps, they have these little rubber caps on the edges to keep them from cutting in. i kind of wished that the clothespins had those, because the dry wood was a bit unpleasant. When Daddy would attach one, it rubbed a bit, and then when He released it, it would stick. The wood isn’t finished at all, so it is rougher, especially in the curvy parts.
At one point i think He had six clothespins on my kitty, and He teased my nipples with them. If i am honest, the pin on my clit hurt much less than the ones on my labia. The nipples were tickly at first, but built into a throbbing pain. The ones on my kitty felt much sharper.
i don’t hate the clothespins, but i think clamps would be better. i think clamps hurt more and pinch more, but i think the rubbing from the wood left lingering pain that a metal clamp wouldn’t. Silly me, secretly hoping Daddy would forget about my cheeky clothespin investment (i had used some for crafts hoping He wouldn’t notice). i will have to be more careful with my pervertable ideas in the future 😀
those were the words i gasped out during our most recent scene. They popped into my head unbidden, and i felt instantly mortified. But no matter how hard i pushed myself toward the edge, i couldn’t come without telling Him… i needed it to hurt.
Embracing my masochism has been a tough pill to swallow. i think there are several reasons for this. One being that there is a fine line between abuse and S&M. To be smacked in the face and to also enjoy it feels wrong, and very taboo. Another reason is that sometimes we use impact play and edge play as a way of processing things that happen in our lives, and i have to remind myself that it is different than using pain as an escape, ie it is not self harm. i am not desensitized to the way vanilla people would and probably do view our dynamic, either.
But i pushed past all of my inhibitions, and i desperately cried out to Him that i needed the pain.
The scene we had was a lot for me to process, hence this post. i don’t think i have ever admitted that to Him, especially not mid session. It was really humiliating, really humbling, it took so much trust. Not only that He wouldn’t take it too far and hurt me more than i could handle, but also that He wouldn’t judge me. During the scene, He whipped me harder and longer than He ever has before. He gagged me tighter, and for longer than ever. He was harsher, rougher, and more intense than i have ever experienced. His behavior pushed me deep into subspace.
He made me lay on my tummy, the wand between my thighs, our Lelo in my kitty, and a gag in my mouth, hands bound in front of me, latched to our bed frame. He used His hands, the leather flogger, and the rope flogger. In the past, He has used the rope flogger on me, but He must have gone easy then, because this time it was brutal. The impact was so forceful that my saliva was spraying out around the gag when i screamed. It felt deep and primal.
i woke up wanting Him, and rolled over, sleepily nudging him, saying “fuck me.” He instantly woke, rolling toward me, into me, and we spent the morning entwined. He didn’t wear a condom this time, for the first time in 7 months, and we just felt this closeness that we really hadn’t felt in ages. It isn’t that we haven’t felt close, it’s more that condoms provide a physical barrier that impacts our mental connection during sex. Anyway, that’s what created the energy that led to our scene.
There was such a rawness in me. Our vacation left me feeling like a chapter had closed for us, and today felt like the new beginning i was looking for. The miscarriage left me feeling bereft and confused for so long, and that compounded with the constant interruptions to our sexual encounters for pregnancy prevention turned what should have felt like bliss into an ice bath.
Now that we have been cleared to try again, should we so choose, it feels better. There is so much less worry, we can be spontaneous again. But it’s more than that. Something shattered in both of us, and i am not sure we can tell whose pieces came from who. We are a mish mash of shards, and it feels beautiful now.
i needed Him in ways i haven’t needed Him before. i even asked him to lick me, something i have professed to hate.
We were violently writhing and sweating and fucking and loving. And when it was over i burst into sobs. It was confusing, and cathartic, and wonderful. Through my tears i reassured him, “it isn’t bad”. He smiled and said he knew, caressing my reddened cheeks, pulling out of me, and helping me shower. It felt kind of wimpy and cheesey to be crying, but it was necessary, and we ended the evening with lots of TLC, cuddles, kisses and snacks.
It’s funny how this love we share teaches us new things. If you would have told me when i was 18 that i would marry the love of my life, that we would have babies, and a home, and a dog, and a beautiful life, (and a BDSM lifestyle) i would have laughed in your face. i don’t think i ever really thought i would make it to this point. i don’t think i even knew this kind of unconditional, abiding love or joy existed. i can’t wait to see what we learn next.
