Wax

There are two parties that most of us look forward to each year: the 101 party and the anniversary party. Both of these parties are held at a faraway location in a beautiful house and so the atmosphere is almost as amazing as the experience. I’ll admit, I happen to like newbies. Not necessarily brand new to the scene, though those can be fun as well, but someone that’s new to some kind of experience. I love getting to give someone their first flogging and having them thoroughly enjoy it. This time, I got to do something for the first time and give two people a new experience as well.

The set-up for my station took hours of ignoring it. Crock pots were set out, plugged in, filled with water, and the candles were left to melt while we all hung around inside, getting the house ready for the party, snacking, and making small talk. We put wooden sticks in them, fished out the metal, set out an assortment of spoons, had a few plates handy, a roll of paper towels which were largely ineffective, and my fantastic spatula that I bought on a whim to smack Junk with but that has a sharp enough edge that it would help scrape wax off eventually, if I ever got around to doing wax play. The tarp was laid out, the lights were shone down, and then we just waited eager participants.

My first victim was someone that I have known for a while but that I’ve never played with before. They weren’t sure if they were going to like the wax and had actually avoiding participating in such an event for a while. They came to me in underwear and asked if I would prefer that they remove it and all I could do was smile. Nude, they pressed themselves to the cool tarp and I dripped the hot wax on their back. Dot after dot, casually falling from the wooden stick in my hand. White, red, blue. I wanted to make designs but I was taken by the breaths, by the sounds, and all I could focus on was drip, drip, dripping on their skin. A spoonful here and there, letting it run down the curve of their spine, pooling in the small of their back. Dribbles here, pools there, streams of colored wax running down their body everywhere. Then, when I was done, soft scraping of the spatula over their skin to remove the wax. My fingers over their warm skin. Reassurance that they weren’t impaired for play later that evening.

Next up, a masochist. Here I didn’t have to hesitate with every drop. Here I didn’t have to wait for every gasp to pass. Here, I couldn’t drip the wax fast enough. I thought the red would fall the warmest and they laughed at me. I thought the green might be okay and again, they nearly fell asleep. The handheld candles that burned the hottest were no match to their skin. Eventually I chose blue and I simply splashed down their body, over their back. I dripped and spooned and splashed the hot liquid from high above and right down against their skin. Sometimes they would groan and sometimes they would snicker and sometimes they would ask for more but they never asked for less. Layer after layer, color after color. I was making a masterpiece on their back and I never wanted it to stop but eventually there would be no more wax. I was aching to find any bare skin and once they were completely covered, I put on my gloves, grabbed my spatula, and got to the second part of a wax scene. I gently slipped the spatula under one edge of the wax on their back and carved it away from their skin. Onlookers murmured about how it would seem I was cutting their skin as well though my bottom never said anything of the like and instead seemed to enjoy the sensation of cool air rushing between the warmed wax and their now bare skin. I was able to remove quite a piece of the wax and laid it to rest by their head so they could see the colors and design that I had done.

The last more playful and attended to by a friend of mine as well. We walked around them, sprinkling different colored wax all over their body. We got to play with an entire body this time instead of just a back. In fact, we even got them to flip over so that the fun didn’t have to end. My friend wasn’t able to stay for the clean up part of it, but I enjoyed that all by myself. I had some kind of revelation as I was helping this bottom clean up, as I was scraping wax off of their body.

Lately I’ve been hearing so much about physical beauty, about what a good looking person looks like, with so much emphasis on hip bones and perfect tits and being well-hung. I’d been asked why I’ve never noticed something about someone, something that should be obvious, because it’s regarded as beautiful to the general community. I had to explain that I don’t feel physical attraction to someone right off. I can appreciate the way an outfit looks on someone. I can appreciate beautiful, soulful eyes. But otherwise, it’s not the body that draws me in. I am generally most attracted to the energy I feel from someone. Mannerisms. Playfulness. Personality. The words they choose to use. The way they hold themselves. Their emotions. I fall in love with the gooey stuff inside first and once I’m hooked there, it won’t matter to me what their body looks like, they’ll suddenly be the most attractive person in the world to me. Scars, age, gender ambiguity — none of that plays any part in my attraction until I know their heart, and then those ‘flaws’ suddenly become the thing I love most about them.

