Reboot

I will try and reboot this blog. Life is so busy anymore, it is hard to write. I suppose priorities need to be rebooted too.

I still belong to J, though our time together has dwindled. It is lovely when we are together and I long for him when we are not. Due to our loss of time together, it seems to have weakened our dynamic. I am probably not as submissive and I might offer a bit more push back when asked for something. I miss a stronger D/s component, even though it is much my fault it has weakened.

The other night, we were talking on the phone and J requested I masturbate for him. He directed me and I came for him. It was wonderful and it made me crave his domination even more. I miss his control. I miss his direction. My head is not in the game anymore, at least not so much. I need to make that a priority and direct my thoughts toward submission once again.

J is everything that I want and he is what I want and hunger for. My head, heart and cunt all ache for him, when we are apart. I did not realize how much I needed his control, until he asserted it the other night. I do need that, I need to submit. It is still a component of my personality. It is still a component of our relationship.

Things are different now. My son and his family have moved in with me. There are now seven people living in my house and three of them are my grandchildren. My grandchildren have been through a lot in their short lives and I definitely need to be a stable and constant source of strength and consistency for them. I need to respectfully shield them from the sexual part of my relationship with J. The older two probably know or will figure out we are having sex, but I do not want to be in their face about it or reveal the kink part of it. That may be easier said than done, though it will only be a problem during J's visits, which are only monthly or bi-monthly. That certainly effects my mindset as well. I find it harder to let myself go and give in to my submission.

Life and juggling my roles in life is sometimes more difficult than other times.

Fragile

This has been a hard week. Last Saturday night, my son wrecked a motorcycle. By all accounts, he really should be dead. He was on the expressway, going 60 mph, and the back wheel of the bike caught some gravel and he crashed into a concrete wall. He was not wearing a helmet. He did break his foot and he has cuts and abrasions all over his body, but other than that he is fine. He does not feel fine, he is in pain, a lot of it. But there is not a scratch or bruise on his head and everything else will heal, so he is fine. The hardness of my week was tempered by the thankfulness of him being alive. I feel as if I faced the difficult truth that life is fragile and temporary and I walked away unscathed by that truth. Maybe not really unscathed, I have shed a lot of tears over what might have been. But they have been tears of gratitude and recognition of blessings.

I call myself a Christian, but I play loose with that term. I embrace beliefs from many religions, I am not sure I believe in heaven and hell (at least not the way most people do). I do not attend a church. I am very liberal in my views. I don't think there is an absolute truth. While I think the Bible is inspiring, and is inspired, I do not think it is the be all end all. Yet, I know that there is some force, some energy, be it God or the Universe or the tao or our own inner energy and strength, that helps us, protects us and forms us. I cling to the mantra that everything will work out and be okay. I always know that somehow, we will get through it (whatever "it" is).

I find strength and hope and faith in many things. J is certainly one source (a big source) for me. I do not exalt him to god status, but in times of worry and uncertainty, he is a rock I can cling to. I know that he loves me. I know that he will never intentionally harm me. I know that he cares about all that happens to me. We may not always be physically together, but he is always with me in some way. He tells me he admires my strength. He tells me that I am a good person. I believe him, but sometimes I feel like a fraud. I don't always feel strong or good. I see people all around, who just want to be loved. They want to see proof of that love. I cannot be all things to all people. Some people I just flat out do not like. I do not always treat everyone fairly. I am not always honest or honorable. I berate myself over those things. I am capable of being better, but I don't do it. What makes us good, or bad, or annoying? Why do horrible things happen to wonderful people and wonderful things happen to people who do not deserve it? Thise are age old questions, ones that I will never know the answers to. Yet, I know that many people live in their own hell, even if they don't show it on the outside.

We are fragile beings, both physically and emotionally. No matter how strong or blessed that you are, things can change in a blink of an eye. I am very thankful that my world did not change, as I blinked this last Saturday. My children are the best things I have done, I am thankful for them.

I have been silent here for so long. I am not sure why. I got lazy and distracted and tired. I would start to write and then feel it was redundant or I could not form my thoughts. I am sad to say, that in many ways, Facebook has become my form of expression. Ideas copied and fragments of my thoughts and passions. Yet there is so much I do not write there. So much is hidden. I have lacked the discipline to express myself here. While my love and devotion for J are still strong and our relationship is at the five year mark, what has brought my voice back is my outrage, grief and heartache for a friend.