On our vacation i may or may not have let it slip to my best friend that we have a sex blog. i didn’t intend to share that information, but as we sat in our tent late one night having drank too much wine, it just kind of tumbled out.
For some back story, we had two friends meet us for our trip. They were telling us about their friend who had a diaper fetish, and their tone struck me as judgy, so i was like… “you know… Lars and i have a sex blog…”
my best friend was in shock- i mean, her jaw literally dropped. In my every day life, people see me as a Christian mom, as a shy introvert, as a girl who can be a little too polite. i have never opened up to anyone outside of fellow kinksters about our lifestyle.
i was too chicken to tell her the name of our website, and she didn’t ask about content, but i could tell she was curious. In hindsight, i don’t know why i was so nervous, other than the fact that admitting we have a blog is a pretty big step for me. Lars was absolutely shocked that i shared!
But now that the cat is somewhat out of the bag, i kind of don’t care anymore who knows. i don’t think i would want my parents to see the photos of me, but i think my content is meaningful to my life, and i am really proud of the work Lars and i have done to build a healthy, happy, sustainable marriage.
My friend and i parted ways without really discussing it again after that night, but i think it opened her eyes about me. i’m not just a boring hoity toity housewife after all. And it felt really good to admit it.
We have returned safely from our vacation, and i have something to confess:
i am so small. Like infinitely tiny and insignificant. And i guess in many ways, this applies to our dynamic of lifestyle married D/s and DDlg, but really it applies to life in general.
We started our trip doing mostly sightseeing touristy things, but also spent several days camping in a forest of redwood trees. If you don’t know anything about redwoods, they are basically the most enduring plant species i have ever heard of. These trees live thousands of years, and are designed to withstand drought, fire, wind, and general forest related abuse like insects, fungus, and other plants crowding them. They are the tallest tree on Earth, with a height of over 300 feet. And they reproduce not only with seeds, but also by shooting up sprouts from their root systems. These trees have a powerful will to live. They live only in California, surrounded by lush forests and stunning hills and mountains. i have done my fair share of traveling, but i have never seen landscapes as beautiful as what we got to witness on our trip.
We pulled into the campground after dark, and had to set up our tent in blackness. The first thing i did was look up, and i couldn’t help but marvel at the stars boldly shining down on us through the impossibly tall tree tops. i mean honestly, even in the dark the forest took my breath away.
The next morning i woke up and left the tent to explore a bit. The darkness really hadn’t done the trees justice- i was met with shaggy barked giants stretching toward the morning sun. The sky was perfectly clear, the birds were singing and soaring, and the creek down the hill burbled softly. i sat on the picnic bench and drank it in.
and then i got to thinking about my more recent post about being big in a giant world. Boy, was i wrong. i am a speck of dust in a grand universe.
We toured the forest, and hiked to our hearts content, drinking wine almost nonstop, and enjoying warm food on our little camp stove.
When we left, i felt bereft. And then cellular service came back, and we realized that California was ablaze. Just north of our little camping dream, an entire city was razed by fire. Just south of us, fire was engulfing large areas that we intended to visit. We started our drive down the coastal highway, taking in the stunning views, all the while trying to figure out where the fires where, and what roads we should take. We were headed straight toward it. At one point we were driving the road directly between two close fires, and i stared into the hills trying to see the smoke. 12 hours after that moment, the entire area we drove through was burned to ash.
We had a joyous, wonderful vacation, but the clouds of ash hung over us, a reminder that life can be unexpected in not so great ways. Having no cell service was bliss, and coming back to civilization was a harsh reality.
We are so tiny, so small, every last one of us. Even the Dom/mes, even the Masters, even the affluent, even the powerful. The control we exert in our daily lives is nothing, not when a fire can sweep through and burn it all down.
i encourage you to consider this. i encourage you to ask yourself what you would do if it all (literally or metaphorically) burned down around you. Do you have a plan? Do you know how to handle change? Can you look loss in the face? Can you overcome? i can’t answer all of those questions right now. i just don’t have the answers.
