I was going to write about submission and pain, but I'm grumpy because I just got denied my orgasm by not asking properly. Maybe tomorrow I'll be uncrabby enough to write.

---

I was going to take that down when I decided to write more, but I thought I'd leave it up as a testament to how temperamental I can be sometimes. Am I crabby? Yes. Do I want to come? Yes. Am I annoyed that I can't? Yes. Do I still want to write? Absolutely.

Unfortunately, because I am unable to orgasm, most of the things are my mind are sexual. I've been thinking about pain a lot lately, too. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a pain slut. Pain to me is absolutely not fun. But I've been getting into it a bit more recently. Ever since the fantasy about the belt... he spanked me a lot this past weekend and it hurt. But I liked it. Guess that makes it a bad punishment, huh?

Anyway. Off to bed.

The weekend was long, but a good long. We spent the weekend talking through things that had been bothering us both lately, developing a good relationship in the place of a mediocre one. We also both came to the realization that D/s is more than just a passing fancy for us. It's more than something we do every once in awhile. It's a part of our lives, for better or for worse, and we're beginning to treat it more like a blessing than a curse these days.

I spent a lot of the weekend over his knee. Old habits die hard, destructive ones die even harder... but I learned quickly. I'm picking up on his likes and dislikes; I'm coming to love his sadistic side. Being spanked hurt, but it also taught me the proper way to behave and the proper way to answer questions/address him. As much as the word "Sir" disagrees with me, it's essential to our D/s relationship. He is simply Sir, I am simply his girl. It's how the world works.

I'm becoming a good slave, the slave I always wanted to and knew I could be. Too many things stood between me and being able to acquiesce properly, those things are beginning to dissolve away. Things seem more natural now - the conversations, the protocol, our relationship ... I feel more like I'm fitting in with him (like we fit in the beginning) and less like we're a shadow of what we could be. I love it when things fall into place.

I'll leave you with this...

My hands gripped the headboard, I had been ordered not to remove them under threat of punishment. He took his time licking and nipping at my breasts, my nipples standing at attention to his dominant demands. I cried, I whimpered, I moaned, I got more and more wet. So wet, in fact, that he slid into me with ease. As he fucked me, my hands still holding tight to the headboard, I came over and over again. The pain, the attention to orders, the intimacy, the trust... this is what I've been missing. It's not just the sex. I could never have sex like this with anyone I didn't have a mental connection with. It's the implicit understanding behind the sex - love, respect, trust, devotion. It feels nice to have all of those things. It feels even better with him. And I haven't removed my collar yet.

I'm taking a break from all the writing and emotional mayhem this weekend, as usual. :) I'll be hanging out with my wonderful fiance, watching the new Romero zombie movie (and maybe Batman too), eating good food, possibly seeing some strippers and (my favorite thing of all) talking to him until the wee hours of the morning (naked and in bed, of course!).

My favorite way to spend a weekend, mellow and with him. See you all Sunday night or Monday!

I'm trying this new concept out today. Bear with me here, it's extremely foreign. I'm attempting to not be jealous and petty. That's right. Aine is shutting down her old defense mechanisms. I'm letting them rust and erode like the medieval weaponry they are. I no longer need them, they no longer serve me well. I'm letting them drop to the ground and I hope to never feel the need to pick them up again.

They are too familiar for me. These tools have done nothing but hurt the ones I love, drawn me into their web of bitterness and anger, since the day I started using them. I can imagine it was around when my parents got divorced, because that's the time I started feeling the most angry at the world and hurt at the evil life can sometimes bring. Instead of talking, instead of letting myself get rightfully emotional, I shut down. I got mad, I got revenge.

Even now, I still expect people to not want to be with me. Not today, not any more. I'm a good person. I deserve to not beat myself up anymore. The sad truth of it is, I hurt myself and put myself down far more than anyone could ever even imagine doing. I'm my own worst enemy. And it's time I put a stop to that.