This evening, after I’d played with three very different looking bottoms, I realized that I really enjoyed what each body had to offer me. I liked the sensitivity, I liked the lack of sensitivity. I liked the curves and the definition. I liked the body hair and the lack of body hair. Each of these people had something they could offer me that I would enjoy. Each of these people was a joy to play with.

When I was finished, when I was cleaning up, as I was regarding the night, I was thankful that I have no definitive ‘type’. I was grateful that a body means little enough to me that I can be attracted based on other more important factors. I was even more grateful that a body could also be the most beautiful thing to me when everything else was right. I was thrilled that I got to be a first for some that evening and that I got to indulge in another type of play that I’d been curious about for some time. I’m hoping I’ll get to return to this particular kink frequently.

Strength

“You’re so strong,” he whispered to me.

I didn’t think this was an entirely accurate statement. Despite having him pressed down on the bed, my arm across his chest, my other casually stroking against his arm while he struggled to get back up, my mind wandered for just a moment. I thought about what strength really was. I didn’t feel very strong at the end of my last relationship. I didn’t feel very strong when I couldn’t protect Junk from the comments of the outside world. I certainly didn’t feel very strong when I was trying to help the rook carry a desk up some horrendous stairs this morning. There are a lot of times where I just don’t feel very strong.

I’ve gone back and forth on physical strength over the past couple of years. I’ve got enough to get by but not as much as I’d like to have. I’ve made attempts at changing that in the past but obviously I didn’t want it enough to stick with it. There have been a lot of things I thought I wanted in the past that I either wasn’t ready for or that I wasn’t committed enough to. I’m hoping that this will be the year that I can make those commitments and make the external self-improvements that have been lacking throughout the years.

But as the boy kept struggling against me and as I efficiently kept him pinned down, I thought to myself that there were plenty of ways in which I am strong. I thought about how years ago I would have never been strong enough to attempt dating in the manner in which I’m doing now, where there’s all kinds of uncertainty and my accepted challenge is to remain open to every possibility and to ensure that I don’t simply shut down when things don’t go my way. I think about how I’ve reached a point in my life where the kinds of comments that I see hurting Junk aren’t the kinds of comments that mean anything to me personally, but more than that, I can explain now why they don’t affect me and hopefully teach her so that they don’t affect her either. And despite the fact that I didn’t actually help a great deal in the physical realm of assistance when it came to moving, my physical strength hasn’t always been my forte — it’s been the strength I have that brings people together that has been, and that has sure come to light over the past year or so.

When I had decidedly won, when he discovered he really wasn’t going to be able to pin me to the bed the way he was so used to, I gave him a kiss and a pat on the head and smiled and said, “Thank you.”

The rest of the night I spent socializing, cuddling. The cuddling part is still fairly new. Even the socializing part is a little more new. I was hanging out on a bed with friends old and new. Two on either side of me that I carried on a conversation with and a boy wrapped around each of my legs, just curled up for the night, partly listening but mostly delving into their own little worlds. Years ago I would have thought that I was lucky, or would be lucky, to find myself in this kind of position, but the truth of the matter is luck has nothing to do with it. While I didn’t recognize it for a long time, I finally realized, after this party, but more significantly after the dinner that I had celebrating my birthday, that I draw the people I need into my life. I’ve said it a million times before. I always attract the things I need most. I’ve never truly suffered because the Universe has always been generous enough to provide that which I need in my time of need. But the actual meaning of it has never sunk in quite like it did in those moments of quiet when we were all sitting together and I was watching everyone around us.

There were plenty of unattached subs looking for someone, anyone to dominate them. I certainly could have. There were plenty of unattached people around looking for someone kinky and poly to date, someone that could contribute to their lives without stifling them and I like to think that I could do that as well. I sat with those who had taught me lessons throughout the year though, those that I would consider the best for me personally. I drew each of them into my life unknowingly and learned from them unexpectedly. I’ve found that’s where the best of my relationships come from. I find that’s how I learn best about myself. I find that way is the way I fight against the hardest as well and I have no idea why.