Just know, as insignificant as we may be, we are powerful and we are strong. And the beauty of the world, as well as the beauty of life needs to be savored like a bottle of wine in a lush green forest.
i can’t control that the package delivery man doesn’t ring the bell when he comes to deliver packages. i can’t control the fact that i can’t call a local number to complain, so am faced with calling an out of country customer support number answered by a woman who doesn’t care. i can’t control that she doesn’t care. i can’t control the fact that now i have to drive 20 minutes after dark to the facility to pick up my package. i can’t control any of it. And the consumerist adult in me says i should have a say. i had control when i chose two day shipping and paid $17 for it. i had control when i sat at the computer picking it out.
What i think i am trying to say (i am processing) is that sometimes i feel like most of my life is out of my control. Because as much as i would love to have total control, that just isn’t possible. And honestly i don’t like my control freak side. When i genuinely don’t have a say, and i want one, i get tantrum-y. i want to stomp my little foot, scream and cry, call and complain to every manager i can, tell Daddy all about how unfair it all is… i even left a message for the CEO of FedEx today.
And as i sit here waiting for a call back, i am wondering if my freak out comes from a place of wanting control, or more from a place of feeling like life is out of control. Like, the idea of little ole me having ultimate control in my marriage and household is frankly absurd. But having to move, the stress from the legal stuff, vacationing away from the kids for the first time, and Lars having to work from 7 am to 11 pm most days is getting to me. It’s wearing me down. It’s making me want to scream in the delivery man’s face.
Is he a lazy sack of crap? Yes he is. Does he do this like one time per week? Yes he does. Are my feelings valid? Yes they are. But if i am honest, not getting my package should be the small stuff that i don’t sweat.
my shoulders feel so tense, my eyes are burning with unshed tears. All because of a delivery gone wrong. But also so much more.
i hope this vacation proves to refresh Daddy and i. And i hope that my weird control freakishness starts to go away soon. 💖
As i have previously shared, i am on a journey of healing from narcissistic abuse and trauma stemming from a young age. It took a lot of time, learning, counseling, and mindfulness, and i am not healed yet, but i am much better than i was.
For the last 7 or so months, i have had no contact with my mother. My mother adopted me as a baby, but i never really lived up to the expectations she had of me. Our relationship has always been very hard, and i decided in the spring that it was either lose my ever loving mind or stop speaking to her. So, i stopped speaking. The entire thing blew up in my face, because she triangulated everyone in my family, causing them to believe lies that she had made up so that i would be totally isolated. What was self defense against her, became self defense against my entire family. It is really hard to be faced with a dozen people who all believe the worst of you, without ever asking you what was really going on. But i guess we all have our problems…
i was learning to live without a family, because i had to. But my ex contacted my mother about my move out of state, which led him to tell me about it out of spite. He had implied that she was somehow on his side of the legal battle, so i made the decision to make the phone call to my mother after so many months.
She answered pretty quickly and told me it was nice to hear my voice. The conversation took over an hour and a half. And ultimately she blamed me for the issues i was having with her. She asked me what i needed from her in order to rekindle a relationship. i told her she had to tell me very clearly that she is not the center of the family, and is not entitled to more regard or respect than anyone else. She literally could not get the words out, and with every apology she gave, there was always a “but, you are also guilty of XYZ”. i am a firm believer in the saying “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer”, so i agreed to visit her the next day. Lars and i sort of agreed that it would be better to see her and know what is going on with her, than to let my ex twist things to suit him.
So i went to her house. And i gray rocked the heck out of her.
If you aren’t familiar with the term “gray rock”, the best description is from this site.
Gray Rock is where you become as exciting and interesting as, well, a gray rock. The goal is to blend into the background, and become the most boring, unreactive person they’ve ever met. The reason being is that if you can quit being a source of supply for their drama and attention, they will eventually leave you alone.
i actually learned about this method during the summer, when i was trying to figure out how i could move forward in a relationship with my mother, without getting hurt further. The idea of gray rocking really offended me at the time, and still kind of does, because i am absolutely not a gray rock. i am a sparkling, glittering, wonderful thing, with valid thoughts, emotions, and opinions. But narcissism doesn’t recognize equality just for the simple fact of being human, and therefore, my sparkle can go to hell. But when we visited my mother, i totally gray rocked. i didn’t even realize it until after we were safely home. But i definitely did it.
