THE Rope Escape!!!

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His kitty, a ball of yarn, and me.

“she's a tough nut to crack...” is what i thought to myself, taking a gasping breath before resuming the task at hand. He was whispering something to her, up there, but i paid no attention. i had a singular goal, and for all His kitty's protesting that it wouldn't be done, i was set to achieve it.

Days, weeks, before, the thought of her brought twinges of pain, anxiety, sadness. Spending so much time tangled in those feelings, i was stuck. In almost any battle in me, emotion wins out over logic. No amount of self-introspection, journaling, talking it out could bring the acceptance from my mind into my heart.


Sometimes the Universe takes pity on me, and gives me exactly what i need. A dear friend happened to be in town last week, and we after long last finally sat face to face. Over the course of some drinks and talking late into the night, i received a gift. She said,


“ I don't want us to be sitting there at 80 years old and have him turn to me and say 'I really wish I had gotten with so-and-so back then, but I didn't because I'm so devoted to you.' I don't want any regrets.”

i was suddenly struck by how incredibly devastated i would be to hear that from The Man. For Him to miss even some small measure of joy on my account would break my heart. Realizing this, those strands of feeling that ensnared me fell away, unraveling like a dropped ball of yarn.


So it was that weekend when The Man and i happened to run into His kitty while out on the town. When He told me she would be coming Home with us, i looked for that twinge, and found none. Instead she and i simply giggled next to each other like we had some salacious secret, which is what it was.


The night was all nerves for me, and the next morning i woke well before they did. The thought of her still nestled in His bed didn't hurt, and i hummed softly to myself as i bustled about the coffee. The whole pot was gone before they awoke, as i tried to keep busy. i had another at the ready when they descended from the bedroom together, and we all sat and conversed comfortably into the afternoon.


The Man and His kitty wanted another evening, and of some import, so did i. After fear and jealousy fell away, i really liked this girl. What i liked even more was the smile she put on His face, the enjoyment He felt. Still, i liked her, a lot, and as it turns out, she likes me too. ^.^


Buoyed by all the happy feels, we all settled in for what would prove to be a very long night. i brought out the hundred or so floor cushions, bean bags (yes, hippie, shurrup), and throw pillows scattered about the house and piled them all onto the living room floor. This configuration was the very same The Man had found me splayed on many a morning as He crept into my apartment, long ago. He said it was like entering an opium den.


Talking, kissing, more talking, fooling around, talking, kissing, playing, more talking. The 'tools and implements of destruction' came out. There was one request The Man granted me, in His evening plans, something i needed. i needed that catharsis of letting go of all the fear and pain and negative feelings i had been feeling. i needed that feeling of having my soul cleansed. To dispense with the flowery language, i needed Him to beat the everloving fuck outta me. You know, the kind where you're crying and begging and snotting all over yourself until you're a limp hot mess. i needed it, and it had been a long time.


His kitty held my hands and my hair as He laid into me with the canes. i was high on the feeling as He built up the intensity, and delighted with the unexpected little yelps she gave when i playfully poked at her between strokes. His 'six best' were coming, and she held me tight as i screamed under the searing lashes. i was flying.


After, i had my 'aftercare' of a cigarette and a cold beer i'm not supposed to have, and enjoying the 'quiet' i relish. Meanwhile, He had a bit of aftercare Himself, a relaxed smile of contentment i couldn't help but mirror as His kitty's eyes met mine, her lips around His cock. i adored her.


So after more time and more talking, more kissing, when The Man gestured me toward her, i was thrilled. Pushing aside the passing moment of worry (how long has it been since? Five years, six? Remember those skills? Remember J, how she broke your heart...?)

We collapsed together, hands everywhere. “It probably won't happen”, she said, The Man declared it a challenge. He was caressing her, i was reveling in her. Time stretched on, almost, closer...as she came, finally, to orgasm under His hand, my mouth, my hands, i thought to myself;

“...she's a tough nut to crack, but so was i.”

Trust

i claim to trust You. i like to believe i do. The fact is, i do trust You.

…sorta.

“ i know Him, and He wouldn’t do anything that would damage His property. You have to trust your Owner. “ i’ve vehemently declared.

