The Slave-Pet Blog

That's What I Get For Thinking

2010-08-24T09:06:00.003-05:00

I've been gone a lot longer than I should've been, but a lot of things have happened. A LOT. So I apologize for my absence and apologize for what is likely to be a very anti-climactic post.

After a lot of thinking and talking with several friends of mine (one in particular helped a lot), I've come to the conclusion that I don't have it in me to be a slave. Yes, I know that being a slave is what this whole blog is about, and I'm sorry if I disappointed, but it is what it is.

I am submissive, the personality trait. Not always, but a large enough percentage of the time to say that, yes, I am fairly passive and flexible and willing to accommodate. On the other hand, I've had that submissive nature of mine kicked around, stomped on, hacked into pieces, set on fire, and the ashes pissed on so many times in the last 26 years that I'm simply not at a place in my life where I can peacefully accept "slave" as the way I want to live.

I've been exploited and fucked over more times than I can count, and it's because I don't have the ability to set boundaries. Do you think I WANT to be this way or that I somehow ENJOY people using me and then callously shoving me aside? Not hardly. I've just felt my whole life like I'm not good enough, and I've had that reinforced by my mother, my unfortunate choice of friends and relationship partners, and so on. I guess a large part of me feels that I HAVE to bend over backwards to accommodate everyone in order to be liked or valued or whatever.

But, newsflash: Nobody likes or values the spineless person, the doormat, the one with no self-respect. If she doesn't respect herself, why should anyone else respect her?

And so because of that, I've built up a whole lot of resentment. I mean, a WHOLE lot. And right now, I'm not able to give that of myself because it makes me feel worthless...inferior...used (and not in a good way)...disposable.

I will remain submissive in certain ways because that's just who I am. That's not going to change. But I'm not able to let myself be used at the detriment of my own sanity anymore. Maybe someday when I don't have huge, gaping emotional wounds, but right now, no. I need the freedom to get what I need out of this relationship more than I need to be told what to do.

Which brings me to my second point.

I feel really lost right now. I tried and tried and tried to force myself into that "slave" role, even though I knew I wasn't really capable of doing it, because I wanted to have a place, a special place, in B.'s life. Now that place is gone. I'm not the slave, the special slave, anymore and certainly not the wife or anything else for that matter. I'm just some fat girl he keeps around for reasons known only to him.

It sounds stupid, I know. But my brain is such that it won't rest until I can accurately label things. I'm very verbally-oriented, I suppose. If I don't have a name for things, I don't know how to relate to them.

And so now I'm just sort of floating, trying to figure it all out, and failing miserably. I don't know how to handle these things, and I would imagine I'm just going to screw up more than I fix. That's usually what I manage to do. *Rolls eyes*

Part of me thinks it'd just be a lot easier to go back to being told what to do. But I reckon I've already betrayed myself for long enough, haven't I?

Security And The Evolution Of A Relationship

2010-04-12T23:06:00.002-05:00

I hesitate to post this, for fear it might do more harm than good at this point, but I certainly don't mean it in a bad way. I'm hoping to help, rather than hurt. *Crosses fingers and hopes that's what I manage to do*

This post actually concerns two things, but I sorta think they tie in together. At least they do in my own mind. Who knows if it'll make sense to anyone else?

Ok, the first part concerns something J. said the other day. She told me that she can't understand how two people can be as drawn to one another as B. and I are without wanting the type of relationship that he and she have. I understood implicitly why I didn't want that type of relationship, but I wasn't entirely sure how to make it make sense.

I was talking about this to my roommate, and she kinda pointed out something that made it click a little better in my head. She said, "For J., marriage equals security. For you, it doesn't."

Wow. Duh. I'm an idiot. Why didn't I think of that on my own? *Facepalm*

I can completely grasp why someone else might believe that marriage equals security. It just...doesn't in my mind. I've always felt that too many people I know jumped into getting married or whatever because they thought it was a good idea at the time. You know, you graduate college (or high school, depending) and get a job. What do you do next? Oh, yeah. Get married.

In my opinion, for most people, marriage is something that's done for stupid reasons. Men and women are equally guilty of this, by the way. I'm not blaming either sex for that.

Obviously, it's fairly easy to get divorced. But even if people stay married, it doesn't mean anything. My mother and father have been making one another miserable for the last 36? 37? 38? (I forget exactly) years. Staying together only means you have more endurance than most people.

Until I was in college, I never really saw examples of happy marriages. People in my family don't get divorced. They stay together and drive each other batshit. My uncle supposedly beats and rapes my aunt, but she stays with him because "it would be embarrassing" to leave and "have people know." (I say supposedly because my family loves drama, and who knows if it really happens or not? If it does, my cousin is a piece of shit for not shooting his father on behalf of his mother, but then who am I to comment? My roommates and I saw a bunch of "Stop Domestic Violence" posters around campus and decided we needed shirts that said, "Stop Domestic Violence: Hit A Bitch Back!" So maybe I'm not the best person to pass judgment here.)

Anyway, I digress again.

So, to recap, to me, marriage does not equal security, even if the couple remains together because it's entirely possible to live with someone for a zillion years and completely Hate. Their. Fucking. Guts.

And that's why I don't give three shits about ever getting married. Unless he's really rich and about to die and leave me everything. That's completely different.

Mind you, I don't think people who see it differently than I do are wrong. It's just a difference in opinion, and I'm pretty used to marching to the beat of my own drummer in most facets of life, anyhow.

But in spite of the fact that I've laughed in the face of every dude who ever told me he was going to marry me (how's that working out for you, buddy?), I do want security in this relationship. I think everyone wants that when they truly love someone; it just takes different forms for different people.

Which brings me to part two of this blog.

Lemme go ahead and throw out the obvious here. Slavery is illegal in this country and all other First World countries. Also, I don't really qualify as a slave (too bitchy and stubborn), so it's a moot point.

However, as I said in my previous blog, I do believe that there are people in this world who perform best as the property of someone else. And since it's not exactly like I can be snatched up by the first idiot who comes along and collared and branded a la the Gor books (thank God 'cause that's lame as shit), it requires a bit more creativity. In my case, I fully believe that my emotional inability to walk away from this man for any length of time does constitute a sort of intangible ownership of me.

Blech. It makes sense in my own head, but none whatsoever once I type it out.

I think all relationships have some expectation of evolution by the participants. Hence the reason bitches get all pissed when their relationships with drunken frat boys aren't "going anywhere."

Again, I think this goes back to my previous blog. I won't be happy with being able to be a house pet a couple of days once a month my whole life. Right now, that's what I'm stuck doing, but it's not what I want forever.

Ultimately, what I want is twofold. Number one, I want to be close enough that anytime I need to see them, I can just pop over there and do it. Number two, I want them to take more control over my life. In the ways that they want, of course. If you've got a slave/pet/little girl type thing, you might as well use it, right? Plus, I think it gives me a sense of security in that if they don't like something I'm doing, they can change it, rather than try to live with it and eventually pitch me out on my ass if it drives them nuts long enough.

Beyond that, I have no idea. I also don't know if this blog has helped or hurt, but I hope it's the former. I was sort of on a roll, and then I got distracted and lost my train of thought. So I'm going to stop now before I make a bigger mess of this post. I'll be glad to clarify if necessary, though.

Word Vomit

2010-04-07T01:47:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about this one for quite some time, but I wasn't entirely sure how to put it into words. Ok, so I'm *still* not exactly sure how to put it into words, but whatever. I'm going to try, anyway, and will come back and clarify later, if necessary.

I know this is a fairly controversial point of view, but since when has that really bothered me?

I believe that there are certain people--and, yes, they are most likely few and far between--whose place in the world is in the ownership of another. Yeah, I believe slavery has valid applications, and not just "ooh, fun sex slavery," either.

I don't think the need to be owned has anything to do with age, sex, race, religion, financial status (or lack thereof), or anything else. I just think that there are certain people in the world who function at their best only when they are under control of another, kinky sex or no.

I'd never advocate for slavery as an institution, simply because slavery as an institution is too rife with corruption and exploitation to be valid. However, on the other hand, I think the lack of that sort of outlet to the people who most need it is less than healthy as well.

As you may have guessed from this little monologue, I am one of these people. If reincarnation is something that actually happens, I was almost surely a house slave in ancient Rome.

Sure, it's easy for people who don't get it (and that'd be most of the people on the face of the planet) to say there's something wrong with this particular mindset. You can say I'm a doormat. You can say that if I'd set boundaries, people wouldn't take advantage of me. You can say that it stems from a lack of self-esteem or whatever mental illness happens to be de rigeur at the moment. You can say that I need to learn a more adult way of dealing with the world, that I need to grow up and take responsibility, blah, blah, blah. You wouldn't be saying anything I've never said to myself.

You can argue that I'm this way because my mother hardly ever let me out of her sight until I was 17 or so. You would quite possibly be right.

However, what's really more humane? Forcing someone like me into years of therapy, hell-bent on changing his/her natural predilections, and making him/her believe that there's something inherently wrong with him/her, and ultimately failing and making everyone involved miserable, or allowing that person to embrace what he/she is in a non-exploitative manner?

I've trained horses for years. Not green-breaking them, but refining them. And I can tell you right now, it's a hell of a lot easier to work with what you've got than it is to try to make a Clydesdale into a racehorse. You end up with a lot happier horse in the end, too.

So if people can agree that it's kinder to let a horse be what it is, then why's that not true for humans?

I have a degree in psychology, and I can tell you unequivocally that psychology, as a profession, and pop psychology, as a pastime for armchair therapists, has failed humanity miserably. Miserably. Read Martin Seligman if you need criticism of the discipline from someone who's a lot smarter than I am.

But I digress.

Anyway, if you're not convinced, then go ahead and stop reading because nothing I'll say from this point on will change your mind.

...

Ok. You're still with me.

I think that there are hallmarks of someone like me, someone for whom being property is a viable option--and, yes, there have been psychological studies done which demonstrate that for most people, the loss of freedom is devastating, but for a few oddities, it's not. Let's look at me, for example, because I'm an unrelenting narcissist, and this blog is about me, after all.

Yes, I was extremely sheltered for most of my life. I'm also not a dumbass. I'm capable of taking care of myself, in a perfunctory sort of way. I can take care of the basics, but as for the rest, I don't really give a shit. I don't really lack ambition. I can do whatever needs doing, but I'm not very good at knowing what needs doing. I lack direction on my own.

I'm also incredibly self-destructive if there's not someone around to stop me. I won't go into this in any sort of depth, but imagine every self-destructive behavior known to man except drugs, and you pretty much have the portrait of me.

Then, there's the compelling evidence that I simply perform better when I'm told to do something than when I have to figure it out myself. On my own, I waffle and waver and never really get anywhere. Call it Hamlet Syndrome. I have no impulse control, and I basically just do whatever the fuck strikes my fancy at the time, whether it's a good idea or not.

So, yes. Inability to make decisions. Lack of direction. Lack of willpower. That's not even bringing up the inherent desire to please, the way I cave to whatever the strongest influence in my life is, etc.

I'm probably carrying about twice the weight I should be carrying. I've never been a small girl, but I'm disgustingly huge now. I hate to look at myself. But on my own, I'll never really do anything about it. I'll try. For about three days. That's pretty much how long it takes my willpower to run out.

But my Master told me to start exercising, not for myself, but for him. I've been steadily at it for nearly two weeks now. Yeahhhh....

He told me once that one of two things happens to people like me. Either we find ourselves in abusive relationships, one after the other, or we somehow manage to fall into a situation where our need to be a possession, of sorts, is used for good, rather than for evil. Now, honestly, I'm too damned mean and stubborn for the former. (My nutjob ex once threw a phone at me, and I calmly picked it up, turned around, and slung it back at him, then advanced on him with one of those crazy, sociopathic smiles that you normally see on the villains in horror movies, saying, "What now? What NOW?!?!?!" I think he was afraid I was about to slice him to bits or something.) Somehow I got lucky enough to get the latter. Kinky sex notwithstanding.

I know, without question, that if he told me to kill myself, I'd do it. In fact, some of my darkest emotionally masochistic fantasies involve him deciding he doesn't want me anymore, but as a reward for my faithful service, he tortures me to death, rather than letting me go and forcing me to face all that release would entail.

Yeah, I'm fucked up. Shut up.

The upshot of which is that I really believe I need more of this type of control in my life. I'm afraid I'll never do anything or be anything worthwhile otherwise. I obviously suck at doing things without it. Not to mention how good, how secure, how WHOLE it makes me feel.

So whatever. Call me crazy, call me whatever. The truth is, I need it. I need my whole life to be subject to the whims of my Owners. Not just parts of it. Not just, "Hey, do our laundry when you're here." All of it. Not that I think I'd be micromanaged. That's not our style. Plus, eventually, I'd go psycho. Just tell me what you need done and get the hell out of my way, please. I need something to work towards and someone who really wants to me accomplish it.

There's a line from the old Rob Thomas/Santana collaboration from back in the late 90s, early 00s ("Smooth") that goes, "I would change my life to better suit your moods."

Yeah. That's pretty much it.

Anyway, I've been awfully long-winded. The point is, I suck at school, at work, at life, period. And since none of us are independently wealthy, I guess being a real live house slave is pretty much out of the question right now. So I need direction. I need to be more under the thumbs of my Owners to get my life out of its current shithole, or else I'm pretty sure I'll be in this godawful state of ickiness forever.

God, it's gotta be hell to be an Owner. 'Cause when your pet looks at you and goes, "Here's my shit. Now fix it," that's gotta be a horrible feeling. But, yeah. Here's my shit. Help me fix it?

Pouty Little Girl

2010-03-10T02:19:00.005-06:00

I've touched on it before, but it's not something I talk about much. The truth is, I have way more problems than I'm wont to admit to. Again, I don't like to talk about it because I hate to burden people with my bullshit. But I think, given the way I feel at the moment, it may be better to explain than let the Owner people think it's their fault or whatever.

First and foremost, I'm nuts, and it's really nobody's fault except mine.

But there are times in my life when I feel a dark cloud settling overhead. It doesn't happen often, really. A couple of times a year, maybe. I can usually keep it away the rest of the time. I keep doing things to take my mind off of it, and I try never to dwell on it. Even that sometimes doesn't keep it away, though.

I feel the dark cloud settling overhead. And while I'm aware of its existence, I can no more stop it than I can stop the sun from coming up tomorrow.

I don't know what's wrong. I don't know what causes it. I just wish it didn't happen. Even though I force myself to keep doing whatever I have to do, I really don't feel like doing anything other than curling up in bed and never getting out again.

I'm drained physically and mentally. I'm tired of people needing me all the time. I swear to God, I'm surrounded by the biggest bunch of life force vampires on the face of the planet.

I just don't want my Master and Mistress to think it has anything to do with them. It doesn't. In fact, I have no idea what causes it. I don't want them to think that my bad mood and my general ickiness is their fault.

Mostly, I just want to hide somewhere and cry. It doesn't mean I don't still love them, though.

I'm just being a strange little girl again.

The only thing I hope is that if I get in a really black mood, they won't let me push them away. Sometimes, I do that because I think they'd be better off without me. I'll try not to do it, but I pray that even if I do, they won't allow me to get away with it.

I'm only seven, and I don't always know what's best for me. :( But I really do love my Master and Mistress lots. I hope they'll be half as glad to see me on Thursday as I will be to see them.

The Non-Invoking Of Plan Z

2010-03-01T01:30:00.004-06:00

So it's been a year now since I became my Owner people's little girl. (Actually, I think it's been a little more than a year because I can never keep up with stuff like that, and I'm too lazy to go back and try to figure it out, especially since it's not relevant here, anyway.)

A year (or so) ago, I expected this to be, hands down, the hardest thing I'd ever done. I promised myself that I would stick it out for a year, come hell or high water, and then I'd re-evaluate and decide what to do next. Ultimately, I figured that when everything went to shit, L. and I would invoke Plan Z, our nuclear option for when there's nothing else here for us which involves us getting rid of almost everything we own and taking what's left to one of the small white trash towns in the Florida panhandle that's far enough away from the beach that we could afford to live there.

Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I went into this expecting to fail. And fail miserably.

I doubt I was the only one, though.

But I knew I had to try, to give it my best shot. That way, when the inevitable running away on my part happened, I wouldn't have anything to regret.

Along the way, I've more than once found myself looking at rental places and jobs in Florida while I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Strangely, it hasn't, though.

Looking back, it feels as if it's been much longer than a single year. More like fifty. I don't mean that in a bad way, though. It's just that a whole lot has changed over a fairly short period of time.

Throughout most of this time, I've kept one foot outside the door. It's a failing of mine; I always make sure to have another option open. But some time ago--three-ish months or so ago--I realized that I wanted this to work. Not in the perfunctory "oh, I need to do what I can, so that when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, I can say I did what I could and then walk away" way. But in the "I can't live without my Owner people" way.

So I waited my year like I said I was going to do. And I re-evaluated. And I'm not invoking Plan Z.

I do still want to leave *this* town, though. But instead of leaving to go farther away from my Owner people, I want to go closer to them. There are a number of factors that are interfering with this at the moment, and I want to talk to them about the whole thing pretty soon. (After My Cousin's Big Fat Redneck Wedding fiasco is over, that is. Maybe next week/weekend when I go over to visit.) It's just a little too complicated to type out in a blog. Plus, I'm kind of tired right now and would like to go to bed in a few minutes.

Anyway, I guess what I wanted to say is this: Somehow, I changed. Somehow, the little girl who was so terrified of committing to anything that she didn't even like signing year-long leases for apartments has transformed. (Well, in a sense, anyway. I still get bored way too easily and will probably never be able to "settle down" in the commonly accepted manner, but I've mellowed a lot, at least for me.)

I'm not just here for the party and ready to bail when it's too much to deal with. For the first time in my life, I guess I've actually made a commitment to something. It's a weird feeling.

