Jul 232014
 

semiotics

Almost three years ago, I made J a collar.

I don’t know why I made it — I knew I’d never be able to give it to him. It felt too symbolic, too laden with meaning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sucker for meaning, but it has to be organic. Giving J a collar I made with my own two hands seemed like artificially ascribing meaning to an object it wouldn’t otherwise have. It felt like forced symbolism — because the signifier was manufactured and artificially imbued, and because the signified concept wasn’t even possible.

But I made it. He never knew it existed until he stumbled onto my blog and read about it. It’s not something I ever mentioned, nor did he, until recently.

He asked for it — not his play collar, but the one I made for him.

I was wondering if you might consider letting me wear the collar you made for me the next time I see you. I understand if you wont, but I thought I’d ask.

I refused. I can’t give it to him. I don’t want him to wear it — I don’t even want him to see it.

It isn’t his. It’s not even mine, really. It’s just a scrap of leather on which I etched my mistaken understandings and misguided wishes.

If he put it on, then it would become something more than it is, and I wouldn’t know what to do with it when he leaves.

I’m not even sure I’ll know what to do with myself when he leaves.

o ring flourish

Besides that, J has a collar.

I bought one at my local fetish stop (Fetish Factory) around the same time I bought a bunch of other stuff — a leather corset, a beautiful leather, lace-up hood, nipple clamps, cock rings…

That collar — our play collar — is my collar.

It’s not ideal. It’s a bit too fetishy for my liking — it has three rings when I’d prefer only one, and it’s too wide to be comfortable for him. Besides that, it’s almost too small — it might be a women’s collar (is there such a thing?), or perhaps J has a particularly thick neck — I’m not sure. I have to fasten it on the last hole and even then, sometimes it seems too snug for him.

But with all of that — or perhaps because of it — it’s perfect.

It’s the collar he’s worn when he’s in my reach, under my hands, and in my control… and I adore it. It’s wildly imperfect and anything but ideal, but it’s ours.o ring flourish

When J asked for the collar I made, it got me thinking: What will I do with his collar now that he’s leaving?

I’ll never lock it around another man’s throat. But if I keep his collar, it will feel too much like I’m waiting for him to come back — and I’m not going to do that. We may see each other again, but he won’t come back to me… not for good.

I don’t want him to have it either, because after J is gone, he won’t really be mine anymore. It’s bad enough he’s taking a piece of me with him when he goes — he doesn’t get my collar too.

bolt cutters over heartI’ve been thinking about what to do with it for a while (longer than I’d like to admit), and I finally figured it out. I know exactly what I’ll do with J’s collar now that he’s leaving.

I can’t say it here — not now — I want J to be the first to know.

For now, I’ll say that what I’m going to do with J’s collar is sweet, symbolic, and beautifully flawed… just like we are.

I hope he likes the idea as much as I do.


Composite based on: 1) “HKP Bolt Cutter” by M338, (2009). Work released into the public domain. 2) “Love Heart SVG” by Bubinator, (2007). Work released into the public domain.
Jul 212014
 
We should go out and do something, but not sure what.
dd chat icon
How about Hard Rock?
j chat icon
The Hard Rock… Casino? *confused* What for?.
dd chat icon
You said you always wanted to go.
j chat icon
No I didn’t. I never said I wanted to go to the Hard Rock.
dd chat icon
You did! You said you wanted to go to the casino.
j chat icon

Casino?! That wasn’t me. Maybe you’re thinking of a conversation with some other woman. *smile*

I wouldn’t have said that — I’m not into gambling.
dd chat icon
Exactly! That’s why I remember it — because it was an odd thing for you to say.
j chat icon
Your memory is off. I never said I want to go to a casino.
dd chat icon
You did.
j chat icon

Hold on a minute. Not even an hour ago, I mentioned something from a conversation we had three years ago — a tiny, insignificant detail (from three years ago!) — because I have a spectacular memory.