As loudly as i protest, i just don’t trust You like that. Sorry.

i don’t trust You to expertly manage our lives, or to even do so especially well.

i trust that when You do drop the ball, fuck up our spot, or fail to spot looming disaster, You’ll do Your damnedest to fix it.

i don’t trust that You won’t break the masterpiece You’re trying to create.

i trust that You will pick up the pieces and try again.

i don’t trust You to not fall apart, break down, blow up. We’re all a little mad sometimes.

i trust You to allow me to endure and soothe those pains.

That kind of implicit trust i was seeking, and how i sought it, was really making a demand on You, i think. For You to not make mistakes, to never be entirely self-serving or even (gasp!) careless.
Requiring You to be stronger, smarter, bigger and better than me, all the time. How it pained me to not have that kind of faith in You, where i had no fear.

You wanted that perfect trust from me, and how could i not have it? You’ve given me everything else. You’re the rock i cling to, my world. i have no reason not to trust You, never been given one, really. i guess i can only trust another just so far. i don’t trust myself to not be afraid. i think i will forever worry, about everything.

Yet, i trust in us.

i trust that i will be joyfully (or fearfully, sometimes), walk this path with You, over obstacles with courage and at an easy pace with gratitude. i trust that if Your lead brings us to the very depths of despair, that i will have the strength to follow. i trust that if i can’t keep up, You will help (drag) me along, let me rest, carry me when i can go no further. i trust that even if You lose the map, You’ll note every wrong turn. i trust that if You take us off a safe road and we both end up broken and bleeding at the bottom of a ravine, that we will claw our way out and mend together.

The terrain is rough, the woods are dark, and the dangers many. i trust that this is our road to walk together, even if our walking together sometimes looks like blind stumbling. i trust we will get to where we need to go, no matter how we end up getting there.

So when You pounce on me, grabbing a toe and exclaiming “How about this one?!”, and i burst into a fit of nervous giggles, i trust there won’t come a day there’s a sharp scary thing in the other hand. See? i do trust You.

…sorta. ^.^

my new normal

He doesn't smile with His eyes anymore when i move to kneel at His feet. His head gives a slight admonishing shake and i am beckoned back upward.

"slave, fetch my drink" has been replaced with "sit down, girl"

This is my new normal.

The girl who spent a good deal of her years hanging off rock faces and skating through shopping centers now sometimes has trouble climbing up stairs.

A spelling bee champion and lover of literature can't seem to recall words once a fixture in her vocabulary, and peers at paragraphs of more than 2 or 3 sentences, struggling to focus.

This is my new normal.

i rage, i grieve. He's gently distant and distantly gentle. i'm not the same creature that two years ago could run and jump into His arms or endure the heaviness of His hand. To say it's not missed would be a lie.

Our small measures of affection have changed. Instead of curling at His feet, i'm curled in His arms, and He holds me, but fears hurting me.

This is our new normal.

Remembering what day of the week it is presents enough difficulty, i certainly couldn't recall what 'normal' felt like, before. There is just this, now. i don't look sick, no, but every day that passes i am less "me" than i was. One day, maybe, i'll be more myself again. It will be pleasantly shocking, because...

this is my new normal

...for now.

Someone else's knees

Someone else’s knees met the ground as their eyes raised to Him and said, “please”. A space, there, at His feet, that previously only i had occupied. Someone else’s knees bent before Him, if only for a short time.

When The Man informed me that He had a scene experience as a Top recently, i was intrigued. i thought of all the ways He had taken His pleasure of me in the past. Was it a beating? Rope work? Did He have, y’know, teh secks? Apprehensive, maybe, but i was interested.

His eyes leveled with mine and as He exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, He replied to my inquiries, almost casually, “It was a D/s scene.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs. i was a cartoon character, smooshed by an anvil. True to the form, i didn’t stay flat, but wobbled upright, accordion bent and shaky. Did i want to know what happened? No, not at all, thanks very much, though.

i tormented myself, though. i imagined a thousand different scenarios, all different, but each filled with actions and words that were, in fact, my love language. How i expressed love, and how i received it. These things that i thought were mine. i felt shattered.