So, to all the people I've hurt in the past with my jealous snide remarks and my bitter sharp tongue, I truly apologize. I hope you understand that, while those ways of behaving served their purpose in the past, I no longer need them. I was angry at myself, full to the brim with low self esteem, and could accept any fictitious blows to my self esteem (vacations became a direct insult to me, wanting to spend time with other people meant that you didn't love me anymore, etc.) about as much as I'd roll over and let someone literally stab me in the back. It had nothing to do with any of you, not really. It was my problem, and mine alone.

Again, I'm sorry. For all the pain I've caused because I was too uncomfortable in my own skin to realize that was truly the problem. I hope we can start over, start at the beginning, where we can talk things through. Argue rationally. I love you all. I'm glad you've stuck by me through the years (you know who you all are - my wonderful man, Eala, Kelly, Rich...). I swear, one of these days I'll be 100% sane. I hope you accept the 85% sane I've become.

Hope your days have all been great today, I'm heading out to work!

Once upon a time, there was a girl. This girl fancied herself a unique individual, but her determined ability to look beyond the truth and see her own personal fiction with the rose colored glasses of youth (she had, in fact, just turned twenty one a few months earlier) set her squarely in the middle of the dystopia surrounding most women her age. She had been married, albeit largely unhappily, for three years. She was raising her daughter, not yet two years of age, mostly alone. Her husband, a wonderful and caring spirit who unfortunately lacked the ability to communicate or take any sort of stress/criticism, was off on his second tour of duty (this time to Iraq) with the United States Army. The girl decided it was time to leave Kentucky, where she had been living for the past few years, and head back home to Illinois. She needed familiar faces, she needed some sort of stability in her life.

Once back, the girl's life began to look a bit brighter. She had old friends to commiserate with, new friends to make, life to live. She began conversing with a man online, someone whom she shared common interests and felt oddly comfortable with. They talked fairly infrequently; the girl was busy having an online affair (although not an illicit one - her husband knew of and sanctioned this romance) with a wonderful woman. This woman seemed to have all the answers and none of them at the same time, which was why the girl was so infatuated with her. She adored this woman, although circumstances had been keeping them apart romatically since they day they met.

A few months later, when she finally met the man in person, it was very laid back. They chatted awhile, watched movies, had a bite to eat. When it came time for the man to leave, the girl felt drawn to hug him. She knew this would be inappropriate, however, and held herself back. She watched him leave, leather jacket jingling and twinkling in the moonlight, and knew that her life was going to change. He left to do his radio show and she sank back onto the couch with a good book, trying to take her mind off the strange pull inside her.

Unfortunately, a horrible event happened that changed the girl's life. A neighbor, someone her grandparents' knew and trusted, took advantage of the girl while she was over at his apartment. He slipped a drug into her drink and raped her, over the course of a few hours. The girl limped home later - drugged, sore, bleeding, crying and unable to admit she had made one of the worst mistakes of her life. The girl lost it, having already been raped once before (at the age of fifteen), and knew she needed to escape for awhile. She decided to fly to Arizona with her daughter to visit the woman, her husband and their two children.

The girl was deliriously happy in Arizona. She had the woman, she had the love and affection that she had desperately been missing in her life. Although they had their arguments, the girl was extremely sad when it came time to leave. She felt at home with her little forged family, she felt loved and she felt accepted. During this trip, however, the girl was unfaithful to her husband for the first time. The girl felt ashamed at her lack of morality, and vowed to never let it happen again. Although she didn't have sex with the woman's husband, there was still enough contact to constitute adultery. The girl shook it off though. She was going back home with a fire in her heart, the events of the past just that. The past.

The girl had called the man a few times while she was in Arizona. She wasn't sure why, they hadn't really been that close as friends. The girl had a certain fondness in her heart for him though - he was smart, funny, fun to talk to. No one that she had meet since coming home had intrigued her as much as this man had. They started hanging out more in person. Some days the girl would go over to his tiny one bedroom apartment to watch wrestling, other times they would just go watch movies or get coffee. Sometimes they cuddled, innocently, victims of a lack of intimacy in their current lives.

