Thursday, May 28, 2020

3 Key Reasons Why BDSM is Not ABUSE ~

~ First and foremost, CONSENT. Period. I'm so sick of hearing things like, "The girl who likes to be choked during sex is the same girl who cries when you yell at her."

The willful ignorance of that statement is astounding. The only exception being if that girl verbally expressed to you beforehand that she wanted you to yell at her with the sole purpose of making her cry, you both were comfortable with the scenario, and had agreed upon safe words that would immediately stop the session / scene if either one of you needed to, for any reason. I'm not judging anyone's kinks here, so if that's for you, go for it. Although, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that is not the context of what that statement is referring to.

~ Second, SAFE WORDS. These are words (or any verbal / nonverbal form of communication) that were agreed upon by both parties prior to engaging in a session / scene. If you are a 24/7 lifestyler like me, these words are in place all the time, with reminders that they are there before a session / scene.

Safe words exist for the purpose of, you guessed it, safety. Physically, but also (and often shamefully overlooked) emotionally and psychologically. Safe words are an emergency brake. If for any reason whatsoever, you need to stop, simply use your safe word. If the Dominant is a true Dominant, He will immediately stop the session / scene and go into Aftercare. It does not matter how intensely He was into it, or how close He was to His orgasm, etc, He will stop and take care of your needs. Being a Dominant is something that requires a level of self control that I don't know many people to possess.
However, trusting someone to be your Dominant who does not possess the skill of self control in those situations, can be incredibly dangerous... For both of you. So please vet your potential partners carefully, just as you hopefully would for any relationship.

Submission is a gift that can only be given willingly... When control is taken, that's not submission. That's ABUSE.

Talking to your partner is incredibly important. Discuss things you are and are not comfortable with doing. Set limits. Specific and detailed boundaries. Misunderstandings and assumptions can be relationship killers. So much pain is completely avoidable, if you just communicate as clearly as possible.

Safe words can also be very helpful with communication in day to day life with your significant other in a 24/7 dynamic, especially if either of you have PTSD or come from a past where you have been abused in any way.

BDSM doesn't have to only focus on the sexual. It's about trust; and for some people, like me, it can be incredibly healing.

I've been told more than once by people in the "vanilla world" that they are shocked that I can engage in a BDSM relationship considering the abuse I've suffered in my past. So I'll touch on that real quick, since I'm here...
My Dominant earned my trust. He began as my Best Friend. I trusted Him with my life well before being in a relationship with Him. Want to know HOW He earned my trust? By consistently being the Man He claimed He was. By making promises and keeping them. By standing by His word, and having integrity unlike any degree I've ever witnessed another person having. By apologizing when He makes mistakes, and then taking active steps to make sure they don't get repeated. By acknowledging His "flaws" and not being complacent with them.
So I gift Him with my submission. He earned my trust, so I gladly expose my throat, knowing He could easily take my life from me, but trusting Him not to. Not hoping He won't... Trusting He won't.

The surrender of trusting someone so completely, knowing with such certainty that they cherish you and your needs above ALL else, brings with it a euphoric happiness so intense that it cannot be put into words.

My Dom (who also happens to now be my husband) is hyper aware of any little face or movement or sound that I make and adjusts accordingly; before I even have time to use a safe word. Even outside of the bedroom. I asked Him once how He knows to do that. He simply said it's because He studies me. He genuinely cares. He's always trying to make sure my needs are met, psychologically, physically, and emotionally. And all I want to do is put Him first in every way. To make Him as happy as I possibly can. 24/7.

The last thing I'm going to say about safe words, is yes they are necessary. Human error is a thing. Your Dom can absolutely go too far or hurt you completely by accident. It can happen. Having safe words in place is just good sense. A smart trapeze artist still uses a safety net. This doesn't mean he doubts his skill, it just means he can focus on his art and enjoy it more without the anxiety of possible human error ruining it for him, because he knows the net is in place.

~ Third, AFTERCARE. This is so important, and so many people don't even know what it is. Aftercare in BDSM is the period of time after a session / scene in which your Dominant attends to your physical, emotional, and psychological needs, whatever they may be. Everyone is different, so this may vary from person to person. Contrary to popular belief, Dominants can need Aftercare as well, although it doesn't seem to be as common.

My personal Aftercare involves my Dom snuggling me and slowly rubbing my legs / arms / back / tummy with light pressure, all while going over the passionate details of our session / scene in a low soothing voice in my ear. He tells me how much He loves me, and He validates every part of me. After roughly 20 minutes of this (the length can be longer depending on the intensity of the session / scene and my needs), we get up and he attends to any physical pain I may have (again depending on the session / scene).

Aftercare isn't one sided for us. I love to validate everything He says and does with as much love as my heart can give without bursting at the seams.

The intense depth of Aftercare can sometimes bring me to tears... The purity of that joy is extraordinary and profound.

~ It's easy to be taken advantage of if you are inexperienced or uneducated in this lifestyle. Please know that if you or your partner (either Dom or sub) don't respect the other's needs and/or limits, or one of you fears the other for any reason, that is not BDSM. That's ABUSE. And that is NOT okay.

If you just want people to submit to you because you crave power or control, you are not a Dominant. You are an asshole. A true Dominant cares for His sub's needs more than His own and cherishes her... He doesn't take the gift of her submission for granted, as He knows she has the power to take it away.

BDSM is definitely not for everyone. But if you feel it IS for you, please educate yourself and stay safe.


Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Healing From Eggshells

I'm sitting next to you on our little couch; our lunch on the table in front of us. A peaceful calm begins to settle within us as we're about to enjoy our meal together. You reach for something on the table...

