It seems that the topic of pain is quite popular among those involved in any aspect of this lifestyle. It makes sense because alot of times the things we do involve some level of discomfort or pain. At some point everyone asks themselves if they are a masochist, a "pain slut". I have put a bit of thought into this myself lately and have agreed with earlier declarations that I am indeed a masochist.
mas·och·ism (mās'ə-kĭz'əm)
1. The deriving of sexual gratification, or the tendency to derive sexual gratification, from being physically or emotionally abused.
2. The deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from being humiliated or mistreated, either by another or by oneself.
3. A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.
That is the definition given by Dictionary.com and numbers 1 and 2 definitely describe part of me. However, it that definition is not all encompassing of my thoughts about pain and why I enjoy it so much. Certain kinds of pain and humiliation are very sexual to me, while others are not and yet I enjoy both equally, probably the non-sexual kind much better than the sexual kind.
Sexually I enjoy erotic spankings, forms of humiliation, and other types of erotic pain applied to different errogenous zones. Non-sexually I enjoy intense prolonged spanking, flogging on my back and breasts, and cutting. Okay, so I know that last admission was a bit shocking, or not depending on whether you are into knife play or not. Allow me to explain a little: cutting was my first experience with enjoying pain that I did not associate with anything sexual. Yes, when I started I was depressed, withdrawn, and perhaps it was a bit of a cry for help. However, that desire to feel the stinging pain of a cut and see the little white scar it leaves has never really gone away. I don't cut anymore, mostly because the people that care about me would find out and would be very very concerned, plus there is the risk of cutting too deep or the wrong place so I just don't do it anymore at all. The feeling that comes along with it though is something that I crave deeply. It is like floating in the air, all the worries or stresses, or feelings of anger or sadness just disappear into that wonderful bite as the flesh is penetrated. The relief, the delirious happiness that it brings is something I think I will always be addicted to. I haven't found anything that made me feel quite that same way. A good flogging almost gets me there and I know that maintenance spanking is pretty much used to produce the same effect, but spanking will never do that for me.
So this is my conclusion in regards to pain: I am a pain addict. I respond to pain very much the same way that some people respond to alcohol or drugs. There is no cure for this addiction only self-control. I have been to a therapist and different techniques were tried, but they did not take away this desire to inflict pain on myself. It did help for a while, but only about a month or two and then I was right back to eyeing the little safety pin that sat on my dresser, or the bobby pin that I knew could scratch away fless until blood was brought to the surface. I write this and I think "God, Alice, you sound mentally insane! There is no one in the world that could understand why you like pain. Everyone will think there is something wrong with you!". If that is the case, so be it. Perhaps a little insanity is the only thing that keeps me quite sane in this crazy world. I do hope that anyone who reads this isn't immediately scared for my safety. I do NOT want to kill myself, I never have wanted to and I never will. I have too much to live for! As I said before, I don't cut anymore, it is just the kind of pain that I crave the most. I would remind you that my kink is not your kink, and your kink is not mine, but I am not sure that I would actually label this as "kink" for there is no sexual undertone at all.
As far as kinky pain goes there are many things I want to try. Wax play being at the top of my list. I am waiting until I am not pregnant anymore though because the intensity might do unnecessary damage to my baby and that is not something that I am willing to risk. I also want to try a bit more humiliation. I have been used as a footstool, naked. I have been used as a table, naked. I have been made to stand in the corner naked and write lines while being whipped with the belt. I have barked like a good little doggy and being strussed up as a horsey during sex, but I can imagine all the things I haven't tried and can't wait to try a little bit more. I want to try nipple clamps and a clit clamp with a chain that connects all three and maybe even wear them under my clothes one day, but that will have to wait till I'm done nursing so that one is a little ways out there. Oh yes, and I am dying to be caned! That I think ties for top of my list with wax play. I have already mentioned all those things to Brandon and he is curious to try them too... not being done to him of course but being the inflictor of pain on me. So, if anyone has tried any of these things I would love to hear about your experience to get a better feel for what I have in store for myself.
Friday, January 29
Thursday, January 28
The Gift of Submission...
