Thursday, April 30, 2009


I've been blogging all this will most likely be short and sweet. Possibly disgustingly so. I feel sappy again, so this post might induce diabetic coma. You have been warned.

It's silly, but I think about how much I love J. and B. a lot. Because I am a dork, mostly. But I was thinking about it earlier today, actually.

I'm a weird soul. I don't think I think about things like normal people do, LOL. Or maybe I just think things to death or something. But sometimes, sometimes, I get overwhelmed by my feelings about things.

Like, for example, I can just look up and watch B. walk across the room, him completely not even noticing that I'm watching, and feel my eyes well up with tears. Every time J. kisses me, my heart leaps to my throat, and I stop breathing.

Yes, it's crazy. Yes, I'm crazy. We've already covered this before.

I'm totally self-conscious about stupid things, I know. I have a hard time with small gestures of love and affection. I always feel like I'm either being too awkward or being too clingy, so I tend to just eschew them altogether. I'm much more comfortable with grand, swooping gestures that happen once in a blue moon.

So I often don't know how to act when I just look at my Mistress and Master sometimes and am moved to tears. Or when I just casually touch them and feel that my heart is so full of love for these people that I'm afraid it might burst.

I try not to make them uncomfortable with my weirdness. There's nothing worse than having THAT guy or girl follow you around with the "OMGZZZZ, I love you SOOOOO much!!!!!!!" bullshit. AWK. WARD. I don't want to do that to them, LOL.

But I really do love them both so much that it hurts sometimes. Believe it or not, I'm hardly ever seized by this much emotion about PEOPLE. It's usually animals or something that I feel is greater than me, like the ocean or the sky or when I'm pondering the nature of God. (I once had a friend tell me that while I have the heart of a redneck, I also have the soul of a poet. It makes for some interesting times, that's for sure.)

I can catch them looking at me sometimes and feel my heart stop for about half a second. Yes, that makes me sound like a teenager with a crush, but it's something different than that, I promise. The last time I got so overwhelmed with emotion like that was last Labor Day weekend when L. and I went to Florida, and I was lying on the beach at night, staring up at the vast blackness of the sky and listening to the waves crash on the shore.

Since I don't think I have a crush on the Gulf of Mexico, I'm thinking that the way I feel when I'm around B. and J. is a bit more complex than adolescent puppy love. ;)

Sunday, April 26, 2009

I've Been A Lazy Blogger Again

Yep, I've been lazy, which means I have several things to catch up on right now.

Ok, first of all, I had a minor meltdown at J. and B.'s house last week. I didn't know why then, but I know now. (Or at least I think I know.)

One thing you should probably know about me is that I am a huge baby when I'm sick. I'm not sure why it makes me feel so icky and hopeless (and helpless), but it does. Maybe it's got something to do with my screwy immune system. Who knows?

So what does that have to do with the price of eggs in China, you might ask?

Well, I've been having problems with my allergies the past couple of weeks. You know, just general ickiness--itchy throat, sneezing, coughing, stuffy nose, and ears full of fluid. Just the "ew" stuff. But that's not the problem in and of itself.

Last summer, I had a whole bunch of shit going on: tons of classes, working three jobs, the ever-present needy friends. I got so run down that I got sick. It wasn't, like, the flu or anything. But I went for weeks being dizzy and lightheaded, on the verge of passing out, for what seemed to me to be no apparent reason. I felt so bad and couldn't figure out why. I didn't even want to get out of bed; all I wanted to do was lie around and cry.

Now, you're probably thinking it was some horrible sickness, but no. I finally scrounged up some extra money and went to the doctor. I had a freaking EAR INFECTION. Yeah, I know, not too dramatic, huh? But, in my defense, it was a really BAD ear infection. I was kind of astounded because all the ear infections I remember from childhood (and I had one every other week, it seemed) were painful as hell. But the one I had last summer didn't hurt at all. The doctor told me that, apparently, sometimes, ear infections can get really bad without hurting at all. And if they don't make you feel horrible and dizzy, that the first indication for some folks that anything is wrong is when their eardrums burst from the pressure.

Ew. What a mental image.

But after I got home on Friday, I was plagued with these bouts of dizziness. Over and over, bad enough that I had to sit down a few times to keep from falling over. Then, when I got to thinking about it, I realized that I'd gotten them a few times at B. and J.'s. Like the night B. got me all tied up, and I started seeing black spots and was dangerously close to passing out. He had to untie me before I hit the floor.

So then it dawned on me. I felt as horrible last week as felt last year when I got the ear infection, dizzy and weepy. (I get irrational when I'm sick.) And since I'd had so much head congestion in the previous weeks, it probably set up the perfect environment to spawn another nasty ear infection. So I broke out the bottle of amoxicillin I always keep on hand for my recurring UTIs and set about dosing myself up. (Oddly enough, I'm allergic to ACTUAL penicillin, but not amoxicillin. I am a strange creature.)

I figure even if it ISN'T an ear infection, maybe the placebo effect will make me feel better, if nothing else. I started taking them yesterday afternoon, and I feel tons better already. So yay for cheap antibiotics! It makes me feel better to know it's probably a physical problem and not me finally going off the deep end.

The next thing is something I'm not going to get into much here because B. and J. (who are the people I write this blog for, after all) already know what happened, and it's an ASSLOAD of stuff to write. But some crazy shit went down last night and made me realize I'm absolutely sick of the way I let people walk all over me.

I was raised that you should always put other people before yourself, that you should always do all you can to help other folks out if there's any way possible. Nobody in my family knows how to tell anyone "no." And, yes, some of them have developed some extreme martyr complexes because of it.

But I've realized that my desire to help people and to do always do what I think in my mind is the "right" thing has led to me being taken advantage of so much by people who prey on that kind of thing, people who have no sense of boundaries, people who feel they are somehow entitled to things, people who love to manipulate my better nature.

I'm thoroughly sick of it. It comes to a screeching halt TODAY.

Also, I'm not going to be ashamed of me and who I am anymore. Yes, it sucks that I only need 9 hours worth of classes (3 classes) to have my master's, and I'm a phone sex operator. But you know what? It beats the shit out of what most people where I'm from have ever done.

I graduated in a class of 50...and that's in a public school. Of those 50, I think maybe 5 of us actually completed college. You know how many of those 5 went on to graduate school? Yep, just me.

Yes, my job is not a resume builder. Yes, I'm constantly broke. Yes, I have a Mensa IQ. But you know what? I DON'T still live at home with my parents. I DON'T have to depend on some lame-ass man to take care of me. I DON'T really have nice things, but, by God, everything I've got (with the exception of that big-ass truck I'm driving), I got my damn self. I DON'T have to stay in some shitty marriage to some guy I don't give a rat's ass about because I'm either too lazy or too stupid to work and support myself.

That's a hell of a lot more than I can say about any of the assholes who want to talk shit about me.

My mother, while she has her flaws, taught me not to depend on anybody to take care of me. I depend on me, and that's all I need. My daddy taught me not to wait on some man to rescue me because he knew his daughter was smarter and more resourceful than 99% of the men in this world. If the Apocalypse started tomorrow, I'd be better equipped to take care of myself than people like the bitches (and that term includes the males) who started all the bullshit drama last night.

Also, I'm asking L., who has a degree in accounting and is working on another one in economics, to help me figure out how to get my ass out of debt. (I figure who better to ask about that than my own personal accountant? LOL.) I sort of inherited my mama's propensity to spend money like it's going out of style and my daddy's laissez faire attitude toward budgeting. Yeah, the worst of both worlds there. My whole "I'ma work and try to make enough money to pay the bills and use the prayer method if all else fails" idea has not been working out so well for me. I mean, they're not about to cart me off to debtor's prison or anything, but I'd like to be able to get out of debt sometimes in the next five years.

I have all these fabulous ideas about various business ventures I would love to get into, but that requires money. And in order to have money, you can't have tons of debt. So, yeah. I'm hoping I can defer my student loans long enough that I can pay off my credit card debt, or at least get it down to a manageable level, then start on the student loans. Then, maybe, I'll be able to be a writer/tack store owner/horse farm owner/owner of horse rescue facility and have nice things. Maybe.

Ok, and for the last part of the blog, something I've been wanting to say for awhile and haven't figured out how to put into words without sounding sappy. But I figure with all the drama lately, something sappy might be ok for now. :)

I once had a plan for my life. No, really, I did. I've always pushed myself SO hard to get what it was I thought I wanted. It's only been recently that I started floundering and questioning myself. If I'm honest, I know now that what I thought I wanted would never have really made me happy.

One of my personal mantras is "If you're headed in one direction, and it seems that no matter what you do, there's always another obstacle in your path, then that's the Good Lord trying to tell you, 'You're going the wrong way, dumbass!'" Unfortunately, it took me forever to listen to my own advice.

I was headed the wrong way for a long time, and it's took me quite some time to get pointed back in the right direction. And I've apparently gotten lost several times in my attempted shortcut through the woods back to the right path.

One of the biggest things for me to overcome was my fear of ever not being in perfect control of everything around me 100% of the time. I know it sounds crazy, given my current situation, but it's the truth. I literally feared B. for YEARS, not because I thought he might harm me or anything like that, but because he triggered some instinctual reaction inside me that scared the living fuck out of me.

