RSS Feed

September, 2012

  1. What I Want

    September 28, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    “What do you want out of it?”

    Heather and I were discussing the possibility of my first scene when I visit her next month when the question popped up. I couldn’t give her an answer, and the truth was that I really didn’t know. The query forced me to take a hard look at myself which can sometimes be as excruciating as a beatdown from a gang of hoodlums. Heather challenged me to don my waders and venture carefully into the treacherous swamp of my feelings which she knows is never an easy task for me.

    What do I want? Do I want to see how I fare in the hands of a sadistic Top wielding a riding crop? Or perhaps the bite of leather as the flogger is thrown against my bare flesh? Of course that’s what I want, but that’s a surface desire. It’s superficial, and I knew there must be a deeper need. I just had to uncover it.

    I thought about her question for days, not entirely sure where to look for the answer so I started with the obvious. I picked apart the different components of my personality, individually examining what each one needed. It was something I had already devoted a lot of time to as I became comfortable with my newfound identity that labeled me as a switch. This time I examined my dissected innards from a different angle, trying to determine what I was missing. I recognized that the submissive in me had the driving need to please, freely giving up control while my dominant side lay in wait, craving the rush from the return of that power. It was a delicate balance that required a steady flow of trust to remain healthy. And trust is something that doesn’t come easily to me.

    Then I remembered a conversation I recently had with Master Cecil about trust. He said that he could determine the amount of trust by a hug. If a person relaxes into him completely, it’s unquestionable. Before leaving The Woodshed that night I gave him a hug, and I had to ask myself if he could feel my trust. Did I melt into him as Heather had the night of their amazing scene? I didn’t know. I’m guessing I tried but was unable to let go of the control I needed to feel safe. Don’t misunderstand, I trust Master Cecil. I just have a difficult time giving up complete control. Then it struck me. Surrendering absolute control outside of a sexual dynamic is what I long for. I desperately need to let the dominant facet of me slumber and not wonder when she’ll wake up rejuvenated, rallying for control.

    I was pleased that I’d climbed inside of myself, digging through memories and feelings that are unpleasant and erratic without ending up on the floor curled into a fetal position. I know my inability to let go completely is a result of the crusty scab that formed over an old relationship that left me emotionally disfigured. When my high school boyfriend greedily took the power I gave him over me, he used it to cause me pain that I’ve never fully recovered from. I realize it’s time to let those wounds heal and take back all of the power I gave him. But in order to do so, I need to give every ounce of that power to someone else. Someone who will respect me and honor the gift of my submission. Someone who won’t abuse it and will return the power to me.

    In light of my revelation, I had to ask myself another question. How will I react when I give up all control for the first time in ages? Will I be afraid? Will there be an outpouring of emotion as harbored anger is conjured up and released? Or will I end up a sobbing mess? Honestly, that is something that can’t be foretold. And because of that uncertainty, I refuse to scene with anyone, hard or soft, without the security of Heather close by. She is my safe haven. She knows my demons by name, and she knows how to exorcise them.

    I don’t know if my first scene will be in North Carolina, or if it will happen close to home. The one thing I am certain of is that when it does happen, I’ll know exactly what I want to take away from it with no room for doubt. It feels good to be able to say that the answer came from within me, from pages of my life that haven’t been read in a long time. And knowing that I pieced it together on my own is incredibly satisfying. It’s reassurance that I’m growing as a person. It’s reassurance that I’m human.

    Category BDSM | Tags: ,,, | 7 Comments

  2. An Invitation to Play

    September 25, 2012 by Heather Cole

    All in all, I said that I’m doing pretty well. That was my reply when I was asked, and it was mostly true. I broke up with my boyfriend recently, parting ways from the handsome and generous B. I was at a point in the creation of my new life where everything hung in the balance. I was on the cusp of building the writing business that I had been dreaming about for years, but it required so much of my energy and focus that I made a shit girlfriend. My daughter, my business and my writing had become my mantra, and unfortunately everything else shifted to the back burner. It wasn’t fair to hold on to B when I wasn’t giving all of myself, when I wasn’t trying to bring us closer together. We said goodbye, and my heart still ached from the loss of him.