So, in the end, I guess I was *kinda* right. I've made it through my year, and I've re-evaluated, and I've decided to run. Only I'm planning on running toward them instead of away from them. ;)

Also, Florida's not entirely out of the question for eternity. I'd be ok with dragging them down there with me, should I ever manage to run into the money for a cottage on the beach. :)

Signed,
The Little Pet Girl Who Loves Her Owners More Than Any Other Little Pet Girl In The World

More Thoughts

2010-02-15T02:37:00.002-06:00

I can't say that I'll be terribly upset if I'm snowed in here again at B. and J.'s house tonight. ;)

I have random thoughts swimming around, and since I have nothing better to do today, I think I'll throw it all out and see if anything sticks. :)

I can tell that my Owner people are trying very hard to make me a happy little girl. And I appreciate it lots. And I'm furiously trying to shove down the voice in the back of my head that's telling me I don't deserve it, I suck at life, they're going to get sick of you and tell you to go away, etc.

For the little that comes out of my mouth most of the time, there's a lot that goes on inside me. And while I'm really, really lazy physically, I still have to keep moving constantly, even if it's just mentally moving. I don't do well with stasis. Stasis feels to me like Damocles's sword is hanging precariously over my head, just waiting to fall on me. It makes me uneasy. I don't know why.

When I was little, I liked to sit around and read a lot. Well, I still do that, but I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. I could (and still can) read all day, or, at least, until I ran out of something interesting to read. My mother would laugh at me because she'd look in on me at one point, and I'd be on the couch. Then, she'd look in on me a little while later, and I'd be on the chair. A little later, I'd be in the recliner. And after that, I'd be back on the couch again. Even something as quiet and unobtrusive as reading required motion, even if it was just a tiny bit. I'm still that way.

Some people can't take silence. They have to talk and talk and talk to fill the void because it scares them to death. Those people annoy the FUCK out of me and make me want to do violent, bloody things to them. But I'm not much better, I guess. They abhor silence; I abhor stillness.

Why am I babbling on about this? I'm not entirely sure, really.

B. and J. have probably noticed while I've been here, I've been in a bit of a frenzy. Nothing major. It's just that when things go well, I keep moving, keep moving, keep moving because I think my forward motion makes everything continue to go well. That if I stop, everything wonderful and beautiful stops, too. I do things like cooking and laundry and whatever because I want to make them happy. But I also want so badly to please them to make the happy place stay there.

And then when I'm sad, I stop. And the stopping makes things so much worse. I hate myself for stopping. I get convinced that it's all my fault, that if I'd tried a little harder, done a little more, everyone would be happy. It's hard to get me to go again once I stop. So I rebel against it with all my nature. Hence the reason I am not a nice person when I'm bored. There is a rage inside--not an angry rage, but an ever-present impetus to do, do, do--that is rarely ever silent. Again, it doesn't have to be physical "doing." The mental "doing" is most likely the reason that I have such a hard time falling asleep at night.

My crazy works in mysterious ways.

Funny, really, that someone who prizes motion and freedom so much wants to be owned so much, isn't it? Those two desires are often deeply in conflict with one another.

B. asked me once, a long time ago, why I was so drawn to him. Not to being a kinky perv with him just as the vehicle to my fantasies, but why I was drawn to HIM in particular. I told him that he was the only person in the world I'd ever met who I felt like I could be both silent AND still with. The only person with whom I felt I could just float without thinking, without moving, without doing, even if only for a little while.

I can't do it all the time with him, mind you. I can't even do it most of the time. It just comes in short little bursts that are often over just as quickly as they start. I can go for months without ever having it happen. But those moments do exist.

Anyway, I tell you all that to tell you this.

Every now and then, I need to be knocked down, to be stilled, to be compelled to accept the lack of motion, to float somewhere blissfully motionless in my own mind.

It doesn't work just by tying me up tight or mindlessly applying force, by the way. I don't really know how it works. But I know that sometimes it does. Like Friday night, I fought it all the way. But something happened on Saturday, and they got through to me. It didn't last that long, but I remember losing some time. I was still and peaceful.

And while I can't remain in that state of stasis long, the sense of peacefulness remains. I did laundry and cooked today, not in hopes that they would like me more or that they would pet me and tell me what a good girl I am for doing it (not that I'd turn that down, though), but because my submissiveness runs along an arc. And the quieter the "go, go, go" rage inside me is, the more submissive I am. And when I'm submissive, I want to serve, etc., etc.

I'm babbling, I know, but I hope there are some gems of truth to be taken away from here. The more difficult I am to deal with, the more I need the forward motion. When I fight or pout or sulk, I often just need a change of pace. And when that happens, every now and then, it's possible to get through to me enough to kill that instinct if only for a little while.

I feel very little, very small, very submissive. I want nothing more than to be the center of their universe for just a little while like they are mine right now. I'd put my hair in pigtails for the remainder of my visit if my hair was long enough. (L. and I have decided to stay through tomorrow, whatever happens with the weather. I don't really trust my four *ahem* not quite bald, but close e-damn-nough tires on the truck when the weather is iffy.) I MIGHT be hoping for a "play with the little girl" night tomorrow. *Whistles innocently*

By the way--and this is probably completely unrelated to the rest of this post, but I thought I'd point it out, anyway--, I finally figured out how to describe my relationship to my Owner people. Doesn't sound like a big deal, I know, but I am one of those people who needs to put words and images and metaphors with my feelings to make it all make sense for me.

You know how some bitches are like, "My Master is like my Daddy, and he disciplines me and recognizes my best interests better than I do" and some are like, "He has total control over my life, and I don't question anything," and other kind of nonsensical bullshit? Here's mine.

I worship B. and J., like any pet does with its owners, like any little girl does with her big people. Love and worship. But I don't see them like the infallible, impersonal, cosmic God or any of those other incarnations of God where He/She/It/We/They are always wonderful and perfect and glorious, and we should never question any of His/Her/Its/Our/Their decisions or motives or whatever.

I see them more like the Greek or Roman gods: imperfect, fallible, given to roughly equal measures of capriciousness and charm. Somehow greater than human, though not without their own weaknesses and failings, yet still, STILL somehow worthy of my complete devotion.

And, yes, I am the capricious follower as well. Sometimes in lock step with their every whim, and sometimes no. Sometimes self-absorbed and petty, sometimes reverent and self-sacrificing.

They are my loves. I *do* worship them, at least in a sense. And while they can be volatile and whimsical at times, they have yet to turn me into a spider for being obnoxious. And even if I go off the deep end periodically, I'm still devoted to them, to this way of life. For some reason, this metaphor sits much better with me than pretty much any other one I've heard or can think of on my own.

Meh, don't mind me. I get caught up in my own brain and my love of classical allusions sometimes. You should read my poetry if you think this is bad. *Rolls eyes*

Ok, time for a sandwich and bed. I have a long day of being a little girl ahead of me tomorrow. :p

New Year, New Blog

2010-01-06T01:11:00.002-06:00

So I don't normally make New Year's resolutions because half the time I can never remember the things to keep them and the rest of the time--like the "lose weight" resolutions--I just kinda say screw it and don't care anymore. But there are things about myself I'd like to work on, so I reckon now is as good a time as ever. And since I don't really keep personal blogs anymore, except this one, I may as well write about that here.

The first thing I want to do is get serious about this stupid job of mine, since it looks like I'm going to be stuck doing it for quite some time. I want to make twice the amount of money I made last year. Now that I have two jobs and an affiliate line that pays very well, this is probably a reasonable goal.

This will allow me to do several things, like get out of debt, not be broke and worrying about money all the time, not feel stressed and guilty when I want to take a day or two to myself without working, etc.

I believe three consistent 10-hour shifts per week, plus another three days of working whatever hours I can, and one day where I don't work at all will accomplish this. The three 10-hour shifts will give me 30 hours and then the other three days should give me enough hours to make anywhere from 40-50 hours a week, reasonably. Then, there'll be one complete day off where I can do whatever I want and not even think about work, which will help me avoid burnout, where I go, "Fuck this, I'm not doing it," for, like, a week at a time.

Last year, I averaged about 33 hours per week and less than $300 per week with one job (not counting dispatch hours). So it stands to reason that at 45ish hours per week with two jobs, a high-paying affiliate, various other places to try and make money, and counting dispatch pay, $500-$600 per week (amongst all this) would be a reasonable goal, yes?

At $600 per week, I can pay all the bills I owe in basically a week and a half. Another week would cover gas, food, and the occasional movie ticket, drink at the bar, or shirt or pair of shoes. The remaining week and a half could be saved for emergencies, paying off credit card debt, paying for school, paying on student loans if I don't end up in library school, thus getting yet another deferment, health insurance, or whatever else.

The fewer money worries I have, the more time I'll have to spend time on things that actually, you know, matter to me. Like spending time with my loves, getting the hell out of this town in a few months, having my car fixed, going to the beach more than once a year, etc.

Ok, so, yeah, that was probably way more detailed than necessary, but I have a tendency to do that at times. So...money is the first thing.

The other thing is that I'm going to try to be a little more cognizant of my own moods and how they tend to affect the people around me. (This is probably more easily said than done.)

Thing is, I have this kind of addictive personality that craves constant stimulation. And if I get bored (or hurt, which is usually caused by inactivity, more by something that someone *didn't* do than something someone did do), I try to create what I need, often with disastrous results.

So I know I need to be more observant, realize when I'm feeling restless, and point it out before I do something stupid, rather than much, much after.

Like, I realize I really suck at being a slave. Really, really suck. I don't have the constancy and the stability to place myself at that level all the time. Sometimes, I can, and sometimes, I can't, but I can't be relied upon in that kind of way, unfortunately.

Despite the name of this blog (*ahem* I had such high hopes), I'm about equal parts pet and little girl with more than incidental slavish tendencies with enough sadistic bitch and crazy and good-girlfriendish-type-if-you-don't-mind-the-inability-to-stay-in-one-place-for-any-length-of-time-and-the-near-insatiable-sex-drive-and-the-occasional-desire-to-break-things thrown in for good measure.

(So sue me. I'm crazy. I have no stable, inner, unchanging core and can spend 2 hours describing myself, and you won't know me any better than you did before I started.)

In spite of my occasional tendencies to throw it all out there and see what sticks, there's still a lot people don't know about me. *Shrug*

Anyway, I'm about to derail my own train of thought, so let me try to drag myself back to the pet and little girl thing.

I believe in a lot of ways, I have been a.) talking to too many people who take themselves WAY too damned seriously (which is something I never have been able to do and never will be able to do for any length of time because, really, let's face it: my life and I are just too damned funny), and b.) embattled in a ridiculous battle of semantics in my own head (English major) that has culminated in idiotic expectations of myself which the Owner-people never had of me in the first place, but because I'm more than mildly batshit, I have managed to secretly resent them for, anyway.

Ok, I have to take a small break and point to the paragraph above. That paragraph = one freakin' sentence. Who do I think I am? Faulkner? Actually, I hope not because he's boring as all get-out. If we're choosing Southern writers we'd like to be compared to today, I pick Flannery O'Connor. She may have been a.) dying and b.) nuts, but at least, by God, she was interesting.

Yay, Southern Gothic!

Err...anyway. I find the pet/little girl thing interesting because they're two different manifestations (depending on what kind of mood I'm in) of basically the same desire: to be loved unconditionally and accepted as who/what I am. The pet girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The little girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The overarching aspects are the same; it's the details that are different, I guess.

B. says sometimes that I'm a natural-born submissive. I guess he's right. If it's true, then it's damn sure gotten me in a lot of trouble in my life, hence the reason for defense mechanism after defense mechanism to keep people the fuck away from me. I hate it, resent it, utterly despise it in a lot of ways. I think my life would've been much better up until this point had that not been my nature.

Thus, why I serve and want to please people I love who have shown me that they won't take advantage of my nature. That, I think, is what makes me a slave to those people more than anything. Service is completely wrapped up in love for me, and I can't extricate the two.

And, like an actual pet or an actual little girl, my love is unconditional. This is another one of those things I've been cursed with. It doesn't just extend to lovers, but to friends and such as well. I tend to try to please people I love. They know this and take advantage of it. I hate myself for letting them get away with it, but I can't stop it because I can't stop loving them, thus I can't stop trying to please them.

So I think in order to be the good little pet/little girl/slave-type thing I want to be, I have to stop loathing that part of me, and I have to know that my Owner-people don't secretly hate/resent/despise it, too. I "know" it intellectually now, but there's an awfully big difference in "knowing" it intellectually and truly feeling it down deep inside. It's like the difference in telling yourself that you love someone and actually loving him/her.

Randomly, I keep going back to the mental image of the dog on the really, really long retractable leash.

My Owner-people hold the end of this huge retractable leash. Most of the time, I'm pretty content to walk along within arm's length or so of them. It makes me feel safe, secure, happy, stable, loved, what have you. I'm mostly well-trained and will follow along happily at whatever distance they decide is best. But every now and then, I feel the need to chase a squirrel, and there's not much that can stop me, really. Even so, they've still got the other end, and it's still going to be there, however far I chase the squirrel.

I just need to know they will be there after the squirrel-chasing episode is over, and I come trotting back. Little girls/pets don't do so well when the leash is dropped. :(

Then, on my end, I need to get better at recognizing the approaching squirrel. Or at least not nearly violently ripping their arms off when I tear out unexpectedly.

This is going to seem random and not connected with anything, but I think it is, if only in my ADD brain. You know what I'm so afraid of in dealing with people or situations that are unfamiliar to me? It's not knowing how to act. It's the fear of being abandoned by the people I do know who are there with me. It's being left alone to deal with a situation I have no control over. I'm not agoraphobic. I rarely flip out before going into Wal-Mart or whatever. That is a very limited sort of contact with people, one that largely has a script for what to do and how to act, and rarely do people deviate far from it. There's not much I have to say other than, "Hey, how are you?" and "Thank you" when I'm finished.

I'm afraid of the unknown. Afraid that in my complete ignorance of whatever social mores that people hold about this encounter with me, I will violate them all because I'm a social retard, and they will hate me.

It's hard to screw up,"Hey, how are you?" It's a lot easier to screw up something more complex.

I guess that, too, is the root of my fears in my relationship. There are certain things I don't know how to deal with, and I'm afraid I'll always choose the wrong way, and they'll hate me for it.

Like a pet, like a little girl, I respond best to consistency, to knowing the boundaries beforehand. Literally, the "No matter what, we will always love you, but if you act in such-and-such way, we may not like you very much. We much prefer that you do 'x' instead" spiel. That way, I don't have to worry that if I do 'x,' they'll hate me. I'll already know what is expected.

Yeah. Make lists. "What We Want From Our Little Girl." No, I wouldn't think it condescending in the slightest. The creator of the "Mittens" name wasn't too far off, really.

I dunno. I feel like there's still a bunch of stuff churning around in my head, but I think I should probably stop because I need to go to bed, and because I've already written a novella. I just kinda wanted B. and J. to know that I have been thinking about some of the things that they've said and that I am willing to work on things about me that suck at life.

I'm a bad slave. But I think I can be a real good pet. Or something.

Collar

2009-12-02T00:14:00.002-06:00

B. asked me to make this post last week, but I haven't been feeling very eloquent. Actually, I still don't feel very eloquent, but I'll see what I can come up with, anyway.

I got a new everyday collar for my birthday. Yay! That makes me happy because I couldn't wear my old one much, since the rivets on it aggravated my nickel allergy and made my neck itch like whoa. So now I have a new collar that won't make me itch. :) Fabulous!

And that was supposed to be a neat little segueway into what being collared means to me, but my English major brain is failing me tonight....

So now I'm going to talk about what being collared means to me. (Heh.)

It means they want to keep me. It means in spite of the fact that I'm whiny, annoying, self-centered, self-absorbed, egotistical, narcissistic, cynical, bitter, spiteful, pseudo-intellectual, moody, prone to fits of brooding, unnecessarily cruel at times, lazy, unmotivated, unambitious, completely batshit fucking crazy and probably two steps from the nut house at any given moment (I could keep going all night with these), they still want to keep me.

God knows what form of insanity they've been afflicted with, but I hope they never find a cure.

It means I'm theirs to do what they want with. They're smart enough to know that owning me isn't exactly like owning a really stupid animal that you have to lord over all the time. I always use horse comparisons, so I figure why not here, too? From a plain old trail horse that does nothing but mindlessly ride people around on a dude ranch all day, I'd expect total and immediate obedience, no questions asked. I'm willing to tolerate a few quirks out of a good show horse, though, because to take those away from him/her may mean taking away his/her fire and will to perform brilliantly every time, and it's just not worth crushing World Grand Champion material just because the horse doesn't like to stand still in the three seconds it takes me to get on. (See, there's the massive ego again.) The fantastic ones are worth the minor bullshit you have to put up with to keep them functioning at their very best, and I hope that's how they feel about the whiny, annoying, self-centered, etc. me.

However, in the end, they're still the ones holding the leash, regardless of how loose or tight it may be at any given time. The collar itself is a comfort to me, in that I know no matter where I am or what I'm doing, they're the ones who have complete control over me. I'll do whatever they want, and it's a tangible reminder for me. When I'm able to wear an everyday collar, well, EVERY DAY, I miss the sense of comfort and security I get when I have to take it off to go out in public or around people who wouldn't get it.

It means I'm theirs. It means they aren't going to let me go just because I open my mouth and say something stupid or do something stupid. It means they plan to keep me forever and ever, despite the best efforts of some dumbasses.

It means I'm their property, that I'm only allowed to make the decisions they let me make. If I were to lose my mind one day and try to leave, it means they'd come after me. It means that they'll handle things I'm too stupid/incompetent/incapable of doing myself.

It means I have a permanent place in their lives. It sounds stupid, but for someone who's always had almost all human interactions be on extremely tenuous ground her whole life, the knowledge that I always have somewhere to go, someone(s) waiting for me, a stable and safe and secure spot JUST FOR ME at their feet is very comforting. I dunno how to explain it. It just is.

I'm sure there's a lot more I could say on the subject, but I feel like I'm just babbling instead of making sense, so I'm going to stop. I think it's about bedtime for me, anyhow.