He did NOT fit into my life plan. So I spent time alternately trying to push him away and pull him back in because, while he didn't fit into my plan, I also couldn't stand the way I felt without him, either. I don't know how to explain it. I get these feelings sometimes (which are never wrong). And I knew I was supposed to follow him for the rest of my life, but I could never figure out how to make it work, with what I thought I wanted for myself. Also, it's scary to realize that you've met the love of your life at 22. That is not supposed to happen, at least not in my world.

So the Universe spent quite some time systematically destroying everything I ever believed about myself. That was the most painful process in the entire world, and I hope I never go through anything like that ever again. All my previous hopes and dreams were shown to me to be false, things that would never really make me happy.

In short, it was hell.

Then, after I saw the truth, I spent a good six months fighting it because I'm me, and I'm nothing if not stubborn and dogged in the face of adversity. Then, I accepted what I'd known all along....

I am supposed to follow this man for the rest of my life. And, luckily enough, following his silly ass led me right to J. I must've done something really phenomenal in my previous lives to deserve this. ;) I mean, I've literally jumped up two levels on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs pyramid in two months. That's the most rare thing ever. (Ignore how geeky that reference was, please.)

I love my Master and Mistress.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The Ever-Popular Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week

Yes, yes, the pervasive sexual fantasy of the week, back by not-so-popular demand.

This one actually extends over a period of a couple of days. (What? Me? A whore? Absolutely not!) And, as always, I don't really have any good details to share, just some general fuzzy thoughts.

Ok, day one involves me tied in some suitably strict but not-too-uncomfortable position, so I can stay that way awhile. Blindfolded or hooded and possibly gagged in some way that doesn't make ME gag. No real requests on the torturing part, just building me up long and slow, so I can take lots. And lots of teasing, not letting me cum. (I like whining for it....) And heavy on the verbal humiliation. Really heavy. *Blush*

And then that particular scene ends with a whole lot of pussy torture--clamps, being beaten, really big insertions, etc. Lots of large things inside me to insure that I'm really painfully swollen the next day....

Which brings me to day two.

Little girl gets tied up and played with and tortured, though probably not as hard as the night before. Lots of being talked to like I'm little. Of course, because I'm so swollen from the previous day's fun, it's going to be damned agonizing to put anything inside me.

Which means the finale probably involves J. holding me down and talking to me and possibly hurting me herself while B. fucks me mercilessly. *Blushes more* Yeah, 'cause that would really, REALLY feel like the first time. *Tries to look innocent*

Ok, I'm a perv. But I keep getting these ideas. *Giggles* And tomorrow, I get to go see them, yay! :)


I can't sleep right now, so I'm screwing around on Facebook. One of my friends took a quiz called "Which Crazy Bitch Are You?" Now, naturally, something with that title just screams to me, so I had to take it, LOL.

The results may astound you....

I scored Sylvia Plath, who, for those of you keeping score at home, is my most favoritest writer in the world, as I've mentioned before. Interesting coincidence there. The description, however, was downright freaky, LOL.

You are one intense bitch. You are almost abnormally introspective but this is where your abundant creativity flows from. You love handsome, brilliant, creative genius types but you pay the price when their egos and lustful ways cause them to betray you. You are a very intelligent, classy lady with a black streak and can be very emotional at times. You do have a bit of a morbid side but your words often lead you to be misunderstood as a dark figure but that is just how you protect your soft mushy insides.

Err. Guilty as charged. And, no, I have no idea why I'm posting this here, other than I'm bored, and I love flattering myself by thinking for 2.5 seconds that I might be even one-hundredth as awesome as Sylvia Plath. But, le sigh, I'm not that brilliant and talented, unfortunately. 'Twas a pretty accurate description of me, though.

Ok, I'm going to see if I can find a bedtime snack, then I'm going to read more cheesy romance until I fall asleep. Night!

I Am Doing Marginally Better

I don't feel icky anymore. My brain chemistry has leveled out again. So yay!

L. came home today, and we went and ate lunch for cheap. No, I didn't really have the money to do it, but a girl has to get out of the house occasionally. And, really, it's not like lunch at Cici's is really going make or break me one way or the other, LOL.

It's nice having company again. I love my alone time, but I really did not need it this weekend.

And I've been working. Not getting many calls, but I have been blogging and newsgrouping and hanging out in the chatroom and stuff. Got it completely done for one character for the week. I got my NF listings redone. I'll probably log into those tonight. So I've done a little bit of what I'm supposed to do. It helps that I don't feel like I've been hit by a bus today. Gives me a bit more motivation.

Yay for less moody slave-girl!

Unfortunately, I have nothing truly interesting to report. My life is comparatively dull. But I do feel better, AND I'm getting shit done, which is better than nothing, right?

Perhaps I shall do the "Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week" post tomorrow. :)

Monday, April 20, 2009


Ok, everything is sucking again.

I hate this. I hate it so much. The drawback to being the--well, I hesitate to use "painslut" because I'm not entirely sure it's accurate, at least not in the context of this sentence--whatever that I am is however good I feel immediately after all the fun play is over is inversely proportional to how perfectly fucking shitty I feel a couple of days later.

In my previous post, I mentioned the way hot time we had Thursday night. (The reason I hesitated to use the word "painslut" in the preceding paragraph is that that scene was not particularly painful in any way, just kind of intense.) So, unfortunately, I'm really, really miserable at the moment.

I also hate to bother B. and J. with my whining.

I've been stuck here alone all weekend. I haven't gotten a thing done. I literally do not feel like getting out of bed.

God, I hate this. It sounds so pathetic and so self-pitying.

I just don't like being alone when I feel this way, but L.'s not in town, and all my attempts at trying to get together with any of my other friends have been rebuffed. Not that I actually told them what the problem was, mind you. It's a little embarrassing to say, "Please hang out with me because I don't want to be alone because I feel like shit."

Then, there's talking to my friend K. who hates everyone and everything, especially men and relationships. I'm trying to be supportive, but she is doing an incredible job of projecting all her problems and insecurities on to me and keeps warning me that nothing is ever as it seems, blah, blah, blah. I appreciate her concern, of course, but I think it's more irrational bitterness on her part than anything. Though it does nothing to help keep my old demons at bay.

I need them, and I detest my neediness. I try not to bug them because I just know one day they're going to get sick of me clinging and scream, "Go AWAY already!"

I do not know why I'm suffering so much with it right now.

I just...I need snuggles. Not from one of them, from both of them. I want to lie between them while they look down and smile at me and hold me close. I want to feel the overwhelming sense of RIGHTNESS when B. calls me "pet." ('Cause, let's face it, as cute as the moniker is, I'm about the farthest thing from an actual slave-girl that you can imagine, what, with my neediness and my demanding-ness [technical term] and my blatant attention whoring.) I want to feel the stupid grin creep over my face when J. says, "Good girl," to me in the exact same tone she uses with the dogs. I want to kiss them both. I want to feel the sense of happy security I get when I'm in their arms or, by extension, their bonds.

And now I'm teary-eyed. Jesus Christ, what have you people done to me?

I know I'm going back Tuesday. But Tuesday seems forever away right now, for some reason. I hate to be That Girl, but it's like nothing seems quite right when I'm not with the only man I've ever called and will ever call Master and the only woman I've ever called and will ever call Mistress. Or Mattress, depending on what kind of mood we're in.

Screw this, I'm going to lie down and read cheesy romance novels until I fall asleep. Maybe it'll make the time pass faster, if nothing else.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

I Feel Better...And A Request For Help

I've been slacking on blogging again. Actually, I've been slacking on everything. But that will be the second part of this blog.

As for the first part...I feel considerably better than I did the last time I blogged. I'm one of those people who is fairly easily overwhelmed by her emotions, but slow to trust. It makes for weird times, I think.

I spent some time with B. and J. this past week. Just a couple of days, but it still made me feel better. It wasn't even anything they did in particular that helped. Just things I noticed, things they probably weren't even doing to "make" me feel better. (I'm way more perceptive than I allow myself to appear to the folks around me.)

Because of these things, I feel less like slave-like playtoy and more like occasionally submissive girlfriend or some shit like that. (Don't get me wrong. Objectification is way fun on occasion. The other night was probably one of the hottest scenes I've ever been a part of. *Blush* B.'s cock down my throat, and J.'s hand in my cunt...uh, yeah, there's something to be said for being used like that. *Grin*)

Anyway, so, yeah. I do feel better.

Because I feel better, and because they both keep telling me to come to them when I have problems, I feel emboldened enough to come to part two of this blog.

I do have a problem. And it doesn't have anything to do with them. But if they wanna help me...I'd appreciate it. (No, the problem isn't my sudden overuse of ellipses, though I can imagine why someone would think so.)

I know I've mentioned before that I. Have. A. Problem. With. Getting. Shit. Done.

But I've possibly neglected to mention how bad it is. It is honestly a tribute to my boss's tolerance that she hasn't already fired me on several different occasions. Either that, or the fact that I rarely bother her with bullshit makes up for the fact that I have a hard time doing ANYTHING productive.

I'm not sure why, but I am so easily distracted. I suck at prioritizing. I can't multi-task to save my life. I have an overwhelming amount of stuff to do, but I still manage to lose large chunks of time just fucking around (case in point, posting this blog) because I simply don't know where to start. Then, I have no idea where the time's gone, and I still haven't accomplished anything.