And honestly, it wasn’t as horrifying as i expected it to be. i didn’t engage at all. i was honestly very boring and robotic. And i didn’t even try to be. i wonder if it is like a background mental form of self defense? And if so, is it possible to get caught in it? my honest fear with the gray rock method is that i will shut myself off emotionally so regularly that i will forget to turn myself back on. That is the problem with narcissistic abuse- it is so cyclical, that once you have caught on, you can predict the next move, brace for it, and move on. It is too easy to brace… and keep holding on.
Part of healing has been submitting, and being 100% open with Lars about everything, even if it seems mundane. i can’t bottle it up with Him like i can with others, and our connection is precious. Sometimes i think “oh this has to be too much drama, i wish i could be simpler”, but then there is so much support from Him. i can not tell you how relieving it is for Him to witness my family’s antics, especially those of my mother, and to hear Him tell me that it is not all in my head. That’s the problem with narcissists- they gaslight you into thinking you’re crazy, and you end up so mixed up that you agree with them.
The thing is, i am not crazy. My memory is just fine, thank you. My experiences are mine. And i am not a damn gray rock. i am more precious than gold.
i have written about my collection of collars several times, but have never really gotten into the details of my collars, what they mean to me, and where i got them!
Tonight i want to introduce you to my friend Brittany. Brittany is an artist over at Curio Collars. Lars bought me a collar from her shop about a year ago now, and i am absolutely so in love with it. When He decided to collar me, He wanted to get collars that helped engage me in certain headspaces, and He discovered Brittany’s shop online.
First of all, i just want to say that what she makes is all adorable. She is able to turn ribbon and fabric, jewels and other embellishments, into the cutest stuff. Like, honestly, looking at her shop makes me feel itty bitty. Her prices are sooo reasonable too! (She is actually running a sale until tomorrow on her shop if you are looking to get something new and adorable!)
My collar is pink satin ribbon with little white pearls, and it has a sweet little bell on the D ring. i didn’t used to like the idea of having a bell, but something about the tinkling sound it makes really makes me smile. It ties in the back with a pretty bow.
One of the things that really stood out to me about Brittany is that she writes hand made thank you notes… that are so sweet! She wrote mine “to a precious kitten” and i loved the note so much that i actually saved it in the original box! There is just something about a personal touch, plus she called me precious lol. She is really a sweetheart, and getting to know her has been fun.
i did a little Q&A with her, just for funsies. Here are some of the responses:
Do you have any experience wearing collars, or with BDSM?
I always routinely test my own collars to make sure they live up the the standards and quality that I advertise. I don’t wear the collars anymore because I’ve found my place in the BDSM lifestyle as a Mommy ^.^
Can you describe your lifestyle?
I have 2 AB’s that I happily take care of and love. I do hope to collar one of them in the near future.
How did you decide that you wanted to make collars, and how long have you been in business?
As far as deciding on making collars, it was honestly a huge shock while I working in my previous shop making miniature food jewelry! A person had messaged me and asked if I could make a ribbon collar for their sub with a food charm attached to it. I had *absolutely* no experience in making collars! I decided to take on the challenge and made my first collar. Ever since that collar, I practiced and practiced to create my own design and construction all from scratch without knowledge or help. I’m very proud that it’s almost been 3 years since opening ^.^
Do you sell collars full time, or is there something else that you do?
This business has always been my way of making a living! I injured myself a couple years back and wasn’t able to go out and have an actual job because it was painful being bound to walking with a cane and chair bound. The support that I’ve received from the community has been overwhelming and magical. If I could personally hug every single soul, I would!
What is the best part about selling collars? Do you have any other notes or thoughts?
The best thing about selling collars is for sure when customers get back to me about how much they or their sub loved their collar(s). They send me pictures and it really hits home to me knowing how happy I’ve made someones’ day! I get orders for anniversaries, birthdays, ceremonies, photo shoots, and just to show love. There’s nothing more wonderful than the gift of happiness. We all go through so much sometimes, and a collar means a beautiful relationship and trusting was made that I got to be apart of.
Thanks to Brittany for taking the time to chat with me! Go check her shop out, you won’t be disappointed!
That is what i have been announcing to Daddy lately. It makes me laugh. Because that still makes me little. But it sort of normalizes things for me. Daddy says i am the tiniest of all, and pinches my bottom, when i try to tell Him i am big. Its funny how i always seem to be trying to prove my bigness. Daddy says if i was big, i wouldnt have to prove it. He is right. He always is.