Hmm

2009-11-15T07:21:00.002-06:00

When I look over some of the things I write, here and in other places, and think about some of the ways I act and the things I feel, it occurs to me that I am probably much crazier than I ever wanted to admit.

Down The Rabbit-Hole

2009-11-14T07:11:00.002-06:00

It's roughly 7:15 am on Saturday morning. My sleep/work schedule is all out of whack at the moment, hence the reason I'm up at this hour. STILL up at this hour, that is. I haven't been to bed yet.

There's something about the wee hours of the morning. Seven am hardly counts as the "wee" hours, of course, but I actually mean the few hours before this, between 3:00 am or so and daybreak.

Nobody's here but me and L. The other two roomies are out of town for the weekend. L. fell asleep a little while ago. Even the cats are napping or, at the very least, not tearing around the house like bats out of hell. So it's only me up in this quiet, still part of the day. Even the phone isn't ringing, and I honestly hope it continues to stay silent, at least until I finish this blog.

The quiet gives me time to think, which isn't always the greatest thing ever, but whatever. I've had things running around in my brain for awhile, but I've just not had a chance to put them into words yet. Big things, yes, but not bad things. At least, I don't think so.

Two things here....

#1.) I need to go back to the doctor to get something for the daily preventive treatment of asthma because after using my inhaler 20 times a day for a week, I can already tell it's losing its effectiveness. I plan on doing that after Thanksgiving.

Now, that was kind of a random thing that didn't necessarily need to be posted, I realize. But it's a segueway into what's ACTUALLY on my mind here.

At age 5, I was diagnosed with scleroderma. It goes in and out of remission. I am *very* lucky that, while it's one of the ickier forms of localized scleroderma to be stuck with (Morphea Profunda, or deep morphea, for those of you keeping score at home), it HAS remained localized. It sucks. It's ugly. One of my legs is shorter than the other. It still may yet destroy my right hip joint. BUT it's not turned into the systemic form of scleroderma, and as long as it doesn't, the chances of it spreading to any vital organs are pretty low. So, yeah, in this form, it probably won't kill me.

At age 15, I acquired some really bad allergies. Again, I'm lucky that while I have some crazy reactive symptoms (when I had the test done where they inject you with various things to see what you're allergic to, the nurse doing the test told me she'd never seen anyone react as violently as I did), I don't do the anaphylactic shock thing. I'll just be cursed with hay fever the rest of my life. Yay.

And now, at age 25, I've acquired asthma. Well, I've probably had it for years and just didn't know it, given my allergy to doctors. (I do NOT like going to doctors because I spent so freaking much time in doctors' offices' when I was little.)

Anyway, it's not looking so good for me. Autoimmune diseases are semi-common in my family. My grandmother has one. My mother has at least one. I apparently have three, or at least one with two other conditions that have roots in autoimmunity. (My mother should never have been able to reproduce, but I digress.) I seem to pick up a new one every 10 years or so. Go, me.

But I've been thinking about it because it's kind of a scary thought. It's not so much "Oh, God, I'm gonna die" because we're all gonna die. It's just that I think about things a lot and like to have a plan for all contingencies. So, naturally, I thought about this, too.

If something happens to me--not dying because it won't matter then, but something fairly catastrophic--, do you know who will make all the decisions for me? Yes. My mother. She's my closest relative, unfortunately, as I don't even have any siblings to pawn the responsibility off on.

My mother. As if I'm still 5 years old and need to be dragged to doctors, kicking and screaming.

Obviously, this doesn't apply as long as I'm semi-capable of making my own decisions, but what if I'm not? What the hell happens then? I could be lying in the hospital dying and not allowed to see the people I love the most: J., B., and L. And, really, I do NOT want to spend my last moments on Earth dealing with my mother. Really. I don't. Or most of my other relatives, for that matter.

Yes, it's kind of morbid thinking about it. And, normally, I would say something like that is too far in the future for me to worry about. But you never really know, do you?

It's terrible of me to say, but I do not, DO NOT, want my fate in the hands of my mother, for numerous reasons, none of which I'll go into here because this blog is going to be long enough as it is. After the first of the year, when everything (hopefully) slows down a bit, I need to look into this, into having it changed somehow.

I don't mind the idea of someone else ultimately holding the responsibility of my life (duh, slave), but I DO mind the idea of that someone being my mother. Surely, there's some legal way around this. I just can't fathom that an unmarried female has to remain at the mercy of her parents as if this is 1845 or something.

Now, in the realm of the less morbid....

#2.) I believe that I long ago reached the point of being unable to function without my owners. Now, that doesn't mean I need them to wipe my ass for me. It's just, without their presence and support in my life, I think I'd be pretty damned useless. Not that I'm going to test the theory to find out, mind you. I just know myself well enough to know this.

I mean, honestly, the plan is, right now, to finish school (hopefully this summer) and move closer to them. Well, if they want me to, anyway. I already tend to lapse into these deep spells of darkness that nobody can pull me out of from time to time because I need them and can't be with them at that moment. It sucks, and I'd prefer to not have to deal with it any longer than necessary.

I may end up back in school again. Actually, it's a pretty distinct possibility the more I think about it. I may not even have a real job once I finish this degree. In this economy, that's a pretty likely scenario, too. I'd be lying if I said that part of the reason for going back to school yet again is to defer the $40,000 I owe in student loans until the job market stops blowing so badly.

That's not the ONLY reason; don't get your panties in a wad.

Anyway, that really has nothing to do with where I'm going with this, so I'm going to try to steer this train of thought back on track here.

I want more than anything in the world to serve them and be close to them forever and ever. Like I said, I don't really think I'm capable of functioning without them anymore. But sometimes I wonder, will I ever get enough? Will the desire to go deeper and deeper into servitude stop after awhile? Will I be content with a boringly normal life that, on the outside, looks like every other person's? Or will I just keep falling farther and farther down the rabbit hole?

Knowing me as I do, my money is on the latter, hence the title of this blog.

I hope that once I'm closer--if they want me closer--, I can fall deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. I hope my whole life gets turned upside down for them and that they can change whatever they want of it to suit them. Or nothing, if that's what they want.

You know, most people would bridle at the thought of their freedom being curbed by another. But I'm weird, I guess. Once I got used to the collar, I started craving the leash to be shorter and shorter. I used to wonder why, but I don't do as much of that now. I used to be afraid, but I'm not nearly as scared now. Yes, I still do question, and, sometimes, I still have fears. But they aren't as big as they used to be.

It's funny. Up until this point, my MO was to run away from anything even remotely resembling commitment to anything other than my own ever-changing whims and desires. And mostly what I was running from were the expectations being placed on me by the other person(s). Already, what I have with my owners, having belonged to them for, what, nine months, has lasted longer than all but one of my previous relationships. (And I only stayed with him a tiny bit longer than that because he kept threatening to kill himself if I left because he was a crazy, manipulative fuck.)

I'm glad I did all that leaving, though, or I'd have never found the most wonderful owners in the world.

I just want to keep falling, farther and farther, deeper and deeper, until they own and control every bit of me. Not that they're that far from it now.

I think I know why I've been running my whole life. I haven't just been running away from those who were too weak, inconsistent, incapable (and too stupid) to keep me, to own me, to be responsible for me, and to control me. I've been running *to* B. and J. I just haven't always known it.

Wow

2009-10-20T02:00:00.003-05:00

I haven't written anything here in forever, mostly because it's been too much of a struggle to muddle through all the thoughts swimming around in my head. I'm writing partly just to break radio silence and partly to throw some things out and see if anything will stick.

I've said it and said it and said it. I love my owners. (I hope I haven't said it so much that it's lost its meaning.) And serving them makes me happy in ways that nothing else can. Their desires give me purpose and structure and the feeling that I'm actually good for something.

Call it co-dependent, call it a slave mentality, call it the thoughts of a really fucked up masochistic whore. Whatever. I don't care.

The fact still remains that feeling useful to them makes me happy. Doing things to please them makes me light up all over in ways that nothing I can do for myself (and nothing others can do for me) can. I have wandered through my life trying to figure out what it was that was missing for much too long. Serving their needs and wants is my reason for being here on this earth. They give me purpose, structure, reason.

It's amazing, really.

In my deepest, darkest fantasies, I imagine serving them all the time, 24/7. While I'm always theirs now, I'm not always around to care for them, and that's the source of a lot of loneliness and melancholy for me. Yeah, yeah, brain the size of a planet, and my calling in life is house slave.

Whatever. I've kind of reached the "If you don't like it, fuck you" stage.

See, I'm fulfilled for two reasons. The first is all that stuff I mentioned up there. The second is not quite so esoteric.

I never thought, in all my life, that I could ever be loved by someone who owned me. I knew I could only serve if I loved them deeply, with all my heart. For me, that's part and parcel of being owned, mind, body, heart, and soul, etc., etc. But I never thought I'd be loved by one owner, much less two.

But they do love me.

And hearing those words from my Master and Mistress has made every struggle, every heartache, every time that I wasn't sure we were going to make it, worthwhile.

I serve them. I love them. They love me. I don't really need anything else.

Deep Breath

2009-08-31T19:19:00.003-05:00

So I'm probably going to post this and then go hide for two or three days because I'll be so nervous/embarrassed that I won't want to face B. and J. Forewarned is forearmed, etc., etc.

I don't know how to word this, so it may come off awkward and goofy-sounding. I apologize in advance.

I've been doing lots of thinking lately, and I've told the Owner-people that I really want to do the slave thing more often. That I think I would be happy being an all-the-time slave-girl instead of just an occasional one.

One of my deepest, darkest secrets, one that I never share with anyone, is that I've imagined being a slave since before I was even old enough to start school. There was sexual service, obviously, and that was a big part of the fantasy. But that was hardly all of it. It was actually pretty elaborate for a little girl's fantasy.

But, naturally, I buried that particular imagining as I got older. Even when I was little, I sensed that other people didn't think about stuff like that, and as I aged, I realized that people took enough advantage of me as it was, so I should probably try to change that part of me.

Insert a whole bunch of irrelevant drivel about my life and how I turned evil to keep people away from me, etc., etc.

Anyway, now that I think about it, I see that I've been unconsciously trying pretty much every tactic known to man to get J. and B. to send me away. Looking at this site, I see a sense of fear pervades pretty much all my blog posts. And it's not fear of whatever it was I was saying I was afraid of at the time. Well, it was, I guess, but that fear is simply a symptom of a much larger problem.

I have been afraid of who I am for nigh on 20+ years.

Even as a little girl, I knew I was very weird for what I wanted, and I guess I've been trying to hide it ever since.

I need certain things (and people) very deeply. I'll do things for others that I won't do for me. I'll just drift along mindlessly my whole life unless someone intervenes. Thing is, I'm stubborn, and I'll just ignore anyone whose opinions I don't care very deeply about, which I suppose is contradictory to the very nature I'm implying that I have here, but whatever.

I have a degree in psychology. I know I could probably diagnosed with a host of personality disorders from this post alone. But I really don't feel as if there's anything wrong with this "me," assuming we set aside the assumption that the nuttiest people never believe they're crazy.

So that was a pretty roundabout way of saying this, mostly because I don't know how to say it and am really stupidly nervous about writing the words on a screen, for some reason.

I want to be theirs. Totally and completely.

Yes, I know I've been theirs for quite some time now. Six months, to be more precise. But that's not really what I mean.

I've always, in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, wanted to belong to someone completely, but the fear of being abandoned has always stopped me. (See? Needy.) But, again, as I've spent the past six months doing my level best to shove them away and not being able to succeed, I'm pretty confident in the knowledge that they won't take what they can get from me and then dump me off somewhere.

It's a hell of a thing to ask someone, I know. Part of me is still hesitant for that reason. It's a lot of...responsibility?...to ask someone to take. That's not really the word I'm looking for, but it'll do for now.

But there is nothing more I want in my life than to turn it completely over to them. To devote said life solely to them. To follow them for all the days of that life (hopefully, they'll let me). And to spend the rest of my life serving them.

I've never been more certain of anything. I love them and trust that they'll take good care of me.

I dunno. If they are willing to take total control of me and my life, then I'll be the happiest and luckiest little girl in the world. I never wanted a "normal" life, to get married or have kids or anything like that, but I never knew why. Now I do. I'm meant to be a slave--their slave--, and I'm ok with that.

It's like I told J. before we ever met. I don't have a lot to offer, and on paper, I look kinda bad. But for whatever practicalities I lack, I make up for it in loyalty and devotion and the desire to just be a good girl and serve.

Take me. Keep me. Let me follow you. I do not want my life to be my own anymore. I want it to be yours. Please?

I love them both, stupidly, irrevocably. I hope they understand what it is I'm offering, as I'm not having much luck putting it into words. And, even more, I hope they want it, too.

~A very nervous and embarrassed slave-girl

So

2009-08-19T23:12:00.002-05:00

I was telling B. earlier that I'm in a weird mood. Not a BAD one. I'm still really stupidly happy from finally being able to spend some time with B. and J. this weekend. I just feel odd.

Do you ever get in one of those moods where you want something, but you don't know what "something" is? Yeah, that's how I'm feeling now.

I think I'm just in a really submissive, non-painslutty mood. I wanna do the service pet thing, I guess.

It sounds really stupid, but it makes me so happy to serve, to do things for them, to make them smile. I think about it all the time, and I feel kind of empty inside when I'm not able to do those things.

I may be much more submissive than I like to let on.

....

2009-08-03T23:30:00.003-05:00

I've been reading Dr. William Glasser's books again. I read some of them while I was an undergrad for my long-forgotten Positive Psychology class. I loved that class, but I can only remember a thing or two about it now. The major emphasis is on taking control of one's life, and since I've felt like I've been drifting along aimlessly for quite some time now, I thought it might do me good to read them again.

There are lots of...things...I need, but I either don't know what they are or don't know how to put them into words.

My mother says I lack ambition. I don't think that's the case, but, hell, maybe I did lose it somewhere along the way. It's not that I don't want things. It's more that I don't know how to get them. I used to think that I knew, but I don't really believe that anymore.

There are definitely things I want out of being J. and B.'s pet. I mean, things besides being petted and adored. (Not that those are bad things, by the way.) I just need things that seem stupid when you put them into words, which is why I'm not writing about them here.

Dr. Glasser says that whatever issues we happen to be having in our heads are because we aren't getting our needs met. And so we behave in fucked up ways because for some reason, it makes sense to us.

That particular theory makes sense to me.

I say that I'm unhappy, but I don't think that's really the case. I think I just need things I can't have, and it frustrates me.

I don't like being stuck in this shitty town with this moronic job. I don't really even want to take the three classes necessary to finish my degree, even though I realize it'd be stupid not to. I think somewhere along the line, my priorities changed, and my life plan hasn't changed to go along with it, so I'm just kind of coasting until I figure it out.

What do I want/need/like?

I know when I'm stuck here in this shitty town with this moronic job, what I think about--and, yes, I am prone to daydreaming--is being a slave girl, almost all the time.

I try to talk to people about it, but it's like they minimize my feelings. I don't like not being taken seriously. Maybe I just don't know how to talk about things to make people understand how important they are to me.

I really don't want to wander around alone forever. What I need is to love, to be loved in return, to serve, to be allowed to be who I am without fear of derision, to be understood, at least a little, and, as a slave girl, to be such an integral part of their lives that they couldn't imagine their lives without me.

Maybe it's too much to ask.

The Giant Merry-Go-Round

2009-07-26T18:03:00.003-05:00

I'm unhappy.

No, scratch that. I'm VERY unhappy. I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know how to communicate it. All I know is that I'm sick of this all-pervading unhappiness.

I'm on a fucking merry-go-round that I can't get off of. 'Round and 'round in circles, and I never get anywhere, and it's making me nauseated.

Same Song, Different Verse

2009-07-20T23:35:00.003-05:00

I neglect this blog way more than I should. It's partly because I do so much blogging for work, for sure. The other part is not for lack of thoughts. It's more of a lack of ability to put said thoughts into words. Well, that and the redundancy of those thoughts. I have the same struggles as I always do; I'm just tired of writing about them.

I'm weird. They dominate my thoughts all the time. Even when I'm thinking about something else, they're still there at the back of my mind. And when I have a quiet moment and am actively fantasizing about being with them, I'm not even being my typical perverted self and thinking about kinky sex. (Well, not usually. *Grins*) I think about sitting in the floor at J.'s feet while she feeds me macaroni and cheese. I think about rubbing my face against B.'s feet and purring happily. And, favorite of favorites, I think of being between them and snuggling close to them both.

I get so overwhelmed by my own emotions, and I don't really have the foggiest idea of how to proceed here. I'm not used to being in this situation of not really knowing what the hell to do. I don't go around lording it over people, of course, but I'm used to being one of the smartest people in the room. Being at a complete loss is unusual to me. So I just sort of flounder around and struggle with things normal people don't have any trouble with, and it's damned frustrating.

I don't really form any lasting attachments with people. I've got all these deep and, well, overwhelming emotions inside me, and I don't know what to do with them. It's really scary, as stupid as that might sound.

Everyone says they've never met anyone they've ever felt this way about about their current partner(s). It's the cutesy, romantic, cheesy-ass kind of line you're "supposed" to use. That's why it sounds so factitious, so artificial, so completely insincere and/or ingenuous when I say that I'm blown away by how I feel about them.

The upside is, anyone who's known me more than about three seconds knows I don't do anything just because I'm "supposed" to, so I'm hoping they realize I'm being for real here.

I think part of the reason I've always resisted any sort of encroachment on my freedom, particularly in the context of personal relationships, is--aside from the fact that I've decided that all I've ever known is dysfunction--something born of fear of who I am and what I'm capable of. My life is mine, and I've never had any particular desire to share it with anyone. I always kind of identified with Elizabeth I in that regard.

But you know what? I've bumbled through my whole life, and now I've stumbled into something much stronger than me. To comfort myself late at night when I'm lonely, I imagine myself on a huge, invisible retractable leash. It goes with me wherever I go, and I can go as far as I like. But, ultimately, they're the ones holding the thing, and I'll always come back to where they are.

