Updates

We’ve recently applied alot of updates, so if anyone notices anything weird, please let us know. I’m pretty sure everything’s functioning correctly, but you never know.

That elusive spot

Over the past week another “study” was released saying that the g-spot may not biologically exist. At the moment that headline flew across my Twitter app, I knew there would be a ton of backlash. I got into a little discussion on Twitter about it, but it’s really hard to express thoughts 140 characters at a time.

In my mind, who really cares what the reports say. If that’s what gets you off, that’s what gets you off. Unless you’re a very gullible person, reports that the g-spot doesn’t exist isn’t going to change anything at all about your sex life.

What I assumed, correctly, is that it wouldn’t remain a scientific or biological issue, but would instead turn into a male/female issue, and that’s exactly what I saw happen. During the conversation on twitter, someone mentioned that men were always trying to tell women it’s all in their heads. And therein lies my issue with it.

Read more…

I’ve been dreaming a lot about being kidnapped, chased, murdered, tortured.  And not the fun kinds of any of those.

Not that there’s a “fun kind” of being murdered.  But you know what I mean.

I’m not objective about my dreams because occasionally, they’re prophetic.  Whether they’re occasionally prophetic because I have some psychic ability, or because everyone gets it right sometimes, I don’t know.  And I don’t really care.  It is what it is.  What I do know is I don’t like that I keep dreaming about these terrible things.

M says things like “See, I’d figure that was some kind of warning.  It wouldn’t scare me.”

But it scares me.  Because a) My memory’s shot and I don’t always remember that I dreamed about something until it unfolds completely (which makes it difficult to prevent anything bad that happened in my dream) and b) Sometimes, they’re allegorical rather than exact.  I mean, not so much so that I’m reaching to connect them.  Just enough that I don’t understand them until after whatever I dreamed about happens.

Last night was equally better and worse.  I remember three of my dreams.  One, though, was utterly bizarre.  Or, at least, for me it was a bizarre dream.  The only part I remember – the only time I was lucid enough during this dream to remember – was opening my eyes to find the barrel of a .357 Magnum in my face, me yelling “Michelle!”, and then seeing and hearing the gun explode.  I don’t even know which Michelle was shooting me, or if they were even shooting me or I was just an innocent bystander.  I know at least half a dozen Michelles.  And none of them have a reason to want me dead.

Or maybe they do, and I just can’t fathom it.  I’m often doing fucked up things and not realizing it until Master says, “Whoa.  That was kinda fucked up.”  Common sense: I haz none.  So, seriously? Feel free to call me on my shit.  I know I have a lot of it.

Something else I’m noticing about my dreams, though, is that they all have Master in them now.  I mean, I have sex dreams about Him.  Everyone has sex dreams about their partner, I’m sure.  But my other dreams… The nightmares and the dreams that aren’t sex dreams? They usually don’t have anyone I know in them unless they’re gonna come true.  Sometimes, in my dreams, I don’t even know anyone I know in real life.  Never have, never will.  So that Master is in every single dream I have now, either in presence or in mind (as in, dream me knows Dream Master’s standing in the next dream room, or whatever), is a strange development.  Not a bad one! Just not one I understand.

Aww! Master’s the man of my dreams. ~tear~  Read more…

Until recently, I haven’t really tried in this relationship.  That’s hard for me to say but it’s true.  I’ve given it a half-assed effort like I’ve done with everything I’ve ever done my whole life.  I’ve never admitted that to anyone until just now.

I think Master knew.  I think He’s been telling me that for a long time (What was your first clue? When He said, “You’re doing a half-assed job of being a slave. We both know you can do better.”?).  I always have to see it for myself.  Why is that?  I’m so god damn pigheaded.  Gah!

I’ve realized when I started to doubt my interest in this type of relationship.  And I know, now, that I’m an idiot.  Lol. Cause now that I’m behaving and trying and things are going smoothly and…  I can’t imagine not living like this.  I’ll probably question again.  My moods change with the weather and the weather is damn kooky up here.  But I have this time to look back on and remind myself.

I also know when my faith was restored.  And why.  Read more…

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 way back when, before we updated and lost comments (Boo!  On the losing comments part, not the updating part.  I really like the new layout.  M did a kick-ass job.  In case I haven’t said it, thank you, Master!), I put up a post called Scared Stiff: Insecurities.  It’s basically just a list of some of the things that being so damned insecure and self-conscious affects in my day to day life.  Things that piss me off, that is.

I also mentioned I want to overcome them.  And promptly did nothing about it.

But I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t spend hours at a time crying over not being a super model.  I can’t keep freaking out about details that are just not possible to correct right this second.  And most of all, I’m sick of being fucking depressed all the time.

Someone said to me the other day, “It’s always something with you.”  And they’re right.  Something is always going wrong or pissing me off or upsetting me.  Try as I might, looking at the bright side does me no good.  And that needs to change.

Anyway… Vanimp and Amber both said I should make a list of my good qualities.  Things I like about myself.  And I’ve been meaning to and putting it off.  Because I have a really hard time seeing any good in myself.  And I have a hard time believing people when they compliment me because my opinion of myself is so low.

I’m already crying just thinking of the exercise.  Heh.  But without further ado, my positive traits. Read more…