My brain stays foggy; I can't focus on anything for any length of time, and I am the queen of the scatter-brained. I can't remember SHIT, and, dear God, I lose things left and right. Any distraction, however small, turns into something that interrupts my train of thought so severely that it takes forever to get back on track. I can't make decisions about what to do, where to go, what needs taking care of first, etc. Wash, rinse, repeat, every day of my life. I've always been this way, but it appears to be getting worse as I get older instead of better as I'd hoped.

I've been trying to combat it by making lists, so I don't forget things. But then I can't decide where to start on my List O' Shit To Do, and I don't do anything. Or else I spend all day trying to get one thing done. It's ridiculous, and I hate myself for my laziness and lack of self-discipline.

Part of it is, no doubt, that I'm stuck in a rut at work. I actually do like my job. The good part about being an independent contractor is that you can decide what to do and when to do it. The bad part about being an independent contractor is, well, that you can decide what to do and when to do it. The sheer amount of work I have to do just to make the bare minimum I need to pay bills is astounding. It's even MORE astounding when I fuck around and don't do it for awhile. Then, I have so much to do that I look at my daunting pile of tasks and go, "No. Hell no. I'm not even going to bother."

Like, even being at B. and J.'s makes it hard for me to work. It's partly because they're inherently distracting by being so cute. ;) It's also partly because any little deviation from my normal routine pretty much ruins any hope of my accomplishing anything. This is not their fault, by the way. It's my own personal character flaw.

See, the bad part about it is, I have a degree in psychology. I know what I need to do to fix this. Unfortunately, I also know how to outsmart my own tricks. (Kinda like my friend L. taking my credit cards away so I wouldn't use them. It didn't really matter because I'd memorized the card numbers and expiration dates and security codes on the back, so I could still buy shit online to my heart's content, even if I didn't have them physically in my hands to go out and shop.)

It's really embarrassing to admit. I'm 25 years old, and this is kid's shit. I'm ashamed of letting it get this bad, honestly. But I know I'm not making it any better by trying to hide how perfectly bad I am at doing things. I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't at least somewhat burnt out on the whole work deal, anyhow.

So in the interest of me NOT getting fired and of me actually making enough money to pay bills, I am going to attempt to solicit help from the distractingly adorable couple I belong to. I figure doing ANYTHING at this point is better than doing nothing. This is not me going, "Please beat me when I screw up." That's none of our styles and, as I learned a long time ago from living with my mother, completely counterproductive to getting me to do anything because my "fuck this shit and fuck you" response kicks in.

This is me going, "Please help me learn how to cope with shit in a more efficient manner."

Yes, I should probably be medicated. However, with the whole lack of health insurance problem, I'm going to need money for a doctor's visit and money for the actual meds (which I do not have right now). So if they feel like taking on this particular problem as a temporary stop-gap measure to keep me from fucking my life up further, I'd well and truly appreciate it.

Monday, April 13, 2009

The Elephant In The Room

To be perfectly honest, I have been goddamned miserable for the last nearly two weeks. On the surface, I have no real reason to be. I should be happy, right? Getting everything I wanted, etc., etc.

It took me awhile to figure out what was actually going on. I don't think I process things like normal people. Most people, something happens, and it makes them upset. With me, I wake up upset, and then I have to wade through the various flotsam and jetsam in my brain to figure out why. So I've been unhappy for a couple of weeks, but I've actually known what the problem was for only a couple of days.

It should go without saying that this is going to be an incredibly long blog. It's also probably going to upset my owners, piss them off, whatever. I wrestled all weekend with the way I feel and have basically hidden myself away the last couple of days, trying to decide if it's worth mentioning or not. I'm not the kind of person who lays things out to people in hopes that they'll fix them for me because I think my emotions are my responsibility. But it's eating me up, and I can't stand it anymore. I figure I might as well go ahead and throw it out there, and they can decide if they even want to bother dealing with it or not.

I have lots of issues in my head. I could go on and on forever about all of them. I'm also quite the master at inventing problems where there are none to cover up the REAL problems that are bothering me. That's why I've been doing so much thinking, to make sure I'm getting to the heart of the thing. And this is what I've come up with.

Everything that concerns me stems from one (or both) of these two things. There are various things that go along with them, but it all boils down to two real problems.

The first one is that I truly feel like I can only show certain sides of myself when I'm around B. and J. Just because I've become really good at compartmentalizing my life does not mean that I enjoy it at all. I can let them see submissive me and my inner seven-year-old. But while these are large parts of me, they aren't the sum of the whole.

The me that my crazy redneck friends love has to be locked away. Maybe it doesn't sound like much, but it kinda is. I feel like I'm being pushed deeper and deeper inside myself, like I have to watch every move I make, because J. and B. think the loud, flashy, hard-drinking, crazy-ass redneck country girl is a total fucking bitch.

I understand that in a lot of ways I don't fit into their lifestyle at all. I grew up much differently than they did. But--and maybe I'm being overly sensitive, as I'm prone to being at times--I feel as if everything about me that doesn't fit is shoved aside or glossed over or ordered to change. And I don't like it.

Yeah, it sounds like little things. But, according to the things I keep hearing, my hair color is wrong. My makeup is wrong. My clothes are wrong. My weight is wrong. The way I keep up myself and my stuff isn't up to their standards. The way I interact with people is wrong. The way I think and process things is wrong.

Soooo...what is it they like about me again?

I'm "unhealthy" because I don't see the point in bothering people with my feelings about something that they can't change, anyway. I'm unfeminine because I'd rather go outside and ride horses or race cars than do girly things, baking excepted. And, God knows, I'm weird because I think drinking Jack & Coke at the white trash bar, where they have a midget, a one-armed hooker, and Santa Claus in a cowboy hat, and watching fights break out on the dance floor is quality entertainment. Especially when the balding guy clocks the security guard in his grill.

I feel like what they want is for me to be a cheap imitation of J. It's not that I don't like what J. is, but...that ain't me. Not at all.

I'm simple and unsophisticated and countrier than hell. Just because I can nix the accent most of the time doesn't mean that I've somehow become feminine and classy. No, I've never owned anything nice, something someone else hadn't already torn up or worn out or both before I got it. Yes, I wash my face with soap because who gives a shit? It's going to get dirty again tomorrow.

I feel like, on one hand, they tell me they want to know everything there is about me, but, on the other, they want to change everything that doesn't fit into their world. I don't doubt that there's a lot about me that needs changing, but why is it that everything I do that somehow differs from the way they do has to be changed? Why am I always the one who's wrong here?

You know, if you want to learn about me, I can talk until I'm blue in the face, but the best way to learn things about me is to come to me in my element. And as much as they want me to think I'm at home at their house, it's definitely not my element. Want to know me, know who I am, what I'm passionate about, what makes me tick? Come to me. Drink with my crazy-ass friends and me. Listen to us talk. Go with us to the places we like to go. Watch the movies we like to watch. Eat the food we like to eat. Go to the dirt track with us or go mud-riding with us or any of a million things we love to do. (And, no, we aren't raging alcoholics. We don't always have to drink to do crazy shit.)

I want J. and B. to be a part of my life, but I want them as a part of my entire life, of everything I am. I don't want to feel like I'm conforming to what they want me to be at the expense of everything else about me.

The second thing is even more serious than the first thing and something I really struggled with, trying to decide if I should even mention it or not. But, the truth is, even the above mentioned insecurities ultimately come back to this as well, so we might as well get to the heart of the matter.

I know we're all trying to move on past the things that happened in the past. I know we're all trying to ignore them in order to move forward. But, at least on my end, it seems like we're all trying not to notice the elephant in the room, hence the title of this blog.

I've done my best not to dwell on the past and look toward the future. But, unfortunately, the last six weeks or so have not and cannot possibly make up for the past three years.

I do not trust either of them not to hurt me again.

There. I said it.

The memories of the innumerable tears I have cried. The gallons of alcohol I have consumed, trying to forget. The many nights I've come home and lain in bed with one foot on the floor to keep the room from spinning (which doesn't work, by the way). The days I couldn't even force myself out of bed. The hundreds of times I've woken up friends in the middle of night because I was having yet another temporary breakdown of sanity. The amount of sleep I and those friends have lost because my heart was in roughly three trillion pieces and bleeding profusely.

All those things are still too close, too painful, to forget right now and to not allow to influence my thinking. I'm far from blameless in the situation, but I AM the only one who went on a nearly two-year drinking binge because of it.

I am one of those truly fucked up submissive women who will literally jump off the Brooklyn Bridge if the one I serve tells me to. I love deeply and truly and unconditionally. I don't know how to do anything halfway, and I'll give my life for those I love.

So to be told the equivalent of "Oh, well, sorry, that's still not good enough" is not something that's easy to get over.

I love B. and J. I do. With all my heart. But I'm so afraid. I know I absolutely cannot go through what I went through before again. I think I aged twenty years in two. And I'm too vain for that shit. So I've been trying to love them and still hold them at arm's length, and that's not something I know how to do. I've been meandering through this whole situation with one foot outside the door, so that I can slip out relatively easily once one of them decides I'm too much trouble and make my disappearance as simple as possible.

You know what, though? It's killing me inside to do it this way.