I think that's what love and devotion are. Maybe I finally am learning something.

See why I've neglected the blog so long? This is just the hundredth verse of the same old thing. Maybe one day I'll learn how to swim on my own instead of trying to drag everyone down with me when I start to panic and drown. *Rolls eyes*

:D

2009-06-29T20:43:00.003-05:00

B. and J. came over this weekend. I was really, like, stupidly happy. It was partly because I hadn't seen them in way too long (damn this whole being broke thing) and partly because, well, it just seemed right for them to be snoring on my couches after dinner. ;)

We must do this again soon.

In other news, I'm still struggling. No, I swear, I'm not one of those bitches who always has to have some kind of drama, or she'll never be happy.

No, really. Shut up.

I'm still in the stages of figuring out how to word this and actually identifying the problem. But I'm going to give it a try, anyway.

Saturday, J., L., and I went over to L.'s place to see mine and L.'s cats. While we were there, we were talking because that's what happens when you get a bunch of females together, right? J. and I both briefly talked about how we have a complete inability to do things halfway. We have different approaches, naturally, but it's a trait we've got in common, for sure. It's one reason I have a huge amount of respect for her.

But upon further reflection, I realize that, in relation to myself, that's not exactly the truth.

I'm doing better than I was in this relationship, but I'm still holding back. I'm afraid, of course, because I'm full of insecurities and always afraid of something, but I'm also stubborn and refusing to accept things I know are true about myself.

I think a lot of my refusal to identify with the "slave" label is not because I don't see slavish tendencies and qualities about me, but because I still can't quite give all of myself that there is to give, for a multitude of reasons.

But I'm also seeing that in the past month or so, my ability to hold my loves at arm's length has waned considerably. I've let the two of them in much closer that I ever intended to. On one hand, it cues the old "chew through the straps and run like hell" reaction, but on the other hand, it makes me quite happy.

Upon closer examination, though, I'm kind of disappointed in myself. They deserve more than this.

After they left Saturday night, I was lying in my bed, unable to move because I was so sore. ;) And I realized I've pretty much reached this crossroads now. I can either continue on in this strange sort of holding pattern, where I'm deluding myself that I still retain some sort of control (thereby remaining vaguely dissatisfied for all my days), or I can say, "Fuck it," and make the leap.

'Cause leaving's not an option anymore. (Well, aside from the fun "Oh, you must come kidnap me because I won't go willingly" games. But that's totally different.)

Part of the fear is the knowledge that if I were to become one iota more dependent on them than I already am, I don't think I could ever function as a whole person again should they decide they don't want me anymore. And since I've always been very independent because I learned a long time ago that you can't count on other people, and you've only got yourself to make things happen, this whole dependency issue is a problem for me.

But something tells me I'm not ever going to be completely happy--just vaguely annoyed and disgusted at myself--if I don't do this all the way, like I do everything else in my life.

(The proverbial bull in the china shop and all that.)

The other fear is, maybe they don't want this. Maybe they don't *really* want me as complete and total slave. Maybe it's asking too much of them. Maybe it would be wrong to ask them to shoulder the responsibility and hassle. Who could possibly want someone who's THAT dependent on them at all times?

And, for the purposes of this discussion, "dependent" doesn't mean financially so or so needing to be told when I can go to the bathroom or whatever. It's not a matter of worthless or stupid, just...dependent. And redundant. Yay, redundancy.

A very large part of me wants to beg to be brought down extremely low. To have my illusion of control that they've let me keep up until now completely shattered. To be completely at their mercy and in their control, not just for the duration of our fun playtime, but for always. To be brought to the place that I can be the slave that I know I can be. To be shown how *unworthy* of love I am and then loved, anyway.

But only if that's what they want. I love them far too much to ever want them to do something they didn't want just because I'm whiny and angsty again, even if I do crave the peace and acceptance that finally being what I apparently was born to be would bring. :)

Insert Interesting Blog Title Here

2009-06-25T20:12:00.002-05:00

Mistress wants another blog, and what Mistress wants, she gets. ;)

Even I admit I've been neglecting this thing way more than I should. I just feel extremely uninspired most of the time. The proverbial well ran dry awhile back, I'm afraid. Not that there was ever a whole bunch there to begin with. :p

Well, to update...my loves are coming to visit me this weekend. Yay! L. and I have been frantically cleaning and buying groceries. Mostly 'cause I don't want them to think I'm total failure as a female.

But, no, seriously, I'm really looking forward to it (and hoping they don't mind my other friend L. and possibly her husband showing up). And hoping they can tolerate my cooking. And planning to have L. (the one who lives across the parking lot from me, not with the married one) and J. help me tie B. up and do evil things to him. *Grins*

Seven-year-olds can be very cruel, you know. *Giggles*

Anyway, I'm currently having yet another internal struggle that revolves around me knowing I have so much more to give my owner-type people, but being afraid to let myself go that far. Yes, yes, I know, bad slave-girl, not conducive to good relationship, etc. I think I just have this rather self-destructive habit of rebelling against my true nature.

And then I'm PMS-ing. I swear, I get downright ornery when that happens.

I dunno. I wanna be a better slave-girl. I know I can be. But apparently, I'm only capable of falling so far before I stop myself and go, "Nope, can't do it."

I really wish I were more comfortable in my own skin.

Ok, to end this on a good note, I'm still really, really excited about this weekend! And about spending time with J. next week while B. is away. :)

I'm So Tired

2009-06-14T23:03:00.002-05:00

Shit...I'm tired.

It's been a hell of a weekend. I got almost all my work caught up. I have worked 70 hours since Thursday. I have done 560 minutes worth of phone sex in that time. Unfortunately, our pay period ends on Friday night/Saturday morning at midnight, so that time is split between 2 checks. Just on this pay period, in the last 48 hours, I've worked 44 of them and done 335 minutes of phone boning.

I'm not saying this to brag about my amazing phone prowess. *Rolls eyes* I'm just illustrating how exhausted I am.

I caught up all my blogs AND converted the dummy blogs over to Blogger. Of course, the import tool didn't work, so I had to copy and paste and appropriately date EVERY SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING POST. I put some affiliate links up on them. I fucked with my website. I did a whole bunch of other shit. I am thoroughly sick of sitting in front of the computer.

In addition to that, I also wrote TWO resumes for myself. One's a "regular" one, and the other is a skills-based one to use when applying for writing jobs. Unfortunately, I'm too tired to search for jobs at the moment, so they're kind of useless at the moment.

I also cooked two freaking meals a day all weekend because I'm apparently the only person of the people who were here all weekend that know how to do ANYTHING. I suddenly remember why I could never be a housewife. I'm of the mindset that if you're hungry, fucking fix you something. And if you can't do that, then fucking STARVE for all I fucking care. Just leave me alone, goddammit.

Sorry. I am feeling more than slightly underappreciated at the moment.

It's like...I work myself to death, and nobody cares. The only thing that matters is that I give and give and give, even if it's to my own detriment. I don't know why I accept it. Maybe I'm getting way more like my mother than I care to admit and think taking on the martyr role makes me look good. Or maybe, and more likely, I'm just too nice to say "no."

I don't like feeling undervalued and underappreciated. I guess that's why I like being with B. and J. They don't really make me feel like that.

And, as always, when I get stressed, my sexual fantasies turn dark. But, then, inexplicably, on the other hand, I want gentleness and tenderness.

I'm just a confused little girl, I think.

A Slave-Girl's Primer, Or Why Princess Bunny Will Never Be A "Real" Dominatrix

2009-06-08T21:55:00.004-05:00

(Ya see what I did there? I might've ripped the title of this blog off from Marlyn Schwartz's A Southern Belle Primer, Or Why Princess Margaret Will Never Be A Kappa Kappa Gamma.)

This blog is a conglomerate of a whole bunch of thoughts that have finally managed to come together in my head in a way that's somewhat coherent to ME. Whether it will be coherent to others is anyone's guess. (And, no, Mattress, it's not bad, so you can stop holding your breath now. :p)

I know it sounds silly to say that I struggle with being who I am, but it's the truth. Any casual observer reading this blog will realize it. I'm sure it's a good bit of the reason for a lot of the angst in my head, which bleeds over into my relationship, too.

I've bounced around a whole lot in my self-labeling process. That also sounds stupid to anybody else, I'm sure. But words are my forte, so it's a big deal to me.

I've mostly stuck with "switch," since it's a catch-all for things that don't fit neatly in boxes, but I'm seeing more and more here lately that it doesn't fit.

At heart, I am a quiet, unobtrusive, complicated soul, though I can appear to be whatever I need to be to fit most any situation. Sarcastic, flashy, and bitchy tends to serve me well, as a general rule. Admittedly, I have more defense mechanisms than, as my Granny would've said, Carter has liver pills, but there you go.

Anyway, I'm pretty good at pretending to be something I'm not. So good, in fact, that I sort of tend to get the actual me confused with the me I happen to be pretending to be at the moment. Which sounds vaguely MPD, but whatever.

I'm beating around the bush, I know.

As I've mentioned before, I'm really, really, really good at getting people to do exactly what I want them to do. It's no great feat or strong personal character trait. I'm just stubborn as fuck. (Only child.) You'd think that'd translate to dominance, but no. It doesn't.

I like hurting people. Well, under certain circumstances. But put me even slightly in charge of having to decide what happens next, and I'm at a complete loss.

For a long time, I couldn't figure out why subs got on my nerves. I thought they were just annoying. But I think it's probably me. No, actually, I know it's me. I'll tell you why

Today, B. came to visit. I tried to tie him up and give him what he needed and failed miserably. He didn't seem terribly upset about it, but I felt like I'd disappointed him in some profound way, and I hated myself for it.

What I'm getting at is that I've pretty much been tying people up as long as I've been being tied up. I've gotten mostly comfortable with the latter, but increasingly uncomfortable with the former. You'd think experience would ease the discomfort, but it doesn't. I think it gets worse each time.

When I play, I'm ok as long as someone else is telling me what to do. If I have to do the deciding, I'm lost and feel really uncomfortable and vaguely sick.

Unfortunately, I've realized this is basically a metaphor for my entire life. I've kinda clung to the "switch" thing because it's beyond hard for me to admit that not only do I need someone to keep me from doing something stupid when I play, but I apparently need a keeper for daily life as well.

It's kind of embarrassing. It makes me feel stupid and worthless and lacking the wherewithal to do things by myself and for myself. I don't like depending on other people, and God knows, there aren't too many people in the world I CAN depend on.

The whole problem is not with the label, of course, but in the way I see myself. I don't like needing other people, so I try to shove them away. Then, I manage to get myself into idiotic situations to prove to myself I can get out of them, I guess. I dunno.

My friend B. (not the Masterly one) kinda banged me over the head with it earlier, though. I'm submissive. The sooner I stop trying to be something I'm not, the sooner I can deal with it and get on with my life.

It's scary needing my loves so much. I'm so used to being generally dissatisfied with things that I'm always looking for something else. But I've finally found what I need for the rest of my life, and maybe one day I can actually be cool with being "slave" instead of something else. Or at least "sadomasochistic service pet." That's kinda long, though.

I love them with all my heart, and I'm just trying, trying, trying to get past the self-loathing that seems to keep creating stumbling blocks. I started small. I'm currently changing my profiles on random kinky websites to indicate this new epiphany of mine. Stupid, yes, but baby steps.

A large part of me still hates myself for not being what I thought I should be--strong, independent, and self-sufficient. I feel weak and useless and stupid in a lot of ways. But you know something? When I'm with J. and B., I feel none of those things. What I feel there is a quiet sense of contentment. I think I should probably listen more to that feeling than the ones I have when I angst alone.

I'm getting there. I'm used to doing things the hard way, so as long as they don't give up on me, I should make it eventually.

I'm Really Trying, I Swear

2009-06-04T19:41:00.003-05:00

Ever since a couple of weeks ago when J. told me that I didn't really act affectionate toward her, I've been trying to make a conscious effort to do better.

Problem is, until I got involved with these two, I had no idea just how fucked up I really am. *Wry grin*

Just as a sort of parallel to demonstrate the issue I'm having, I was reading an article the other day about autism-spectrum disorders, Asperger's in particular (because I'm still a psych nerd at heart). Traditionally, people with Asperger's have been assumed to lack empathy because of their trouble relating to other people.

Now, though, there's this radical new idea out that perhaps these people have MORE empathy than the average person. The reason that they withdraw when they're in a roomful of people is that they're more empathic than everyone else in the room put together, and all those emotions overwhelm them, so they shut down altogether to keep from having to deal with it.

I read some of the accounts that people with Asperger's wrote, about how overly sensitive they are and how overwhelming it is to face people and their emotions and how awkward they feel in such situations. You know what I thought? I could've written that exact thing.

Ok, lemme stop for a second and say I didn't just diagnose myself with Asperger's, LOL. I don't fit the diagnostic criteria. ;)

I just wanted to use that as an example because I know how those people must feel. How you often want to reach out to people, but you just don't know how. How you hide away inside yourself because just being around people and picking up on their emotions hurts, so God knows how much it'll hurt to actually, you know, become involved in those people's lives in any sort of meaningful way. How when you do make an effort to reach out, it feels so awkward and wooden and unnatural. How you pretend that you don't want to interact with people, even though you really do, because it's easier to just keep them away from you than to go through all those pained and awkward motions.

I've been doing my best to try to be more affectionate, but I'm afraid it'll be hard road. I'm writing this to B. and J. to tell them not to give up on me.

My friend B. (not the same B. as the Masterly-type person, though they share the same name) says that while I'm in the 98th IQ percentile of people in this country, I am--and I quote--"emotionally retarded." I whacked him for it, but he's right. (He actually said, "You're emotionally retarded. Emotionally, you're riding a small, yellow bus, licking the windows, with your mittens pinned to your jacket." Now the bastard has taken to calling me "Mittens." Fucker.)

In my defense, I must've missed the whole "how to show people you love them" socialization somehow. Aside from the fact that my mother and her side of the family are a case study in the Axis II personality disorders, mostly Clusters B and C, with a little of Cluster A thrown in there for entertainment (and, yes, that probably includes me as well, LOL), I've just never really been around people who were particularly effusive about how they felt about others.

My Daddy is a prime example. I could probably count on one hand the number of times that stoic country man has ever told me he loves me. It's just his way. But I know he loves me nonetheless. Same goes for Mother. She's a complete and total whackjob in a lot of ways, I know, but I think she's probably told me she loves me fewer times than Daddy has. I listen to other people talk on the phone with their parents and say, "I love you" right before they hang up. That weirds me out. I just...can't imagine.

Same thing with physical affection. Nowadays, because they hardly ever see me, my parents will awkwardly hug me before we part ways. Well, sometimes. But it's more uncomfortable than anything.

Everyone I've dated? Well, I've tolerated them petting and holding and kissing me, even when most of the time I didn't want them to. But reach out for them? Nope. Not my thing.

I'm only pointing these things out to show that I'm this way with everyone, not just my fabulous owner-people.

So I watch B. and J. interact, how easily they touch one another, how they don't seem to feel awkward petting or hugging one another, how they kiss each other quickly on the lips as they pass, how they say, "I love you" without it sounding like something out of a really badly scripted movie, and it makes me feel both befuddled and vaguely sad.

I really don't know how to do that. But I wish I did. And I'm trying, but I still feel like an autistic kid sometimes.

:)

2009-05-27T22:31:00.003-05:00

Ok, I'm not working now because all our websites simultaneously shit themselves and now refuse to load. I can't go in chat, and I figure if neither my friend L. on our Internet or I on B. and J.'s Internet can pull up the pages, neither can the dudes, so there won't be too many calls, anyhow.

Plus, I've been alternating between working my ass off and being Laundry Bitch, so I can take a break, especially since it'll be time to eat soon, since Mattress just got home. I'll log in again tonight when I go to bed.

No rest for the wicked and all that.

I know I'm, like, the epitome of moody, but I'm really happy today. I've been happy since I've been here. Someone--not calling any names *ahem, B., ahem*--found it extremely amusing that I was sitting at his feet crying softly into his fur yesterday because I was so happy.

It's just being around them when I'm in such a submissive mindset that brings me such peace and contentment. They don't have to even do anything, just be there and let me purr at them. :)

Also, J. gets bonus points for dinner today because it's almost my girl time, I think. (That's not why she gets bonus points.) It's because at that time, I crave three things: pasta (well, I always crave pasta), grease, and green vegetables (I pretty much always crave these, too). And she fixed macaroni and cheese, cheddar brats, and steamed mixed veggies for dinner. So yay! :D If I just had the chocolate-peanut butter-oatmeal cookies I've been craving the past few days, I'd be fabulous.

Plus, playing last night helped my mood tremendously. I can almost guarantee that playing again tonight will help it even more. *Evil grin*

Even being Laundry Bitch made me feel better. Which is truly weird, I admit. But, I dunno, it makes me feel, well, useful or something. Rather than just sitting here stupidly and uselessly, which makes me feel like there's not much point in me being here.

Ugh, stupid slave-girl. I can't even begin to understand myself sometimes, much less really expect anyone else to, LOL.

I'm still making plans to bring two of my most favoritest people, both of whom I write this blog for ;), back home with me soon. Well, whenever they have a day of the weekend free. 'Cause I'm going to take them out and spoil them (along with L., of course). Movie + fantastic Chinese = a good waste of a weekend night.

Ok, I really don't have anything interesting to say at the moment, I'm afraid. Just that I'm happy. :)

Sigh

2009-05-25T19:41:00.003-05:00

I miss them.

I'm tired of posting these stupid, melancholy, whiny-ass blogs about how much I miss them. Desperation and clinginess are not attractive traits in a person, particularly a slave-girl. Seems that's all I do nowadays, though.

It's so bad that my friend L. just looks at me when I'm whining about something completely unrelated and says, "Hurry up and go see them." The "before you run me crazy" part on the end is implied.

I just don't want to need them so much that I ultimately push them away.