I believe that at the core of any Dominate/submissive relationship there needs to be a good foundation of trust. Trust is not something that we just give away to anyone. Trust is developed, earned, or rewarded to a person who we feel has proven themselves to be trustworthy. D/s relationships require trust to survive the intensity that they often present for we do not just play with the body, but the mind as well. I have heard it said many times that submission (or domination for that matter) is not an outward act of the body but a state of mind that then presents itself in actions and words. Just as trust is a gift not freely given, submission is also a gift to be carefully guarded and carefully given away. How often do we all forget this simple yet important truth! Yes, Dominant and submissive alike are prone to forget how precious and fragile a gift this is. Dominants demand submission from a sub as if all the subs in the world are theirs to command. Submissives mistakenly believe that it is very unsubmissive of them to withhold their submission from any Dominant that crosses their path. In this way submissives are often treated without care, and the beauty of D/s is lost.
As we grow up from little tikes to young men and women we learn and are taught not to trust. It is generally accepted that every person will lie to you, whether it be about something very important or something inconsequential. We hold our trust deep within us and we find it hard to bestow it upon anyone. Why do we not do the same with our submission then? Are we so eager to prove just how submissive we can be? Must we always be competing to see who is more submissive? We read everywhere and hear all the respected members of this community say over and over again, each person is different and will Dominate or submit in completely different ways. Yet we are always comparing ourselves to other people! Unfortunately it is human nature that we fight when we make the choice to be content in who we are and what we do. To get back to the point here, I am sure that we can all agree that submission follows our placement of trust in someone. Does it not make sense then that submission be held onto and guarded almost more fiercely than our trust? Be very careful of the “Dominants” that attempt to bypass the earning of trust and thus the reward of our gift of submission for they do not care about you, only about themselves. Submissives be careful to whom you give this gift because once it is given it is hard to take back and you will not always come out of such an ordeal without mental scars.
There are so many other things to say along with this, but I will save those for another post at another time. Also, I wish to say that I believe along with submission being a gift, Domination is a gift as well and ought to be treated with reverence and care just as the gift of submission ought to be treated. I write this from the submissive point of view because that is what I know, but I say that just as submission is to be treasured and guarded, so is Domination for it is a giving of ourselves to another human being that has the ability to hurt us.
As we grow up from little tikes to young men and women we learn and are taught not to trust. It is generally accepted that every person will lie to you, whether it be about something very important or something inconsequential. We hold our trust deep within us and we find it hard to bestow it upon anyone. Why do we not do the same with our submission then? Are we so eager to prove just how submissive we can be? Must we always be competing to see who is more submissive? We read everywhere and hear all the respected members of this community say over and over again, each person is different and will Dominate or submit in completely different ways. Yet we are always comparing ourselves to other people! Unfortunately it is human nature that we fight when we make the choice to be content in who we are and what we do. To get back to the point here, I am sure that we can all agree that submission follows our placement of trust in someone. Does it not make sense then that submission be held onto and guarded almost more fiercely than our trust? Be very careful of the “Dominants” that attempt to bypass the earning of trust and thus the reward of our gift of submission for they do not care about you, only about themselves. Submissives be careful to whom you give this gift because once it is given it is hard to take back and you will not always come out of such an ordeal without mental scars.
There are so many other things to say along with this, but I will save those for another post at another time. Also, I wish to say that I believe along with submission being a gift, Domination is a gift as well and ought to be treated with reverence and care just as the gift of submission ought to be treated. I write this from the submissive point of view because that is what I know, but I say that just as submission is to be treasured and guarded, so is Domination for it is a giving of ourselves to another human being that has the ability to hurt us.
Tuesday, January 26
The thing about butt plugs...
There is a sort of apprehension that goes along with the thought of having a butt plug inserted into that forbidden little hole, at least for me there was. So many emotions go through my mind when the topic is broached or perhaps I am in that place where we are going to try it yet again. Fear of pain, of being unable to bear it or like it, fear of the unknown; Panic, I just want to run far far away from that evil little device, I want to scream bloody murder and thrash around and make it impossible for my little butt hole to be found; curiosity, on the other hand I’m wondering all the time what it will feel like, what it might look like, and whether I might like it after all; most of all though I feel very small, very submissive.