You don’t — you forget stuff we talk about all the time.
dd chat icon
*frown*
j chat icon
It’s okay… you don’t need to have a good memory because I do. We balance each other out that way — I make up for your forgetfulness by remembering everything. *smile*
dd chat icon
Everything? *laugh* Your memory isn’t perfect.
j chat icon
You’re right. It’s not perfect… it’s better than perfect.
dd chat icon
*confused*..
j chat icon
I remember things in our relationship that didn’t even happen…
dd chat icon
……..……..
j chat icon

 


thumbnail image: “Elephant Memory Systems” by Alan Levine, (2012). Work licensed under a Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-SA 2.0). [modifications from original: removed background]
Jul 152014
 

Dammit. I feel like we’re just hitting our stride in the bedroom.do all the sex things

We’ve been fucking for over three years, but because we’re in a driving distance relationship, we haven’t had the opportunity to fuck as often as other couples. While some relationships hit the ‘boring sex rut’ around this time, we’re just now getting good at fucking. It was always good (we always had the chemistry), but now it’s mind-blowingly good… all the time.

pinball brain on hiatus

In part, it’s because I’m way less in my head than I’ve ever been. J’s leaving, so I don’t have the time or the energy to overthink things. It’s a slight variation on ‘not giving a fuck’… because it’s now or never.

emotional distraction

And while I’m less ‘in my head’ in an overthinky sort of way, I’m not in a great place emotionally. As the clock winds down on our relationship, I’m alternately sad, angry, happy, grateful, pensive, numb, [insert any random emotion here], and as I already (and accidentally) discovered, I’m less inhibited and more likely to orgasm when I’m unhappy or otherwise distracted (or preoccupied by feelings that don’t leave much mental or emotional space for anything else).

Apparently, I’m less inhibited and more likely to orgasm when I’m unhappy…

do all the things

In part, the sex is mind-blowing because I want to do ALL THE SEX THINGS while I still have the opportunity to do them with J. He’s safe, supportive, eager, and game for almost anything. To his immense credit, he’s an excellent sport — he’s been so good about not making me feel silly, and he’s been more-than-willing to try anything and everything on my ‘to do’ list.

To my credit, he seems to be enjoying things. I’m not good at all the sex things, but I know his body and his mind well enough to twist him into knots when I want to. :)

One of the things I’m still not good at is maintaining any sort of ‘domme demeanor’ when I’m nearing orgasm.

In my head, when I fantasize about a dominant woman (me) riding a submissive man’s face (his), I imagine her (me) saying: “you’d better make me come, slut,” or “lap it up, fucktoy,” or “harder… faster… come on bitch… I’m not getting off (your face) until I get off… twice.”

But despite my want, my will, and significant practice, I can’t seem to be verbally demanding (or commanding) when I’m receiving oral sex.

J deserves a medal for not bursting into laughter a few nights ago.

I was physically demanding (I rode his face so fucking hard), but I was the exact opposite of verbally commanding. I was apologetic — all I could say was “I’m sorry… oh god… I’m sorry… oh… oh god… I’m sorry. Oh… I’m hurting you… fuck… I’m sorry… fuuuuck.”

While I couldn’t help but grind on his face as if my life depended on it, I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about the strain I was putting on his neck (a fluttering tongue doesn’t do it for me — I need lots of pressure). Apparently, I was concerned about hurting him enough to apologize for it, but not enough to back off.

He was fine, of course, but he couldn’t tell me in the moment because his mouth was otherwise engaged. ;)

(Good boy.)

 

 

Jul 132014
 

A proud man, he bends only to accommodate my will and the confines of our surroundings.

He rests naked and unrestrained with his head in my lap and the rest of him in my hands.

Stretched and folded, tempered and plied — he had been worked over well enough. My marks ruddy his smooth pale skin in places it isn’t already obscured by his graffiti.

It will take so little now to persuade him to wrap himself around my desire.

He is willing. I want.