    I placed something else in the background as well. My submission. Well, “placed” was too kind a word. Shoved, locked away, placed in a cellar and barred the door. She went quietly, nodding in understanding and telling me it was ok. That we would be ok. She’d just go away for awhile, and when I was ready, when I had time, she’d come out again into the light. The truth was, even though I couldn’t say it out loud, was that it was painful having her with me. My submission was a reminder of the Master I had left. A pain that was so deep that I feared the wound would never heal. So I packed my submission away, and she let me, because she was a very good girl. Always.

    I thought I was in control. I had an amazing scene at The Woodshed with Master Cecil, and I healed in a way that was as unexpected as it was incredible.  I returned home from Orlando with a new hope. My submission had come out to play, she had frolicked and howled in pain and orgasm and was left glowing for days. We were both satiated, and I thought that perhaps well-timed trips to Orlando might suffice. So I locked my submission back in the cellar with the same promises as before, but this time I wasn’t afraid. I figured that she and I could make peace with this arrangement, because she was a very good girl. She pleases and obeys and strives to do her very best for everyone involved.

    Then I read this http://www.mollena.com/2012/09/447-am/ Mollena was a hundred times more eloquent than me, and when she wrote about being a slave with no owner, her posts echoed within me like they lived there. The moment I absorbed her words, the cellar door sprung free and suddenly submission was there. Everywhere. She was a leviathan around me. She was me to my core, and she didn’t push or yell or shout that I pay attention to her. She waited like the good girl she was, knowing that when it was her turn, I would be whole in a crucial way that was as essential to me as breathing.

    As fate would have it, a Dom that I met in Orlando was nearby on business. We’ve exchanged emails and texts since meeting at The Woodshed, trying to get a feel for each other’s style of play. He had the advantage of seeing me with Master Cecil, but I only caught a glimpse of the beginning of his scene. His sub was tied to a hexagon frame, and her back was a mess of red. And I meant that as a compliment. Just like the more traditional back and forth between a man and woman, the are-we-compatible-in-this-way dance, we do a similar thing with BDSM. Is your domination/pain style with subs similar to what I enjoy submitting to? What I’ve gleaned from our correspondence is that he would push me well beyond what’s familiar. He had already figured out that I fear and love canes, and he had rope experience. We discussed the possibility of playing the next time I’m in Orlando, but now he’s in my neck of the woods. And I’m conflicted about whether to act on it or not.

    I know what my submission wants, what I crave. To kneel in response to a command, to stretch past my limits to please an exacting Dominant. To push past the anxiety of the pain that a caning will bring and then the agony of its ministrations. To sink into the power of giving myself in my entirety to another human being, if only for a precious hour. To feel and honor the beauty of my submission in all its glory. This Dom wouldn’t want me in a permanent sense, but I think we would have a lot of fun together with the time we do share. It’s the aftermath that I can’t help worrying about.

    Will I be able to return to the life of being uncollared without protest? Will I be able to pull myself back to life as usual without the hand of a Master steadying me? I’ve never done this before. It’s all new unexplored territory. I’d tell you that it sucks ass being unowned, but I would rather struggle with these questions and the sadness of being unused than make the mistake of contracting with a Dom that was wrong for me. So I may play if it works out with both our schedules. He told me that I’d have to supply the toys which will give me some control about how we scene. We’ll have a discussion of boundaries, and I’ll make sure that my support network is in place when I get home. Because I’m very much a good girl.

    Category D/s | Tags: ,, | 1 Comment

  3. Party Pasties…Just Kidding…Not a Title

    September 22, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    I’ve spent a lot of time in my closet recently. And not because I’m hiding from the short people either. Now that I think about it, it’s been a long time since I sat cross-legged on the floor with a fist full of Twizzlers, hugging a bottle of Cuervo with my eyes squeezed shut. Seriously though, I’ve been in my closet scouting my wardrobe because when I visit Heather, we’ll be going to a play party. My first, actually, and I’m a little freaked out over what to wear. I know it’s still a month away, but I like to be prepared. And I’m anal.