The weeks that followed were full of rumination. The initial shock having worn off, i had plenty to ponder. Why was my reaction to be so devastated? If i had brought myself to terms with Him finding pleasure elsewhere, or even loving another, why was this so different? What kind of ownership did i think i had over our D/s rituals? If it wasn’t jealousy, something i’ve handled with grace before, then…what?

i had become a bit less “special”, in my own mind. That spot at His feet did not belong to me, He allowed me to be there. i did not have sole claim to His domination, even if before i had been its sole recipient. my ego was deeply offended, no longer having pride in being the only source of submission to Him, that those gestures were made by another. i was afraid, also, that not having that particular distinction would make me less necessary. i suppose i’ve held my importance in pretty high regard. Silly, a thought, but really, i could be useless, and i think He would not consider me expendable. i was guaranteed ownership by Him, and nothing else.

Conclusions drawn, His permission to speak freely given, i poured out all of those thoughts and many more that my conscious mind has forgotten already. i remember them still, though, in a kind of deep knowing.

That night, He moved inside me, describing in excruciating detail what had occurred. Every thrust was a punctuation point that He did not require me to kneel, to beg, to yield. i was not unique or extraordinary in that, nor was it made sacrosanct by my doing it. The part of me that still believed i had any kind of real influence or emotional leverage died before He finished.

“The cemeteries are full of indispensable men.” -Georges Clemenceau (?)

Something was born into its place. A small, weak spark, that fanned into flames. i saw how much He had enjoyed it, even in the retelling. i saw Him see my struggle to accept, and relish that as well. i thought about every instance that i brought Him pleasure, and every one i brought disappointment. i thought of the times He tolerated my bad behavior, and those when He demanded excellence. i reflected on how i relied on Him for everything, and Him on me for truly nothing.

All i could desire was His bliss. All i could regret was hindering that.

It’s amazing how something that would for some on the surface seem so trifling can change one’s entire life. i have lived comfortably under His rule, in His collar, for nearly two years. In that time, i have been claiming the title of ‘slave’. Until now, though, i do not feel that i have authentically embodied that appellation as i understand that. Before this, i could not honestly say that i had put His will or desire above my own, unless it wasn’t too uncomfortable or inconvenient.

That changed in an instant. A flipping of a switch, an epiphany. i had, in fact, only been playing at the role. i went through the motions, did and said all the right things, but i didn’t really practice that, in my heart.

“ A man is a good retainer to the extent that he earnestly places importance in his master. This is the highest sort of retainer…even a person who is good for nothing and exceedingly clumsy will be a reliable retainer if only he has the determination to think earnestly of his master. Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness.” –Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Hagakure

It took someone else’s knees falling to the floor to truly bring me to mine.

When i cannot kneel, He commands me to sit.

In Connecticut, 2008 i was bitten by a tick and was diagnosed with Lyme Disease (without a blood test, as my entire body was covered in EM rashes). In a serious lapse of judgement, I did not finish the prescribed course of antibiotics.  i was 21, invincible, and i felt fine. i had since moved to another state and seen multiple doctors for knee pain and swelling that they "could not explain". One suggested cortisone shots or exploratory surgery, another prescribed narcotic painkillers. None would even entertain the idea that my inflamed, painful knees, a classic sign, could possibly be caused by Lyme. i suffered from headache, debilitating fatigue and a degeneration in cognitive function, though i never consulted a physician on those issues. i figured i was just getting old(er).

On the second weekend in June, we took a trip to visit my family in Connecticut. i was on the lookout for ticks, but when i returned i discovered a tick attached to my hip area. i removed it, and kept an eye onthe site. I was alert for any signs of Lyme, and after two days of aches, fatigue, and knee and neck pain, i once again discovered multiple EM rashes, and went to the ER on June 27. The doctor immediately recognized the infection, and upon hearing my history, grudgingly wrote "active and possibly recurring Lyme Disease" on my papers. i was prescribed an antibiotic course of 100mg Doxycycline, twice a day, for 21 days. i was discharged with instructions to consult with a physician after 5 days of antibiotic treatment if symptoms did not improve.

It is now day 6, and i feel worse than i did the day i walked two blocks to the nearby ER. i couldn't walk that far today if there were zombies about (although they may mistake me for one of their own), and yesterday i could barely crawl up the stairs. The doctor we consulted with said this was a classic Herxheimer reaction, a glaring sign that Lyme Disease has disseminated through my body. It will need to be treated aggressively in order to rid my body of those nasty bugs, once and for all.

