Wow, I just accidentally ran across my first-ever mention of my soon-to-be relationship with W, from my old LiveJournal blog, dated September 8, 2008:

Last but not least is WD, from FetLife also.  Had a very interesting first meet after lots of emails.  PK went with me to be my wingman, my backup, my go-to girl if he turned out to be a dud, but I really dug him, and (I think) he dug me too.  We have a real date, a vanilla date, Wednesday night after Y class.  I’m all kinds of nervous/excited!  It’s the first real D/s-possible situation I have been in, the first time i have felt like I wanted to go there again in a long time.  Hmm.  Could get interesting.

I love that: “Could get interesting.” What an understatement, eh?
And then, on September 26th, after our First Play Date:

Looking at the rope marks on my ankles…

Pressing the tender flesh at my wrist, where I repeatedly banged it, without even realizing I was doing it, against the post…

Feeling the soreness between my thighs…

Touching the swelling on my lower lip from catching it between my teeth and the ball gag.

 “Honor badges” I call them, the tender places, the bruises, the lovely rope marks. Seeing them, feeling them, makes me throb and ache all over again.




 Those are the real reasons I do what i do.  Why I “go there.”  Why I allow myself to be taken there, pushed there (led down rickety stairs blind there.)

Gratification:  It encompasses so much more than simple physical gratification.  It is the feeling of coming home when you sink into that space as the bindings grow tight; when you look in his eyes and see him in that space too, a space created by and for you and he alone. It is the feeling of…comfort almost…as the ropes draw tight, as your head is bound and your mouth forced open by the gag, as you are allowed to simply BE, with no other expectation except that you will accept.

Validation: This is me, and that’s okay; even more than okay, that “me”, that woman that will go there, do those things, wants those things done to her, that will behave like a slut, writhing on the floor whimpering in her need, beg him with her eyes to allow her to suck his cock…even more than okay, that woman is desired…wanted…and afterwards, still cared for, still someone who can be loved and respected, maybe even more so.

Release:  Pure physical release, yes.  Hot, hard sex, the orgasms that feel like they will shatter you, the one that comes when you think you are pissed for being made to feel afraid (how is it possible to come when you are pissed off?), when straining against the ropes around your throat have forced you over the edge instead of holding you back, instead of you having to reach for it, climb to it.  And the release of self, of will…okay, I am here, I am yours.  I trust you.  I may be a little afraid of you, but more I am afraid of myself…and even so, here I am.  Release me.

I had a date last night, a play date with WD, who I have been “vanilla” dating for a bit.  For a first time…it was amazing and wonderful.  And I really like him, too.

And then, on October 9th, this:

In other news, I have been having a wickedly good time with W, the Top I have been playing with.  He is…let me just say, Wow.  Yeah, he is wow.  He has one of the most creatively wicked minds I have ever encountered.  I’ll have to describe a session of ours in detail soon. 

And at the end of October, this:

I walk into his house, two new pairs of shoes in my hands.  Slut shoes, girlie shoes, 4 inch heel shoes.  Hot and sexy and I LOVE them.  I’d wear them to work everyday if I could get away with it, and sometimes I do anyway, just to make them stop and think and gawk and talk. lol Then I do what I always do, as soon as I am there: I take off my everyday shoes (even if they are heels too) and put on a pair of my fuck-me heels.  And in that moment, as the straps go across my feet or around my ankles, something happens to me, something deep and dark uncurls inside me, opening and enveloping me at the same time.  I take a deep breath and feel it quiver on the exhale.  I feel myself settling into that space, a quiet, receptive, accepting space, and I know I have arrived exactly where I need to be.