    I don’t really know what to expect, but I know there will be nakedness and I’m prepared for that. But it won’t start out that way. I can’t walk into a room full of people with all of my girly parts on display. I mean I can, but I won’t. I could begin the evening with a dress since they’re relatively easy to get on and off. Heather loves to wear them and gives the illusion of a wholesome good girl in her June Cleaver-esque frocks. They look amazing on her, but I’m not at home in a dress. I can never seem to find one that looks like me, and other than the occasional tank dress with flip flops, I rarely wear one. And to be honest, I’m at my best wearing slacks and pinstripes. They make me feel powerful. I like to think of myself as a female version of Don Draper, but in stilettos and a push-up bra.

    I’m sure there will be those wearing lingerie, but other than bras and panties, I don’t own any. You won’t find any thigh high stockings and garters in my drawer of unmentionables. Don’t get me wrong, I think lingerie is beautiful and alluring, it’s just not my style. To me, sexy is a pair of lacy panties and a wife beater. I’ve fallen in love with corsets though, and I’d like to wear one, but I have little experience with them. Even though they make my boobs look fantastic, they’re a bitch to get on and off. But if I choose to wear one, Heather will be there to help me into it. She’ll also assist me with my heels between bouts of hysterical laughter because I can’t bend forward at my waist.

    I know I’m putting more thought into my wardrobe choice than I should. That it’s all a matter of personal preference and I should wear what makes me comfortable. But comfortable would be sweats and a t-shirt, and that’s crossing the line. Glitter or not, sweats are still sweats. I keep reminding myself that it’s not a fashion show, it’s a play party, and no one other than me is going to care about what I’m wearing. Unless it’s a Wonder Woman costume, because that would be hot.

     

                                                                               ****

     

    I’m so excited about Nikki’s first play party that I can’t even think straight. I’m getting close to the point where I feel like a can of confetti that’s about to burst, and I have FOUR MORE WEEKS to wait. I may die before then. My head just might explode from the anticipation. I’m even making her write about it next week, and her reaction was, “oh shit, you’re going to make me write about feelings, aren’t you?” This is where I laugh maniacally. Yes! Yes, I am! But I’m going to do it too. sigh…fucking feelings…

    What’s interesting about the play party we’re attending is that it falls right before Halloween. If you ever want to see the kink community in high gear it’s at Halloween. Think about it. Even the more traditional folks are inspired to show their secret fetishes because for one special time of the year, it’s perfectly normal to fly your freak flag high. The one day of the year when it’s ok to dress like a slut. I typically eschew slut costumes, because hey, I play naked. This year may be different. Mostly because Nikki will be with me, and we could work out a joint costume. Like a horse costume! She’ll be the butt. Just kidding! Horses aren’t sluts.

    If Liri goes with us, we’ll have to figure her into the mix. In true switchy style, she wants to go as the owner of us. Last year she was the toymaker and took two friends as her dolls. Maybe Nikki and I can be zombie cheerleaders and Liri will be our coach. To coach her way up our skirts! I kill me…

    I’ve also entertained the idea of dressing as Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie. It should come as no surprise to anyone that I loved that show with a deep and abiding love, as only a six year old can. She had a master and got to wear skimpy clothes and lived in a bottle with a mountain of cushions. I really hope you’re laughing at the irony. THE IRONY, DARLINGS! I’m undecided, though, because who would Nikki be? Wait! She could be Major Healey and then Liri could be Major Nelson. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can finish this. I’m laughing too hard…

    Let me have it Vagina readers! Leave a comment and tell me what costumes you have planned. I need the inspiration, especially since Nikki refuses to be the horse’s ass.

    Category BDSM | Tags: ,,, | 5 Comments

  4. Dear Heather

    September 19, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Dear Heather:

    I was wondering if you could invite me to a fetish party as an observer some weekend.