We’ve tried it many times, a few centimeters at a time that object has begun to sneak in the back door. Slowly, slowly it makes it farther each time. At first this was a hard limit for me. Never would I agree to something like this. That hole was dirty and unappealing and there was no way it would ever be sexualized, I was adamant. Yet, when the curiosity of my husband reached the surface and I saw that gleam in his eye, the curiosity that it held for him, I felt the limit softening, melting away until I agreed to give it a try. So here we are now, two days after that black little plug finally pushed its way all the way in. Brandon was patient, we’ve had the thing for months, and he never pushed more than I could handle. It was me who finally pushed myself to go all the way. Handcuffed to the bed, on all fours, unable to move, I was begging to be fucked, but Brandon had other ideas. He pressed a vibrator to my sensitive clit, and I sank even further into the crazed oblivion of arousal. I was barely aware of the plug being slowly, yet insistently, pressed against my butt hole. I felt open everywhere. I knew that he was pushing it inside me, very slowly and very carefully, and I knew when it reached the point that I wanted to say “No more!”, but I stopped myself. I held my tongue, and I felt it go in farther and farther, and to my amazement it didn’t hurt. Yes, there was some slight discomfort, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Then, finally, I was there, it was in! I wish Brandon had taken pictures so that I could see what I looked like. I can imagine, but I still want to see for myself (maybe next time huh?). “Do you want me inside you now?” Brandon asked. Double penetration, curiosity outweighed my apprehension. “Yes, please!” I begged. Slowly he slid inside me as well, I felt so full! He came fast, but I was too full of thoughts to cum and that was okay, I didn’t need that release. I was so proud of myself for finally overcoming my fears! Then he slowly began to pull it out, just as slowly as it went in he said. I’m not going to lie; (now it becomes quite unsexual, but I wish I had someone to tell me what it was like, including all the gritty disgusting details) it felt like I was pooping. Yuck, I was so afraid that I would too, uncontrollably expel excrement. I didn’t, it just felt like it, and that is most unpleasant. I think I would have liked it to stay in longer, to let my body adjust to it, to stand up, to sit down, and to just feel it move around inside me. Next time, because there will be a next time, I will make sure to try all those things.
So, a hard limit was breached, and it was okay. I lived, and I even kind of liked it. I wasn’t embarrassed like I thought I would be. I felt very submissive and small, and afterwards I felt very proud. I can do it again, and I most likely will. Next to move on to a bigger one and then Brandon’s cock. Now that makes me quite afraid, because the plug we have is quite small and Brandon’s cock is much larger and thicker. I think it will take time, just like this did. Eventually it will be okay and I’ll be even more proud of myself.
We’ve tried it many times, a few centimeters at a time that object has begun to sneak in the back door. Slowly, slowly it makes it farther each time. At first this was a hard limit for me. Never would I agree to something like this. That hole was dirty and unappealing and there was no way it would ever be sexualized, I was adamant. Yet, when the curiosity of my husband reached the surface and I saw that gleam in his eye, the curiosity that it held for him, I felt the limit softening, melting away until I agreed to give it a try. So here we are now, two days after that black little plug finally pushed its way all the way in. Brandon was patient, we’ve had the thing for months, and he never pushed more than I could handle. It was me who finally pushed myself to go all the way. Handcuffed to the bed, on all fours, unable to move, I was begging to be fucked, but Brandon had other ideas. He pressed a vibrator to my sensitive clit, and I sank even further into the crazed oblivion of arousal. I was barely aware of the plug being slowly, yet insistently, pressed against my butt hole. I felt open everywhere. I knew that he was pushing it inside me, very slowly and very carefully, and I knew when it reached the point that I wanted to say “No more!”, but I stopped myself. I held my tongue, and I felt it go in farther and farther, and to my amazement it didn’t hurt. Yes, there was some slight discomfort, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Then, finally, I was there, it was in! I wish Brandon had taken pictures so that I could see what I looked like. I can imagine, but I still want to see for myself (maybe next time huh?). “Do you want me inside you now?” Brandon asked. Double penetration, curiosity outweighed my apprehension. “Yes, please!” I begged. Slowly he slid inside me as well, I felt so full! He came fast, but I was too full of thoughts to cum and that was okay, I didn’t need that release. I was so proud of myself for finally overcoming my fears! Then he slowly began to pull it out, just as slowly as it went in he said. I’m not going to lie; (now it becomes quite unsexual, but I wish I had someone to tell me what it was like, including all the gritty disgusting details) it felt like I was pooping. Yuck, I was so afraid that I would too, uncontrollably expel excrement. I didn’t, it just felt like it, and that is most unpleasant. I think I would have liked it to stay in longer, to let my body adjust to it, to stand up, to sit down, and to just feel it move around inside me. Next time, because there will be a next time, I will make sure to try all those things.