But I feel as if I don't have much choice. I've basically been well-trained to act this way. As much as I hate digging up the skeletons in the closet, I think it's got to be done here.

B. has always told me I could talk to him about anything. But you know what? The few times I tried to exercise that, he disappeared into thin air, deciding he didn't really want anything to do with me and my various existential crises. I was only something he wanted when I caused as little trouble as possible.

Does anyone have any idea how much it hurts, giving all of yourself that you have to give to someone, only to be discarded like yesterday's garbage and ignored completely when you tried to open up to that person? Is it any wonder I'm afraid to say what I have to say sometimes?

I'm sorry. The years have taken their toll. I spent the better part of three years always waiting for the other shoe to drop, knowing that each time I talked to him could be the last, at least until he decided he needed another pleasant diversion, whereupon I was supposed to just pick everything back up where it left off, as if nothing had ever happened.

After all that time of him playing J. and me off against one another, how hard can it be to understand that I don't trust either one of them right now? What reasons have they ever given me TO trust them? Up until a couple months ago, I was his dirty little secret, and she thought I was something akin to the spawn of Satan.

I knew I was never good enough. I knew I was always secondary. I endured it, anyway, but it's created these huge rifts in my brain, between the way I know I feel and what little common sense I actually possess. Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence, they say.

And after all this, a little tenderness from both of them is supposed to convince me to drop everything in my life and run every time they call? They want me to move to their town, which I'm not necessarily opposed to because I hate where I live now. But what happens if I do decide to move there, and then a couple months into it, J.'s jealousy gets to be too much for her or B. realizes he can't put up with the needy, emotionally high-maintenance me? I'm abandoned by the people I depend on the most, in a town where I have no friends, probably no job, and bills everywhere. They'll lose someone to do their laundry, and I'll lose my reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

It seems a rather lopsided transaction to me.

I don't like knowing it's my ass constantly on the line. I feel like I'm sitting awkwardly out here on the limb by myself, on the outside looking in at the two of them, knowing I'll never really fit in with their life and knowing that I have so much more of my heart and myself invested than they do.

They've been wonderful to me the past couple of months. I will not deny that at all. But it just can't automatically rebuild trust that was broken what seems like a lifetime ago. I love them, but love is not enough, not for what they want from me, and not for what I ultimately want to give them.

Even though I know better in my mind, my heart secretly can't shake the thought that she's keeping me around to try to make him happy, and he's keeping me around because he feels sorry for me and feels obligated to me, the also-ran.

I am incredibly insecure in this situation, and I'm not normally an insecure person. I feel like no matter what I do, it won't ever be good enough, and I hate that feeling. I hate feeling not good enough. I also feel like an asshole for being the one to initiate the whole process and then turn around and be the one saying, "I'm not sure if I can do this." But I know deep inside that I can't go through what I went through before just because one of them or Fate gets to feeling capricious. I need to be met halfway. I need to know I can trust them. And, to me, talk is cheap. You can tell me, "Oh, you can trust me" all day, but I won't believe it. I have to learn that I can from people's actions remaining consistent over time.

They've never seen me at my worst. How do I know they won't leave me when the going gets tough? I don't. I have no way of knowing. I barely know J., honestly, and B.'s track record sucks ass in that regard.

The fact that I even mentioned all this should show them how big of a deal it is to me, how much it hurts, how very close I am to walking away because I'm scared. The fact that I HAVEN'T walked away, in spite of how strong the desire is, should show them how badly I want this to work. That's why I went ahead and threw it out there. Better they know now before it gets any deeper. They can choose how they want to handle it now.

I've been in self-imposed isolation the past few days while I mulled over this. I'll probably curl up tonight with three or four amaretto sours and mull some more. I know this post has probably upset them, so I just want to hide away for a little while, to avoid the inevitable fallout.

In closing, yes, it hurts. A hell of a lot. But I still want this. I just need to know I'm not the only one who does.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Today Has Been A Waste Of A Perfectly Good Thursday

I had so, so, soooo much stuff I needed to get done today. Know how much I've ACTUALLY accomplished? Umm...nothing.

Ok, that's not entirely true. I have chili cooking and jalapeno cheese cornbread in the oven. Oh, and I've successfully frittered away an entire day reading random crap online.

I might have a problem with prioritizing.

I don't know. It's like I get so overwhelmed knowing I have so much to do that I can't see the forest for the trees. I don't know where to start and end up not starting at all. I even make lists for myself and waste so much time debating with myself and my indecision about what I should do first that I never seem to quite make it off my ass to do anything.

My mother calls me lazy. While I'll be the first to say that I have a lazy streak at least a country mile wide, I don't think all my difficulties with action are quite the moral failings that she likes to make them out to be.

Meh. Who knows? Maybe I am lazy, unmotivated, undisciplined, and lacking in focus. It's so hard to tell sometimes.

I get really frustrated at myself sometimes and feel like I'm not good at, well, anything. Then, I start comparing myself to people I know, and that never ends well for me.

Let's take J., for instance. Compared to her, I often feel woefully inadequate. I won't even attempt to list all the phenomenal things about her here because I don't think any of us have that much time. Then, I look at myself and say, "Ok, so you can write two-bit Southern Gothic, ride horses, letter beautifully with fountain pens, give blowjobs, and talk dirty to perverts on the phone. What good is any of this ever going to do you?"

I love my Mistress for all that she is, but I'd be lying through my teeth if I said sometimes being around her didn't make me feel like a complete and utter failure as a woman.

I mean, damn. I have tons of failings. Some days, I have to give myself pep talks to even get out of the house. I have a hard time calling and making my own doctor's appointments, for God's sake. I'm lazy and don't give a red rat's ass about appearances, at least not in the way that most people do. I am completely clueless when it comes to 99% of "feminine" things.

I feel incapable, indecisive, and just generally useless a lot of the time. When the answer to the question "What are you good at?" is "Nothing," then you have a problem.

I often wonder why Master and Mistress even want me. I'm moody and not good for much and way more difficult than I'm actually worth. Even the submissive part of me is more of a hindrance than anything, most of the time.

My hope is that they never come to their senses and realize they can do their own laundry....

Finally Got Around To Blogging

It's nearly 3 am, and I'm finally managing to blog. It's been a mildly productive day, in that my living room is now much cleaner than it was this morning, and I got all my dummy blogs for phone sex consolidated into one keyword-heavy blog for each character. The maintenance man is supposed to be coming in the morning to fix my leaky kitchen sink and unclog the garbage disposal, so I'm heading to bed once I finish this blog.

I'm going to attempt to respond to Mattress's blog from yesterday and hope that it makes sense.

Despite what she may think about me, I'm not a person with no opinions. I've just been around people who go around spouting their opinions constantly, regardless of if they're right or wrong, that I've learned that it's often better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you're an idiot than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

I've watched those same people who always have diarrhea of the mouth being slowly driven crazy (not that it was a long drive to start with) by the fact that they have to freaking argue about everything. In order to keep my sanity, I learned to pick my battles.

I don't have strong opinions about things that don't really matter to me. For example, I love most food, so unless I really happen to be in the mood for something in particular, if I say, "It doesn't matter," when someone asks me what I want for dinner, then it REALLY doesn't matter to me. Same goes for sex. I have yet to find one sexual thing I don't enjoy on at least some level, so unless I have a hardcore craving for something, I'm just happy to be having sex, period. I'm not choosy in those respects.

If it's not a matter of great personal importance to my heart, chances are, I really just don't give a shit. And that's not such a bad thing, or at least I don't think so.

And the whole communication thing...well, I'm really not that bad. See, my problem is, I'm a very, very, very perceptive person. It comes from years of people-watching instead of interacting with them, I guess. I know what the people around me are thinking and feeling without ever even talking to them about it. I just...intuitively pick up on it. I've been known to freak people out on occasion with my uncanny ability to sense things.

I've got a couple of examples. Several months ago, my friend L. and my now-ex were staying at my apartment one night. Ex was downstairs doing something (God knows what), and L. was upstairs with me in my bedroom. I was really tired that night for some reason, so I went to bed super-early, like 11:30. I dozed in bed, and L. was lying in the floor, playing around on my laptop.

I drifted off to sleep and had a weird dream about someone breaking into my apartment and trying to steal my jewelry. (I don't wear jewelry much, but I inherited a bit of jewelry snobbery from my mother. I have lots of cheap costume stuff, but I've also got several really nice pieces as well.) When I woke up from the dream around 2 am, L. was still awake in my bedroom floor. I looked over at her and said, "You know, I had the weirdest dream. I dreamed someone broke in here and was trying to steal my jewelry." She agreed that it was a weird dream, and I went back to sleep within a few minutes.

Several hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, my ex came upstairs to my bedroom. L. had fallen asleep in the floor, and I was in my bed. He woke me up and said, "Someone just broke in your house."

I actually thought I was dreaming again, but according to him, someone did break in. He saw the person in my living room when he went downstairs to get a drink. Do I believe it? I'm not entirely sure. Either I dreamed about something before it happened, or I dreamed about something that he was about to lie to me about, one or the other. In either case, it's kind of freaky.

In a less esoteric example, the day B. lost his job, I was sitting in a local restaurant with L. She and I were talking about something, and I felt this weird wave of dread sweep over me. The hair on the back of my neck literally stood up. I looked at her and said, "Something is about to happen. I don't know what it is, but something bad is about to happen to B."