She and her husband conceived a child, their third. She is sweetness and gentleness personified. Their first two children are boys and this is the girl that they have been wishing for. She is now in her seventh month and last week, she went for her third routine ultrasound. That is when they were abruptly told that the baby appeared to have anencephaly and would die and nothing could be done. Anencephaly is a condition were the skull and the brain do not fully develop. these babies often miscarry or are stillborn, but if they are born alive, they only live outside the womb for a only short time. After having an enhanced ultrasound and a vaginal ultrasound, to confirm the condition, they discussed termination of the pregnancy with the doctor. Faced with delivering a baby, only to have it die in her arms a short time later, she decided to abort the pregnancy. I know this was a heart wrenching decision for these parents. Unfortunately, the hospital called her today, to tell her that, because this would be a late term abortion, she could not exercise that option. She is being forced to carry and deliver a baby, who has no chance at all of living. She is being forced to have this baby and then watch it die.

I have watched and grieved while this country has fought about insuring that citizens have healthcare. I have watched the poor be maligned and marginalized. I have watched as women in this country have their rights and their choices restricted and denied. I have watched battles about gay marriage rage and be won, only to be pushed back again. I see people all around me that are passionate about their ignorance. When presented with the truth, they are deaf and blind, but they soak up every lie that is tossed in their direction. I used to think that all of this was the birthing pains of our country growing with the times and moving towards a new direction of acceptance and fairness. Yet, I am quickly becoming fearful that what we are birthing is a malformed brainless baby that cannot live. I want better than that for my grandchildren. I want more than that for myself. I am ashamed to live in a country that is driven by fear and hatred. One where being poor is a crime, being a woman is unfortunate, being gay is a sacrilege.

Tonight, I am grieving, for my friend, for her family and for our country.

Needs

I do not write here much anymore. I'm not sure why, but I am sure there are several reasons. One of them is I began to feel I kept writing the some thing, over and over. I don't know why that mattered to me. Maybe I began writing for an audience other than J.Perhaps I worried that J would begin to doubt my sincerity after posting a similar theme, over and over.

Before I was in a relationship (and for some time after we met), I would search and read other blogs. Trying to determine what I wanted and how to be in a D/s relationship. I did learn things, both things I wanted and things I did not. I was trying to find myself. Now, I find myself in my own archives. I find myself in his control. I find myself in my needs and desires. For a long time, I thought it was wrong to need someone, to rely on them. I don't know if it is wrong or not, but I need J. I need him every minute of every day. He dwells in my mind and I interact with him constantly.  I think of him and I hear his voice. I recall him and feel his touch and his taste. I converse with him, I laugh with him, I complain to him. I do all these things on a personal level too, but I do them in my mind when he is not with me. When life is rough and cold and tiring, I cocoon myself in him. I crawl inside of him in my mind and I lock the rest of the world out.

That is what his control is to me. My cocoon. Whether he controls me with his words or pleasure or pain, it allows me to shut out the rest of the world. I am in paradise when my whole world consists of him. When I am wrapped tightly inside of him, I am safe and sensual and content. It is where I need to be. It is everything I desire. It is heaven.

Sometimes, I get caught up in the rest of the world and I am lost. But then he touches me, with a note or a call or a touch, and I am rescued, once again. It makes me want to give him more and more, because the more I surrender, the safer I am in my cocoon.

It seems I've been rewired (either that or I've just completely lost my mind).

Christmas came early for me this year, or maybe I should say that Hanukkah came right on time. J arrived on Tuesday morning and was able to spend a couple of days with me. It was wonderful and glorious for me, I had missed him so much and was finding it difficult to get into the holiday spirit. Our time together is sacred to me. It is a mix of sexual, spiritual, affirming and fun. While he was here, we talked, played, shopped, cooked and ate. We lit the first candle of the menorah, our first holiday together. We just lived and loved together.