So, a hard limit was breached, and it was okay. I lived, and I even kind of liked it. I wasn’t embarrassed like I thought I would be. I felt very submissive and small, and afterwards I felt very proud. I can do it again, and I most likely will. Next to move on to a bigger one and then Brandon’s cock. Now that makes me quite afraid, because the plug we have is quite small and Brandon’s cock is much larger and thicker. I think it will take time, just like this did. Eventually it will be okay and I’ll be even more proud of myself.
Monday, January 18
Punishment = Tender Loving Care
After having gone weeks with no punishments (although I definitely deserved them) I finally got what I needed. Although presented in story form, this did occur 2 days ago. Enjoy! (I swear that if you found joy in my pain then you are such a sadist! If you empathize with me, you may be a masochist, I most assuredly am.)
“You know that you’ve been getting away with breaking a lot of rules lately.” Brandon spoke sternly as he gave me the look. You know, the look that Doms all use to make sure their subs know their place? Yeah, that look. I scooted back further on our king sized bed. I felt like I was shrinking in size. Surely such a sweet and innocent little girl such as I couldn’t be in too much trouble.
“Get up! On your knees, face the wall and put your hands on the wall in front of you.”
I dared to shake my head and whimper. There was no getting out of the punishment that I had been trying to provoke for weeks now. When life gets too busy and play gets put on the back burner it seems like such a good idea to break a few rules, and push a few buttons. Yet, when the desired punishment finally arrives my instinct is to run away as fast as I can.
“Alice,” growled the ever looming Brandon, “do it now.” His voice was low and commanding. I know that he meant business and although I hesitated a second more, I scurried to do as he said. This position was new to me; Brandon normally had me on all fours offering my very naked and very vulnerable posterior to him. This time I was fully clothed, protected, and my butt was not offered to him at all. It felt strange, and yet at the same time made me feel very small and vulnerable anyway.
I knew to keep my gaze forward, but I heard him pull his belt out of his pant loops. Oh, that swishing sound as it comes flying free always makes me quiver, knowing that soon the belt would land squarely on my buttocks and would soon have me whimpering and pleading for it to stop. I squeezed my eyes shut as the belt caressed its striking zone.
“Ah!” I couldn’t help but cry out with the first strike. I groaned as the next 3 came quickly and struck the exact same spot. My very unused bottom quickly started burning. I reached back to protect myself, foolishly.
“Get that hand back on the wall missy!”
I quickly did as commanded. Five more strokes covered my tender bottom. Ouch, ouch, ouch, was all I could think. Then nothing. I waited, and heard the belt placed behind me on the bed. I sank down, relieved that my punishment was over, but also growing disappointed that it had ended so early. Brandon came around and took my face in his hands.
“Are you going to listen to me now? Are we done with this foolishness, and disobedience?”
I swear that my response was controlled by a little devil inside me! An impish grin slowly came across my face. “No, probably not.” Wait! What had I done?! Brandon pulled me back up and put my hands back against the wall. Before I could plead with him, he’d pulled down my pants and underwear.
“No, no! I didn’t mean it, I’ll be good I promise!” I cried, knowing it would do no good.