I made it through this last year of mine, which was more difficult than any other in so many ways, and I think maybe I’m stronger than I thought. Maybe this patience thing works out. Maybe I should get more of what I need and less of what I want more often. This round goes to you, Miss Chris.

Ceremony

I went to a grove on Saturday to see if I could learn some more about the energy work that I do. After seeing how it worked with Devin, I really wanted to explore it further. After affirmation from the frog, I knew that I had plenty of power, now all I needed was more control. I really enjoy the idea of being able to bring it into my intimate life as opposed to doing much of anything else with it, at least for right now.

There was an entire ceremony that was going to take place and I was aware of it, but I don’t think I could have really prepared myself for what I eventually saw. There were two classes that took place prior to that: spiritual healing and altars. The spiritual healing was done with a bunch of tumbled stones which I’d had an interest in years ago. Since then, I haven’t really needed the stones to do what I wanted to do, but they’re still fun and pretty to look at and I like the texture. I can appreciate that they have their own energy and that I can channel my energy through them as well, use them to focus better. In my case, with Devin, if I focused any harder on him, he may never wake up again. I was okay with this class and really wanted to learn more, see if I could do the same things without the stones, with just my hands or just my energy.

The next class was informative and I went through a period of time where I thought I wanted or needed an altar in order to do the work that I wanted to do. I’d always wanted a second bedroom just so I could put my things in there, have an altar, have a place to go and just meditate. Eventually I realized I don’t need an altar. I don’t need ‘things’. Everything that I want to talk to, need to do, have to focus on is inside of me. So the idea of an altar or a shrine just kind of turned me off.

On the other hand, I just went to someone’s house and I saw that they had one of each. He told me that it was his way of trying to get in touch with his ancestors. It did look cool and I could see that he was using it to help him focus and I can’t really hold that against him. I have still pretty much decided that I don’t need it though.

Finally, the ceremony began. Everyone got in a circle. They gave thanks to the elements. They spoke to three goddesses and thanked them for everything they do for them. They took cakes and wine, which is pretty much like communion. Everything is very scripted. Everything is full of intent. Everything was very peaceful. I could see why they did it, but it didn’t work for me. Additionally, I don’t believe in separate gods and goddesses so that just left a foul taste in my mouth.

After the ceremony I didn’t participate in, I was asked what I thought of it. I told my friend that I didn’t mind it, that it wasn’t terrible or anything, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing it and cited, pretty much, the fact that they called out to named goddesses as my reason for abstaining. The High Priest talked to me and told me if I wasn’t comfortable doing that, I didn’t have to. He broke it down and told me that most people cannot fathom an entire Universe, or an entire Source, or an entire God and so they break it down into aspects, or other deities, something that they can easily wrap their minds around. I’m looking at the whole picture while they’re focusing on something more manageable for them and that’s okay.

A few days later, Junk’s mom wanted to talk to her about the experience, because she’d decided early on that it just wasn’t her bag. At first it didn’t seem to matter what she said because I was already decided. She told Junk that for some people, they need the ritual and the ceremony in the beginning, because it’s easier for them. It makes it easier to believe. It makes it easier to focus the belief. Makes it easier to break things down. Some people might get to a point where they can open up thought to everything and some people won’t. To me, I was well beyond a place of thought that these people were at and so her comments just breezed right though, with me agreeing to them.

Then today I was thinking about something different when those ideas popped into my head and they fit again. I was thinking about my choice of lifestyle. Primarily, I was thinking about a M/s relationship versus what I consider to be a D/s relationship. I was thinking about ritual and protocol. I was thinking about how there are some people who absolutely need that ritual and that protocol. Things have to be done a certain way. Certain things must be done in public, in private. I started wondering if it was because they couldn’t envision the entire path of M/s. Maybe it was their way of staying focused. I realized that when I started down this path, I did the same thing. There was kneeling and scripted replies and answers that had to be said a certain way. There were rules and rituals and protocols and I kinked hard on all of that.