When I got home, he was online. He told me what had happened, and I was honestly so shocked that I didn't even have anything kind to say. That time, even I was weirded out by how quickly my cryptic prediction had been validated.

That's not to say I have creepy psychic powers or anything. I don't believe in that shit. I just think I'm very sensitive to changes, very empathic, and very intuitive. I know what's going to happen before it happens. Hardly anyone EVER surprises me.

The flip side of that is that I normally surround myself with similar people. I'm a highly sensitive person surrounded by highly sensitive people. I know what they're thinking; they know what I'm thinking. To talk about it is to beat a dead horse, and I have NO patience whatsoever for that kind of thing.

I didn't tell any of my friends what was going on with B., J., and me to start with. (Well, except L. and K. because I knew they'd understand.) I wanted to wait until I was sure it wasn't all going to go to hell in a handbasket before I opened my mouth. When I did tell them, though, none of them were really surprised. The words "Why am I not surprised?" came out of more than a couple of their mouths.

I'm not saying we operate on some ethereal plane that's above the average person or anything. I just think that we're all blessed with super-intuition.

So it's a struggle for me to remember that J. can't just look at me and know everything that's going through my mind. She can't tell that when I say, "I don't care what we have for dinner," I really DON'T CARE what we have for dinner. She can't tell that I don't care what we watch on TV, but I do get pretty upset when people at home throw away the bags of Triple Crown horse feed at the barn without clipping the proof of purchases off the bottoms to send to my favorite charity, Sunkissed Acres Equine Retirement and Rescue, so that they can get a discount on the next shipment of feed they buy for their horses.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'm tired. Maybe I'll elaborate more tomorrow if this doesn't make any sense.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

It's Official

Yep. I have officially turned into one of those stupid, annoying subbie types that you want to hold down in a bathtub full of water until they're not moving anymore. But let's overlook that for a moment and let me whine.

I miss them already.

Yes, I know, I just left two days ago.

While, yes, I do miss kinky sex, what I really miss is curling up next to B. when I'm freezing my ass off (which I've been doing the past couple of days--OMG, why's it so cold in April?) or J. feeding me while I'm sitting on my slave pillow in front of the couch. *Pouts*

I'm generally a pretty...laid-back person, in spite of my various anxiety problems. But I'm also pretty damned moody, too. [Insert statement blaming the artistic temperament here.] I crave my time alone, but, on the other hand, I always go through this period of emotional downtime when I'm separated from them. It's usually not particularly pretty, either.

The needy, clingy, emotionally demanding me is goddamn annoying.

But...there is something about the way J. calls me "slave-girl" or the way B. calls me "pet" that sends all these happy chills down my spine. I love that so much.

Hell, even sitting on the couch, folding their laundry, is soothing in its own way. It smells like them, for one thing. And it's doing something to help them. Because I often stumble through life feeling completely useless and incapable, I like feeling like I'm doing something helpful. I try to find small things to do throughout the day when I'm there. It's not to get praise and petting (though I do so love those things, attention whore that I am). I certainly don't point it out in hopes of positive reinforcement and don't really care if anyone even notices what I've done. I don't know. I don't know how to explain it.

Whatever. I know I'm rambling again. I just miss them. Lots. I'm currently cuddled up in B.'s fleece that I *ahem* appropriated because it's keeping me warm, and it smells like him/their house.

I am Teh Uber-Patheticzzz.

Ok, I'm going to ice my brownies now.

*Sigh* But even chocolate doesn't quite fend off the pouty, whiny slave-girl thing.

Monday, April 6, 2009

I Wrote A Blog...And There Was Much Rejoicing...Yay

Slave-girl is running on about 4 hours' sleep right now, so I can't promise anything very coherent. Mea culpa.

I had to be up at 9 this morning to make it to my little orientation meeting for my new writing job by 10. I have this problem, that if I know I have to be up at a certain (early) time, I worry that I'll oversleep, and thus can't actually sleep. So I think I drifted off around 5:30 and woke up at 9. I was not a happy camper. Luckily, it didn't appear that anyone else there was a morning person, either, as none of us could communicate with much more than monosyllabic grunts for at least an hour. Grrr...cave girl.

However, the good news is, I can probably make lots of money doing this if I won't let myself get lazy. Of course, it also helps that they're going to give us bonuses according to how much traffic we drive to our pages. And I know all kinds of stuff about running blogs to the top of the search engines for keywords, yay! So I have my fingers crossed there.

Then, after that long meeting was finally over, L. and I went to the awesome Chinese place for lunch. (I always have to go there after I've spent time with B. and J. Good Chinese always follows good sex.) After hot and sour soup and sesame chicken, we went to go see the new Fast and the Furious movie.

Dear God, I would do all kinds of illegal things with Paul Walker. And Vin Diesel. And Jordana Brewster. And Michelle Rodriguez 'cause I've thought she was unbelievably hot ever since the first Fast and the Furious movie came out. I love the idea of doing all kinds of nasty things to a girl who's a little rough around the edges, like me. (And, yes, I know the movies are cheesy, but whatever. Hot boys. Hot girls. And occasionally, they have fantastic American muscle cars that show up instead of the stupid Japanese shit.)

But the truth is, I squirmed in my seat through the whole movie. 'Cause, I'm sorry, I'm a redneck. Fast cars vaguely turn me on. Or, not so vaguely, depending on what they are. (*Ahem--big block Chevy--ahem*) And then, there's the whole imagining being gang-raped by the four main characters thing. *Fans self*

I know. I'm a whore.

So I'm relatively certain that being the center of a free-for-all gangbang with males AND females will rank pretty high in the fantasy rotation for the next few days. *Blushes* Not that that's not a pretty common staple, anyhow.

Ok, I just spent an hour on the phone with a cokehead. Ugh, I hate those. He hung up and said he'd call back in 4 minutes. I gave him 10 and logged out. I'm so tired, so I'm ducking out of here and going to bed. Maybe I'll have something a wee bit more interesting to blog about tomorrow.

Also...I <3 Master and Mistress! :D

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Here We Go Again

I know I've been slacking on the blogging lately. This one will probably be long enough to make up for it, though.

I feel like I have to explain myself yet again. I've been doing way too much of that lately, it seems.

First of all, I have to point this out. My brain does not work like normal people's do. Probably what's going through my conscious mind at any given time is song lyrics or melodies or random strings of numbers, like counting to 1000 by 4s, or something. But what that does is it frees up my subconscious mind to let me turn things over and over for awhile until I get ready to consciously deal with them. Which sounds nutty, I know. But that's why I have to think about what I'm thinking when someone asks because what I'm really thinking isn't what's running across my brain at any given moment. It's like the iceberg thing in Hemingway's stories. What's on the surface is not really what's going on.

Even when I write, I have to, like, listen to music or something to distract my easily distractable conscious mind, so that I can get things to come out from under all the layers.

Ok, next thing.

If my brain doesn't work like other people's, I don't feel things like other people do, either. Oh, I think I figured out when I was about 5 or so that I feel things much more deeply than most folks do. That's not a knock to other people at all. I WISH I could be that way. I wish I weren't overly sensitive. I wish I didn't become inflamed with La Grande Passion about ever-damn-thing. I wish I could just generally be content, but I can't. I'm usually either ecstatic or broken-hearted. Which sounds totally bipolar, but it isn't, LOL.

I'm also extremely empathic. One reason that I hate being around people so much is that just feeling their emotions exhausts me. I can turn it off to a point, but it get overwhelming. I pick up vibes off people, and it affects me. If someone is upset, I get upset. Doubly so if they're upset at me.

So I've had to learn how to compartmentalize and hold people at arm's length to be able to survive. Because if I get emotionally entangled with everyone who comes along, I would go absolutely batshit crazy within an hour.

And, while this sounds like I'm making excuses for my maladapative behavior, I'm really not. I know I'm fucked up, but I'm trying to explain why, so hopefully I can make people understand, rather than just get frustrated at me.

I come from a family with a long line of various anxiety disorders in their wake. Not only do I have the genetic factor, but I learned all the avoidant behaviors at a very young age. I went to therapy for a little while for my social anxiety disorder. It was September 2007, I think. The more stressed out I get, the more reclusive I become. Everything was just going to hell in a handbasket, and I had to withdraw from school. So I decided that I'd try to get therapy while I wasn't taking classes, just to see if I could do SOMETHING.

The therapist was an asshole, but that's neither here nor there. She kept trying to psychoanalyze me and was asking me shit like, "Did your mother have any complications delivering you?" Um, how the hell should I know, and what does that have to do with the price of eggs in China? I finally looked at her and said, "Look, I have a degree in psychology from a hardcore behavioral psych department, and I can tell you exactly what's wrong with me."

And what's wrong with me--which is something Asshole Therapist never picked up on, even when I told her point-blank--is that while other people learned how to interact with other folks when they were fairly young, I never learned. My social interaction skills are probably about on the same level as a kindergartener's.

Allow me to explain. And, no, I'm not taking the "blame my parents" approach here. Just trying to shed a little light on the subject.