The belt was picked back up and quickly came crashing down on my very exposed and red bottom. “Too late! You shouldn’t have egged me on. This is what you want so this is what you’ll get.”
I whimpered, groaned, and pleaded as 10 more strokes, each harder than the last, burned my poor behind. Just as I was about to start seriously begging, the belt lashing stopped. Ah, but Brandon wasn’t finished yet. He gently rubbed my sore bottom with his hand and just as I thought “okay, he’s done now” his hand started in on the assault.
“No, please! I can’t take it anymore.” Three, four, five strokes landed sharp and fast.
“Just three more, and I want you to ask me for each of them.”
Oh, cruel, cruel, cruel! I hate asking for my punishment! It is so humiliating.
I struggled to speak, “Please Sir, will you punish me.”
Whack!
“Two more. Ask!”
“Please Sir, will you punish me.”
Whack! Even harder than the last. Brandon always surprises me with how hard he can hit with just his hand. Just when I think that he’s reached his limit, he pulls back and strikes even harder.
I whimpered, and wiggled. I was stalling for time. My bottom was burning something fierce and I wanted time to let it cool a bit, just a bit.
“You’d better ask for that last one before I add five more.”
“Oh…” I groaned, “Please Sir, will you punish me.”
WHACK!
“Ow!” I cried as I quickly angled my body away from him. “That hurt!” Duh.
“Are you done playing games?”
“Yes.” I mumbled.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes Sir.” It isn’t often that Brandon wants me to call him Sir, but during and after a punishment he requires the term of respect.
He gathered me into his arms for a comforting hug and the punishment came to a close. I always find it rather odd that after such a painful ordeal I can curl up into his arms and seek the comfort I know I will find. He reaches up a hand to stroke a stray strand of hair back from my face and snuggle in closer. I love my husband very much, and I know he loves me.
I am not very good at writing stories like these, so I appreciate you suffering through the very mediocre storytelling. I do consider myself a writer, and a good one, but these stories always seem to give me trouble.
“You know that you’ve been getting away with breaking a lot of rules lately.” Brandon spoke sternly as he gave me the look. You know, the look that Doms all use to make sure their subs know their place? Yeah, that look. I scooted back further on our king sized bed. I felt like I was shrinking in size. Surely such a sweet and innocent little girl such as I couldn’t be in too much trouble.
“Get up! On your knees, face the wall and put your hands on the wall in front of you.”
I dared to shake my head and whimper. There was no getting out of the punishment that I had been trying to provoke for weeks now. When life gets too busy and play gets put on the back burner it seems like such a good idea to break a few rules, and push a few buttons. Yet, when the desired punishment finally arrives my instinct is to run away as fast as I can.
“Alice,” growled the ever looming Brandon, “do it now.” His voice was low and commanding. I know that he meant business and although I hesitated a second more, I scurried to do as he said. This position was new to me; Brandon normally had me on all fours offering my very naked and very vulnerable posterior to him. This time I was fully clothed, protected, and my butt was not offered to him at all. It felt strange, and yet at the same time made me feel very small and vulnerable anyway.
I knew to keep my gaze forward, but I heard him pull his belt out of his pant loops. Oh, that swishing sound as it comes flying free always makes me quiver, knowing that soon the belt would land squarely on my buttocks and would soon have me whimpering and pleading for it to stop. I squeezed my eyes shut as the belt caressed its striking zone.
“Ah!” I couldn’t help but cry out with the first strike. I groaned as the next 3 came quickly and struck the exact same spot. My very unused bottom quickly started burning. I reached back to protect myself, foolishly.
“Get that hand back on the wall missy!”
I quickly did as commanded. Five more strokes covered my tender bottom. Ouch, ouch, ouch, was all I could think. Then nothing. I waited, and heard the belt placed behind me on the bed. I sank down, relieved that my punishment was over, but also growing disappointed that it had ended so early. Brandon came around and took my face in his hands.
“Are you going to listen to me now? Are we done with this foolishness, and disobedience?”