    Thanks in advance,

    Mr. RSVP

    Dear R:

    Considering that I have never met you in person, I must decline your request. I’m flattered that you’d want me to be your hostess into our kinky community, however, I’m so new to it my own damn self that it would be the newbie leading the newb. Babes in the canes, my dear!

    This is what I suggest; we both attend a munch. We pull on our big girl panties and RSVP on Fetlife to meet other like-minded folk at a restaurant wearing *gasp* regular clothes. We slap on our nametags and eat a grandslam (I require extra bacon) while listening to others talk about the goings-on of the lifestyle and we answer get-to-know-us questions. I’m certain that before we finish our last bite of pancake, there will be an invitation to a party. Providing that you’re not a sex offender and that I don’t laugh loudly like a donkey. (It happens when I’m nervous.)

    The thing about play parties is that they most often happen in private homes. Because of this, no one has to invite us to anything. The host or hostess may only extend the invitation to people they’ve known (and liked) for a while. It’s their party so they can invite whomever they wish and cry if they want to.

    Parties vary depending on who is hosting, but there are some general things to expect. Nudity is one of them. Remember, dear R, there are no rules that say you must attend in your birthday suit. Although if you feel inspired to tie a bow around your *cough* this is the crowd that would no doubt appreciate it. You will not be expected to get naked, nor will you be expected to play if you don’t feel comfortable. Do expect others to get naked or be in various stages of undress or lingerie or nipple clamps and plastic wrap. I like to wear a dress, but my girlfriend often brings several changes of lingerie. If we choose to play, we usually get naked. Or as Liri likes to exclaim, “why are you still wearing clothes?!”

    There may be a sheet hanging in front of the door so that Old Neighbor Jones doesn’t peek in while walking his cockapoo and see Sally from carpool tied to the St. Andrew’s cross. Walk past the sheet and you will find people chatting, food and snacks and maybe music. If people are playing, typically they don’t mind others watching. After all, they came to a party. However, give them space and try not to interrupt unless they actively encourage you to ask questions or get in on the fun. I’ve had a couple moments where I had to stare a little bit before realizing, “hey, those people are fucking.” Then I was like, “oh, spinach dip!”

    My first party actually began as a traditional housewarming. I brought a pie that I had baked, I circulated and chatted and met new people. I traded BBQ tips with a grandmother, petted the dogs and took a tour of the house. Eventually the co-workers left and the grandmother said goodnight, and an extra-large rubbermaid container was brought out, chock full of floggers and dragon tails. Rope appeared and clothes vanished, and the party moved to the basement.

    I played that night. It was the first time I attended a party on my own, and it was the first time that someone other than my Master (now ex) flogged me. I was nervous and giddy, and I felt a little out of control. For the first time I was going to scene without my M, but I had rules. There were boundaries that I wouldn’t cross, and I made sure that the person topping me knew them. If he had tried to coerce me beyond those boundaries, I would NOT have submitted. And here lies the most important rule of a play party, dear R. No one should try to convince you to do something that you don’t want to do, whether it’s to use a toy or leave the party with them. Coercion of any kind is unacceptable. A creeper is a creeper is a creeper; no matter if you’re at a bar with friends or a play party.

    Play parties give us a good cross-section of the kinky populace, all up close and naked. When we attend, we learn about others just as they learn about us. It’s a way of establishing ourselves as positive members of the community. It can be social and educational. It can be a boatload of fun. However, it’s just as easy to brand ourselves bad play partners, or even worse, dangerous ones. I intend to be the former, R dear, so I’ll see you at the chips and dip. Bow optional.