My mother has various anxiety problems, and so do my aunt and grandmother. I, actually, am probably the most well-adjusted one of the bunch, which should tell you a lot. Daddy's side of the family was only marginally better. His father was a tyrant, and poor Granny was the kindest soul I've ever met, but she had what she called "nerve problems," too. Daddy isn't all that bad, just a laid-back soul and a good ol' boy, but he was either working two (or three) jobs when I was younger to support Mother's living-way-outside-her-means habit, or on the road driving when I was older. So he wasn't around much, and when he was, he just wanted to keep the peace and caved to Mother in all things just to shut her the hell up.

Side note: If you look up "batshit fucking crazy" in the dictionary, you will find my mother's picture next to the entry. In her defense, she has mellowed as she's gotten older, and she's not always a nutjob, but she seems to pick the worst possible times to go off the deep end on me.

Ok. Now that we have that little bit of background out of the way, we can get on with the show.

Women on my mother's side of the family have some weird abnormality that is apparently genetic that makes it damn near impossible for them to have kids. I am an only child in a family of only children. I know nothing about large families because mine is steadily dying off. Mother and Daddy were married for 10 years before they ever had me. I do not know the exact number of miscarriages my mother had, and I do not know what lengths they went to to have me because such things ARE NOT DISCUSSED in my family. I only know what little I know from overhearing snippets of conversation I was never supposed to hear. But I do know she spent a lot of time in the hospital at UAB because it was such a high-risk pregnancy, etc., etc.

They had me when they'd all but given up on having kids. And my mother has spared no energy making sure I know I'm the great disappointment of her life.

I guess it was probably because she was so glad she finally had me and was afraid she would lose me, but I never interacted with kids other than my first cousins on her side of the family until I started school. Which wouldn't sound too bad, I guess, but I only have three. And one wasn't born until after I'd started school. And one was nearly 5 years older than me. The other wasn't quite a year younger.

So, basically, I'd only interacted with one kid even remotely my age before I started kindergarten.

Also, I was weird. I was reading at 3 years old. And that was how I entertained myself. I didn't know anything about what "normal" kids did.

Then, once I started school, I wasn't allowed to have friends. I mean, other than people I ate lunch with at school or whatever. I couldn't go to most people's houses. My mother only let me go over to certain kids' houses. They were "decent people," she said. But "decent," of course, meant they had more money than we did. And those kids didn't want me around, anyway, so I seriously never had friends to play with or whatever.

So I entertained myself. I had this playroom down in our basement that my parents had made just for me. I'd go down there and play with my stuffed animals and read and play Monopoly by myself or whatever. (Or tie myself up, LOL.)

I was way overprotected. My mother never trusted me, but I'd never given her any reason not to trust me, so I don't know what the big deal was. She didn't let me stay at home alone until I was probably 12 or 13. I either went to work with her, or she had someone stay with me at home. She eavesdropped on my phone conversations. She would ransack my room looking for...I have no idea what she was looking for.

I didn't go on a date until I was 16. And I had to be home by 10:00 pm. Yes, I'm serious.

I never kissed a boy until I was 16. Hell, the first time I had sex was exactly one month before my 18th birthday. And it wasn't just the first time I'd ever had sex, either. It was the first time I'd ever done anything other than kiss. Yes. Seriously. I blew through it all in one night. With a guy nearly 10 years older than me. We dated for nearly a year after that, right until I left to go to college. I never understood why my mother wasn't ok with things normal people were ok with, but she turned a blind eye to me fucking a guy 10 years my senior. She's irrational. But thus began my love affair with dirty old men.

Not only was I incredibly overprotected (and repressed because I was brought up in the motherfucking Baptist church), but Daddy and I were always the ones on the receiving end of Mother's completely irrational fits of crazy. And since Daddy was hardly ever there, it was yours truly who got most of it.

If you went home and asked anyone about my mother, everyone would tell you how kind and generous and wonderful she is and how perfectly kept her house is and how she is so well-mannered and blah, blah, blah. She was always one for keeping up appearances. Everyone thought I was just some weird genius kid and that she had to supervise me so closely because I was incapable of fending for myself. (Which is totally untrue, as the 7 years I've spent away from her have shown.) Nobody would ever believe some of the shit that happened when it was just her and me.

I mean, I'm not jumping up and down here and saying, "Oh, look how bad my life was." I hate people who do that. Here I am. I made it. I adapted. But I'm going to share a few things just so that it might be a little easier to understand.

J. only thinks she's bad about the compulsive cleaning thing. Oh, no. My mother would vacuum the carpets and yell at me for walking on them. You can't wear shoes in the house, even now that she doesn't have carpet in the living areas. You can't actually USE the trash can in the bathroom. (Why is it there, then?) Everything is ironed the second it comes out of the dryer (or off the hangers because she doesn't dry her clothes). Even pillowcases and underwear. No, I'm not joking. I never really got it. You iron it, then you hang it up, and then it gets wrinkled again, so you have to iron it again before you wear it? WTF? The house has to look like a showroom, not like someone actually lives there.

I'm a slob. I know I am. But I figured out a long time ago that I'd never live up to her standards, so I don't even try 99% of the time. I'm such a goddamned perfectionist that if I can't do something perfectly, I won't do it at all. Pure defense mechanism.

It wasn't just the house she insisted be perfect. I had to be, too. When I made Bs in school, I was grounded. For months. Not that it really mattered because where did I get to go, anyway? But still.

The first time I made a B in school was in math in 6th grade. I do not have a head for numbers, and the teacher couldn't explain long division well enough to make me understand it. Mother didn't speak to me for two weeks. (That was always one of her tricks, the silent treatment. Most of the time, I felt like the adult, and she felt like the kid.) She made me stop playing softball. She made me stop riding horses. (Softball and horses were the only things I did where I had even remotely any human contact with people who weren't members of my asshole family.) She told me I'd never amount to anything and that I was lazy and useless and horrible and all kinds of lovely things. For a B. In 6th grade math.

When I went to go get my learner's permit when I was 15, I failed the eye exam. Miserably. (Nobody believed I couldn't see past the end of my nose until then.) So I had to go to the eye doctor. Because one of my eyes is twice as bad as the other and because of my age, he told me I'd be better off with contacts instead of glasses until my eyes got adjusted to seeing correctly because with the difference between my eyes, I'd have double vision with glasses. Ok, so I got contacts. They showed me how to put them in and how to do whatever at the place where I got my contacts. Then, they sent me home with a trial pair before we bought a whole box to make sure that particular brand and strength would work for me.

Somehow, I managed to pop one of the bastards out somewhere. My astigmatism is bad enough that I can blink, and they'll fly out, but I, of course, didn't know that then. I'd never worn them before; there was no way I could know. Oh, boy, that was a mistake.

I didn't know where I'd lost it. Hell, I didn't even know THAT I had lost it for hours. I wasn't used to wearing them. But when I tried to take my contacts out, I realized there wasn't one in one of my eyes. So Mother flipped the fuck out. She told me I was stupid and useless and completely irresponsible and that I'd never amount to anything because I was so lazy and irresponsible and dumb. I spent hours on my hands and knees, crawling through the house trying to find that stupid fucking contact while she berated me. She compared me to the white trash down the road and said I'd end up just like them, trashy and jobless and broke, because I didn't have enough self-discipline to do anything. (By the way, the man she compared me to burned down his house and killed one of his stepkids and is on Death Row, if I remember correctly. I have three-quarters of a master's degree. Just for the record.)

And I have zillions of stories just like those. Same theme, just different details.

My oldest cousin walks on water in my mother's eyes. He's 29 years old now. He still lives at home with his mama and daddy. He's a truck driver. He had a scholarship to a technical school and didn't take it. He's a functioning alcoholic and a hypocrite and a flat fucking loser who's so in debt he can't live anywhere BUT with his parents.

He rear-ended me in my car one night when he was drunk. I never told my mother who did it because I knew I'd be blamed for it if I did. You can imagine the berating I got for not knowing who hit my car. He never 'fessed up, just let me catch hell for it, and my car is still missing paint on the rear end from that. But he can do no wrong. If he told her the grass was purple, she'd believe it, just because he said it.

Then, there's me. I'm the only person in my family ever to go to college. Not only did I go, but I finished. I have a degree and most of another one. I have been mostly self-sufficient for the better part of my adult life. But I never have been and never will be good enough for that woman.

Again, I'm not saying this to make anyone feel sorry for me. I'm just hoping it'll help clarify my position a little.

So, you figure, a highly sensitive, highly intelligent child, born into a family where no one understands her, not socialized properly, and constantly berated for her perceived failings or just straight-up ignored...well, it's no wonder I'm a little fucked up. Then, you throw in a bunch of good old country stoicism, where you don't show your emotions, you don't show affection, you don't talk about what's bothering you, you just martyr yourself for other people...and, yeah. It's a mess. Most people say it's a wonder I turned out as well as I did.

I learned that the best way to avoid Mother's wrath was to stay out of her way. I am a case study in avoidant behavior and attachment style. I know WHAT'S wrong with me. I just don't really know how to fix it.

Ever been around a scared animal? I have. I've been around lots. I love horses because I can relate to them. They're prey animals. They're constantly on guard, protecting themselves from perceived threats. It doesn't matter how domesticated they are, there's still no guarantee they'll react sanely to things. Horses will run from confrontation for as long as they can. They'll only fight if they feel they have no other option.