 It’s amazing how a simple thing can center you, can place you where you need/want or are supposed to be.  What started out as a discussion of shoes and clothes has morphed into cogitations on ritual and centering, on what it means and what it takes to settle myself into that space, into that mindset.  These are important considerations to me because I don’t live there.  I am not a submissive or slave, I don’t live the life, I am not in it 24/7.  For me BDSM is an interlude, a moment in time, a place outside of time & the rest of my life.  While informs much of my life, it is not the entirety of my life, and I like it that way.  So for me, the rituals that accompany scene-space are important. (There is a place here to talk about 24/7, and how I believe rituals are perhaps even more important for those folks that do “live it”, but I won’t go into that here.)  Ritual, for me, at this time and with my current playpartner, has to do with place and dress.  And they are very simple things: his place, high heels.  Nothing elaborate, no genuflecting or “yessir-ing” or any of the other rituals and trappings that sometimes accompany BDSM.  I walk into his space, I take of my everyday shoes, and I put on my heels.  And from that moment until I take those heels off, I am his in whatever way he wishes.

 At first I was a little puzzled by not having the protocol requirements I had been accustomed to before.  How to speak, what to say, how to sit and stand and present myself, what to wear, how to behave. Service, deference, obedience.  These have all been parts of previous D/s relationships.  And I have enjoyed those aspects of D/s as well.  So I was at first nonplussed…what did he expect from me?  What did he want, exactly?  How should I behave, when was he going to state the rules and start telling me what to do and say and eat and wear? 

Recently my friend Whiterabbit linked a journal entry about “How to Please Master” to an email discussion group.  Even as a bottom and not a slave or submissive, the steps in that entry rang with so much truth and wisdom I have been thinking on them since.  And it ties in to my thoughts when I first started playing with W, and my initial “What does he want?” kind of puzzlement.  As outlined by…damn I have forgotten her journal name, “Kitten in chains”?…wait, I found the website:, the steps to “pleasing Master,” according to her, are simple.  To paraphrase:

 Shut up


Do what he/she says

Really, what could be simpler?  If what you desire is, in fact, to please him/her, then that is all it takes.  Shut your mouth. Listen to what he wants.  Do what he wants.  Period.  If you have to analyze, think about it, talk to your friends about it, journal about it or whatever…do that on your own time.  Because if what you say you want to do is to “please him,” then DO IT.  Anything else, discussion, questioning, arguing, mulling it over, hashing it out, hemming and hawing over it…that is not “pleasing” him.  That is pleasing him when it pleases you.  Or if it pleases you.

Now, in my world, that when & if thing is okay.  That’s why I am a bottom and not a slave.  I don’t live my life to please another.  HOWEVER, that said…when I am bottoming to someone, when I have placed myself into that role…then, yes, I am there to please him/her.  Because that is part of my nature, part of my desire, part of why I do what I do—I get gratification from knowing I have pleased him, in whatever form that takes, whether it is service or sex or letting him hurt me.

So how does “shut up, listen, do” tie in with my questions regarding protocol with W?  It’s simple.  When I am there, when I am in that space with him, I want to please him.  And if what pleases him is not to have me do those things…then that is what I do…and, wonder of wonders, in pleasing him I get my own needs met as well.  Simple, huh?  Once I stopped questioning, and started listening, I saw that there ARE things that he wants/likes a certain way.  Certain rituals, if you will, that are coming to define our interactions.  Changing into heels, for instance. 

Such a simple thing, and yet…so complex.

And finally, my first time referring to the creation of this blog:

And, in kinky news, I am getting ready for a weekend of debauchery at Spanksgiving with W.  I hope to have many fun things to write about, although those writings may be reserved for a different internet-space.  W and I have been talking about me writing my sexy/kinky stuff as a blog on his website, since i am uncomfortable posting it here.  Don’t worry, though, I’ll post a link here.  🙂

Wow. This walk down memory lane (inspired solely by trying to find out the name of a hiking trail in St. John) has filled me with so many feelings: nostalgia and awe and melancholy and bittersweet joy and surprise and such a deep, deep tenderness for the woman I was, for this man that I found, by accident, and who has changed and become such a huge part of my life.
I am sitting here with tears in my eyes.  What an incredible blessing to have our story right here, forever, to re-read, to rediscover, over and over.
I wish I was with him, sharing this, right now.
Oh, and W? Looks like our “non-aversary” is September 26. 😉

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