Then I was talking to Devin today and I was thinking about how most of that seems so unnecessary to me now. He could kneel before me or not. It wouldn’t matter to me like it used to. If he did, I would think it was hot, but it wouldn’t be necessary. He could reply to me in a scripted way or not, it didn’t matter. In fact, I came to find that often times it inhibited him from telling me what he was really thinking or feeling and so I liked it less and less. For a while, I struggled with the idea that I was letting go of the lifestyle, that I didn’t need it any longer. If I didn’t need it, where was I headed? So much of my sexuality had been ingrained in it.

But then I heard those words in my head again and I thought ‘That’s it’. I needed all of that in the beginning to feel dominant. I needed it to see my relationships and how they worked and how everything fit together. I don’t need those things any longer. I know I’m Dominant. I don’t need anyone else to see it or to understand it. I don’t even have to define it to other people and I’ve found a lot of the time it’s not even definable by me. It just is. There is a power exchange in most of my relationships. It just happens. Sometimes I accelerate it. Sometimes I direct it. Sometimes I just let it unfold naturally. I don’t worry about it though. I don’t need a public display of it. It is what it is. I don’t need ceremonies or rituals or a way to focus it anymore because it is so much a part of me, a natural part of me.

 

Perfectly Vanilla

The last time I tried to go on a perfectly vanilla date I almost succeeded. It actually came out close enough that I had a friend congratulate me on my first vanilla date in over ten years. I didn’t specifically ask him out though — he asked me — and only after I told him I was trying to sucker some fool into going to a baseball game with me before the season was over. The wounds were still fresh from the last spat, the one in which I was told that he could never have a D/s relationship with me. The best we could get would be friends. At the time, I was more than ready to accept that, especially considering the alternative was not at all.

I spent the afternoon wondering if he would actually make it to my house. Would he call me that afternoon and tell me that he’d decided it wasn’t a good idea after all? We had no earthly business being together in any capacity. We’d just ended an Ownership arrangement between the two of us that could have gone better in about a million different ways. I had a hard time thinking of him as anything other than my submissive, because for nearly a month our entire interaction with one another was based on the fact that I owned him. Every time we talked about the future, it was certain that he was owned by me. There was no room for question. Oh sure, he questioned how he ended up owned from time to time, but it was never a question of how our relationship was shaped. Now, when he appeared at my door, I was looking at a man I knew and cared about, but who was essentially a stranger to me all over again.

This was exactly what he’d wanted though. A vanilla setting, vanilla expectations, a vanilla friendship in which there was no protocol, no rules, no rituals. I was more than willing to buy the drinks since he was providing the ride. It was the first time I’d seen him in his work clothes and he had to have seen the way that I stalled for a second, losing all track of time and manners when I first opened the door. I never thought he’d be in my home again. I don’t think the dog thought he was ever going to see him again either, because he sure made a scene.

The ride to the ballpark wasn’t at all awkward. We talked and laughed, just the same as it had been for me before, but likely better for him. A cloud of agony and worry had been lifted from him. I was happy that he had found his happiness, that he had found his relief, but there was sorrow on my end. Still, it was better than nothing. How sad it would have been to meet someone else that showed me so much about myself, so much of what I wanted in another person, and then for them to disappear without another word, like the last one. I wouldn’t have been able to blame him either because this time it would have been entirely my fault.

In the few times that we had seen one another before, there had been plenty of touching, plenty of physical affection. Tonight, that’s where the awkwardness came in. I didn’t know if I was allowed to touch him. I don’t know that he knew if he was allowed to touch me. Nothing felt the same but it all seemed so familiar. While he had been relieved his imagined expectations, I felt as though a million of them had been placed upon me. Things that would normally roll off my tongue had to be kept in check, the way that I touched him couldn’t be done, anything that would signify dominance in any shape or form had to be withheld. That’s not what this was any longer. Instead, I had to resign to being his friend. I had to accept him for what he wanted to be. He made jokes — I laughed. He sang — I laughed (at him). He rattled off baseball stats about players that flashed up on the screen — I was impressed. We cheered together. We clapped together. We celebrated together when our team won.