    Smooches,
    Heather

    Category BDSM | Tags: ,,, | 6 Comments

  5. Group Sex: It ain’t a Pack of HoHos

    September 14, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    It’s a pet peeve of mine that few men take the time to read my ‘about me’ section on my Fet page before shooting a message my way. This is particularly bothersome because it took me hours and two vodka tonics to write about the qualities that make me me. Instead, they choose to ‘love’ one of my photos, usually a naked one, and send me a note saying, “I think you’re hot.” Or “hey, what’s up?” Another one of my intellectual favorites. Then there are those who barely skim over my carefully crafted…okay, booze induced profile, only connecting my heteroflexibility to my love for my soulmateclone. The assumption is often made that we come as a sexually packaged deal, like Pop-Tarts or HoHos. I roll my eyes, a lot.

    This has been a hot topic for Heather and me lately. Partly because we find it amusing. Being best friends doesn’t automatically make us bed buddies. But the main reason our presumed two-fer status is upfront and center is because we’ve been squeeing loudly about my approaching visit and the probability of play parties and other debaucherous behavior. In other words, we’re planning for a lot of nakedness. With so many bare-skinned activities on the agenda, we felt compelled to broach the subject of group sex. We realized that we needed to explore what this means for the two of us and where our boundaries lie, because in Heather’s words, that’s what best friends do for each other.

    In my twenties, the group sex I participated in usually wasn’t planned. It just happened. There was no forethought, or voiced limits, or concerns about safety. We flew blind and I thought nothing of getting naked with a group of people. I was even sober for some of the pile-ups. But regardless of my level of intoxication, I knew precisely what I was doing and had no regrets. Well, except for that one time I drank so much I couldn’t keep track of who was who, but that’s a story for another time.

    I’m a sexually adventurous woman. I always have been, and I take full responsibility for my actions. But I’ve found that some aren’t as bold as they claim to be. A friend of mine, my best friend actually, chose to shove every bit of the blame on me once the haze cleared and the reality of what we’d done the night before set in. She conveniently forgot that it was her face buried between my legs while her boyfriend used my mouth. I was the slut in the situation, and she walked away unscathed. Our friendship was damaged beyond repair.

    Bad judgment cost me a friend, and I felt the effects of that loss for a long time. We’d known each other since high school, and I felt our connection was a solid one. I found out the hard way that some bonds have limits. She didn’t abort our friendship because I knew her boyfriend wasn’t as well endowed as she claimed. She cut me out of her life because she was embarrassed that it was her tongue in my vagina. I wasn’t the one who initiated the disrobing that night. I was the only one who had experience with group sex though, and I should have known it was a mistake. I was the one who was thrown under the bus and left for dead and because of that, I look at group sex differently now. I understand that it’s not something that everyone is capable of handling. I’m more cautious, and less trusting because of the fallout that painted me as the licentious one. It’s now something I put more thought into and I tread lightly. If I suspect the slightest hint of doubt from anyone involved, I’ll call it without hesitation.

    The question is will we or won’t we, if the opportunity presents itself, get naked with each other in a group setting. Fuck yes we will. But only because we trust each other immensely. That faith in our friendship is what allows me to let my guard down and indulge in situations that I might not otherwise. Heather is the most significant relationship I’ve had in my entire life, and I would never do anything to jeopardize what we have. Because of this, we have talked about it up one side and down the other. We know exactly where we stand.

    Heather is the only person whose sincerity I’d never doubt. I’d trust her with my life. I trust that what we do when the clothes come off won’t affect our amazing friendship. We have a unique relationship that allows us the flexibility to indulge in what we enjoy without apprehension. Does this mean that when we’re alone we’ll strip down and get busy? Nope. I don’t roll that way and she has a girlfriend. But will we get down and dirty together if people are in agreement and circumstances suggest a hot mess of orgasms? You bet your sweet ass we will.

    Category Group Sex | Tags: ,, | 4 Comments

  6. Group Sex for the Over Thirty-Something

    September 12, 2012 by Heather Cole

    I have this conundrum. My girlfriend’s birthday is this month, and I’m plotting with her boyfriend (yes, you read that correctly) to plan a celebration. Just the three of us. Matt and I are in charge of all the details while Liri just has to show up and enjoy herself. The first question Liri and Matt asked was what rating our gathering deserved. Rated-G wasn’t ever an option despite all of us enjoying episodes of My Little Pony. Rated-PG was much more likely, but given the three of us and our healthy sexual appetites, things could easily stray into R territory before plunging headfirst into a solid X rating. We’re kinky, poly people with a shared love of Liri. Yup, this situation has sex cocktail written all over it.