I've seen a lot of scared, abused horses. I'd say they gravitate toward me, but they don't really gravitate toward anyone, honestly. But I've owned a lot of horses that have been all fucked up by other people. They're afraid to be touched, afraid to be in close quarters with people. They just KNOW you're out to hurt them, just like everyone else they've ever known has. They don't trust you. And it's not your fault. You're just paying for the sins of the shitty pieces of humanity who've come before you.

There are practically no horses than can't be helped. Maybe not completely fixed. But I think I've only ever been around one who was hopeless.

What I would always do, if they were calm enough to let me into their stalls without freaking the fuck out, is take a five-gallon bucket in their stalls, turn it upside down, and sit on it with a book. I'd usually have the radio or something on, too, both to entertain me and to block out whatever background noise there might be. And I'd just sit there and read my book and wait.

You see, horses are social animals. Even the most terrified ones. In the absence of a herd (which there would be an absence if they're in their stalls all by themselves), they'll eventually gravitate toward whatever other living being there might be. So that's what I did. I just waited until curiosity got the better of them. Sometimes, it took just a few minutes. On the worst ones, sometimes, it'd take weeks. (I didn't sit in their stalls for weeks, of course, LOL. I'd just do it every day for awhile.)

But, eventually, they'd come up to you and sniff you. And this is where most people would fuck it up. Even if they make the first move, you still can't push too hard, too quick. As long as what they were doing wasn't going to put either of us in danger, I basically just ignored them. To reach out and try to touch their soft, velvety noses on that first, tentative approach would've scared them, and you'd have had to start the whole thing over again.

I wouldn't even make a move to touch them until they were more or less laying in my lap, demanding it. And then I'd pet them and speak very, very softly to them (you can never raise your voice around a horse that's scared like that) and give them a treat out of my pocket if they'd take it. If not, I'd drop it in the trough, so they could eat it later, when my being close didn't make them so nervous.

And I guess, maybe, I'm a lot like those horses. I'm so used to, no matter what I do, it always making matters worse instead of better. So I've learned not to do anything at all. And when I think someone's upset, it makes me upset. And then it creates this vicious cycle where I honestly cannot function at all. "What do you want from me?" is about the only thing you'll get out of me when I get to this point.

I don't mean to be that way. I know it's counterproductive. And I don't mean to create drama. But I honestly do not know how to interact with people on their level. I'm like a child or a scared horse or puppy in a lot of ways. As soon as I'm pushed at all, I completely shut down and hide. And the more I'm pushed, the worse it gets.

It takes me a long time to get my thoughts together. And while I'm gathering those thoughts, I need quiet and positive attention to both make it easier for me to think and to encourage me to share them once I've got it all together. If I think my sharing is going to cause more problems than me shutting up, I clam up. I honestly talk best when I'm tied up and blindfolded and being petted. I don't respond well to leading questions, but gentle queries will help me get started sometimes. The problem is, if I ever get caught up in the anxiety cycle, nothing good is going to come out of it.

I have no idea if me doing the TMI thing helped at all. But I do want to say, yet again, I'm not saying all this shit because I'm desperate for attention or pity or whatever. I'm just explaining that I know I'm fucked up and trying to show where I'm coming from.

This is one of the major fundamental disconnects I have in my brain about being submissive. Sometimes, I wonder if it's really me, or if it's just my maladaptive behavior shining through. Would I really be this way if I had any idea how to relate to people on an adult level? I have no idea. And that bothers me. Because if this is what I am, what I was born to be, then it'll be what truly makes me happy. But if it's just my various problems coming out, then it'll ultimately be unhealthy and unhappy for me.

But that's my own shit to figure out. I believe my emotions are mine and not for other people to have to fix. I own my own shit and take responsibility for the way I feel and don't expect anyone else to change because I feel a certain way.

God, I could ramble on forever, but this has already gone on way too long. Perhaps there'll be more tomorrow.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Yay, New Blog!

So this is a two-part blog today. Part one is "pervasive sexual fantasy of the week," and part two is a list for Mattress because she gets annoyed with me when I don't know what my favorite [insert noun here] is. I'm going to give myself time to think about the answers, and she can consult the list when necessary. :D

Ok, without further ado, here we go with part one.

Pervasive Sexual Fantasy of the Week

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, slave-girl is having rape fantasies again. Remember, you heard it here first.

It's not so much a desire for pain, though obviously if I'm involved, there'll be some. :) And I don't have a particular way that I want it to play out, either. It's more about the way I'll feel while it happens than an actual plot line.

It's not that I need to be "forced" to do anything. (Obviously.) I'm not one of those obnoxious "oh-please-'force'-me-to-do-things-I-don't-have-the-balls-to-admit-I-actually-want-to-do" people. (Which makes me think of phone sex idiots. Which makes me gag.)

For me, it's the need to feel overpowered, to feel completely helpless and at the mercy of my "captors," to be used as a toy with which to amuse themselves and sate their desires.

Sometimes, in this fantasy, I'm a little girl. And sometimes, I'm my actual age. It doesn't matter much. They both have their perks.

And, yes, most of my fantasies are these weird, free-form things that never have a real storyline to them. It's one reason I have a hard time talking about my fantasies because they're not really these pretty little stories that are easily communicated. They're more like random images that pop in my head at certain times. I forget the images easily, but the overreaching theme is always there.

Onto part two. :)

List of Various Favorite Things for Mattress

Number: 13 (yay, it's lucky!)

Color(s): Purple and green are my favorites. But I also really like blue and red and certain shades of pink. With my hair, eyes, and skin tone, I look better in deeper, jewel tones, so those tend to be my favorite colors. I look my absolute best in royal blue or royal purple, but I'm also not half bad in, like, emerald green, the cooler tones of red (crimson, wine, etc.), fuschia, and, of course, black. :)

Season: Spring, no doubt. Then, Summer. Then, Fall and Winter. See? I go in order.

Month: April or May. I like Spring. :)

Holiday(s): Easter is my favorite. I also love Halloween because my friends and I do--or try to do--theme parties. (Have I mentioned I love theme parties? I'm so cheesy.)

Dessert: That'd be red velvet. Oh, speaking of which, I'm terribly disappointed in my cupcakes I made yesterday. Ugh. They're terrible. I almost chunked them. The cake is way, way, way too heavy. That's what I get for going ahead and making them without baking soda or vinegar, both of which the recipe calls for. I hate heavy cake. I should know better by now than to try and make things I don't have all the ingredients for. Bad slave-girl! One more disaster like that, and I have to move on to my second favorite, which is chocolate meringue pie. Mmm...meringue.

Appetizer: Spinach dip. My aunt makes the best ever. Which reminds me, I need to get her recipe.

Food: Actually, this is too complicated. I'm breaking it down into sub-categories.

~Italian: Eggplant parmesan. Yes, I know it has no meat. But mmmm. Deep-fried vegetables. And pasta. So delightfully bad for you. Though I'm not picky. I love everything with pasta and marinara sauce. Alfredo sauce...ehh, not so much.

~Mexican: Either quesadillas or burritos made with fajita meat (chicken or steak, doesn't matter). Oddly enough, I don't really like actual fajitas. I must have lettuce, tomato, and sour cream with my meat and cheese. I'm kind of weird about liking veggies to break up the monotony of meat and/or cheese. That's how my mother always had us eat, and I'm sort of used to it by now. It feels weird to eat, say, a cheeseburger, without lettuce and tomato and such.

~Chinese: Sesame chicken, no doubt about it here. I also <3 crab angles and hot and sour soup to make the meal complete. I do like most Chinese, but I'm partial to the poultry dishes.

~Seafood: Deviled crab. But I also love shrimp pretty much anyway it can be cooked, except coconut shrimp. Seafood should not be sweet. Mmm, and fried clam strips. And scallops. Oh, screw it, I like all seafood but oysters and fish (with the exception of grouper).

~I-Don't-Feel-Well-And-I-Want-Something-Easy-But-Yummy Food: Tomato soup and grilled cheese. Also a throwback from childhood.

~Ice Cream: Mayfield's Hog Heaven is the greatest thing in the world, but it's also damn near impossible to find. So strawberry, preferably with chocolate syrup and some kind of nuts. Then vanilla. Stop laughing!

~Pizza Topping: Pepperoni or Italian sausage with lots of veggies. Or just straight veggie pizza. But not all meat. I hate that. Ugh. (Anyone sensing a pattern here?)

~Side Dish: Stuffed yellow squash. There is nothing better.

~Steak: Rib-eye, cooked medium, no real preference on the marinade.

~The All-Encompassing Country-Ass Food Category: Barbecue. Or ham and dressing. Or fried chicken with homemade macaroni and cheese and several side items to balance out all the starchiness. And pink salad.

Sport: Horsey-riding, duh. That goes for participating and watching. I used to love to play softball (slow-pitch, I blew when they sprung fast-pitch on us my senior year in high school) until I messed up my throwing arm falling off the horse. So I'm effectively disabled from that. As far as team sports go, I like to watch baseball, though I'm not into it as much as I used to be. Car races are also pretty entertaining, too, though NASCAR's gotten to where it bores the living shit out of me nowadays.

Alcoholic Drink: I gotta make categories here, too, LOL. I'm only including liquors I actually like. I am not a tequila or a gin person at all. For that matter, I also don't do beer. Or wine unless I'm already drunk.

~Vodka Drinks: That'd probably be a vodka cranberry. I'm easy. And I don't like overly sweet stuff, usually.