At dinner we finally brought up the topic of chastity, of how the relationship had gone so wrong. We got out a few things here and there. The mood went from light and awkward down to the nitty-gritty of what had gone wrong and whether anything could be salvaged. At the moment, nothing could be salvaged. For the time being, this was how things had to be. I was looking at him, sitting across from me in this booth, sharing dinner with me, sharing a drink, sharing a common interest in baseball, knowing that there was so much more to him that I wanted to know, feeling grateful that I had met him at all.

After dinner, we found ourselves back at my place, sitting on the couch talking. One of his greatest concerns with the chastity had been that I wanted to forever deny him his sexuality — that I didn’t need physical intimacy at all, so I could very easily lock him up and throw away the key and never need to share that with him. That was, I believe, what led to the downfall of the arrangement. So when he mentioned to me that he had his toy bag in the trunk of his car, I told him to get it. Now, this may not have been the most brilliant move ever, but it allowed us to form a connection that we hadn’t had before, despite believing that a relationship based on chastity was in fact a sexual relationship. I touched his toys, pulled them out and showed them to him, gauged his reaction. It was the hood that I settled on, that I slipped over his head, and it was that hood that let me into a whole different world of his, one that I really wanted to play around in. So play I did. Just for a bit. I took it off earlier than he would have liked, I suspect, but it told me enough.

In the end, I think he felt that he was more from a vanilla world and that I was from a kink world and we were both trying to figure out how we were going to manage to get on with one another. Baseball was the bridge that brought us together but I was hoping that in time, if he gave us time, we could find a few other interests that would strengthen that bond.

I never regretted rooting around in his toy bag. I never regretted playing with him. In fact, I think playing with him really helped us out in one way or another. The only thing I regretted was that I couldn’t say that I’d been on a perfectly vanilla date — not until vanilla people start considering wearing hoods during sex vanilla. However, there was no need to despair. I got a redo this past weekend.

It started that game night, where I withdrew my tickets for the fall festival from my pocket and asked him to hold them in his wallet so I wouldn’t accidentally throw them away. I told him ‘If we can’t go for some reason, just go ahead and take someone else, so that my money doesn’t go to waste.’ He gave me a skeptical look, possibly as though wondering if I was trying to crack some joke (again) about how we were unable to stay together for longer than a week. (We did have a bad habit of fighting on Fridays, but he’d been good about it lately and we’d worked through a lot of the communication breakdowns we were having.) He asked me why we wouldn’t go and I just shrugged. Just a feeling I had! As he put them in his wallet, he reassured me that we would be going. Sure Dev, whatever you say! Come Wednesday, I got work that we wouldn’t be going because something had come up for him that he needed to attend to and I just laughed it off and we rescheduled for two weeks out. But, so we didn’t lose a day that weekend to hang out, would I be interested in going to the zoo?

In my head, I was going ‘OH MY GOD THE ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ but of course, to him, I was perfectly cool and composed. ‘Sure!’He told me he’d be at my house at 7:30am. On a Sunday. This was the face I made: >.O; It reminded me a bit of his birthday story, in which his character had told the other that they’d be getting up at 4 and she had to question if he honestly meant ‘in the morning’. (Turns out getting up wasn’t hard. I was just busy lamenting the loss of sleeping in on the last day of the weekend before work. Worth it!)

Now, I know Devin well enough to know that being invited to the zoo did not mean that we were going to take a leisurely stroll through the zoo in effort to see the wildlife and talk about their stripes/spots/habitats. No. Going to the zoo meant that he was going to have his camera and that we were going to be sticking around at each animal until they were done making cute faces at him. Then, when there was nothing more to photograph, we would move on. This was abundantly clear to me as I’d seen his photos before! Also, I would have been horrifically and inconsolably upset if he had invited me to the zoo to not take pictures. Seriously. No one wants to date a photographer that doesn’t take pictures. I swear! So naturally, since his attention wasn’t going to be on me anyhow ( :( ) I packed my camera (in my imaginary camera case — I really need to buy one) and hoped that I could get some of my own decent shots of zoo life. Typically I was the person in the group with the camera going ‘JUST WAIT ONE MORE SECOND HE’S ABOUT TO DO SOMETHING –’ and my friends were gone, so this was exciting for me.