It isnt that i think being little is weird. It just helps me to be a little more self motivated when i feel bigger. It helps me feel like i can be more independent. Which is needed in some areas of my life, if i am honest.
We are in the process of moving, which in and of itself is complicated. But it also means an expensive and frustrating court battle with my ex, to obtain permission to move out of state. We are so excited to move, and yet the process is taking forever. We are probably still 3 months out from moving. i have been busy purging, packing, and organizing.
Its part of why our blog has been so quiet lately- there is always a project to tackle, or a kid needing something, and by the time the day is over, i collapse into bed.
Daddy has been a hero through it all. Last night He told me to take a break, He said “I’ve got this, go take care of you.”. He is wonderful, making sure life is still balanced, even if it is different.
Next week we go on vacation, just the two of us, no kids invited! We haven’t gotten alone time like this since our honeymoon. It will be such a good time, and a nice break from the blah routine we are stuck in right now.
Anyway, that’s really all i have to share today. That i am big… in a giant world.
i am not normal.
This is what is running in the background of my mind, like 90% of the time. i don’t know where exactly this thought comes from, but it has been there as long as i can remember. It isn’t like i hate myself or anything. Honestly, this season of my life has brought more self love and self care than any other time. It’s just this rampant thought… i am unusual. And in a lot of ways i don’t like that, because i wish i was more mainstream, more self assured. But then i look at the beauty in life and in the world around me, and i appreciate that unusual and unique are interesting and appealing. And that maybe the fact that everyone has different tastes means that being not normal means that i really am normal… it reminds me of a scene from the movie “Garden State”. She says “You’re in it right now”… and i am. i am totally “in it”. i am so “in it” that i sometimes get lost in all of the in-ness. All of my thoughts about my past, and my future, who i am, what people might think of me, what i think of myself. i get so in it that i forget to look around me, to remember to be intentional and present.
When i was a child, i was raised to believe that there was something so inherently wrong with me that i was helplessly pathetic and unlovable. My mother would tell you all the wonderful things she did for me, but her words cut me deeply, and i did everything i could to get attention, even if it was from dangerous sources. i tried to look different, i tried to be as individual and independent as possible. Even now, i catch myself going out of my way to set myself apart. i am very much an introvert, and have never really been able to exist in a group environment. i identify as Pluto, maybe a planet, maybe a moon, tiny and mysterious. It can be really challenging to invent yourself after your roots are developed. Yet here i am, my shovel and i digging up the shit that i have carried all my life, burying fresh new anchors for me to build my life on. It is refreshing, and frightening. It’s funny how opposite i am from the child i once was. The risk taking teenager has become an ever so cautious adult. My type once tall, dark, and dangerous, suddenly is a blonde preacher’s grandson.
This week Lars went and collected several boxes of items my mother had saved from my childhood. i went no contact with my mom a little over 6 months ago. It was really sobering seeing some of the items in these boxes. She had saved a lot of useless nonsense. But she also saved apology notes i had written her, notes written after enduring her abuse. Child me was apologizing for being bad, when i hadn’t done anything wrong. She saved poems and stories i wrote beginning at age 6, where i wrote about not having the will to live (literally word for word what i wrote), and where all the characters died. If my daughter came home with papers saying things like that, i would be so terrified. My mother saved them like a sick trophy. What normal, well cared for child writes fictional stories in which all the characters die? i look at my inner child, the wounded little thing inside of me, and i cry for her, because she was crying out for unconditional love, broken at such a very young age. i think on a deep level, DD/lg may be a coping mechanism for the damage done. i decided to try something new today- i lay in bed and imagined my young self. i took her by the shoulders, looked into her eyes, and told her my adult thoughts on what happened in my youth. Sometimes i tell Lars that i wish i could go back and tell younger me that it gets better. Today i did that, in meditation. And i really think it helped.
i think ultimately we are all different. Not one of us is normal, because normal doesn’t truly exist. The current climate for normal would mean that i am ultra organized, ultra independent, ultra successful, and ultra boring. i admit that i am terrible with independence. Success and beauty are in the eye of the beholder. my preference is to finally embrace and accept myself, quirks, kinks, and scars.
i will leave you with another scene from “Garden State”, that inspires me to keep being weird, different, and unique.