We've begun the process of getting to see a specialist, and we're preparing to fight this. Treatment will affect our family, personally and financially. i'm concerned about the impact it will have. i'm afraid of the rollercoaster ride of feeling well and really unwell that will come with healing myself.  i'm afraid of infusing my body with a rather long term high dose of what i consider poison (antibiotic seems more like pesticide than medicine, to me). Don't think this hippie hasn't thought of alternatives. Sir says "better living through chemistry" and even though the doctor is all for integrative medicine, i will at most be allowed to augment homeopathically.

For all my fears, i feel incredibly blessed. i could have been condemned to a lifetime of pain, exhaustion, and lower quality of life. Being reinfected has given me a chance to avert that fate, rectify a mistake of five years ago, and possibly reverse some of the damage. There's been many a night where i've moved to kneel at Sir's feet, and He could see the pain on my face, for all my efforts to shield it. He would command me to sit, instead. Hopefully, with a lot of hard work, there will come a day where there won't be any pain to try to hide.

Hell, i may even start rock climbing again! ^.^

 Sir is commanding me to "sit" on a much more global scale. i'm not allowed to do much of anything. He's mixing His own drinks. i think i would struggle more with it if i could hold my arms up for a whole minute. i guess i would be on here more, with all the
sitting, but i can't seem to defog my brain enough to participate meaningfully in any discussions.

 If all that couldn't be unfortunate enough, with the uncertainty of the scope and scale of the Herxheimer reaction and the general ickiness that comes with twice daily antibiotics, i will be unable to attend my super-duper excellent favourite thing of the WHOLE YEAR, Rope Camp. i has a major sad.

Bummer. :(

At this time, all i can focus on is this path to healing. There's a long hard road ahead of us, and i ask that my friends send me some love and light, i need it now.

Palace of the Brine

Lately i've been feeling lost, adrift, missing the warm weight of His dominance. Every wave of His hand as He casually dismissed one of my apologies for a missed task was like punch in the gut. After much introspective thought and the lending of a few kind ears, i had come to a conclusion. After two years with Sir, the fact that i was still expecting reinforcement on the most basic of things was kind of laughable. He has already put in more than enough work to get me up to speed on those things, and how could He possible improve me further if i couldn't prove aptitude in those basic procedures when left to my own devices?

Le sigh.

The spiral successfully brought to a halt, and bolstered by the same epiphany i must have had half a dozen times already this past year, i brought the subject up to Sir. i told Him everything i had been feeling, and everything i had been thinking, and the conclusions i had come to. He listened intently, making a few comments here and there, but mostly just letting me get it all out.

He seemed satisfied with my analysis, and a comfortably pensive silence followed, only to be broken by the most horrific command i could ever dread to hear.

"Go eat an olive."

i balked, "NO, You can't mean it!!!" and covered my face with my hands, tears already springing to my eyes.

"Go. Eat. An. Olive."

Sir has been threatening to force me to eat olives ever since i was dumb enough to let slip that i HATED the fucking things, almost to the point of phobia.

For some reason, after He issued that command for a second time, although my mind was railing against it, my body sprung to obey. i went sobbing to the kitchen and grabbed a fork. As i rustled in the fridge to find the jar of olives that awaited their time to garnish Sir's martinis, it was as if i was watching myself from outside my body, helpless to stop what was to come.

i speared one of those disgusting orbs on the tines of the fork, and briefly reflected that olive drab was an incredibly aptly named colour.

A sudden panic gripped me. Sir told me to 'GO eat an olive'. i was to do this alone. i flashed back to an incident from my youth, my sister with black olives wedged onto her fingertips, chasing me while i tore through the house, shrieking at her to get those fucking things AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

i suppose the me of six months ago would have mentally run through all the possible escapes from this situation. Quietly placing the offensive food bit into the trash bin. Hiding it in a cocktail shaker to dispose of later. Refusing, and taking a beating instead. Alien abductions. Anything. Surprisingly, none of those things ran through my mind until the disgusting salt ridden green mass was already in my mouth.

i rushed back to Sir's feet, desperately trying to chew and choke down the olive, gagging and crying and shaking all over. i think He said something soothing, but i can't remember anything but desperately trying to not vomit all over myself.

Being allowed a drink to wash down the last brined chunks was the greatest blessing in recent memory.

After, i huddled at His feet, as worn and drained as any beating has left me, and He stroked my hair and told me i was a Good Girl and He was very proud of me.

It was the oddest thing. i was so profoundly grateful. Later, when i could muster words, i thanked Him again and again.

For making me eat a fucking olive.