I swear that my response was controlled by a little devil inside me! An impish grin slowly came across my face. “No, probably not.” Wait! What had I done?! Brandon pulled me back up and put my hands back against the wall. Before I could plead with him, he’d pulled down my pants and underwear.
“No, no! I didn’t mean it, I’ll be good I promise!” I cried, knowing it would do no good.
The belt was picked back up and quickly came crashing down on my very exposed and red bottom. “Too late! You shouldn’t have egged me on. This is what you want so this is what you’ll get.”
I whimpered, groaned, and pleaded as 10 more strokes, each harder than the last, burned my poor behind. Just as I was about to start seriously begging, the belt lashing stopped. Ah, but Brandon wasn’t finished yet. He gently rubbed my sore bottom with his hand and just as I thought “okay, he’s done now” his hand started in on the assault.
“No, please! I can’t take it anymore.” Three, four, five strokes landed sharp and fast.
“Just three more, and I want you to ask me for each of them.”
Oh, cruel, cruel, cruel! I hate asking for my punishment! It is so humiliating.
I struggled to speak, “Please Sir, will you punish me.”
Whack!
“Two more. Ask!”
“Please Sir, will you punish me.”
Whack! Even harder than the last. Brandon always surprises me with how hard he can hit with just his hand. Just when I think that he’s reached his limit, he pulls back and strikes even harder.
I whimpered, and wiggled. I was stalling for time. My bottom was burning something fierce and I wanted time to let it cool a bit, just a bit.
“You’d better ask for that last one before I add five more.”
“Oh…” I groaned, “Please Sir, will you punish me.”
WHACK!
“Ow!” I cried as I quickly angled my body away from him. “That hurt!” Duh.
“Are you done playing games?”
“Yes.” I mumbled.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes Sir.” It isn’t often that Brandon wants me to call him Sir, but during and after a punishment he requires the term of respect.
He gathered me into his arms for a comforting hug and the punishment came to a close. I always find it rather odd that after such a painful ordeal I can curl up into his arms and seek the comfort I know I will find. He reaches up a hand to stroke a stray strand of hair back from my face and snuggle in closer. I love my husband very much, and I know he loves me.
I am not very good at writing stories like these, so I appreciate you suffering through the very mediocre storytelling. I do consider myself a writer, and a good one, but these stories always seem to give me trouble.
Friday, January 15
Contradictions: To lead or to follow, that is the question...
I’ve been pondering lately the many contradictions in my life. I don’t trust people because I trust too easily and get hurt too often; I am a self proclaimed control freak who wants to let go of control and at the same time doesn’t because I am afraid of what will happen when I do; I love so much and yet still don’t love enough. The thing I’ve been pondering most is my need for control and my need to let go of control. How does this work? I can’t even begin to understand the contradictions this presents and yet I know they exist. I recognize my serious need to be in control of every situation, decision, and plan. I also feel my need to let it go and (almost) blindly follow someone else. How do you reconcile the two needs? When do you take control and when do you give it up?
Ah, I love the feeling of being out of control. Bondage, rules to follow that I didn’t dictate, a single command; yes I think there are many who might agree with me. There is a rush that I (we) get from this, whether it is manifested or simply a test of will power, the domination exerted over me brings me further and further into that heady space of submission. Oh how I desire this beautiful feeling every second of every day! To live as a slave is what I dream, but do I really want what I dream to become my reality? When I am not there, in this submissive head space, when life seems to lack control I uncontrollably step up and take control. Does this mean that I should be controlled every minute of every day by someone else? Or does this mean that I am not meant to be anything more than a sexual submissive?
I always come back to the same question and the same conclusion. Am I meant to be in control or am I meant to give up control? My answer is always the same: I meant for both. Then, I ask, is that even possible, to be meant to lead and to be meant to be led? I know, there are many high powered women who are submissive and in their job they are fantastic and strong leaders. But how do you separate one reality from the other when they are so contradictory? And are they truly submissive or do they somehow passively control their submission, or acts thereof? Does anyone have an answer?