One day, however, things began to change. The joking and good natured friendly ribbing they gave each other got a little more gratuitous, the teasing became much more sexual. The girl began to feel a small pitter pat in her heart when she was around him; she began to look forward to his late night phone calls, instant messages, emails. One day, there was a kiss. They were lying on his bed, talking. It had never gone to that space before, though the way the girl was beginning to feel about him meant that she should have known a bit better than to put herself in that situation. She wanted it, although she knew it was wrong. She needed to feel something, she wanted to feel like there was someone for her out there. The moment their lips touched, sweetly and chaste, tiny fingers crept up her spine and into her heart. She knew, then, that there would be no going back for her. She both feared for and looked forward to the future.

Things changed quickly for the girl. The man felt nothing for her, which made things incredibly awkward. The girl, however much she enjoyed the movies and the late night talks, began to feel lost and alone. Through all the intimacy, the late night makeout sessions... she hurt for what she had lost. She wanted the man, wanted to be with him. She never forgot that she was still married, and bits of her hurt for the end of that too. She felt dirty, she felt used. She felt like she was giving up everything in exchange for sexual favors, becoming the devil's harlot and getting nothing in return.

Shortly after that, they made love for the first time. The girl left immediately afterward, feeling used and angry. She drove around in her car, music blaring, cigarette pursed on her lips. He called to tell her he was thinking of her, but what that meant she could only guess. She was angry with herself, angry at him, angry at the world. She went home and cried herself to sleep that night, convinced that God (if he did indeed exist) was going to strike her down like the sinner she was. She loved him, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. She erased that feeling from her mind, tried to set him up with her friends to rub salt in the wound. Nothing worked, nothing could kill the pain that seeing him caused her.

Things seemed to turn up after that, though. She called him up a few weeks later, in the middle of the night, to tell him she loved him. She had never meant those words more. It hurt her heart to admit it, but it hurt her heart even more to deny it. She didn't know what that would mean, what (if anything) it would change, but she needed to get it out. It took him a few days to return the emotion, but he did. She was sitting on a washing machine in a dirty laundromat with him, waiting for his load of clothes to finish drying. He pulled her close and whispered it into her ear. The sound of that phrase echoes in her even now. The first I love you is a fantastic thing, a phrase that will always hold a certain magic.

And thus began the girl's illicit affair. She loved him in secrecy. Not many people knew about their relationship, but those that did knew that nothing could change her mind. She loved him. He loved her. It might have been a plotline out of West Side Story, but they were content with letting other people draw their own conclusions. They still are.

Life might not be perfect. Life might not even get close to being perfect. But she'll always have him. She'll always have the memory of the way that life does, sometimes, actually work out for the better. Life brought her this man, her prince, and this is something the girl will always be eternally grateful for. Their love isn't clandestine anymore, but she still feels for him just as strongly as she did cuddled against him on a picnic table during that first tornado warning. Safe, sound, a bit scared, but content.

These tears that she is shedding for the past, all they did to hurt each other, all the bitter resentment and pain, will be her last. She's officially moving on. She's forgiving herself and forgiving him, once and for all.

He'll always be the one she loved the most. And she can't wait to be his wife.

"Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon."
- Susan Ertz

Today was the first day of summer. As I was sitting outside Baskin Robbins eating ice cream with my daughter, it hit me. As we were watching brownish grey bunnies bound around in our backyard, it really hit me. This is summer. This is the time of the year to be a little less responsible, a little less hard on yourself, a little less... well, just a little less of everything.

So I took a long weekend off work next month. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but I have some ideas. Getting out of town seems to be one of the highlights. Just getting away from it all. Enjoying the heat, enjoying the humidity, enjoying the carefree nature of summer.

I've been too hard on myself for a long time now. I beat myself up with nearly everything. He's mentioned it to me a few times, in passing, about how I seem to need to be perfect with everything or risk freaking out. It's true, unfortunately. I'm not sure why it's true, but the fact remains. I'm a perfectionist. It drives me crazy to screw up, to not do everything just right. And I need to work on that.