More Short & Sweet…

open you up

When I’m done with you, I want to cradle you in my arms and tell you it’s okay, tell you that I really love you, tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt you.… [read more]

object study

When I’m done with you, I want to cradle you in my arms and tell you it’s okay, tell you that I really love you, tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt you.… [read more]

fucking beautiful

I’m fascinated by the abrupt ends of gentle contours when he tenses at my touch, when half of him engages and the other half lets go.…” [read more]

 

Jul 102014
 
dumb domme says...

I’ve already warned you to be on the lookout for under toads and drunken bears, but I’m warning you again because I’m redundant, repetitive, and tautological (all of those things!).

J’s leaving, and I’m sad as fuck, but there are still a number of relationship crap issues I want to think through. I’ve got a bunch of drafts that need attention — thoughts to finish, opinions to articulate, questions to answer, and (mediocre) advice to give — it’s all stuff I want to get back to when I’m able to step away from my pity-party-of-one for a little while.

But for now, and for the not-so-distant future, there’s going to be some sadness here. It’s a beautiful sadness, and it’s my hope that I can put some of that beauty into words. It’s profound, affecting, and lovely — it’s the sort of melancholy that accompanies the impending loss of a thing that was worth having.

It’s my sadness, and this is my written record of all of it (the good, the bad, and the ugly), so I’m going to post it. Guts and garters, right?

black bear and toad composite imageBut still, some part of me cringes when I post sad stuff — I don’t want to seem (or be) whiny, I certainly don’t want to bring anyone down, and I’m well-aware this might be the longest ‘breakup’ in the history of breakups…. and that’s tedious.

I imagine long-time readers thinking, “Come on…. you’ve been weepy about the breakup for over a year and it hasn’t even happened yet… get on with it already!”

I get it. Trust me… I’ve had the same thought. I hate myself for this, but in my worst (saddest, angriest, most-self-pitying) moments, I almost wish he’d just leave already so I could go about the business of grieving and moving on with my life.

While I absolutely appreciate the words of support, commiseration, and empathy from readers (I know they’re sincere and they’re appreciated), I’ve found myself avoiding the blog when I know there are a couple of sympathetic comments on my emo posts. It’s a strange sort of discomfort wherein I imagine readers aren’t sure how to respond, and I certainly don’t know how to respond to readers’ responses (that makes sense, right?).

It feels particularly weird because some of the worst feelings — the ones that are heavy and painful enough to write about — are fleeting. It’s exhausting to jump back into that headspace after the moment has passed, and revisiting that stuff certainly doesn’t help me pull out of it.

Anyway, my point in all this is to say that I think I’m going to close comments on most/all of my sad-sack emo ramblings from this point forward. I think closing comments will make me feel more comfortable in posting the sad stuff, and perhaps, it might make readers feel more comfortable reading it… or not reading it. Whatever.

So… TL;DR:

  1. I’m going to post happy stuff, sad stuff, sexy stuff, and/or silly stuff without regard to narrative coherence, tonal consistency, or adherence to IRL timeline and actual happenings. Hope you can handle the whiplash. :)
  2. toadI know this is, like, the longest breakup in the history of breakups. Deal with it. (It’s no fun for me either.)  If you don’t want to read the sad stuff, skip it — posts with sad stuff will be tagged “breakup project.” If you think I’m just whiny and want me to get over it, then go fuck yourself with a dehydrated cactus.
  3. I think I’ll be closing comments on my angsty emo-domme posts to save us all from the awkwardness, redundancy, and the not-knowing how to respond. (Comments on everything else, however, will be open… thoughts, comments, questions, and compliments are still very much appreciated!)

composite image based on:
“Anaxyrus Americanus – American Toad” by Brian Gratwicke, (2011). This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license (CC BY-SA 2.0). [changes: background removed, image superimposed onto another image]
“Sun Bear 7″ by Ryan E. Poplin, (2007). This file licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic license (CC BY-SA 2.0). [changes: cropped, combined with another image, text added]