Ah, I love the feeling of being out of control. Bondage, rules to follow that I didn’t dictate, a single command; yes I think there are many who might agree with me. There is a rush that I (we) get from this, whether it is manifested or simply a test of will power, the domination exerted over me brings me further and further into that heady space of submission. Oh how I desire this beautiful feeling every second of every day! To live as a slave is what I dream, but do I really want what I dream to become my reality? When I am not there, in this submissive head space, when life seems to lack control I uncontrollably step up and take control. Does this mean that I should be controlled every minute of every day by someone else? Or does this mean that I am not meant to be anything more than a sexual submissive?
I always come back to the same question and the same conclusion. Am I meant to be in control or am I meant to give up control? My answer is always the same: I meant for both. Then, I ask, is that even possible, to be meant to lead and to be meant to be led? I know, there are many high powered women who are submissive and in their job they are fantastic and strong leaders. But how do you separate one reality from the other when they are so contradictory? And are they truly submissive or do they somehow passively control their submission, or acts thereof? Does anyone have an answer?
Tuesday, January 12
Happiness is...
Where I live spring has already come upon us. The sun shines everyday and warms the earth. There is a cool breeze that whispers in your ear of beautiful fairytales. Spring is here for me, in the middle of January. I want to pack a lunch in a basket and wear a light pretty sundress and go on a picnic with my love. I want to plant flowers, and I want to pick flowers. I want to make crown after crown of daisies. The sun is shining and beckoning, “come out and play!” it says. I look out my window and dream, but I don’t do any of these things that I want to do. Why am I compelled to stay inside and watch the world go by? Why do I hide away and dream instead? Wouldn’t I be happier if I did the things I dream of? Yet I continue to dream and hide, and watch the world as it passes by my window. I tell myself that I can’t do those things simply because I don’t believe. I don’t believe in happiness, or that it can be mine in the way that I dream. I believe that the sun is a mask for a dark foreboding sky. I don’t trust the joy that it offers and I tell myself that it is all a lie. Why?
I have analyzed myself over and over again. I blame my dad, for whom I was never good enough. I blame him because he told me lies over and over again. He abandoned me, and his family and I can never trust him again. I blame him for this disbelief. I don’t think that this is all though. I’m sure it is part of my problem (yes, I have daddy issues), but it can’t be all. I also blame the bastard who stole my innocence on that fateful autumn day. I lived dreams and fairytales before, and afterwards reality came crashing down. I will never forgive that stranger and I will never forgive my dad for taking my faith away. I find myself to be a contradiction. I carry around a childlike innocence, I choose to dwell and dream of fairytales. Yet I know reality. I know that these don’t exist and I feed the hope that they do. I have a bright side, and a dark side, always fighting each other.
I say that I live inside always looking out, and I say this literally and figuratively. As I write this I know I have built a wall inside and it keeps out everything that can possible hurt me. It protects me as it kills me, slowly. There are many layers to this wall, and a single window in which I can look out at the world and wish for what I see while knowing, believing, that if I take a step outside it will all suddenly change and the world I wish for will tear me apart. So I continue to stay safely inside and I wait, I wait for the world to prove me right. I also wait for someone to prove me wrong.
I have analyzed myself over and over again. I blame my dad, for whom I was never good enough. I blame him because he told me lies over and over again. He abandoned me, and his family and I can never trust him again. I blame him for this disbelief. I don’t think that this is all though. I’m sure it is part of my problem (yes, I have daddy issues), but it can’t be all. I also blame the bastard who stole my innocence on that fateful autumn day. I lived dreams and fairytales before, and afterwards reality came crashing down. I will never forgive that stranger and I will never forgive my dad for taking my faith away. I find myself to be a contradiction. I carry around a childlike innocence, I choose to dwell and dream of fairytales. Yet I know reality. I know that these don’t exist and I feed the hope that they do. I have a bright side, and a dark side, always fighting each other.
I say that I live inside always looking out, and I say this literally and figuratively. As I write this I know I have built a wall inside and it keeps out everything that can possible hurt me. It protects me as it kills me, slowly. There are many layers to this wall, and a single window in which I can look out at the world and wish for what I see while knowing, believing, that if I take a step outside it will all suddenly change and the world I wish for will tear me apart. So I continue to stay safely inside and I wait, I wait for the world to prove me right. I also wait for someone to prove me wrong.