I don't like being here 'cause it sucks. This whole town sucks, and I've been here much too long (7 years). Truth is, the only reason I'm still here is that I don't feel like I have anywhere else to go. My lease runs out in August, and I have no idea where I'm going to go or what I'm going to do next.

I'm just NOT staying here. And I'll be damned if I'm going home, which really isn't "home" anymore, anyway.

That kind of leaves me a gypsy. I don't really have anywhere to go, and I don't much like the idea of going somewhere I don't know anyone. That didn't work out so well for me the first time.

But when I'm with them, I feel like I belong somewhere. I guess maybe that's why I'm almost always lonely when I'm not with them or something. Or maybe I'm really just crazy and whiny.

Either way, I hope I get to see them soon. The little girl in me doesn't like not being close to them. :(

Trust

2009-05-20T19:00:00.003-05:00

I have a problem with trusting people.

We can psychoanalyze this all we want to, as I'm sure there are multiple causes for it, but most of them boil down to simple operant conditioning. I trust people; they fuck me over. Which, of course, makes me wary about trusting people next time.

Obviously, this kind of thing happens to everyone on the face of the planet. I'm hardly alone in this respect. I just either have extraordinarily bad luck, or I'm a terrible judge of character.

I know J. gets upset at me sometimes because she feels like I don't trust her, no matter what she does. But I just want her to know not to take it personally, that it's nothing she's done to make me be distrustful.

I must have a neon sign above my head that says, "PLEASE FUCK ME OVER!" because I attract losers and users of all sorts. It pretty much never fails that if I put my trust in someone, that person is going to think of some new and improved way to screw me.

I think it's because I go out of my way to be nice to people. I let myself be bullied and walked all over because I...well, I don't know why, actually. I guess because I'm a people-pleaser, and I want other people to be happy? I dunno. I could play the "I'm a natural submissive" card, but I think that's a cop-out. I know I'm ultimately the one responsible for the fact that I can't tell people no.

I'm pretty sure the lack of trust thing is somehow tied in with J.'s other complaint about me, that I'm too withdrawn and un-affectionate. (Which is another thing she shouldn't take personally. I've loved B. for years, for much longer than I care to admit, and you know when I finally managed to tell him to his face? Um, October. Yeah, like, 7 months ago October. Oh, and I was bound to the point of being completely immobile, AND I was totally hooded, so I didn't have to look at him while I said it. Me? A chickenshit? Never!)

So the fact that I've told J. how I feel about her (albeit while she had her fist buried inside me) this quickly should be an indication of how much I've fallen for her already. *Blush*

But, anyway, I didn't write this to complain or bitch or try to find something to blame my innumerable issues on. It was just my weird way of trying to explain myself and hopefully make J. feel better.

I'm going to try to do better. I really am.

The truth is, as goofy as it sounds, after all the drama that went on over the weekend, I actually feel BETTER about everything. Not that I'd ever recommend to anyone else that particular method of making oneself more secure in one's relationship, but, you know, whatever. They got really angry at me. I hurt them really badly over what amounted to a fundamental breakdown in communication among the three of us. I allowed myself to believe the worst when that wasn't actually the case. I did various and sundry other stupid things and made them not trust me anymore.

But you know what? Now I know they DO care about me. They aren't just tolerating me because they can't figure out how to get rid of me. If that were the case, they would've seized on the events of this weekend as an excuse to kick me to the curb.

But they didn't. A lot of things were discussed, and there were some changes in perspective. And, weirdly enough, even though their trust in me may perhaps be shaken, mine in them is much, much stronger. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, etc., etc.

They want me. I can't imagine why, but they do.

I don't deserve these two. Really, I don't.

Being Submissive And The Bad Bondage Analogy

2009-05-19T15:39:00.003-05:00

I have a lot I want to say, but I don't quite know how to say it. Talk about an edumacation going to waste there, huh?

I want...no, need...so badly to be submissive. Not in that annoying kind of way (or, at least, I hope not). It just...it makes me feel, I dunno, safe, in some convoluted sort of way.

I'm trying to figure out how to explain it without sounding like a total dumbass. I think I shall attempt some lame analogy.

It's like bondage. I'm not someone who actually gets off on bondage. I mean, yes, it's fun, especially wiggling around when I know I can't get loose, but I don't think I've ever in my life gone "OMG, ROPE, UNNNGGGGHHH!!!!" *cums* like some bitches claim to do. It's just when I'm bound, I feel safe and secure. Well, at least when I'm being tied up by someone I trust. Otherwise, well, it ain't pretty.

It kind of works the same way when I'm being submissive/being dominated/whatever. I don't have, like, this overwhelming need to be guided or controlled or anything like that. (And, yes, I'm a cunt and like to make fun of bitches who say they need guidance because a.) it amuses me, and b.) they almost always spell it wrong.)

Like, service calms my soul. Which sounds almost as stupid as saying I need "guidence" (misspelling intentional), but let's overlook my hypocrisy for a moment. I just feel so secure when I'm pleasing someone else. Then, there's that whole "they love me enough to see me at my most vulnerable and still wanna keep me, anyway" thing.

But, yeah, when I can't quite be as submissive as I need to be, I get to feeling insecure, and then when I get to feeling insecure, I do stupid things. I don't doubt that my inner vulnerable, scared little girl had something to do with the stupid shit that's transpired lately.

I guess I just don't know how to express it sometimes. It kind of seems obnoxious to just show up and hand my leash to them. And I know that it's my moodiness that makes it hard for J. and B. to give me what I need. Well, what I hope we all need, actually.

But I dunno. I crave consistency and submission. Too many rules annoy me, of course, because I'm a loner at heart, but certain boundaries keep me sane. But then I know I push J. and B. away and make it hard for them to give me that. And then that makes me more insecure, which makes me push them away more, etc. It's a chicken/egg conundrum.

I want to make it easier for them. My no-longer-friend K. and I had this discussion before she acted like a complete and total asshole. She was bitching because her idiot husband didn't "make her feel submissive" anymore. I, of course, think that's kind of a cop-out. It's not B. and J.'s place to make me feel submissive. So I want to work on that myself.

I think I had a point in mind when I started this, but I've had so many interruptions that I've completely lost it now. Anyway...I hope this made at least a tiny bit of sense.

I Dedicate This Blog To My Vanity And Massive Ego

2009-05-10T23:17:00.002-05:00

I went shopping with my kinfolks today.

In retrospect, I know it was a really bad idea. But I felt guilty (yes, same theme, different variation) because I went to the concert Friday and didn't spend the entire weekend with my mother. Then, Mother offered to buy me something.

I'm a shopaholic. I'm not turning down an offer like that, however ill-advised it might be.

So due to the fact that nothing I liked fit because of my massive midsection and lack of any discernible waistline, I started feeling shitty.

Actually, let me go back for a moment. I was looking at some pics of myself the other day in which I'm wearing no makeup, and I started feeling shitty THEN. Today, when I couldn't find anything that fit right on me, it just got worse.

The insulin resistance from the PCOS is so bad that I probably have full-blown diabetes at this point. God knows, the sugar cravings are insane. I think I could eat sugar straight out of the goddamned canister at this point. Also, I know my blood pressure is suffering 'cause I have those headaches every day that I used to only have when I was so angry I could murder someone.

When I was a freshman in college, I wasn't exactly thin, but I hovered around the 170 mark, which, for my height and build, isn't too bad. I looked decent, too. Then, I got fat, but I could still say, "Well, I may be fat, but at least I'm not ugly, too." Because I'm nothing if not vain and egomaniacal.

But now, I can't lose weight for shit because of this stupid disease...thing. I don't have the money to get treated for it, either.

So I'm fat. My hair's falling out. I have greasy skin that, even after I shower, is gross and shiny after about 15 minutes. I still have acne, for God's sake, and I'm 25 years old. (And it's not like it's an easily-remedied skin problem. It's damned persistent, and I've figured out the best way to deal with it is to leave it alone for the most part.)

And, you know, I used to have this really pretty pinky-looking complexion that looked fantastic with all my favorite colors. But all the insulin spillage has stained my skin. I have large patches of sallow yellowish looking skin. And then in other places, like my elbows and the back of my neck, have turned dark brown or, in the case of my left elbow, black. Even my eyelids are getting that ugly yellow-brown tone. I Googled the medical name--acanthosis nigricans.

(Not that I imagine it really matters, but just in case people think I'm nutty and making this shit up.)

I look much older than I really am. And I look like the stereotypical fat woman--greasy, nasty-looking, icky skin. All I need to do is stop wearing deodorant and start mouth-breathing and the picture will be complete.

I know I'm vain, but every woman wants to at least be able to fool herself into thinking she's moderately attractive. I've always been kind of mannish, I know, and I've always been kind of ashamed of my lack of femininity. But at least I was still kind of decent-looking when I dressed up and did my hair and makeup.

Now I look like a troll. All because I have too much testosterone in my system for a chick.

I know, I'm being ridiculous. But I want to be pretty again, goddammit! Or, at least, not this giant, lumbering, disgusting man (complete with beer belly and huge upper arms 'cause that's how insulin resistant people gain weight) and tits. And don't even get me started on the fog my brain's always in from this shit.

So fuck it. I'm wallowing in self-pity. Maybe it's stupid to feel sorry for yourself because you hate the way you look, but whatever. In spite of the fact that I LOOK like a man, I'm still a woman, so I'm entitled to my vanity.

Another Blog

2009-05-10T01:53:00.002-05:00

It's me again.

I'm not sure what happened. I've gone from really, really aggressive and sadistic last week to extremely submissive today. Probably if someone tracked my moods, they'd find that the more stressed I get, the more submissive I become. I get tired of always having to be the one to take care of things because I feel like I fuck everything I touch up.

My submissive moods vary, too. Sometimes, I need to feel my lack of control over a given situation (hence the various "force/rape" fantasies a few weeks ago). Sometimes, I'm more masochistic than submissive. Sometimes, I want to feel deep, dark humiliation and degradation, particularly on an emotional level (which is probably the old self-destructive impulse kicking in in new and exciting ways). Sometimes, my inner seven-year-old takes over.

Then, there are times, like right now, that I don't care about anything but pleasing my two owner-type people. If they want to whip me bloody, I want them to whip me bloody. If they want me to bake cookies, I want to bake cookies. If they want me to clean and do laundry, I want to clean and do laundry. If they want to fuck me stupid, I want them to fuck me stupid. If they want to snuggle me between them and make a slave-girl sandwich, I want them to snuggle me between them and make a slave-girl sandwich. If they want me to orally service them and a roomful of other people I've never met...well, you get the idea.

I don't really think of myself as terribly complex, but even I sort of get lost in the weird labyrinth of my own sexual identity. Some people can nail themselves down; I can't. Submissive me vaguely self-identifies as "service pet." That's about as close as I can come to a good, short descriptor for myself.

But now, I feel the "service" part heavily.

All I want to do right now is to serve, to please. I literally do not care about anything in the world but their pleasure, whatever it may be. I crave the feeling of sitting quietly at their feet while I await being told what to do.

When they're happy, I'm happy. When they're pleased, I'm pleased. It's so hard to break through my defenses, to get to me, to make me care about someone. But then, when I do, they're there in my heart forever. I'm not a half-assed kind of person. I don't do things halfway. I don't know HOW to do things halfway.

Love and service, in my mind, in my heart, are closely intertwined. I am stupidly devoted to Master and Mistress, and serving them is my way of showing it.

So, my loves, what can your devoted and slightly demented pet do to make you happy?

Insert Sound Of Slave-Girl Pulling Her Hair Out Here

2009-05-09T17:27:00.002-05:00

In the last couple of days, my blood pressure has gone from high to ridiculous. Between being stranded last night (twice) and pretty much all my "friends" blowing me off, trying to keep my friend K.'s husband from killing some drunk dude in the Waffle House last night who kept hitting on us, and telling our neighbors today, "Sure, you can try and tow mine and L.'s vehicles...if you think you're man enough," I just want to strangle someone. Repeatedly. Isn't it Lake Superior they say never gives up her dead? Or is that some other large body of water in the Midwest?

Add that in with the "friend" drama from a couple of weeks of ago, and I've had enough.

I'm not a dramatic person myself (usually). But somehow or another, shit always happens to me, and I get dragged into other people's bullshit. On the way home last night at 3 am, K. told me that most of my problem is that I let people walk all over me. And she's right. But unless I'm absolutely flaming mad, I cannot tell people no or to fuck off or whatever.

And so, in the interest of not giving myself a heart attack or an aneurysm, I'm going to cut some of these toxic people out of my life. No big to-do or anything. I'm just going to stop having anything to do with them and not say a word about it. I doubt most of them will notice, anyhow.

I'm weeding out friends faster than I can make new ones, it appears. That's kind of a scary prospect for me. I don't make friends easily. But maybe that's better than having a bunch of leeches hanging onto you and sucking the life out of you. I dunno.

I remember when I was a freshman in college. I didn't have any friends here. None at all. I'd gone home for my cousin's birthday one night, and then I was coming back to my place later. It was raining, and the tires on my car weren't the best. I hydroplaned going up the side of a mountain and crashed into a concrete ditch...thingie.

I was fine. Just shaken. I love my car, and it was torn all to pieces. I was heartbroken. But I had no one in town I could call. I stood out on the side of the road in the pouring rain while they towed my poor car away. The cops drove off and left me standing there. Luckily, a good Samaritan had pulled over when I wrecked and let me sit in his car and use his phone to call my parents because I'd lost mine in the excitement.

He took me somewhere safe to meet my parents and sat with my soaking wet ass until they arrived an hour and a half later. Then, Mother and Daddy took me back to their place. I was just lucky the guy wasn't a serial killer, but I wasn't exactly left with any options at that point.

It was equal parts sad and humiliating that, at 19 years old, the only people I could call were my mama and daddy.

I decided then that I wasn't going to live the rest of my life that way, that I was going to make friends somehow. So I joined the sorority the next semester and made friends whom I thought were real friends.

Last night, two of those sorority sisters/friends told me tough shit when I was stranded on the side of the road in a moment eerily like the one several years earlier, minus the wreckage and the thunderstorm.

Cutting these people out of my life is scary, but I have to do it for the sake of my own mental health. I'm tired of giving and giving and giving to people and not even being able to count on them when I really need them. I have to meet new people who aren't assholes. That's also scary.

Thanks bunches to B. and J. for coming and rescuing us last night. I felt horrible about bothering them because I knew they were busy. But if I'd had anyone else to call, I wouldn't have bugged them.

I have more I want to say, but I just got to Mother and Daddy's, and, while no one's here now, I'd like to get something to eat. I'll probably post some more tonight.

My Rambling

2009-05-04T23:49:00.003-05:00

56 log-in hours since Thursday. $365. Part of it on last week's check. Part of it on this week's. Not hardly worth it, is it?

I'm really mentally exhausted. I know it sounds stupid. But ugh.

The good news is, I'm doing the Cinco de Mayo thing with my friends tomorrow. Then, on Wednesday, one of those subbies I mentioned in a previous blog is taking me to lunch. That'll be some much-needed time away.

The subbie might turn out to be more or less what I'm looking for as long as a.) he doesn't turn totally insane once we actually meet, and b.) he actually is what he claims to be. We shall see. He's one of those fetishy dudes who's into foot worship and wearing panties (*yawn*), which doesn't interest me in the least. But on the other hand, he likes the idea of cuckolding (which IS fun), he claims that he'll clean house, and supposedly can build bondage furniture.

I can tolerate a few totally pointless and idiotic fetishes for someone relatively local I can beat semi-regularly and who'll clean and build me kinky stuff for cheap.

Me = totally not a fetishist

I admit it, though. What I really, really want is a female painslut. They can almost always take more.

I've been this nasty sadistic mood lately. I'm not sure why.

Bad slave-girl. I don't feel submissive at all. I'm in a weird mood. Really weird. *Sigh*

I Miss Them

2009-05-02T02:47:00.002-05:00

I have been so crazy busy for work today. I need the money, but I'm TIRED. I stayed logged in all night last night, and, I swear to God, every time I drifted off to sleep for more than 30 minutes or so, the phone would ring. And, no, it couldn't be random 10ers. Long calls, extend-a-calls, ugh. It was probably 10 this morning before I got to sleep peacefully without any more interruption. I slept until L. sent me a text and woke me up at 4:30.

I was logged in that whole time, too, but no calls, oddly enough. I worked for awhile and went to eat with my crazy kinfolks. THAT was an ordeal. Then, I logged back in when I got home and took a bunch of calls. This pay period just started 4 hours ago, and I've already got $100. (And I've not been logged in the whole 4 hours. I'm not working right this second.)

I'm debating now if I want to work all night again. I need the money, but I'm already sleep-deprived from last night, and the last damn thing I want is some cokehead binger, which is very likely on a Friday night. I may try to actually get some sleep tonight. And I may not. I dunno. I need several more good paychecks to claw my way back out of the hole. I gotta stop slacking.

Ok, I didn't write this blog solely to complain about work. I'm just all bleary-eyed and exhausted because of work. All my friends are asleep, and I'm bored. And I have girl time again, and I'm cramping like a bitch. It's hard to lie down comfortably.

And I miss my favoritest Master and Mistress in the whole world. *Pouts* I need a heating pad (mine is over at L.'s, and I don't feel like going over there and getting it) and a massage and snuggles and a very long night's sleep. I sincerely doubt I'll get any of those tonight, though. :(

I can't wait to see them again.

In other news, I changed my CM profile to say I'm vaguely looking for a subbie boy (or girl) to amuse myself with earlier in the week, and I already have two possible candidates. That didn't take long. They just messaged me out of the blue. The initial evaluations look promising, but who knows if they might turn into total nutjobs? We shall see.

But, yeah, I have to work a LOT this month. L. and I are going to the 3 Doors Down concert on Friday, then I'm going home for Mother's Day. No work that weekend. The next weekend, L. and I are going to the horse show in Columbiana. I'm not riding, but L. wants to try her hand at photographing horses, and I'm one of those losers who thinks a horse show is a good waste of a Saturday night. We invited Mattress, too. I hope she can come (and won't be bored out of her skull.)