Suddenly, a soft thud ricochets in my ears as your drink is knocked over... and I freeze. My body completely stiffens, and I'm as unmoving as a statue. My breathing is shallow and quick, but silent. My pulse is racing. My bulging eyes stare at the thick orange liquid as it oozes slowly, consuming the black tabletop wherever it spreads.

You're already in motion, calmly trying to clean up the spill. I can barely breathe. I watch you, my eyes wide and unblinking, as you soak up the liquid with a towel. I mentally remind myself -- you're not HIM. I tell myself to watch you carefully as you clean up. ~Breathe~ Observe. You're not angry. You're not being aggressive. ~Breathe~ You're simply cleaning up a spill. Calmly. My pulse is still racing. ~Breathe~ I can't move.

You see me and immediately register what I'm going through; and I hear your soothing voice. You tell me that you're okay. That you're not angry or upset. ~Breathe~ You keep reassuring me in soothing tones.

You sit back down next to me, and I'm still frozen with fear. Panic. Still not blinking, tears start to flow down my cheeks, and I realize that I'm shaking from head to toe. You keep gently telling me that you're okay. You're trying to soothe me. Somehow, I find the will to move enough to slightly nod. Over and over I nod, unable to stop this silent crying.

Finally, I manage to shudder broken whispers of "I'm sorry" again and again. You hold me close, wipe my tears as they continue to fall, and softly tell me that I have nothing to be sorry for. That you know it's not about you, that it's my mind still adjusting to my new normal. That my physiological reactions to any triggers aren't my fault. That you love and understand me.

Your voice, your tone, your touch, your loving energy, your words... your words bring me back. You quell the irrational panic within me, and I can breathe again.

I take some deep, cleansing breaths, and I remember that I don't have to walk on eggshells anymore.

Real love doesn't hurt, it heals.

Friday, February 14, 2020

Part One of Two ~ The Impossible Wish

I used to wish.

I would wish for love.

I would wish for acceptance.

I would wish that I could matter.

I would wish that I could show someone every part of my soul...

And that they would embrace it.

Not hold judgement on it...

Or run screaming from it.

I would wish for love as though it were a need...

Not an option.

Like air in my lungs.

My insides burned without it.

I was hollow.

I could walk...

Talk...

Smile...

Laugh.

I could not FEEL.

Not happiness.

Not joy.

Not excitement.

Not love.

Only emptiness.

I did not have the sensation of dying...

How can something die,

when it was never alive.

I was an object.

I felt like a fake.

Like a liar.

I would walk around in this human skin,

pretending to be a person...

Constantly apologizing.

For any thoughts or actions that were ever my own.

Though I wanted desperately to be a person,

I knew I never could be.

I was simply less than human.

Unlovable.

Disposable.

Useless.

Worthless.

Hopeless.

HOPELESS.

I did not hope for love.

I have been careful with my words.

No...

I did not hope for love.

But I wished for it.

You wish for the impossible.

You wish when there is no hope.

Friday, January 17, 2020

The Beginning

Once Upon a Time...


There was a little girl who loved her mom more than anything.

The little girl took very good care of her mom.

The little girl made sure to comfort her mom when she was sick.

The little girl would bring her mom blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and a bucket, while she was resting or asleep on the couch.

The little girl would always do what was best for her mom.

The little girl would make sure her mom remembered to eat and drink.

The little girl would answer the phone, and tell whoever was calling exactly what her mom instructed her to say.

The little girl would always protect her mom.

The little girl would collect money from strangers to give to her mom.

The little girl would sneak food from the store into her pockets so she could eat, when her mom forgot to feed her.

The little girl took very good care of her mom.

The little girl was happy with her life.

The little girl was left alone a lot.

The little girl would walk home from school all by herself.

The little girl didn't know the world had dangers.

The little girl protected her mom from bad men.

The little girl could not protect herself.

The little girl became afraid and confused.

The little girl saw magazines on her mom's bedroom floor.

The little girl heard people talk about doing things, like the things she saw in those magazines.

The little girl would stay quiet when those things were done to her, and just disappear until it was over.

The little girl assumed that was just a part of life.

The little girl silently cried at night for her dad to come and take her away, clutching a photo of them together in a silver frame, making sure not to wake her mom.

The little girl got to see her dad on some weekends. He seemed nice.

The little girl continued to take care of her mom, loving her unconditionally, and always protecting her.

One day, when the little girl was seven and a half years old, her dad told her that she was going to live with him from now on.

Starting that day.

That very minute.

It was time for the little girl to say goodbye to her mom.

The little girl begged her dad not to take her away.

The little girl tried to explain that her mom needed her.

The little girl tried to explain that her mom would die without her.

The little girl was keeping her mom alive.

The little girl was keeping her mom safe.

Who would love her mom if the little girl left?

Who would protect her mom if the little girl left?

The little girl hugged her crying mom, and refused to look away as her dad took the little girl by the hand and dragged her back to the car, away from her mom; leaving her to die.

The little girl tried to convince everyone to bring her back to her mom.

The little girl was left to wonder and to worry, all while faking a smile to continue being a good little girl.

For her mom.

One day, after the little girl turned eight years old, she couldn't see life getting better.

The little girl realized she wouldn't ever be able to save her mom.

The little girl blamed herself.

The little girl was left alone with her thoughts, swarming her and circling her like bloodthirsty sharks, constantly biting and making her bleed more in the chaos of her mind.

The little girl saw no end.

The little girl just wanted it to end.

The little girl sat on the hardwood floor, in the corner of her bedroom, placed a plastic grocery bag over her head, and tied it around her neck.

The little girl closed her eyes and waited for the end.

That little girl died when she was eight years old...

And a new little girl was born in her place.

...To Be Continued...

 

Your body is the story of your life, in tactile form.

I'm 5'3½" and my heaviest weight was 381 pounds back in November of 2014. The other day, I weighed in at 194 pounds . It'...