On a completely related note, I'm working on drafting a contract between him and I. Something a little bit more formal. We're going to try this submission thing again from the beginning. I'm going to get a bit more literary about it - reading a few books and acknowledging that I don't know everything (even about how my own mind works sometimes). We're going to start from scratch. And I'm excited. :)

I call her "the monster." She's also been called the bitch, my inner psychotic. She's the angry teenager backed into a corner with her fists up, ready to battle. She's the pathway I've charted, the way that I know to behave.

She still comes out, that raging savage. Every once in awhile, I feel her tendrils begin to curl around my brain. They force my mouth to move, they force my mind to feel things in a different way than it should. I over-react, I get jealous, I lash out. It happens less and less these days but, when it does happen, it infuriates me even more than it used to.

Yes, folks, I get jealous. Frustratingly, infuriatingly jealous. Where I'm mostly excited and happy for him to go visit San Diego for the fourth of July weekend, there's the little bit of me that feels hurt and left out. We need to lead separate lives to exist, but I'll be here working and doing bullshit and that really irks me. How can we be together if I don't feel like we're equals? How can we exist as a couple if I'm constantly getting ticked off that he's getting to do a bunch of cool shit and I'm being left behind? That's not the case, he'll be doing dude-bro stuff like baseball and drinking beer with the guys, but my plans fell through and now I'm here. On my favorite holiday.

But this isn't a pity party. I don't feel bad for myself, I don't feel angry at him. I just feel annoyed that my response was jealousy and feeling insignificant. Part of me was hoping his doc wouldn't clear him for the flight, and that he'd be able to spend the fourth of July with me. And that's fucked up, and that's not ok with me. I'm taking some solace and consolation in the fact that I'm here, writing about my reaction and dissecting in, instead of letting it rule and not questioning why.

So, my fourth of July might be hanging out with my daughter alone. It's her first fourth of July with me where she's old enough to really be awed by the fireworks. I'll be at the lake, lying on my back on an old blanket next to my daughter, watching the fireworks and gasping along with everyone else. It's my favorite holiday, after all, I'm not going to let anything bring me down. Even myself. :)

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling all that I am capable of doing but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding."

- Anais Nin

I came last night, lying in my bed alone. I ejaculated warm, sticky fluid all over my hand, the sheets... it dripped down my ass for a good few minutes. As I lie in bed, the seriousness of what had just happened hit me. When I was masturbating, when I came, I wasn't thinking about having sex with anyone. I wasn't thinking about having a random woman going down on me, nor was I thinking about being gangbanged by three or four men. I came thinking about being beaten with a belt. Each strike, each lash - my pussy contracted over and over again with each stroke of the leather belt.

I've only been hit that way once, and I was very inebriated. It didn't feel good; it hurt like a son of a bitch. I don't really desire to be beaten, not really. But this brought up all sorts of confused feelings in me. I've been in and out of formal submission for a few years now, but nothing has really stuck. The only way that I can ever be a good submissive is to be trained properly but I'm worried that there just isn't enough time, that he doesn't desire that, that it will kill off all of my good qualities and make me subservient to everyone (even in mundane life). I definitely don't want that, but I also can't handle living in this middleland of questions and conditions.

A decision will have to be made soon, for my own benefit.

Ah, Saturdays. Lovely, deliriously happy Saturdays. Finally. And now it's already here and it's already gone. I must have blinked too quickly, my eyelids fluttering like hummingbirds.

Today was very noncommittal. My daughter and I ran some errands (got my copy of the new Harry Potter book reserved so that means we're on for the midnight party, Miss Thang!), played at the water park, made some delicious dinner. I got a bit sunburnt, my right arm is as red as the cherry at the bottom of my milkshake. I'm pondering making myself a drink, something to take the edge off the day. It's only nine at night, I have plenty of time to get mellow and get to bed. Think I'll do that now...

Much better. Just me, a martini glass, a new mix and my computer. What more could a girl ask for? I'm young, I'm pretty, I'm smart and I'm getting tipsy. Always a great combination.

Tonight seems different. Summer is only officially three days away, although it has been here in spirit for the past month. I'm hoping that the storms that seem to have passed us by in the past few months will come back with a vengeance during June and July. I love storms - the passion, the destruction, the power. They've always felt strangely like home to me, I would stand outside in the rain and dance all evening if allowed.