Then, I'm going to Tennessee the next weekend, Memorial Day weekend, for the Spring Fun Show in Shelbyville. Of course, I'm going with my mother and "brother" (who isn't really my brother or even kin to me--long story). But, yay, horsies! And possibly new tack or riding clothes. I need a new saddlesuit coat, for sure. Mine won't even freaking button anymore, damn my fat ass.

So no work for several weekends, which means I have to work my ass off during the week and stay logged in overnights and stuff. Ugh. I will be needing a vacation like whoa by the end of the month.

All right, I think I'm about to go wash my face and take out my contacts and (begrudgingly) log in for the night. I still miss Master and Mistress, though. :(

Thoughts

2009-04-30T02:07:00.003-05:00

I've been blogging all day...so 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. ;)

I've Been A Lazy Blogger Again

2009-04-26T23:28:00.002-05:00

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.

The Ever-Popular Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week

2009-04-21T23:33:00.002-05:00

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! :)

Freaky!

2009-04-21T02:34:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-21T00:20:00.002-05:00

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. :)

Blech

2009-04-20T00:17:00.003-05:00

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.

I Feel Better...And A Request For Help

2009-04-18T17:34:00.002-05:00

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.

The Elephant In The Room

2009-04-13T17:41:00.002-05:00

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.

Today Has Been A Waste Of A Perfectly Good Thursday

2009-04-09T20:59:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-09T02:56:00.002-05:00

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.

It's Official

2009-04-07T22:16:00.002-05:00

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.

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

2009-04-06T23:13:00.002-05:00

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

Here We Go Again

2009-04-04T14:47:00.003-05:00

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.

Yay, New Blog!

2009-04-01T14:17:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-01T00:13:00.002-05:00

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

I Hate Everything

2009-03-30T00:01:00.002-05:00

Ok, so I actually had a blog I was going to post. But then everything from the waist down decided to revolt at once, and now I can't think well enough to post anything of any substance. Fucking PCOS. I would like to die now, please. Quickly and painlessly.

I'm a bad slave girl. But...I'm not always like this. I'm not really sure who hijacked my body and replaced me with this whiny, needy, clingy person prone to tears at the least provocation.

B. and J. are probably going to drown me and hide my body. Not that I'd blame them.

I have so much to do and no inclination to do it. I also want to die. I may have mentioned that before. And I miss them. *Wails*

OMG, wtf is wrong with me?

The "I Love Mattress" Blog

2009-03-26T22:42:00.002-05:00

J. is the most wonderful, beautiful, awesome Mistress in the whole world! Even if she is at the beach this weekend while I'm stuck here. *Grumble*

I'm about to veer off on a minor tangent that's not going to make sense for a minute, but I promise to bring it back around and make it make sense. Insofar as any of my ramblings make sense, that is.

I've been in a sadistic mood the last few days. If I get a lot of one side, I start craving the other. It's odd. Problem is, the only even remotely masochistic sub boy in my list of boys I call when I need them and ignore the rest of the time (yes, I'm a bad person, leave me alone) has vanished off the face of the earth again (he does it semi-regularly). Sooo...it's back to the drawing board for slave-girl to find a painslut to beat on. My riding crop is screaming my name at this point.

Oh, well, whatever. I get tons of email every day. I'll find one soon enough.

A large part of me really, really wants J. to see me when I'm not all stupidly submissive. I mean, other than the fact that I've been told it's pretty impressive to watch me go from shy, unassuming person in the corner to super-sadistic bitch, and I think she'll find it amusing.

I want her to see that devoted slave-girl is not my default setting. I'd say I'm pretty damned accommodating most of the time, but I'm not particularly submissive to...oh, anyone, really.

It's not that I'm ashamed of what I am when I'm with B. and J. Quite the contrary. I just want J. to see how special she is to bring that out in me. She makes exactly the second person I've ever met who's ever been able to. (The first, of course, being B.) Not to mention how special she is to even give me the chance to be theirs in the first damned place.

I miss and love them both very much. Only four more days until I get snuggle with both of them again!

Self-Pity

2009-03-26T00:33:00.003-05:00

Well, it's not exactly self-pity.

Oh, what the hell, maybe it is.

It's raining. I got an interview for a REAL, non-adult writing position, and my mother bitched at me because it wasn't a "real" job. And told me I needed to go back to school. Can I point out that at this point in my life, I've basically been in school non-stop for TWENTY YEARS? I mean, I plan on finishing my master's, but after that, I'm taking a damned break for awhile. And then, she told me I need to get out of the house and meet people and have a real life.

WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Seriously, sometimes I wonder how I was born in this family.

Then, not only that, but I have a zillion things I have to do in the next few days. Write up a resume for myself that doesn't scream ADULT! Go to my interview. Clean my apartment (which is a never-ending uphill battle because I hate cleaning and am prone to getting overwhelmed and not knowing where to start and ending up in a big teary pile in the middle of my house, bawling my eyes out for no apparent reason). Work and make enough money to pay rent (which is looking like an uphill battle as well). Go to a damned wedding back at home on Saturday. Set up my NF accounts again. Try not to lose my mind. Etc.

I'm moody and irrational for no apparent reason. I miss B. and J. like mad. I can't find my goddamned collar, and I cried for nearly an hour last night because I don't know where it went. Then I proceeded to almost slice my damned finger off by accident. I thought I never would stop bleeding. I slept with my stuffed lamb that J. bought me last night. He smells like their house.

I miss them so much.

All this crying and lying in bed and feeling sorry for myself is so not me. I'm weirdly hormonal or something, I guess.

Oh, well. It's gotta get better, right?

Ok, I Admit It

2009-03-24T17:41:00.001-05:00

I read J.'s blog at random times, even though I've probably read all her entries so many times I could recite them from memory now. *Blush* I just like to see the nice things she's said about me.

For someone who blogs as much as I do, I'm not really into reading them. Of course, that could be because I DO blog all the time, so reading them isn't generally appealing. I only read J.'s and Cake Wrecks because it's hilarious and makes me feel sooooo much better about my own pitiful attempts at decorating cakes. (Don't ask. Seriously.)

Since I finally finished a bunch of crap for work and the cover letter for the job B. is applying for, I can actually blog now.

People ask me a lot of times what I want to do if I ever finish my freaking master's. My normal reply is something along the lines of "I haven't made up my mind yet." I'm lying, of course. I know exactly what I want to do, but telling the truth either gets strange looks from people who don't know me well or lectures about how "that's not a real job" from people who do (i.e., my mother).

I want to write.

There are other things that have passed through my mind, of course. At one time, before I got old and fat and out-of-shape and all beat up from falling off so many horses through the years, I wanted to be a professional horse trainer. There might've been a time when I could've done it, but that time has long since passed.

But ever since I was about 12 or so, I've wanted to write. It's all I'm really remotely good at, and why waste a God-given talent, right? And, too, everything else I've ever thought I've wanted to do has basically been a way to make a whole bunch of horses so I could do what? Retire young, live on a farm out in the country with my horses, and, well...write.

It doesn't have to be the Great American Novel, either. I mean, it'd be great if I could one day produce that, but everything fictional I've ever tried to do comes out as some kind of two-bit Southern Gothic that's been soooo overdone. (I'm not Faulkner and never will be, despite the fact that I write long, rambling, yet still totally grammatically correct sentences just like he did.) I'd just be happy doing freelance shit like blogs and web content (or cover letters and resumes *wink*) and maybe the occasional article or short story and getting paid for it.

They say the hardest thing about such a job is disciplining yourself. I never claimed to have a whole bunch of self-discipline, but I HAVE been self-employed for over a year, and I'm still not living in a cardboard box on the side of the road somewhere, so I must not be doing too badly, you know what I mean? I definitely don't want to do phone sex for the rest of my life, but it's definitely taught me a lot about being an independent contractor. And, if I decided to try to write for a living, it'd be a good way to fill in the income gaps between writing gigs.

I don't know. I keep telling myself I don't have time to do it, but I actually do. It's just that when I sit down to actually look on the sites where people are advertising for writing and/or editing jobs they need done, I get all intimidated because I don't really know what's going on and overwhelmed, so I just say, "Screw it, I can't do this."

I really need to get off my ass, do some research, and seriously try to do this if it's what I want to do. I'm kind of tired of just drifting around and waiting to see what happens next. I feel like I've done that most of my life, and I've kind of outgrown it by now.

Yes, I know this blog has nothing to do with being a slave, but J. always wants to know what's on my mind, and this is what's on my mind today. ;)

I would LOVE to never have a "real" job by most people's standards. I'd love to make enough money doing something I a.) loved and b.) was good at that I could have all the things I needed and most of the things I wanted and never have to worry about being a burden on someone ever again. I'd love to be able to make a career out of writing and be able to make time for B. and J., my friends, my horses (both the ones I own now and the ones I'm going to own in the future), and the family members I can tolerate.

I just have a godawful time focusing on anything for any length of time, and that drives me nuts about myself.

Random Ramblings

2009-03-23T19:55:00.006-05:00

I have good news. My "accountant" did my taxes for me today because my last 1099 FINALLY showed up. So I paid absolutely nothing in income taxes this year, not state, not federal, not Social Security, nothing. But through some sheer stroke of dumb luck and a good bit of creative accounting, I'm getting back a $43 refund, LOL!

I'm also filing a return I didn't file a couple of years ago because it got lost in one of the hundred times I moved, so I'm going to get a wee bit more than that back. Not enough to amount to anything, really, but at least I don't have to worry about how I'm going to come up with the money to PAY taxes, which I was worried sick about. Give me about three or four $500+ weeks, and I shouldn't have any worries. I might even be able to take classes this summer after all! (Maybe.)

I think I'm going to fire up my old NF accounts again. Might as well. They're all approved, and all my bank information on them is approved, so I can start getting daily deposits for whatever I make. I make enough money with my company to pay my bills, but sometimes it gets hard to buy food or gas or just a little something I actually want, for once. So maybe I can pay bills from my company and get extras from NF. Or something. *Crosses fingers*

That's the good news. The bad news is, I'm probably going to have to hide a body soon.

My friend K. is married to quite possibly the biggest jackass on the planet. (My friends have this habit of marrying idiots. I've never quite understood it. They could all do MUCH better.) He pissed me off the other night when I was over at their house with a couple of his comments about B. Apparently, Mr. Jealous thinks B. is trying to steal K. away from him because he talks to her on Yahoo sometimes....I don't know. It's a bunch of childish drama shit that I was doing my best not to be pulled into. I bit my tongue and kept my thoughts to myself.

Until today. Apparently, last night, Mr. Jealous picked this huge fight with K. about MY Master. Whom, by the way, neither of them have ever fucking met before, just for the record. How he doesn't want K. talking to B. anymore and how it's "inappropriate," blah, blah, blah. He said some ugly things about both B. and me and reduced K. to a crying mess. Then, bless her heart, K. didn't even have anyone to talk to about it because none of her friends understood, and she didn't want to call me because she didn't want to upset me.

Fuck that. Of course, I'm going to be upset. Not for the reasons that she thought I'd be upset, but because, while I'll let people go really, really far in fucking with me, I'm a mite touchy about my friends. He's being an irrational asshole and hurt K. over something that really isn't important, honestly. I mean, damn, if B. were trying to do some shit, don't you think I'd be concerned, too? The man has his hands full with J. and me!

I've half a mind to go over there and just smile sweetly in his face and ask in my most polite voice if he has anything he'd like to discuss with me. He wouldn't have the balls to say anything, of course. I hate bastards like that. Either man up or shut the fuck up about it.

I'm ranting now, and I know it. But it's bullshit drama that's totally unnecessary. I don't do drama. I told K. to feel free to come over anytime she needed to to get away from that shit and that if he followed her, he could confront the business end of my shotgun. That was all I knew to do. But it's still all bullshit, and it upsets me that she's upset, and I kind of feel like I'm responsible in a way.

Yay for carrying responsibility for everything on my shoulders.

Ugh. Ok. Back to work.

* * * *

On a more upbeat note...my friend R.'s slave (one of them; he has two) posted this on a message board we all frequent.

how is one a "slave"?

are you born a slave? do you become a slave? are you made into a slave?

did somebody train you, teach you, mold you? or was it always there inside of you?

is there an on/off switch? you werent, until suddenly something clicked and you were? once the switch flips, is it stuck in on, or can it slide back?

can you be a slave without a master?

can you decide you are a slave no longer, or is that as useless as "deciding" not to be short anymore?

is it who you are no matter what, or who you are in the situation you are in?

how is one a "slave"?

I thought about it for awhile, and then I replied back with this. I don't know why, but I thought B. and J. might like to read it.

I don't think I can ever know the real answers to those questions for myself. I know what I have to believe in order to preserve my own sanity sometimes. I don't expect anyone else to believe as I do.

I'm not prone to fits of romanticism. Anyone who knows me knows that. But I do not believe my being a slave was a coincidence or some happy accident of brain chemistry. I believe it was my destiny, chosen for me before my birth, whether by me, God in one or more of His various forms, or some combination thereof. (We won't go into my weird spiritual beliefs here.)

I was born to be a slave. My destiny is to serve, in some capacity or other. But not to serve everyone or most or even a handful of people. I think I'm here for a specific purpose. Master and Mistress, of course, are the specific purpose, and they are the ones who are the operators of the tool that is me.

I never had any idea about what I was until I met Master. None. I knew I was kinky, knew I had serious masochistic leanings, but one can have those things without having a submissive bone in one's body. I believed I was too intelligent, too independent, too capable, and had too much to do with my life to ever surrender myself like that.

I have never been more wrong about anything in my entire life.

And, then, when I met Mistress, it all fell into place. Even when I had Master, there was still a hole inside me. It took both of them to fill it. Maybe I am too intelligent, too independent, too capable, and have too much to do with my life to surrender myself to one person. So the Universe gave me to both of them and wished them the best of luck in dealing with me.

The people who say that submission is a process...well, I think they're wrong. It's a process in that it's an ongoing internal struggle, but I think when one who is meant to be a slave finds his/her Owner(s), there is no escaping that destiny. I think that no matter what happens, no matter how hard you try to run from it, you'll always be pulled back to it by some strange sort of gravity that's stronger than you are.

This is more than me. This is more than Master. This is more than Mistress. This is something that was decided a long time ago. They are the ones who use me for whatever good they're going to use me for. We just have to shut up and comply with destiny at this point.

I'm not a slave. I'm their slave. I always have been. The problem was, I haven't always known it. Now I know. And in spite of how hard it might be for me at times, I'll never escape this destiny. Nor will I ever truly want to.

Also, happy 5,000th post to me.

Soooo...Why Am I Seven?

2009-03-22T22:03:00.002-05:00

I know J. doesn't believe it, but the little girl thing really does come and go. I'm not ALWAYS little. Really. I swear. No, seriously.

I just kind of can't get rid of it lately for some reason. I'm the perpetual seven-year-old. *Pouts*

Lucky for me, B. and J. think it's kind of cute.

I keep fantasizing about being tied up. But, no, not for kinky sex. (OMG, write it down. Slave-girl's not fantasizing about kinky sex!!!!!!!!!!) I just want to be tied up between the two of them, securely, but comfortably, so I can lie that way for a long time without whining that I can't feel my arms anymore or whatever. Then, I just want to be snuggled and petted and kissed and talked to. Kinky sex, of course, is optional. :D

B. mentioned tying me up and spoon-feeding me and talking to me like a little girl again, like they did one night. Well, J.'s the one who fed me, but they both talked to me like I was little. Yeah, that should not have made me as happy as it did.

I'm not sure why, when I'm feeling insecure, being seven makes me feel safer and more secure, but it does. Master and Mistress have the only seven-year-old service pet on the planet. I really do live to please them, even if I do sort of have a few bumps along the way every now and then.

I wonder what a collar for a seven-year-old would look like? *Giggles stupidly*

This Is A Fantastic Procrastination Tool

2009-03-21T15:39:00.003-05:00

I should be doing things for work, but I'm not. So here I am.

Let me first and foremost say that I'm very happy. I don't want whatever rambling I may do in this blog to make anyone think otherwise.

It's a constant struggle for me not to give in to the old fears and just run as far and as fast as my feet will carry me. Even if I know it'd be the stupidest thing ever. By now, it's instinct, and it's hard not to just give in to it.

Seriously. My longest "relationship" ever was only a year and a half. And that was only because about half of it was spent with him far enough away to be out of my hair most of the time. I think the longest time I ever spent with someone within shooting distance was about 8 months or so. I get antsy. My feet start itching. I don't understand it. But I can't help it.

So over the last four or five years or so, I've gone for the dysfunctional in order to avoid any sort of mess. Well, at least any sort of mess on my side, anyway. Star of my own one-woman soap opera, I always say.

I sort of have this habit of having everything I touch turn to shit. The exact opposite of the Midas touch. No matter how well something's going, if you get me involved, it's probably going to go straight to hell, with or without the handbasket.

I sort of have this compulsion to protect people from me. I've (accidentally) hurt enough people to last a lifetime, and I have no desire to do it again. Of course, if you warn people, it's not like they take you seriously. So I just sort of try to stay a safe distance away and cut ties when it starts getting to be too much.

The desire to do so right now is overwhelming. I'd rather slit my own throat than hurt Master or Mistress.

The thing is, I know that leaving will hurt them, too. In the past, I've been able to justify that by telling myself it'd hurt the other person less if I went ahead and did the noble thing and walked away than to stay and ride it 'til its inevitable and far messier end.

The very first day I met J., we were talking about music, country music to be specific. Of course, like every good redneck, I love country music. We started talking about Kenny Chesney, and she brought up his song, "Better as a Memory." All I could think was how ironic that was because I'd always thought that song may as well have been about me, only with the need to make the male pronouns females and vice-versa.

My biggest fear is that no matter what I'll do, I'll hurt B. and J. It's kind of what I do to people, even though I don't mean to.