Our play was not as intense as it has been in the past. I have been having a little bit of physical difficulties and, as much as I did not want it to effect this, it did. J was loving and understanding and did push me, but did not take me too far. He is always gentle and caring with me. What did occur was strange and beyond my comprehension. First, he pushed me and played with me to climax, over and over and over. He had me climax when I was certain I could not possibly cum again. I was utterly and completely sensitized. The gentlest touch, his breath on my skin, his voice, all had me quivering and pulsating. He held me close and made me safe and started it all again. I cannot even describe the feeling of innumerable orgasms exploding in my body and my mind. Constant waves of ecstasy and energy cresting and washing over me. Being held at that level of excitement and sexual tension, for literally hours, broke down my rationality and consciousness. It was not that I wasn't aware, but I could not coherently respond. I was pushed deep inside myself and was floating far outside myself at the same time. That is the best way I can describe it. It was then that it happened, I orgasmed in color. I saw nothing but colors, I could feel them. It was like looking at impressionist painting, but up close. It was seeing brush strokes, or pieces of colors, changing and shifting. Blues and greens turned to oranges and yellows, the colors became my emotions and my sensations. It was an amazing experience, certainly one I have never had before.

When I was finally able to speak again, I did not know how to tell J about it. However, I was able to and he understood and took it in stride. Yet it changed me, it left me euphoric in a way. I was peaceful and elated as he held me and we talked. When he started to play with me and tease me again, I was still jubilant and intoxicated by it all. He tickled me and I began laughing and I could not stop. I am normally not ticklish at all. He was so amused by my reactions, he began to play with me more. He reached over and spanked me, which brought forth gales of laughter. The more he spanked me, the more I laughed. It lasted the entire time he was here. Any time he spanked me I started laughing again. He was so amused by my reaction, he would test it out later. When I was cooking, he came up and spanked me, laughter again. When I was washing dishes, another spank and more laughter. I could not supress it or control it, it was an irrepresibly gleeful time. While each minute with him is always bliss, this was so light-hearted and exhilarating, I will never forget it. I have no idea if I will ever respond that way again or if it was simply a marvelous fluke. I love that we can laugh and cry and just be, when we are together. I love that he accepts me and loves me. He groks me and it makes me all the more his.

I am smiling as I write this, thinking of him and all the gifts he has given me. The gift of love. The gift of knowing myself. The gift of exploring my sexuality, freely and unabashedly. The gift of trust. The gift of being his. And now the gift of laughter and jubilation.

Tis the Season

This has been a year. A very trying year at times. Over and over I have barely eked enough to get by, yet there has always been enough. Work has been continually draining, stressful and, at times, dangerous. My oldest son is losing his home and, in September, his father-in-law killed himself. My grandchildren have been here almost every weekend and I have tried to lavish them with love and stability. I have been having some health problems, ongoing since June, and I still do not have a definite diagnosis. I now have a new doctor, who seems very knowledgeable, forthright and is working hard on finding out the problem. The good news is that my cancer has not returned. The bad news is that I still do not know what is wrong with me. The best news is that J has been my strength, my support and my confident. He has listened to me vent and cry. He has been understanding and loving. I love him and am devoted to him more than I can express in this post.

Despite all the bad and worrisome things that have occurred, I cannot say it has been a bad year. I have many things to be thankful for. I can honestly say that something good has come out of every bad thing. And through it all, my love for J has grown and grown. We have become closer and have shared even more with each other. With my love for him, my desire for him has also grown. I anticipate each visit from him as if it were the first. Only more so, because I know how wonderful it will be, how much he fulfills me and satisfies me, how perfect just sitting with him and talking is and how passionate making love with him is. It has been over a month since he has been here and tomorrow he will be here again. I have a million things to do and I am sitting here writing this, because he told me to. That is not a bad thing. His assignments, his directives capture my attention and heighten my anticipation. They let me know I am his. That is the one constant, reassuring, comforting thing in my life...I am his pet. Knowing I will be with him in less than 12 hours, warms me, gladdens me and fills me with desire. I cannot wait to feel his mouth on mine, his hands on me, his arms around me. I want to hold him, taste him, please him and surrender to him. I crave him and hunger for him. I long for his fist in my hair and his cock in my mouth. I long for the feeling I get each time I am with him. The feeling of being overwhelmed and absorbed and taken.