We started at the Tiger. The Tiger knew what was up. He was hanging out, taunting Devin who still needed to set his camera up, and if I hadn’t been so shy at that moment (yeah, I’ll let you reread that, I get shy sometimes) I probably could have got a lot of awesome shots. Unfortunately I was busy watching Devin and watching how he put everything together and hot he got set up and that’s the excuse I’ve got. Next time I will be better prepared. Next time won’t be the first time I actually got to see him work, so it might not be as incredibly novel to me. Next time I’ll be out to get the shot he missed (yeah right).

Big cats first, then it was down to the monkeys, and then we happened to pass by some flamingos. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a flamingo look interesting? Unless it’s got its feathers all ruffled up, they really don’t do a whole lot. And eye contact? Forget about it. That said, I do have one shot that I find interesting. However, you can’t see any of their legs in it which makes them look like they’re pink blobs just hanging out in the water. Not so flattering. Still interesting to me though. Then came the Zebra, who was right down by the fence, and I watched Devin hop around as patiently as he could for the kid in front of him to get done staring so he could jam his camera in there and get a few pictures. I got nothing, except the memories of watching him geek out over being so close to the zebra. Priceless. Then it was off to the tortoise with blue eyes, the macaw, and the komodo dragon. When we went back through the pictures, he wondered why he had so few of that one in particular. Oh right, we got caught up in talking about chastity right about then. Sometimes we get carried away talking about just anything and if you get us on the subject of chastity, we can talk forever. Groundhogs (prairie dogs?), Roadrunner, and a burrowing owl that I think was a pirate in a past life because he just kept squinting at me. I can almost hear him go ‘Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh matey’ in my pictures of him. We finally got to see the otters at play and I almost got a good picture of one and then it was off to the giraffes. Oh man do I love those giraffes. Unfortunately they don’t love me. I know that we had a go at the African Dogs (beautiful) and the Cheetahs too, but they didn’t make it onto my camera due to the need to conserve batteries, because some of us are not as prepared as real photographers. (Also because their dogs hide the charger from them so they can’t charge their cameras to full battery power before heading to the zoo.)

After an afternoon of exercising food restriction…I know, my sense of humor is amazing. Honestly, we just lost track of the time and before we knew it, six hours since breakfast had passed and someone needed to eat again. Something about schedules and how real people need food to fuel their bodies or something. He was craving Italian food and I was craving more conversation and a cool, quiet place to sit down for a while. I definitely got the cool part towards the end of the meal, as I sat shivering in the booth, wondering why on earth it was so cold in the middle of summer. The meal was fantastic. I made some remark that he reacted to in a priceless fashion. Something about how ‘when I got my key back’ to his chastity device, not ‘if’ I got my key back…. Then, someone behind him ordered some pumpkin cheesecake and somehow, magically, that same delicious dessert appeared in front of me! Yay! Anything pumpkin is delicious in my mouth and I think he’s caught onto this!

Not long after I declared I was freezing, we found our way out of the restaurant and back at my place. The couch is really where everything goes down. There’s time to cuddle, time to talk, time to just be together. There’s also some time to look through pictures and to tease him through his pants. Every now and again there’s even time to lose some clothing. Pumpkin thirty was quick approaching though, so it didn’t get too far. (What? I said it was a vanilla date, not a prude date.) That was fine though, because I had a wonderful day and hey, now I have to get up early too, so I can’t even tease him too bad about his old man bedtime.

After he headed home, I grabbed my new friend Reggie and went through the ‘This is mine’ ritual with the dog enough that he finally realized rhinos don’t belong in his mouth, no matter how soft they are. We dragged ourselves up the stairs, tucked into bed, and fell asleep before Dev even made it home. If anyone had ever told me that vanilla dating could be that good, I may have actually made a go at it earlier on. But if you can have vanilla dates combined with kinky sex afterwards….well, you know, I think I might just stick to that formula for now.

Relationship: Kink

How I left out the most obvious requirement for any relationship I enter into, I will never know. I think, perhaps, because I figured that where I seek out my relationships essentially ensures that I will find someone kinky. However, I’ve come to realize that this is not always true. In one case, it was just that they were exploring another side of them. In another, it might just be that they’re scared out of their minds. I’m not sure. Even my newest snuggle buddy is vanilla though. How did this even happen?