This summer will be one of changes, both personal and professional. I can feel it in my bones, like an old man with arthritis can feel the rain coming. I want so much, but I'm trying to relax and let life happen to me for once. No pushing, no pressure. Like my fortune cookie told me not too long ago "Stop searching - happiness is inside you." I want to be done with school, I want to get married, I want to move. But I can't force any of that and, if I did, I wouldn't get the results I wanted.

After this summer, nothing will be the same though. I plan on holding on to the coattails and enjoying the ride. You never know where life will take you.

Cheers.

My little vicodin puppy, always adoring and full of sweet sentiment. I love him every day of the year, but there is a certain place in my heart for him when he's under the influence of this certain pain killer. He once called me to tell me about the beauty of the clouds/trees and how a squirrel looked at him on a walk he took, and he just told me (referring to a mix that he's currently making me) that he made it because "it's sort of like being able to hug you even though you aren't here."

He's great at being sexually open, fantastic about telling me all the perverted and dirty thoughts in his head, but we're still not so great about the regular communication. Sure, we talk. We always did that - bullshitting about the news, movies, music, etc. But talking about feelings, man, that shit is tough.

It makes it tough for me as a submissive. A lot of it is sexual for me, I won't lie to you there. There is something about being tied to a bed, getting a spanking, having my hair pulled... it makes me wet and it gets me off. But I don't just need my body stimulated, I need my mind stimulated as well. It hurts my feelings when he is constantly talking about thinking of me fucking other people (which I don't even want to do), but he can't tell me how special I am to him as a person (as opposed to as a warm hole).

This is nothing new, I tend to break myself down to the sum of my parts on a regular basis. I once thought of myself as only a cunt, allowing pretty much anyone to have me if they wanted me. I've progressed beyond that now and, as much as I know he loves ME and wants to be with ME, there is a part of me still struck down by his constant catcalling and mental sexual promiscuity. As if I'm not quite as precious, not quite as worth it, if I'm not performing or open to other people performing on me.

Perhaps this is all my issue. It probably is, in fact, 99% my issue. I wasn't even sure if I was going to post any of this, since he is in recovery for surgery and this doesn't feel like I'm doing a good job supporting him at all. But I have to get it out. It's essential to let the demons loose so they don't just float around in my head, whispering nasty little things in my ears and poisoning my mind. So here you go.

Honestly, I'm tired as hell. I'm burnt out, worn down, burning the candle at both ends on a daily basis. I need a break desparately, but can't afford to. It's really quite horrible. Plus, my lower back is aching. I lifted something wrong at work today and I think I may have compressed my spine.

No entry today. I'm crabby, tired, lacking energy.

"Mawwiage... mawwiage is what bwings us togewwa today."

Wow, that's the second time I've quoted the Princess Bride in my journal. Sweet. :)

That survey really got me thinking about mawwiage. Ahem, marriage. As someone who identifies (when I'm forced to identify. I'm starting to see gender roles and stereotypes as a form of mind control) as bisexual, marriage really flips my bad triggers. The thought that I'm freely able to marry my boyfriend (fuck, we could do it at a drive through in Las Vegas with no notice!), but was completely unable to legally commit to any of my girlfriends makes me a little frustrated.

Does anyone actually agree with the ban on homosexual marriage? Is the love that a man and a man feel (or a woman and a woman) any different or less truthful than that of a man and a woman?

But that leads to another question... why do people really feel the need to get married in the first place? Is it soley for the legal/monetary benefit? Or is there really a switch that gets flipped after the act, committing two people even more deeply than they were before? In an age where divorce is likely to happen in over a quarter of marriages, why even bother?

These are all unanswerable questions. Anything I could say now would sound defensive. I try to be the least judgmental person in the world. With very few exceptions (anything involving non-consent and/or children), anything anyone does is absolutely none of my business. I want the government out of my bedroom, out of my body and away from my personal liberties. If I wanted to marry a chick topless while carrying a Springfield 1911 and chugging a pint of Guinness (not the safest idea in the world, mind you), I should be allowed to do it.