He has been teasing and playful and suggestive each time we have talked. It has made me floaty and very submissive feeling. Wanting to sate his desires, to give him all that he asks for, to be completely and wholly his. It is not even the marks or the control or the climaxes that I yearn for, it is his domination. Feeling small and safe and completely open and exposed. It is also being his slut and his pet. I salivate thinking about licking him, bathing him with my tongue. I hunger for the taste and feel of his skin, of his cock, of his balls. I shiver thinking of burying my face in him, sucking and gagging on his cock, licking and savoring his balls, rimming and probbing his ass. Feeling his hand on my head as he thrusts into my mouth. Wanting to drink his cum and his piss. I need his imprint upon me, whether it be physical marks from his belt or the cane or the marks on my soul that come from the completeness of my surrender. From knowing I am entirely his. Tis the season.

I am his pet, always

In the four and a half years that J and I have shared what we do, the relationship has grown and evolved. Initially, it was my exploration into D/s and my first relationship in a long time. He reawakened passion and desire in me. He afforded me healing and a safe realization and acceptance of a part of me I had denied and suppressed. It was more than that, we shared interests and passion for many things, both sexual and non-sexual. We shared a mutual respect for our professional lives and a mutual admiration for who we both were. We had an instant connection and understanding of each other. I felt I had known him my whole life. I was consumed by him, consumed by lust, comsumed by my wish to submit, consumed by my need to please him and serve him. I wanted to be his in every way. I read endlessly on the internet, trying to define submission and learn to be the best submissive I could. He was patient and diligent. He explored me, my desires, my fears. He planted seeds of fantasies and outlined scenarios. He encouraged me, he took me farther than I ever imagined I could go. He uncovered and discovered me, he knew me.

My appetite, attraction and longing for him have never cooled or abated. Yet our relationship has become more integrated, more complete, more consummate. Although, distance separates us and time limits us, we are closer and more devoted to each other than most couples in a 24/7 relationship. He is such an integral part of my life. When we are together, it seems time stands still. When we are apart, we talk, write and share. I feel his presence and his support always. I used to wonder if the newness, the excitement would wear off and we would become more mundane, more of a "old married couple". While things may not be as urgent as they once were, they are still as fervent as ever. At times, life may encroach on our play, conversations and relationship, but it only strengthens us. The depth of our love and our commitment has grown and continues to do so. We have become more transparent, more comfortable, more familiar. I am no longer inclined to define us and my submission through other's experiences or expectations. I am comfrotable with what we have defined for ourselves. Yet the dynamic still exists and I am his. I am his pet, he is in charge. I recognize his authority and it comforts me and fulfills me.

Last night, while we were talking, he was quite playful and teasing. We both are anticipating time together next week. We both miss each other and want each other greatly. He mentioned a "no touching" policy. In the past, there were times he imposed a "no touching" policy on me before his visits. I was not to touch myself or cum until he was here. He teased me with the idea for awhile and then ultimately told me to "have fun", because I may not have that chance later. His last words were, "...and write about it". So I am.

We are not together often enough, so I do masturbate frequently. Much to my dismay, this self-pleasuring is not always as pleasurable as it used to be. It lacks his presence and direction. I must focus on him and recall his touches, his voice and his nearness to cum. My solitary orgasms are seldom as explosive or prolonged as my clomaxes that are initiated by him. Last night, I climbed into bed and began to think of him. I imagined him next to me, pressed against me, touching me. I imagined his cock in my mouth. I imagined his hands on me. I imagined his voice telling me waht to do and what he was going to do. My hands were his hands. touching, rubbing, pinching and prodding. I felt him watching me, exploring me, controlling me. The heat blossomed between my legs, wetness leaked from me. I could smell the earthy scent of lust and sex. My hips rocked and reached up for him. I felt his breath in my ear and his body pressed against mine. I felt my climax swelling inside of my belly. I felt my cunt begin to twitch. I pushed my vibrator against my clit and heard his voice tell me to "cum now". My back arched and my hips thrust and my orgasm exploded inside of me. I felt him holding me tightly, as his fingers rubbed and teased my clit. My body was tight, like a bow string and my cunt pulsated and contracted, as if searching for him, needing to be filled. I heard my ragged breathing and low, gutteral, animal type noises coming from my mouth. Waves of electricity coursed through my body, I felt it rise up my spine and escape through the top of my head. I was left limp and quivering and spent, but still wanting and needing him. I need him to quench me, push me, devour me, fill me. My body is his instrument to use and to play and to compel.