    The issue is me. I don’t have group sex like I used to in my twenties. Not that I’ve had a lot of experience with group sex. There was an almost foursome that came close but disbanded at the last possible moment. Even an accidental ingestion of Ecstasy and four-person nakedness could not overcome a language barrier. It’s not my fault I couldn’t translate “grab my cock like it was a microphone” from Spanish. Then there were the weekend parties in Ecuador where we’d end up with three other couples fucking in the same room. Like I said, it was almost group sex, but not quite. If I had to sum up sex during my twenties, I would choose the word voracious.

    I keep asking myself, “what does group sex mean for me now?” I’ve spent many years ignoring caution and my tender heart, blithely having sex whenever the spirit moved me. Part of me still says, “shut up, Heather, and just fuck them silly.” That was the overriding voice in my head for most of my twenties, and although I had a lot of fun, I was also left wanting something more. A decade later, after the potential feel-good sexcapades of today, I’ll be thinking and analyzing. Yes, dammit, over-thinking and over-analyzing. I’ll be worried if I blundered through a boundary somehow and made someone uncomfortable followed by worry regarding my performance. (Yes, women worry about that too.)

    Ultimately the nagging feeling that stops me is that I want sex to be significant, and how traditional is that? It’s true, though. I don’t think exclusivity equals significance as it would in a monogamous paradigm, but I want my partners to understand that this doesn’t happen with just anyone. And the fact that I choose them, means a hell of a lot to me. I want them to feel that too. As I’m sitting here re-reading what I just typed, it struck me that if I cared less about Liri or Matt or my long-distance relationship with B, I wouldn’t have thought so hard about what sex would mean between the three of us. If they were less significant to me, I’d probably be stripping down for the sex cocktail already.

    Being a part of the kinky community, I probably have more opportunities now to have group sex than I ever did. Having sex with play partners is a common practice here. Especially with like-minded poly people. Private play parties feature lots of nudity and toys and fetishes of all sorts. Sex is often a component of that, and although I take no issue with anyone indulging in it, I’ve stopped short of sex at a party. Well, there was the one time when Liri flogged me and then had sex with me on Matt’s living room floor in front of other party-goers. But other than that, I haven’t participated in a group sexual dynamic. Mostly out of consideration for my relationship partners. AGAIN WITH THE THINKING AND PONDERING!

    Matt and I haven’t made any firm plans for Liri’s private celebration, but I’m fairly certain he and I won’t be fucking each other. As much as we may be willing, I also get the distinct impression that we’re careful of each other’s relationships with Liri. This is new territory for all three of us. Our girl Liri, on the other hand, may end up naked and tied up on the dining room table. Because what kind of celebration would it be if we didn’t have a present to unwrap?

    Category Group Sex | Tags: ,, | 7 Comments

  7. Take All Of Me Or Nothing

    September 7, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    I try to be a good girl, and I ignite when I hear those words roll off of your tongue while I’m on my knees before you, naked, my hands clasped behind my back. Your spoken affirmation sparks a flame deep inside that licks my most delicate places. It’s a delicious sensation that makes my head spin and my body tremble. The anticipation of your touch is maddening, but you know this. You know that the softest brush or the slightest graze will send me flying apart as my need for you overflows and trickles down the inside of my bare thighs. This is the moment, the space in time where I have few boundaries, and I will readily give you absolute power over me. But only because you honor my offering as a gift and are open-minded enough to see me for who I truly am.