Meh

2009-03-20T21:37:00.001-05:00

This isn't going to be much of a blog, either. I'm kind of down. I miss B. and J. a lot. And unless I suddenly get a rash of calls in the next hour and a half, I'm not going to have the money to come see them for a couple of weeks.

Very.
Unhappy.
Slave.
Girl.

Whatever, I'm going to troll my ass off now. Maybe some idiot will call and spend a lot of money on me, and the point will be moot. At least, I hope so.

Long Day

2009-03-19T21:40:00.003-05:00

It is 9:40 pm, and I am just now getting a chance to sit down and work on this blog. (Sorry, J., your story will have to wait another day.) I'm so sorry. :(

I had an hour-long call, followed almost immediately by a 30-min call. J. will, however, be pleased to hear what I did after those calls. I made myself a new dessert, AND I seriously (not half-assed) cooked tonight. I was for real craving the redneck food for some reason.

I doubt this blog will be very long. My back is killing me, so when I finish my food, I'm going to go soak in the bathtub for awhile. Then, I'll stay logged in all night working. If I can make probably $200 more between now and midnight tomorrow, I can pay my rent and my credit card bill out of the same check for once. *Happy dance*

Ok, enough rambling. I just wanted to say J.'s blog last night made me really, really happy. I mean, I understand her concerns, and I admit to having some of the same. I'll probably post more about this when my back isn't hurting so badly that I can't sit up anymore, LOL. But what made me REALLY happy was knowing how she feels about me.

I'm special to Mattress! I'm special to Mattress!

Ok, I'm over it. Well, no, not really. I'm secretly doing the super-happy dance inside, but I'm trying to appear at least a little aloof and mysterious and stuff.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to have a lovely slice of cherry cream cheese pie and then go hang out in my bathtub for a bit with my glass of lemonade with orange slices (sounds gross, but it's fabulous). I'm sorry this wasn't longer, but I got overwhelmed with doing crap today, like cleaning my kitchen. I will do my best to have J.'s story done soon. :)

An Idea :)

2009-03-16T15:09:00.004-05:00

Soooo...this is for J. Go take a look at my MySpace blog. ;)

Anyway, I feel much better today. I am, however, considering "running away," just so I can be abducted from my apartment later. :D I know, bad slave girl.

I was going to go home today, but it took, oh, practically nothing to convince me to stay until tomorrow. I'm easy. In more ways than one. ;)

I had a random thought last night after I went to bed. In two or three weeks, after I get my credit card bill, next month's rent, and taxes paid (which may take awhile because I STILL haven't gotten that one stupid 1099, though I did email her about it again today), I think I'm going to have a *certain* boy and a *certain* girl come over one Friday afternoon/evening/night/whatever when none of us have anything better to do.

Then, I can take them to eat at the Best. Chinese. Restaurant. Ever. (Ok, maybe not the best ever, but it actually IS on the Top 100 Chinese Restaurants in the US list in the Asian fusion category. Yum.) Then, maybe a movie, and then, maybe they can meet my friend K. (who apparently refuses to leave J'ville for anything nowadays *growl*). And possibly play! :D Well, assuming K.'s idiot husband isn't being, well, an idiot.

*Giggle* I just realized I'm making plans to take my Master and Mistress on a date. I can't decide if that's cute or weird. :p

We were all too tired to play last night. I definitely want to play tonight! But, God, my whole body aches. Not just my tender places, either. My muscles are sooo sore.

Ok, I have to go work now. This blog gives me way too much procrastination time.

I Might Be Over My Drama Now

2009-03-15T16:44:00.005-05:00

I almost posted just a single line, but then I decided it probably wouldn't make a whole lot of sense unless I explained it. So, yay, another long slave-girl blog. I'm sure everyone is just thrilled. :p

I got really, really overwhelmed last night. Way overwhelmed. I realized just how much I need J. and B. to be happy, and that scared me to death. After they went to sleep last night, I lay in bed, texting back and forth with my ex. He's a dumbass sometimes, but when he pulls his head out of his ass, he gives really good advice.

Commitment-phobe that I am, I was within a hair's breadth of packing all my stuff while they slept, leaving a note or email that said, "I'm so sorry," and disappearing into the night. But he wouldn't let me. He kept sending me messages and arguing with me back and forth until I was too exhausted to do anything other than fall asleep. I know I say mean things about him sometimes, and he can be a raging asshole, too, but last night, he said, "You know, I know if I let you leave there, I could have you back. But you need them, and they need you, and I'm not fucking letting you walk away."

Then, this morning after J. went to work, B. forced me to talk. (I hate how he can read me sometimes.) I feel a lot better now. I think I'm over my drama. I may still be afraid at times, but I don't think I'll ever seriously contemplate leaving again. I really do need them both too much.

It's just weird how quickly it's all happened and how intense it is. I never expected this. And this needy, clingy feeling I get sometimes is so not me at all.

I'm not typical slave material, by any stretch of the imagination. Which is why a man who thinks farts are one of the funniest things on the planet and a woman who calls herself "Mattress" half the time are perfect for me. I don't have much going for me, either. I think car horns are hilarious for some reason, and I want one of my hypothetical collars to have a "Mattress's Laundry Bitch" tag on it. C'est la vie.

I didn't sleep well last night at all. So I think I'm going to go put the rest of dishes in the dishwasher for Mattre--err, Mistress--and go take a quick nap before she comes home. I doubt either of them want me falling asleep while I'm trying to eat.

But, anyway, for the single line (or maybe two) I was thinking about posting at the beginning of this blog, I think I'll say it now. I don't say it out loud for fear of freaking out Mattre...Mistress, but I need to say it somewhere.

I love Master and Mistress. That is all.

Edited to add: I think I got the comments on this thing fixed, so J. can leave me comments. She can also feel free to post another one of her blogs, too. *Ahem* ;) And she and B. both need to sign into their accounts and add me as a friend already. *Double ahem*

Upon Further Reflection

2009-03-14T14:59:00.005-05:00

I was restless and couldn't sleep this morning after J. and B. left. So, like a little kid, I went to go sleep in their bed. Yes, I'm cheesy like that. But I was able to sleep a couple more hours, so it worked.

Now, I'm on the phone with tickle fetish guy. I've been fake laughing for right at an hour. My stomach and face are aching. I think I might die. Is it possible to die from fake giggling too long? I'm so gonna be late for dinner with my friend. I haven't even showered yet. Stupid bastard.

OMFG. He extended again. Can I please go shoot myself now?

Ok, it's done. Seventy freaking minutes total. I guess I shouldn't complain because it's the only call I've had today, but I'm exhausted.

And since it's 4:47, and I'm supposed to meet her at 5:00, I'm going to have to save this and finish when I get back. *Sigh*

* * * *

And, ok, I'm back. Finally. One more screaming young'un, and I might've hurt someone.

Anyway, while I was trying to get back to sleep this morning, I was thinking about what J. said yesterday to me. I suck at recalling exact wording, but it was something like "I think you feel the same way about the c-word that I feel about the l-word."

She's right.

When I was out with my friend earlier, we went to Tarzhay after we ate. We kind of wandered around looking at things, killing time more than anything. Her husband was looking for a pair of sleep pants, so we were kind of just standing there idly in the men's clothes. I saw her eyes light on something, and I raised an eyebrow and asked what she'd found. She reached over and presented me with a pair of men's boxer shorts. "Here," she said, "you need these!" I was confused for a second before I read the sentence printed on them.

"I have commitment issues."

Goddammit. These people know me entirely too well. And I haven't seen this particular friend in months, but she knows me well enough to know I haven't changed in that amount of time. *Sigh*

Seriously. Love me, I don't care. Love is, 99.999999% of the time, a fleeting thing. People can love me, and I console myself by thinking, "Oh, well, they'll get over it eventually." But try to make me think farther ahead than plans for next weekend? Nope. I don't do that. Ever. I'm 25 years old and have turned down not one but two engagement rings already. Yes. Seriously.

At the risk of sounding like an asshole--but this is my blog, and I'll sound like an asshole if I want to--, I think that was part of the attraction to B. for a long time. I could have some of the things I needed some of the time, but because he had J., I could keep a safe distance from it the rest of the time.

But it's here now and intense and the problem is, it's normally something I would run from. This time, I don't want to run, but the old instinct is still there.

Blech. I swear, I don't normally have all this inner drama. I know that's what y'all are thinking, though. Once I work through all my initial issues, I'll probably never have any more for the rest of my life.

In my blog the other day, I said I wouldn't have time to devote to other relationships if I had what I wanted with B. and J. Upon further reflection, I realize that's not exactly true. I can make time for things that I want to be priorities. I always have. The real thing is, I don't really want anyone else but them (aside from someone to tie up and torment occasionally, but that doesn't count, in my opinion). And that is a WEIRD feeling for me.

Is that a bad thing? Is it fair of me to want these things from them? Am I just a dork for worrying about it at all?

Thoughts And Concerns

2009-03-12T16:19:00.002-05:00

Why is it that every time I come to see certain people, it gets better each time? *Grins* Do they realize they're eventually going to build themselves up so much that they won't be able to surpass themselves anymore? ;)

I am incredibly happy. I say that over and over, but I like saying it. :D

But you know me. I think. Probably too much.

J. said something the other day about an official collaring. While the attention whore side of me liked the idea, my inner Ms. Commitment Issues started screaming. I wasn't really sure WHY, either. I mean, it's not that I'm not happy. I am. (Just in case no one noticed.)

So, of course, I had to think about it. And this is what I came up with.

I have never exactly been able to do the monogamy thing. I've never really even been able to do the two or three partners thing. I'm constantly getting bored, moving on to someone else, and just generally being unsatisfied.

And, to devote the kind of time I'd like to devote to Master and Mistress means I'm not going to have the time for doing the "I'm-bored-lemme-go-find-someone-else-this-sucks-I'm-bored-again" thing. Which means I have to break the cycle.

I know that playing with other people is not off the table at all. That's not what I'm worried about. I know I can do that basically whenever I want. I think it's more a matter of being afraid that the lack of multiple relationships (as opposed to people to play with) is not going to satisfy all my needs. It's not that B. and J. aren't making me happy. It's that I'm really, really complicated.

I know they're not stopping me from anything. It's more that in order for me to do what I want to do for them that I won't have the time to pursue the other options that I'm prone to pursuing. Yay for conflicting desires.

I don't think I'm making any sense again.

It's like...I'm a slave who needs a Master and a Mistress. A pet who needs owners. A little girl who needs...oh, God, I don't have anything good to go with this one. A chick who needs the people she plays with to be good friends and confidantes. And, believe it or not, a woman who sometimes needs love and the occasional romantic gesture. (Just because it hardly ever happens doesn't mean it NEVER happens.)

I hate the idea of expecting them to fulfill all those needs. It's much easier to compartmentalize.

Meh.

But I want them to do it. On the other hand, I'm afraid, too. Silly slave girl. *Rolls eyes*

*Whines* Can we fix this stupid problem in my head now please? Because that's all it is. Something stupid I've come up with in my head because I brood too much.

I still want the collar, though. Partly because my other one stains my neck. Partly because I want one I can wear all the time, in public and when I'm not with them. But mostly because I love the way it feels when they make me feel like they really, really want me. :)

Slave Girl Has Cookies!

2009-03-11T16:42:00.002-05:00

OMG, the cookies are soooooo cute! I'm just waiting for them to cool, so I can ice them now. I bought a new kind of decorator icing that I've never tried before. I hope they turn out ok.

Then, I'm going to shower, get my stuff together, and head over to see my most favoritest people in the whole world! Yay!

So forgive me if this is short, but I'd rather hurry up and get ready, so I can go see Master and Mistress than sit here and write. :)

Attraction

2009-03-11T01:55:00.002-05:00

J. had a special request for the blog today. So since I'm letting the teacake dough chill in the fridge before I roll it out and cut it out with my AWESOME NEW EASTER COOKIE CUTTERS, I thought I'd give this topic a whirl. (And, yes, I might be a *little* too excited about the cookie cutters.)

Soooo...attraction.

Sexual or otherwise, I am always attracted to people with strong personalities. Like attracts like, in that case. I kind of put on a dull, bland face to people most of the time, so they'll leave me the fuck alone, but I'm actually really interesting and deep when someone actually bothers to take the time to get to know me. The people I find most interesting are the ones who can actually TALK about things. And the ones who are thinkers.

As far as sexual attraction goes, it's charisma, all the way. In my life, I have been crazy attracted to just three men. Like, "I will chase you to the ends of the Earth because the chemistry between us makes me want to do insane things" attracted. Only three.

I guess you could say they all superficially resembled one another. Tall, dark hair, large build, light eyes, strong facial features, long legs, and this air of...I don't want to say "danger" because that's kind of cliched, but I don't have a good word for it. They're all relatively mellow under normal circumstances, but there's this edge underneath that says, "You do not want to fuck with me." I guess I get intrigued by that. Then, of course, they're all brilliant with similar senses of humor.

Interestingly enough, my father has all these characteristics, too. Don't get me wrong. I don't have an Electra complex, no latent sexual Daddy feelings. Not my thing, I'm afraid. But I will say that I was very lucky to have a wonderful father, which is something lots of girls, particularly submissive ones, can't really say. I guess I've spent my whole life looking for someone as awesome as my Daddy. They're few and far between.

Of these three men to whom I was wildly attracted from the very start, I managed to fall in love with two of them. (The third one and I sort of had issues.)

As far as women go, it's much different. I don't have a particular "look" I go for. Well, I don't consciously do it with men, either, but it tends to shake out that way. But I have male brain in a lot of ways and can relate to men a lot better than I can relate to women. I've almost always had more male friends than female ones.

I do not trust women. Mommy issues? Probably, but I don't think it's that relevant.

Most of the women I'm attracted to beyond "oh, she's hot, I'd do her" are also scarily brilliant, just like the men I'm attracted to. They also usually have boy brain like I do. Not always, but usually. I can relate to them better. (And there is not a single one of my female friends I wouldn't tie up and do evil, evil things to, given half a chance.) But they also tend to be more feminine than I am. In that way, I'm attracted to my opposite. I'm the most low-maintenance, failure-as-a-woman chick ever.

I've always been more comfortable riding horses or playing softball or going mud-riding or drag racing than I have been being dressed up and paraded around and doing other "girly" things. See? I don't even know what girly-girls DO, so I can't use it as an example.

And I have gone way, way off-track from where I meant to go. I wish I could blame the late hour or the fact that I'm tired and hungry, but, honestly, even under the best of circumstances, my mind wanders.

To attempt to steer this train back on its tracks, I also have to say that attraction that goes beyond the initial flash of "he/she's hot" has a weird spiritual component.

Beyond sex, the things that draw me to people and make me want to continue to be around them is very esoteric. People exhibit an...air, I guess, about them. I hesitate to say "aura" because that makes me sound all creepy and New-Agey, which I so am not. The people I most want to spend time around are the ones with a calm air. I have friends whom I love dearly, but just can't spend more than a few hours at a time with them because their air is so very chaotic that it exhausts me to be in the same room with them. (Ask me about Susan one day.)

Empathy. I have it. In spades. And it drives me to distraction.

There are certain people in the world, even if we haven't talked or been near each other lately, I can still tell when they're happy or unhappy. The connection is so deep that I can feel the same things they feel even if I don't know WHY. But these same people are the ones I long to be close to because just being near them puts me at peace. If I can sit quietly in a room with someone and not feel like I have to constantly entertain him/her like a good little Southern country hostess, then that person is the kind of person who soothes my soul.

Even when I'm happy, I'm a brooding, introverted kind of girl. My inner turmoil rarely stops altogether, and when it does, I stand up and take notice. That's not to say I'm all depressed and like to wallow in self-pity because I'm not and I don't. I think I'm a pretty happy person, generally. But the thinker inside hardly ever stops.

Oh, geez. I'm doing it again. Getting off-track, that is. Might as well consider this train of thought officially derailed.

Anyway, the kind of magnetism I feel toward very, very few people (and J. and B. are certainly included in the short list) is quite ethereal. Every now and then, I'll meet someone and feel as if I've known that person my entire life. I have all kinds of crackpot theories about why this is, but I'll not bore everyone with my odd beliefs. But I have a hard time believing that there's not a reason I meet these rare people who quiet the rage inside my soul. And that I've probably met them many, many times before.

Ugh. I just showed how weird I am. And I'm suddenly exhausted and probably didn't give J. what she wanted at all here. But I'm really, really tired for some reason, so I think I'll wait and cut the cookies out tomorrow before I go to Master and Mistress's house.

I can't wait for that! :) The cookies AND the visit, LOL!

Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week

2009-03-09T19:03:00.003-05:00

All my fantasies tend to come and go in cycles, but some of the cycles are longer than others. I'm firmly in little-girl mode right this second. Who knows who long it'll last? I've basically been fantasizing about this one for the past week or so.

The little girl is young, of course, maybe seven or eight. She shows up at her Master and Mistress's house dressed in a short skirt, a cute little top, flip-flops, and little cotton panties. Master and Mistress let her inside and tie or cuff her hands behind her back. She's led over to her pillow on the floor where she sits while her owners pet and kiss her.

After a little while of receiving attention from the two of them and kissing their feet and sucking on their fingers in return, one of them (probably Master because I'd squish Mistress) lays the little girl across his lap. Master pushes her skirt up over her hips, and Mistress pulls her panties down. Mistress notices that they're already damp, but she doesn't say anything.

Mistress goes to sit in front of the little girl to stroke her face and maybe even give her a kiss or two if she's a really good girl. Master spanks the little girl's upturned ass, not really hard or painfully, just enough to make her squirm in his lap. At the point where she's practically humping his leg, he slides his fingers between her thighs and finds her soaking wet.

He shows Mistress how wet his fingers are, which embarrasses the little girl. Who feels this good from a spanking?

They tell the little girl not to be embarrassed, and Master goes back to teasing her with his fingers. After he coaxes a couple of orgasms out of her, they help her to her feet and lead her back to the bedroom, where they tie her tightly but comfortably, probably spread-eagled, across the bed.