Reminiscing memories
Illusions of my mind
Cinderella's story
I search too far to find
Hints of music left unseen
This magic toy I wind
Echoes of a picture past
These disillusions I unbind*
*written by Sarah Odle, used with permission.
Monday, January 11
Alice in Wonderland
I have struggled with the idea of starting this blog for a while. I am afraid. I am afraid of being found out, of sharing my deepest darkest secret(s), of being ridiculed and rejected, but as it turned out I was more afraid of being alone. I have read, and visited, and observed the world of "blogging" and I see people who share in this world what they cannot in the real world. I see others come and find them and sympathize, and relate, and encourage, and in this world they become friends offering eachother advice and support. I saw all this and I wanted it. So here I am internet world!
My name is Alice. I am 24 years old. I am married to a wonderful husband who supports me, leads me, teaches me, and loves me unconditionally. Together we face a world of unknowns knowing only that we have eachother. We are embarking on a new experience as we prepare to welcome a little baby into our family this spring and we are excited and terrified at the same time. There are times when I must encourage him and remind him that we will be okay, that he will be a wonderful father, and there are times when he must remind me that I will be a wonderful mother. Together we face our fears, and hold on to our hopes. It is only together that we survive, apart we would die.
My husband leads me in this marriage of ours. I submit, but only to him. I am headstrong, stubborn, willful, and it is only out of my deep love for him that I find the desire, the need to submit. There are many titles out here in this world, but I choose to label myself with none of them. You could call me a "spanko" for I love a good spanking, but that is not who I am. You could say that my husband and I have a D/s relationship or a DD relationship, but again those are only facets of our relationship. It is hard for me to put this out there. I fear rejection more than anything, but I know that although rejection may come, acceptance will also come. We enjoy spanking, we enjoy bondage, we enjoy discipline. I enjoy submitting, and he enoys accepting my submission. We are confident in who we are and we are happy with what we do. Not every day is the same as the last, each one brings a different level. I would be his slave if that is what he wanted of me. I accept the dominance he exerts over me, whether it be more or less demanding. This is what we do.
I begin this adventure to speak openly about these things, but also to express anything and everything my heart desires. I do this openly, but secretly. I do not trust easily and so I do not share easily, but I find myself needing to express many things without fear of familly, or repercussions. My future in this new world brings many things to ponder and I hope you will ponder them with me.
My name is Alice. I am 24 years old. I am married to a wonderful husband who supports me, leads me, teaches me, and loves me unconditionally. Together we face a world of unknowns knowing only that we have eachother. We are embarking on a new experience as we prepare to welcome a little baby into our family this spring and we are excited and terrified at the same time. There are times when I must encourage him and remind him that we will be okay, that he will be a wonderful father, and there are times when he must remind me that I will be a wonderful mother. Together we face our fears, and hold on to our hopes. It is only together that we survive, apart we would die.
My husband leads me in this marriage of ours. I submit, but only to him. I am headstrong, stubborn, willful, and it is only out of my deep love for him that I find the desire, the need to submit. There are many titles out here in this world, but I choose to label myself with none of them. You could call me a "spanko" for I love a good spanking, but that is not who I am. You could say that my husband and I have a D/s relationship or a DD relationship, but again those are only facets of our relationship. It is hard for me to put this out there. I fear rejection more than anything, but I know that although rejection may come, acceptance will also come. We enjoy spanking, we enjoy bondage, we enjoy discipline. I enjoy submitting, and he enoys accepting my submission. We are confident in who we are and we are happy with what we do. Not every day is the same as the last, each one brings a different level. I would be his slave if that is what he wanted of me. I accept the dominance he exerts over me, whether it be more or less demanding. This is what we do.
I begin this adventure to speak openly about these things, but also to express anything and everything my heart desires. I do this openly, but secretly. I do not trust easily and so I do not share easily, but I find myself needing to express many things without fear of familly, or repercussions. My future in this new world brings many things to ponder and I hope you will ponder them with me.
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