    I’m a complex person. I don’t try to be difficult on purpose. It’s just the way I’m pieced together. I’m quick-witted, and my mouth has a way of getting me into an ass-load of trouble; sometimes good, sometimes bad. And I make no apologies for it. I’m also guarded to a fault, rarely letting anyone cross over my protective barricade. Once inside though, you’ll discover I’m not the submissive some choose to see. But I’m not dominant either. I’m a wicked combination of both. I’m a switch.

    The submissive in me longs to be used by you. My flesh cries out for the sting of your hand. My throat aches for the tight grip of your fingers. In that period of time, I won’t see or hear anything but you. But don’t underestimate me by assuming my hunger to surrender outweighs my need to top. They are two sides of the same coin, and soon my dominant side will wake. When it does, I’ll want that power back. When I decide to reclaim that which I freely gave you, and I assure you I will, I’ll be the one who is testing limits and nudging boundaries a little further. I’ll be the one drawing out breathy pleas for release. The power you give me over you is dangerously addictive. The vision of you so willing to be used, the sounds of your pleasure and the taste of your skin between my teeth is a high like no other.

    It took me a long time to figure out who I am, and when I did, I identified myself as a submissive. It was the correct label at the time, but I was still evolving. I wondered why being called a good girl made my whole body tingle, yet saying “Sir” felt awkward and unnatural. It’s not second nature to me. But holding your arms behind your back while you beg for my strap on is.

    I’ve encountered Doms who find my dominant streak frustrating, even a little intimidating. They think that segment of my personality is useless and undesirable and of no use to them. I’ve been told that I’m not dominant at all and only the submissive fraction of my identity is acknowledged. What remains is tossed to the side or chalked up to stubbornness. When this happens, I draw an invisible line in the sand and eat an entire pan of brownies while sitting in the middle of the floor poking pins into the voodoo dolls I’ve made. Not really, but it pisses me off. Up until now, I felt less than whole for most of my life because of my sexual compulsions, and I’ll be damned if I’ll feel that way again.

    I’ve also known Doms who believe there is no such thing as a switch. That a switch is nothing more than an illusion. I’ve been told I’m simply a submissive who is acting out what is allowed during that moment. That it’s all smoke and mirrors. In my opinion though, a true submissive would have no desire to top. The things I want to do to you are far beyond the realm of submissive behavior.

    I’m aware that I’m viewed as a contradiction, an anomaly who is drawn to submission but hates formality and protocol. Rules don’t give me the comfort they are meant to. They put me on alert. If you give me one, I’ll break it. Not because my desire to please doesn’t reach deep enough, because it does. I’m just not wired in a way that allows me to be open to it. Maybe I haven’t met a Dom whose rules I’m willing to accept. Or maybe I haven’t met a Dom who can handle me.

    When I wish for you, you’re not a Dom. You’re a man who won’t weigh me down with unrealistic expectations, tasks or restrictions. You’ll know it’s a waste of time. You’ll see all of me and understand that my different flavors come as a package deal, and you’ll savor them all. My unpredictability will excite you. You’ll like not knowing which part of me you’re going to get. You will be assertive enough to put me on my knees when I need it, and you will be strong enough to allow me to bring you to yours. We’ll push each other’s boundaries without fear of judgment. You are a kinkster; dominant and dirty. I will give you all of me, and you will use me well.

    Category Kinky Relationships | Tags: ,, | 11 Comments

  8. Authentically Me

    September 4, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Last Thursday I told my mama that I was bisexual. I had been dancing around the subject for months. She knew about Liri as my closest friend in my new city, but I stopped short of telling her the complete truth. Each time that I bit back a word, I told myself that it was to protect her. This past year has been chock full of major life revelations for me: divorce, Master/slave relationship in BDSM, polyamory. Oh yeah, I hit all the high notes. I’ve told mama about them, and she has stood by me through it all. On top of my own challenges, though, my brother just announced his divorce which rocked the entire family. I thought that the last thing mama needed was to know one more thing about me that was nonconformist, nontraditional and different.