 

You attract what you are. They always say opposites attract but I’m feeling less and less that that’s accurate. If it were, I’d have hoards of submissive men throwing themselves at me and I’d be able to pick from them with ease. Now, it may be true that there are enough submissive men offering me their services, but they’re not offering me what I want, which obviously excludes them from my search which makes them completely nonviable which essentially makes it so I don’t even see them. The only logical explanation is that I am vanilla. Yeah, I said it with a straight face, but not for long. I’ve tried claiming to be just that around a couple of people and it just doesn’t fly. Sure, I can do vanilla things. I like to go to the movies. I like to go bowling with Joey. I went on a road trip that didn’t include a chastity device, butt plug, or rope harness under someone’s clothes. All vanilla things. But I, myself, cannot be vanilla. I’ve tried. No really. I tried to be vanilla just like I tried to be submissive and just like I tried to be monogamous.

 

So I’ve been spending more and more time trying to define for me what is kinky. Because when I say I’m vanilla I’m not entirely joking. There is a lot of me that I think is vanilla. The trouble that comes into play there is that what I enjoy the most is relationship dynamics and I guess because I’m a girl that likes to be in control, that makes me kinky by default. If I was a guy that was just a little controlling of his girlfriend, that would be normal. Perhaps even be a way of expressing his care and concern over her. Unfortunately (for so many reasons) I wasn’t born male. The rest of the thought gets eradicated by the fact that I’m not just a little controlling, I am a lot controlling. Within a relationship that’s built on that kind of thing anyhow, not just of anyone random. In fact, I recently met someone that didn’t even know I was dominant, whatever that means, for better or worse. I guess I can’t command an entire room to look at me when I walk in it and I can’t get all the subs to quiver at my feet, but that’s okay, because I’m really only interested in one of them quivering at my feet (okay, or two).

 

In some recent correspondence with someone else though, I asked him if he was interested in D/s, without the kink. So obviously ‘kink’ to me has something to do with toys or props, which is something I generally dislike. But then I spent a night thinking long and hard about how I would feel if I couldn’t flog someone who submitted to me. I had someone in particular in mind, otherwise I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, and since he knows me well enough to understand what I can’t articulate, he said it for me: it’s an act of intimacy for me. Could I go without flogging someone? Sure. Would I always feel as though there was something in our relationship that I could never explore with them? Absolutely. Would it ruin the relationship? I don’t know. It would depend on what role they played for me. Ideally though, I would have someone that would do everything for me. I wonder sometimes if I’m actually poly or if I just can’t find someone who can meet all of my expectations. That’s another post though.

 

So by that definition, of kinky being something having to do with props, I am kinky, whether I want to be or not. I love my floggers, my canes, my crops, my paddles, my clothespins, my toys. I love cuffs and collars and leashes and hoods and cock rings and chastity devices. I love crosses and cages and chains and especially barbed wire. They are not the focal point of what I’m looking for though. I guess that’s the difference for me. So many profiles that I read say ‘I want to do these things specifically’ and for me, I want the mental submission first. If I can have that, you can have everything, because I want everything. Without the submission though, I don’t want to humor anyone with anything else. I’m already doing that, exploring in that fashion, and I know I won’t do it again. I know I won’t do it with anyone else, except to learn a specific skill that I can take home to do with my own personal pet.

 

But more than anything else in the world, I need someone who is in this for life. I need someone who wants to submit and then to play. I want play to be our foreplay, our sex, our intimacy. I don’t want someone that can do one without the other. I put a lot of time and energy and creativity and thought into creating the games that I play with my pets, so that we can have fun, enjoyable, memorable times in our relationships, but as much as I love games, I’ve found the words ‘This is just a game to me‘ absolutely crush my heart. D/s is not a game to me. Ownership is not a game to me. What I need to feel loved and cared for is not a game for me. If it’s a game for them, then they’re not for me, plain and simple. Sometimes it kills me; I’ll fall in love with everything a person is and then find that what they are not is what kills it all.