They kiss and pet and snuggle and tease her until she's squirming and whimpering. They make her feel soooo good and gently manipulate and coerce her into doing exactly what they want. A little pain, a whole lot petting and pleasure. They introduce her to all the wonderful things she can feel with others.

Then, they teach her how to service them, first Mistress and then Master. She is an innocent little girl who doesn't really know what to do, so she requires instructions. But she is eager and a quick learner, so she's able to please them.

Finally, after she has pleased both Master and Mistress, they play with her some more to get her ready for what comes next. The little innocent virgin girl gets her tight little girl holes opened up and fucked hard. It doesn't really matter how, with toys, with Master's cock, with Mistress's strap-on, or any combination of those choices. It's just going to hurt very badly to start with.

Then, of course, the little girl cums until she nearly passes out, but that can pretty much go without saying. Her owners untie her and take her to bed. They give her love and attention and tell her what a good little girl she is until she falls asleep.

Sooo...yeah. That's pretty much it. There's lots of room for improvisation in there, and the exact things I fantasize about having done to me vary each time, but the basic foundation remains the same.

I feel like such a pervert for writing that out. ;)

But I'm little at the moment, and I'll probably stay that way for awhile. *Blush*

Exhausted

2009-03-08T21:33:00.004-05:00

This is going to be a short and very uninteresting post, but I'm exhausted.

It was a long weekend. Not really a bad one, but a long one. I don't think others realize just how much being around people nonstop takes out of me. It's so tiring. No matter how much I like/respect/love/care about people, they exhaust me eventually. I need to have my recuperation time, and I. DO. NOT. GET. IT. THERE.

Also, I'm sick and whiny.

I want attention. I'm wretchedly needy. I want to be held and kissed and petted until I fall asleep. I'm not going to get any of it.

So, alas, I go snuggle with my heating pad and perhaps a large stuffed animal.

On Masochism

2009-03-06T21:38:00.002-06:00

So since my last two posts have upset J., I'm going to stick with safe territory today. ;)

I know that a lot of times, the things I write resemble essays, but this is how I think. Sorry about that. :( Blame my girly liberal arts brain.

Like I said in my post yesterday, when I drive, I think. I can't help it; my mind wanders. And to entertain me, it usually wanders to something kind of philosophical. I can think on that longer than I can think on, like, the recipe for the world's greatest German chocolate cake or whatever. (Yes, I do make the world's greatest German chocolate cake, but that's another post for another day.)

I had a longer drive today, thus more time to think. And, God knows, since I've driven the roads between Jacksonville and New Site enough that I could do it in my sleep, so I don't exactly need a lot of brain power to pay attention to where I'm going. Add in the fact that there's very little cell phone reception between the two places, and I zone the fuck out.

Anyway, apparently, since I was thinking about the nature of submission yesterday, it logically followed that I had to think about the nature of masochism today. (See? It would be SO much easier if I could just think about cake.)

I have an easier time with the whole being a painslut thing. There literally is no other explanation than "I was born this way." I was beating myself with a hairbrush and playing bondage games before I even was old enough to start school. There was no way I was connecting that with sex. I just thought it was fun to tie my hands together with shoestrings or jump rope, and I figured out pretty quickly that whacking myself with things made me feel happy.

I started connecting it with masturbation when I was maybe 7 or 8. By the time I was 10, I had pretty elaborate self-torture rituals. Well, elaborate for someone still in grade school.

Health psychology taught me a lot about how brain chemistry works. (Yes, I'm veering off into psych major territory again. Bear with me.) That basically answered all my technical questions about my predispositions.

Basically, it's all tied to the amount of dopamine in one's brain. Dopamine is the "OMG, I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY, WHEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!" neurotransmitter. It's powerful stuff. Lab rats will actually starve themselves to death for their hit of dopamine. They'll stop eating just to sit there and hit their little lever that gives them their fix. It's why heroin and narcotic pain meds are so addictive. They bond with dopamine and make the user euphoric. Endorphins are just "natural" opiates, which also bond with dopamine and do similar things.

Obviously, it varies from person to person. Some people, particularly those with naturally low dopamine levels, react heavily to things that work on dopamine receptors. I am one of those people. When I get migraines and have to take narcotics to get rid of it, I get sooo loopy. I've actually lain on my bed staring up at the ceiling crooning, "Ooh...codeine" for hours. They don't affect me like they affect normal people, LOL.

When I hurt myself, my super-endorphins kick in. I don't actually feel the pain until hours later. I fell off one of my horses once and broke my left hand, right below the pinkie, and didn't actually feel pain until I'd gotten back on the horse, ridden him, put up the horses, fed them, driven to Alex City to the emergency room, gotten x-rays and a cast, gone home, showered, and gone to bed. That was maybe 6 hours later. The only way I knew it was broken before I got the x-rays at the ER was that I couldn't move the damn thing.

I have tons of stories like that. The kicker, though, was when I found out that people with social anxiety disorder like me have lower levels of dopamine than people who don't have it. So, basically, I'm a sensation-chaser because my brain doesn't produce enough dopamine on its own. I do things besides be a painslut to get the feeling, too. (None of which are illegal or particularly dangerous. Don't worry, LOL.)

It doesn't even necessarily have to be hardcore pain, either. The biggest endorphin dump ever for me is needles. When I feel really, really shitty, I stick needles in my boobs. (I like them in other places, too, but boobs are the most convenient when you're doing it to yourself.) I can barely feel it, but my body reacts to those tiny puncture wounds the same way it would if I were stabbed multiple times, with an endorphin flood. After about 15 minutes, I'm so woozy and happy, I can barely stand up. I want with all my being to try acupuncture one day and see if it has the same effect.

So that was a long and roundabout way of getting to where I want to go here.

The moral of the story is, yes, I'm a sensation-seeker because of my brain chemistry. Yes, I've always been this way. But...and, of course, there's a but....(And an overuse of ellipses.)

When I play with Master and Mistress, the feeling I get is way more "I'm high on neurotransmitters, yayayayayay!" My masochism can be satisfied by anyone who's halfway skilled at making painsluts happy.

But there is no way that the soul-deep happiness I feel is a neat trick of brain chemistry. The peace I feel after I've been bound, beaten, and tortured by them is not the same as the "WHEEEE!!!!!" feeling I get after some random guy or girl plays with me.

At the risk of sounding all Zen Buddhist here, I have found what feeds my soul, achieved enlightenment, and attained what I'd say is the ultimate peace.

Even if I do have cognitive dissonance sometimes, I know, ultimately, that this IS what I need. My drive to analyze and understand everything might make it a little harder sometimes, but there's no doubt in my mind when I look into my Master's and Mistress's eyes and see the way they look at me and feel how much peace that brings inside me. I will be devoted to them forever.

Well, if they can put up with me that long, that is. ;)

Once More, With Feeling

2009-03-05T22:06:00.002-06:00

Ugh. I had this long post written out and almost finished it, and my 'Net crashed while I was trying to preview and post it, and somehow it disappeared into the black hole of cyberspace with no trace of a saved draft. I have no clue how that happened.

Now, I'm really sleepy and less than motivated (and dreading going to my parents' this weekend), so I make no promises about the coherence of this post.

I always think a lot when I drive. Sometimes, being alone with my thoughts is nice, and sometimes, it isn't, which is why I like to drive sometimes, and other times I don't. I thought a lot today, and it wasn't really unpleasant. Just a little confusing.

I am the uber-INFP. I think way too much.

I have cognitive dissonance sometimes. (I am also the uber-psych nerd. I've already referenced two social psych things in the last few sentences.) I know that what I have with Master and Mistress makes me very happy. Master himself said today that he'd never seen me this happy.

That would be because I've never been this happy before.

But, yeah...cognitive dissonance. I know this is what I want and what I need, but sometimes I struggle with my thoughts, anyway. I wonder sometimes what made me this way. If I hadn't grown up a quiet, overly sensitive child whose IQ was at least 50 points higher than everyone else in her entire family's, thus never having anyone to relate to for years amongst the boisterous rednecks that come from where I do, would I have turned out differently? Or am I one of those people who was just born to be submissive and would've been this way no matter what the forces around me did?

To some people, it doesn't matter. Because of the way my mind works, it matters to me.

Let's be honest here. In a lot of ways, the submissive, pleasing way of relating to people is a fairly simplistic and child-like method. Did the "handling relationships" part of my brain never quite progress past the abilities of my inner seven-year-old, or what? I mean, "pet me, tell me what to do, torture me, and pet me some more, and I'll be devoted to you and love you forever" isn't really a complex way of relating to people. Or maybe I just don't have the ability to relate to people on an adult level.

Or, hell, maybe I just suck so much at being me--whatever that is--that people can only handle dealing with me with those particular parameters in place. Like, they pity me and give me attention because I appear to be so starved for it. Or something.

God, this made so much more sense the first time I wrote it out. Now, I feel like I have all this random, disjointed thoughts out there that aren't strung together well enough to make them logically follow one another.

I'll do better tomorrow.

Happy Tears

2009-03-04T19:32:00.002-06:00

Yes, I named this blog "Happy Tears" because someone who is currently sitting at the dining room table insisted. But I'm making it about Mistress because I want it to be about Mistress.

She is, in a lot of ways, the kind of person I've always wished I could be--strong, outgoing, and very likeable to pretty much everyone. I'm none of these things, not really. It also hasn't taken me very long to figure out that she is beautiful inside and out (which sounds like a cheesy platitude, but in this case, it's not). I sincerely doubt there is anyone else in this world who'd have given me the chance that she has.

One of my talents is the ability to read people very well. I guess one of the good things about being the kind of person who's always sat back and watched what was going on rather than participating is that you learn to see things about people that other people don't necessarily see. I can see what kind of person she is, and she is the kind of person that I want to serve.

She understands that the slave inside me is really just a scared little girl who needs someone(s) to devote her whole life to. I know that she might hurt me (a lot), but she'll never harm me.

I want desperately to please her. I don't think I can even put it into words. If I could make her half as happy as she makes me, I'd think I'd accomplished something. I can't believe she wants to keep me. I'll keep praying she doesn't come to her senses later.

The other reason for the blog title, besides the Masterly-type person who keeps distracting me, is that I *did* cry happy tears last night. And the night before. It's not something I do often. But I'm so blissfully happy just being here and being theirs that it keeps happening.

Up until this point in my life, I've sort of just existed. I kind of half-assed skated my way through everything, not really caring one way or the other and doing various stupid shit because I didn't care enough not to, and I didn't feel that anyone else cared one way or the other what I did.

It's not that way anymore. Master and Mistress care about me. I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt. (And I'm pathetically tearing up just as I type this.) I'm full of cliches tonight, but I sort of feel like I'm alive for the very first time in my life. I guess that's what happens when you find a reason and a purpose.

And then when Mistress kissed me last night, for the very first time...I thought I might explode with happiness. I hope that happens again often. :)

As always, I manage to veer off into the realm of creepy stalker in my blogs, but I figure the both of them might as well know what I am. I hope the things I say come off as devotion and honesty and not neediness and clinginess. But this has been on my mind since last night.

After Mistress fell asleep, I fell asleep beside her for a little while. Then, I woke up and wandered in to tell Master I was headed to bed. He had me come sit in the floor at his feet for a little while. We talked a bit, and he asked me if I'd fallen in love with Mistress. I couldn't answer. The rational part of my brain was screaming, "This is only the second time you've ever met her!" and other equally unhelpful things.

But you know what? I've been thinking. He's right. (Damn him, he's good at that.)

I've always loved Master. And now I love Mistress, too. It's not something I can say easily, but it's true. All I want, for the rest of my life, is to love and be devoted to my owners and have them love and cherish me in return.

I'd say everything else is just the icing on the cake, but the icing is my favorite part. So maybe everything else is just the cake, which is just a vehicle for transporting the sweet, yummy stuff I love so very much.

I Am The Luckiest Person Ever

2009-03-02T10:43:00.000-06:00

So I dragged myself out of bed about an hour ago and found an email from J. in my inbox. The amount of happy that created was definitely out of proportion to the fact that it was JUST AN EMAIL! Yeah, so...I have, like, the biggest crush ever on this girl. It's kind of pathetic, actually, LOL.

I'm now trying to motivate myself to work, and I'm not getting anywhere. So in the interest of procrastinating while still feeling like I'm doing something productive, I decided to create this blog and indulge both my exhibitionistic (I think I just created a word) need to blabber details about myself all over the Internet and J.'s compulsive need to know every single thought in my head. :D

Two birds, one stone.

(And, let's be honest here, B. is going to laugh at both of us, so it could actually be three birds....Dork.)

Ok, I'm getting off track here.

I have enough blogs to keep up with for work, but I thought this would be better than MySpace. It'll keep us all relatively anonymous, or, at least, we can hide behind our online personae. And because I know how to make blogs hit the top of Google for certain keywords in a matter of days, I also know how to make them not-so-search-engine-friendly, so everybody and his/her Mama ain't all up in my biznezz, ya know what I'm sayin'?

But, again, exhibitionistic whore that I am, I DID put a link to this blog in my sig line on my favorite kinky message board. So maybe I do want attention. Whatever.

And now I'm even more off track than I was to start with. Focus, girl, or you'll never finish here. Which may also be my motivation, given my disdain for work today....

Anyway, I'm going to be disgustingly gooey for a moment, since I don't have a cold-hearted bitch reputation to uphold in this particular blog. ;) First of all, when I saw that J. had updated the blog on her and B.'s CollarMe profile to say they'd found a slave...I was really happy.

God, I'm going to overuse the shit out of that word.

The idea of posting the pics of me on the amateur BDSM site was a good one, too. (Nope, I'm not going to say the name of it, lest I acquire stalkers who go hunt me down on there, but there's a good possibility I'm going to post non-face pics here in the future.) It was just enough to make me blush a little, which is a good thing. Plus, I thought it was kind of nice 'cause it meant they're proud enough of me to want to show me off. Which made me blush more. Same thing with the Craig's List idea.

Yes, I am quite possibly the only pervert in the universe who thinks that having humiliating pictures of herself on kinky websites and having a "slave for use" ad on CL are sweet gestures. Sue me.

I honestly was not expecting this. Given everything else that's happened, I truly thought J. and I would try to tolerate one another for B.'s sake and maybe learn to like each other eventually. But, hell, after dinner on Friday, I already liked her way more than I thought was possible. Then, after we played and I realized that she *got* it, too, it went way farther than that. :)

I have played with (and been chased by) tons of dominants, some of them very well-known all over the South and quite highly sought-after by submissives. I've had more than one glare at me and say, "Well, if 'X' wanted ME to be his sub, I certainly wouldn't turn him down," with all kinds of venom in her voice. I'm not saying that to make myself sound good or anything. I sincerely doubt it's so much that I'm so freaking awesome as it as that most other people are so freaking bad, LOL. I just look phenomenal in comparison to the losers.

But...I am a very much "in control" person. Even playing with those people, I still basically ran the show. That's just how I am. For the longest time, B. was the only person I could ever even imagine submitting to. That is, until I met J.

Friday, in playing with J., I was transported back to a time three years ago when I met B. I had the exact same feelings. Being touched by her was like having my breath ripped straight out of my chest and being whacked repeatedly over the head with my deeply, darkly, richly submissive desires. I just wanted to kneel at her feet and bask in her presence, but I decided that'd be too creepy and awkward for a first date. ;)

I never in my life thought I'd ever find ONE person who got it. To have two is way, way, way more luck than I thought I'd ever have. I must've done something really fabulous in a past life.

And, no, this is not me just kissing ass. I'm not very good at that, LOL. I have very frank thoughts that I usually censor heavily, so they don't hurt people's feelings. But when you ask my opinion, you get it. J. wants to know what's on my mind...so here it is, in all its glory. :D

See, going into it, I thought I would feel something like "This is Master, and this is his wife, and I have to appease her because I want to serve him." The reality of it, though is this: "This is Master, and this is Mistress, and I want to serve both of them."

Ok, that's enough. I've rambled too long as it is. I need to eat lunch and go to work (ZOMG, work blogs, NOOOOO!!!!!) and start writing the other story J. wants me to have finished for her tonight when she gets home. Oh, and worry that I've already revealed too much and made J. think I'm the clingiest, fastest-moving, most desperate person ever.

This is so not me.

The Slave-Pet Blog

That's What I Get For Thinking

Security And The Evolution Of A Relationship

Word Vomit

Pouty Little Girl

The Non-Invoking Of Plan Z

More Thoughts

New Year, New Blog

Collar

Hmm

Down The Rabbit-Hole

Wow

Deep Breath

So

....

The Giant Merry-Go-Round

Same Song, Different Verse

:D

Insert Interesting Blog Title Here

I'm So Tired

A Slave-Girl's Primer, Or Why Princess Bunny Will Never Be A "Real" Dominatrix

I'm Really Trying, I Swear

:)

*Sigh*

Trust

Being Submissive And The Bad Bondage Analogy

I Dedicate This Blog To My Vanity And Massive Ego

Another Blog

*Insert Sound Of Slave-Girl Pulling Her Hair Out Here*

My Rambling

I Miss Them

Thoughts

I've Been A Lazy Blogger Again

The Ever-Popular Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week

Freaky!

I Am Doing Marginally Better

Blech

I Feel Better...And A Request For Help

The Elephant In The Room

Today Has Been A Waste Of A Perfectly Good Thursday

Finally Got Around To Blogging

It's Official

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

Here We Go Again

Yay, New Blog!

More Thoughts

I Hate Everything

The "I Love Mattress" Blog

Self-Pity

Ok, I Admit It

Random Ramblings

Soooo...Why Am I Seven?

This Is A Fantastic Procrastination Tool

Meh

Long Day

An Idea :)

I Might Be Over My Drama Now

Upon Further Reflection

Thoughts And Concerns

Slave Girl Has Cookies!

Attraction

Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week

Exhausted

On Masochism

Once More, With Feeling

Happy Tears

I Am The Luckiest Person Ever

Sigh

Insert Sound Of Slave-Girl Pulling Her Hair Out Here