~Rum Drinks: Rum is one of my favorites as far as liquor goes. Mai Tais are probably my absolute favorite, but Hurricanes and Bahama Mamas and Daiquiris (only actual Daiquiris, which are lime, not any of this sickeningly sweet fruity shit) are close behind, provided THEY'RE NOT TOO DAMN SWEET. Bacardi Punch ain't half bad, either.

~I-Need-To-Get-Really-Fucked-Up-With-Minimal-Amounts-Of-Effort Drinks: Screaming Blue Motherfuckers. I have had way too much experience with this category, LOL.

~I-Feel-Rednecky Drink: Either Wild Turkey or Jack and Coke. Not terribly complicated here, either.

~I'm-Super-Buzzed-And-I-Need-To-Stay-That-Way-Without-Getting-Totally-Fucked-Up Drink: $3 wine or bitch beer (but only of the lime or sour apple varieties). I'm SO classy.

~I'm-Drinking-It-Straight Drink: Maker's Mark. Yay!

Non-Alcoholic Drink: Dr. Pepper for the fizzy stuff. Probably lemonade for the non-fizzy. Or homemade cherry limeade.

Candy: I love dark chocolate. As far as non-dark-chocolate candy goes, I'd say Caramelo (or however you spell it), but that changes frequently. I get on kicks. For not-chocolate, it's Gummi Savers. Or anything gummy.

Band: 3 doors down. Yes, I know. I am not cultured in my music choices. But they call it popular music because LOTS of people like it, dammit!

Writer: Sylvia Plath. And Dorothy Parker. The dark humor in both is GREAT, even if Parker's is more overt, and Plath's is more interspersed with "OMG, must wallow in my own misery."

Movie: Sylvia. It's about Sylvia Plath's life. (Imagine that.) That was the obligatory answer. Other answers include Smokey and the Bandit (yes, I loved it BEFORE I got whacked with the crop everytime someone talked on the CB), The Princess Bride, most of Mel Brooks's movies, The Life of Brian, Holy Grail, the Fast and the Furious movies (because Paul Walker is just too pretty, even if he probably is dumb as a rock in real life), etc., etc. I'm very much a comedy person. I like to be entertained. Most drama either annoys or depresses me. Action movies aren't my thing, really. And horror movies are either vomitrociously stupid, or they give me nightmares. (Yes, I just admitted that out loud.)

Website: Cake Wrecks. Yes, I just admitted that, too.

Animal: A horse, of course! Cats are good, too.

Item Of Clothing: That would be my amazing royal blue halter cocktail dress which I have worn a grand total of once because I never go anywhere to wear such things, but it's beauuuuuutiful.

Place: The beach. Or Shelbyville, Tennessee, when the Celebration is going on.

Car: I drool over the original Ford GT-40s. Let's not talk about how much they're worth nowadays.

Fruit: Cherries are my most favoritest, but I love fruit in almost all its forms.

Flower: Tulips. Preferably red.

Store: For clothing, I have to go with Lane Bryant 'cause they're big enough to fit my fat ass, and they always have such pretty colors. Especially when a loser subbie boy is paying for my $50 jeans. Oops, did I say that out loud?

Favorite Sexual Thing To Have Done To Me: Fisting.

Favorite Sexual Thing To Do To Someone Else: Oral. Male or female. Doesn't matter. :D

Favorite Masochistic Activity: Breast/nipple torture.

Favorite Sadistic Activity: Whacking the shit out of people with either my riding crop or my dressage whip. I must incorporate my horsiness in all things I do.

Favorite Cheap "Toy" I Ever Got Out Of Something That Was Never Meant To Be Used As A Sex Toy: A 99-cent metal sweat scraper from Tractor Supply (or other tack store). It leaves the coolest marks and hurts like a BITCH. Which is why it's for me to use on other people, not for them to use on me, LOL.

Ok, I'm exhausted and out of ideas. Maybe I'll do another installment of this later, especially if Mattress has requests for more "favorites."

More Thoughts

I'm cheating a little today. But the Internet wasn't working for me for awhile today, so I'm copying and pasting something I posted on one of my message boards earlier. I think it fits here because it's certainly something that's on my mind. I'm just a little afraid I'm going to offend, and I don't mean to at all.

Every now and then, reality hits hard, and it's painful. At Master and Mistress's house, I'm in sort of an alternate reality. But the real world occasionally intrudes in an obnoxious manner.

L. and I went to a friend's wedding on Saturday. It was really weird because I'm only 25 myself, but the bride is 3 years younger than me, and the groom is 6 years younger.

At the reception, L. and I hung out with several of the other single people there. They were a bunch of people that we went to high school with. But, this is the country, and I felt really awkward, as I was the oldest unmarried person in the group. (And my mother's been making "old maid" comments lately. Great, thanks, Mother. I'm flipping out about wrinkles around my eyes, and you're carrying on about that. Definitely not helping.)

I felt obligated to examine my issues because I never really seriously entertained the idea of getting married.

Sure, I think every woman has some idea in her head about what her wedding would be like if she ever did get married. I know I did. But I'm one of those people who loves big birthday and holiday celebrations with lots of friends and desserts and presents and pretty decorations, so I think it's always been more about the ceremony than the actual marriage for me. Sorority formals and semi-formals, open houses, and all the holidays make me happy. Maybe it's a country thing. I don't know.

I mean, I always adored sorority initiation time. Everyone else thought it was boring. But I was always like, "OMG, we're all dressed up, and the room is decorated so pretty, and we're sharing all these secrets of sisterhood with one another; I'm going to cry now!" My own initiation stands in my mind as one of the greatest moments of my life, even if I did have the upper respiratory infection from hell that day and was all fucked up on cough medicine for the thing. If it were possible to have the wedding without the marriage, I'd be all over it.

But I looked closely at myself to see what it is that was bothering me because I knew it wasn't really the "oh, no, now practically everyone's married but me" thing that it appeared to be on the surface.

Nope, it's just a slave's reality hitting me again.

I will never be like some slaves and be married to my Master. (Overlook the fact for a moment that that's not my thing, anyhow, and let's just go with this, ok?) I don't want kids (and most likely can't have them, anyway), so that's not an issue. Master and Mistress are the happy couple to society, and, outside of maybe a handful of instances, I will always be the awkward single friend.

It's not even that I want to go around telling everyone in the world what I'm doing because I don't. I'm a private person, and my business is mine, not everyone else's. The most important people in my life know, and that's enough.

But I'd be lying if I said that always being the outsider didn't bother me in some ways. Master and Mistress certainly don't make me feel like an interloper, but under most circumstances that occur outside their home, that's what I will be in the eyes of others. I'm very much a wallflower, a blend-into-the-scenery kind of person, so sticking out like a sore thumb does bother me.

It's not even that I want what Master and Mistress have together. I quite like what I have, thank you. If they tried to go around collecting subbies, I might be annoyed, but this is a wonderful situation for me. It's just that I'm not looking at this as some short-term thing for me. And looking at the long-term means realizing that in the eyes of a lot of people, I'll always be abnormal. Because, let's face it, for all the lip service we give choice feminism, a single woman past a certain age who's never been married, never had kids, and never seen out with anyone but her married friends is viewed as one of two things: an unfortunate soul to be pitied or a weirdo lesbian.

(This is also why I want to do horrible, non-consensual things to submissive women who claim feminism is "holding them back" from being what they want to be or whatever. Shut the fuck up, bitch. If the movement had accomplished what it initially set out to accomplish, no one would give a fuck what choices any of us made, but it hasn't yet, and blaming it for your problems damn sure isn't helping matters any. But that's a tangent I won't go off on right now.)

I'm hesitant to even say anything to Mistress or Master about it because it sounds so whiny and potentially offensive. Besides, these are my own issues to work out, not theirs. And I don't mean it in a bad way because I would not trade my life as their slave for anything. It's just that I don't particularly look forward to hearing my mother lecture me about finding a nice man, etc., etc. for the rest of my life. And I say "for the rest of my life" instead of "for the rest of hers" because I know she'll outlive me just to spite me.

Mistress said something once about a "formal" collaring ceremony (and by "formal," I mean in the dispensing of formalities way, not in the white tie way) for me, and I was embarrassed at the thought of having all that attention on me. I'm unbelievably low-maintenance, and, besides, I'm just a slave. I don't need anything special for me. I certainly don't need anything like that to remind me who and what I am and who I belong to.

But on the other hand, maybe I would like it. Nothing outlandish, of course. Just them and me. Or maybe a couple of my really kinky friends who would understand the significance. Just something special for me.

Then, when I get the "why aren't you married yet?" spiel, I can just grin secretly and think how they have no idea. I do have someone special. Two someones, to be exact. I do have my own family, even if it's not exactly conventional.

I don't expect people who aren't into this way of life to understand. And I fully expect Christmases alone with my kinfolks for the rest of my life. But there is absolutely nothing in the world that makes me happier than my owners, even if reality is painful sometimes.

But that's the way of a slave's life, isn't it?

* * * *

Also, in happier news, I love my presents J. and B. brought me back from the beach! I slept with my stuffed froggie last night and will probably continue to do so. And as soon as I find my collar (*grumbles at how absent-minded I am*), I am totally putting the "Mattress's Laundry Bitch" tag on it! :D