    I spent weeks giving myself a pep talk about how to have “the talk.” My stomach was a mess of butterflies every time I heard mama’s voice. After everything I had told her about my sexuality, I didn’t understand what was making me balk. I suppose it boiled down to what every child worries about; I hated disappointing her. I hated upsetting mama and being a cause of her worry. Then on Thursday morning, after we discussed her cat, my dog, my daughter and the weather, I took the plunge.

    “Mama, I have something to tell you.”
    “Do I need to grab my bottle of whiskey?” she asked.
    “It’s ten o’clock in the morning, but probably yes.” I replied.

    The truth is that I have no fucking clue what I’m doing when it comes to women, and I said as much to mama. I’ve been bi-curious since elementary school, but I never had the courage to act on my desires. Well, except for making out with Crissy in the woods behind her parents house when I was twelve. Aaaaaand I may have gotten a little fresh with a drunk friend at a party in high school. It was the first time I felt boobs other than my own, and the next day she didn’t remember me copping a feel. I felt guilty but also elated. I had touched breasts!

    It wasn’t until Liri popped my lady cherry that I had my first taste of what it felt like to be physically intimate with a woman. I remember telling Nikki that now was the perfect time to explore my desires, and being the supportive soulmateclone that she is, she said “DO IT!”. I would be foolish to remain lusting on the sidelines while a beautiful, intelligent woman like Liri beat me with a flogger. So Liri and I flirted, kissed and talked about all sorts of things. We were becoming close friends, but the crucial difference was that I wanted Liri naked.

    If she was a man I would have had the confidence to boldly make my move. I would have recognized the signs, known the steps to the courtship dance that I’ve performed over the years and engaged in it instinctively. Liri is not a man, thankfully. She is tall with legs that go on forever. Her hair is wheat colored and long, and her breasts are full and gorgeous. She’s incredibly intelligent, funny and can out-belch any frat boy. When we’re together, I have an excruciatingly delicious combination of feelings: nervousness, lust, love and frustration. I’m working with no roadmap, and for my Type-A personality, the cluelessness is maddening.

    I know the exact moment when I realized that I wanted something more with Liri than the occasional scene at a party or an evening at my place. We were at Frisky Business checking out the sale on Aslan leather strap-on harnesses. We wore dresses and heels and were riding the high of having devoured a bag of Cheetos before our shopping expedition. We held up different sizes of silicone cocks and debated the sizes and shapes. After some discussion we asked the clerk to unlock the dressing room so we could fit the harness on Liri.

    The dressing room was large and square, and what I really wanted to do was slip to my knees and run my hands up Liri’s bare legs. I wanted to lift her skirt and bury my face between her legs to have my way with her for as long as I could before we attracted notice. But I didn’t. I was too shy. Too unsure. Too inexperienced. Dear God, I felt like I was seventeen again. We exited the dressing room without sexual incident, and Liri made a quick trip to her car for a coupon. As I waited at the counter, the clerk commented that we made an adorable couple. She said that they didn’t get many “fems” in the store, and she thought we looked really pretty together. My heart soared as I thanked her. It was that moment. That second when I thought, “holy fuck, I want to be Liri’s girlfriend. I want to be something more with her.”

    I didn’t give any of these details to mama. I sketched the barest outline; I’m bisexual and finally exploring what that means to me. I’m dating Liri, and she’s amazing. I’m being thoughtful and responsible. There were tears shed on both sides of the conversation, and surprisingly, mama said that she thought it was common for people to have same-sex desires. In her opinion, lots of people have them, they just don’t act on it. Later in the day, she wrote me an email. She wrote that she had been journaling and wanted to share some thoughts, and at the end of her message, I was crying again because of my love for her.

    As a therapist, she helps people discover their authentic selves, their true selves. Growing up she gave the message to my brother and I that living a life as your true self was more valuable than going through life living in fear of rocking the boat. So here I am, discovering my authentic self, and even though she’s worried, she’s also proud. I’m doing the exact thing she teaches others to do. I’m my mother’s daughter. I am me. And mama will love me no matter where my journey takes me.

    Category sexuality | Tags: ,, | 17 Comments