So…  Where to start.

I’ve fucked more than thirty people, male and female.  Less females than men.  Most of my relationships with females didn’t involve sex.  And when they did, it was rarely what one would consider fucking.

I love all things sexual.  I hear submissives and masochists say things like “I can’t get off unless I get hurt.” or “Sex just isn’t worth it without pain.” or what-have-you.  But I’ve not found a thing yet that prevents me from cumming.  Except maybe being so angry I’m completely turned off.  But even then, force is a sure-fire way to get me all hot and bothered.  So anger doesn’t stave it off long.

Until recently, that’s made me feel really friggin’ guilty.

I don’t know what my parents tried to teach me about sex.  I can’t say for certain that they intentionally gave me a negative predisposition to it.  But all things sexual were off limits.

My mother thought it better I learn from school what my period and sex were.  And by that time I already knew.

In kindergarten I was fingered by a boy in ninth grade, not knowing enough to even want to stop him, and really liked it.  And then my mom got pregnant and bought me a book called “So that’s where babies come from!” (which I can’t even find on Amazon!).  I thought, “Finally.  I can find out if I’m right about sex.”  Read more…

So I have a rant for FetLife but I figured I’d better get this done first. I’m tired and whiny and missing Master and all I want to do is curl up on the couch with my blankey and watch Maury or something. But I can’t. Because then I’ll fall asleep and then I can’t talk to Him on AIM while He’s at work.

There were a lot of epiphanies over the Christmas weekend. Some good. Some bad. Some down right depressing. And some pointed out by Master so I’m not sure they can really be called epiphanies.

I’ve heard mention a time or two of slaves viewing their owners as their gods. And I’m sure I’ve said it a time or two as well. I’m sure  it’s the same with everyone, but when I said it, I didn’t mean in the theological sense. He’s not astrophysical, can’t move mountains with His mind, doesn’t have any super powers of any sort. Or does He? *ponders last night’s romp in the hay*

This weekend pointed out to me one of the reasons I’ve become so disheartened and cynical. So… jaded. I don’t believe in any god.

I tried to deny it. To pretend that every logical bone in my body wasn’t telling me that it was all a hunk of lies. To hold on to the faith that was so focused on the Christian god when I was a child and then, once I realized I really could believe whatever I wanted and not just what my parents told me, moved on to a plethora of Pagan gods and goddesses.

It’s said that people need to believe in something bigger than them. To give them something to look forward to. To keep them from falling into the trap I’ve been locked in since I was twelve. Realizing that nothing that happens on Earth means anything in the grand scheme of things is too much for some of us to bear. Self included.

This weekend I realized that I… just don’t. I believe there are disembodied spirits running around. I believe that we can communicate with them if we just listen. But I believe they’re just like us. The only real difference being they can see how time flows and we, being trapped in mortal bodies, can’t.

I don’t know why I believe that. I guess mostly because I’ve had paranormal experiences that I can’t explain and this theory makes the most sense. But maybe the KAP downstairs is right and I am just crazy. Who knows, right?

This weekend my inebriated mind couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t deal with knowing there’s nothing out there waiting for us when all this is over. That, when it comes right down to it, all the suffering and bull shit we’ve been through (collective we – everyone’s been through something no matter how large or small) is for nothing.

And then Master asked why there has to be a god. A purpose. Why I need there to be a higher power. And really, I don’t need it. Don’t have to have it. I just hoped there was. I hoped there was a reason for all the “bad stuff”.

That’s when He told me He’s the only god I need. And the usual “Of course you’d say that, Master.” type thoughts didn’t come. Instead, little miss “Go get the fucking paddle.” said, “He’s right, you know. And wouldn’t things be so much easier if you believed it? Have a little faith in the one you begged to guide you.”

Since then (until today… I think I’m just under the weather today), there’s been a smile on my face. An extra spring to my step. And faith. Faith I’d lost the week I left. Faith I so desperately need to function.

Not just faith in us, though that’s a major part of it. But faith in everything.

And now it’s back. Refocused and stronger than it was before.

And you know what? In the grand scheme of things, it may all be for nothing. But I’m having a hell of a time. So who cares?

She crushed the heels of her hands to the backs of her eyelids. A single tear ran down each wrist, one dripping off to land on a bare breast and the other tickling the crook of her elbow. An attempt to sniffle quietly went unnoticed as she tried to put her thoughts in the filing cabinet that was her mind.

It was locked, this file of negative emotions. She never allowed it to open longer than the time it took to add the newest thought and shove everything back inside. She was too afraid. Afraid the tiny trickle that came with opening the drawer would lead to the downpour that took her places she hadn’t been in years. And she couldn’t explain it. The reason behind keeping her mouth shut and her emotions hidden. She just knew it was better this way.

She’d progressed in her ability to hide. Once upon a time, she had to leave the room. Before that, she had to lock herself in the bathroom. Now she just remained silent and fought the tears she’d been trained to show. And when her silence was misunderstood, she allowed it to remain that way. Better to keep the real reason locked away in the file of negative emotion.

She knew the vicious cycle that was her life had come full circle. The names and faces had changed. So had the situation. But the reality was everything else was the same. And as she sat in the seat she had chosen quietly fighting the urge to run, she knew that everyone around her was oblivious to the war trying to force a scream from her throat.

A loose thread in the upholstery of the chair caught her attention and she began to fiddle with it. A nervous habit that had cost her more than one expensive piece of clothing. Back and forth, back and forth, and then she pinched it between long red nails hoping to sever it where thread met cloth. When that didn’t work, she began to saw at it. Read more…

Sometimes I wonder if I really know what Iâ??m doing. And then
days like today happen and I amaze myself. I canâ??t go into detail. No. No, canâ??t
isnâ??t the correct word. I could if I wanted to. And more than likely no one
would care. But I wonâ??t. I wonâ??t because I donâ??t want to. And I wonâ??t because,
really, no one needs to know what happened. And that amazes me too. Cause
usually Iâ??m all â??Oh my gods, guess what!â? Wellâ?¦ with vanesa anyway.

Read more…

Itâ??s come to my attention that I love doing dishes. When I
can get out of my own way and stop wallowing in energy-less oblivion, once I
actually get off my ass and walk into the kitchen and start scrubbing, Iâ??m the
happiest little slave slut in the world. Well, mostly.

Why? Because I can think when Iâ??m cleaning. And when Iâ??m
left alone to clean and not spoken to, I can pull grand epiphanies from this
empty head oâ?? mine. My cleaning thought strains run from massive silent temper
tantrums to silently singing the praises of the one who owns me. Sometimes in a
single session.

Read more…