Do I want to get married? Yes. Why? Honestly, I don't fucking know. Maybe it's partly fear of losing him, insecurity. He's also said to me that he doesn't want to live together again if we're not married... but why? Would we be less likely to get divorced than to break up? Sure, it's a little more legally messy... but if we're doomed to failure, does it really matter if there's a ring and a paper or not?

I'm really playing devil's advocate here. I do want to marry him, I do want the piece of paper. I don't know if I'll change my last name (I went to all the trouble of changing it back the last time!), but I want to look into his eyes and pledge my love to him. I guess the drive to marriage is a built in thing in our culture, just like the drive to monogamy (which, I should point out, is wholly unnatural!). People generally want to have a spouse, kids, house with a white picket fence, dog, good job. It's in our DNA. Maybe I'm too introspective, maybe I question too much.

How many of you want to get married? Why?

Yes, I'm actually going to do a real post later this evening. :) Just thought you might want to know a little more about me.

LAYER ONE: The Basics

Name: Aine
Birthdate: 04 October 1981
Birthplace: Bloomington, Illinois
Grew up in: Bloomington, Illinois
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Born blonde, turned brunette, currently dyed red.
Righty or Lefty: Righty
Zodiac Sign: Libra

LAYER TWO: On The Inside

Your heritage: Mostly Irish with a little Swiss mixed in. Race traitors. ;)
Shoes you wore today: Red and black plaid vans designed by the one and only Mike Ness.
Your weaknesses: Beautiful women, his big brown eyes, greasy food, alcohol and soda.
Your fears: The dark. :) The only things I'm really afraid of are horribly boring and intangible.
Your perfect pizza: Gino's Pizza East - stuffed with spinach!
Your most overused phrase: "Sweet"
Last thoughts before sleep: "God, I really should have gone to bed sooner. I'm going to be tired as shit when I wake up tomorrow." Either that or a completely blank mind because I've just fucked myself stupid.
Your thoughts first waking up: "I wonder how many times I can hit the snooze button and get away with it."
What day is it? Wednesday, 15 June 2005
Your best feature: My eyes, my butt and my sparkling personality, in no particular order.
Your worst feature: I hate my stomach, having a baby wasn't the most kind to me.
Your bedtime: Usually around 11 or 12.
Your most missed memory: I don't miss any memories. I remember them all with equal fondness.

LAYER THREE: Your Pick

Coke or Pepsi: Neither. I've quit caffeine for good this time.
McDonald's or Burger King: Neither. I'm a vegetarian and I'm not a corporate whore.
Single or group dates: Don't need to worry about that anymore, but I would much prefer single dates.
Adidas or Nike: Converse or Puma. Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Raspberry Lipton Ice Tea, but I've had some awesome hot tea lately too.
Chocolate or Vanilla: Both, in the form of a side by side milkshake from Steak and Shake.
Cappuccino or coffee: Hot chocolate.

LAYER FOUR: Do You?

Cuss: Fuck yeah, baby. Like a sailor.
Sing: Often. :)
Take a shower everyday: Nope. Usually two or three times a week.
Have a crush(es): I do that fairly often, usually innocent ones. I have a major crush on this boy right now. He's cute and furry like a teddy bear, and is the most adorable boy I know.
Think you've been in love: I know I have. :)
Liked high school: Eh. It was alright. I liked the ability to be completely irresponsible and I loved my hot jailbait body. But best years of your life, highly unlikely.
Believe in yourself: I waver, but I mostly succeed.
Get motion sickness: Sometimes if I'm reading while riding in a car, but not usually.
Think you're attractive: Sometimes I am really confidant and other times I fake it.
Think you're a health freak: I'd say vegetarian verging on vegan and anti-caffeine counts.
Get along with your parents: My dad, yes. My mom, well, she's the fucking devil.
Like thunderstorms: Love them. Bring them on! I'll be outside, gawking up at the sky like I'm Chicken Little.
Play an instrument: Plenty of them. I play flute the best, but I can make sounds on the clarinet, piano, saxophone and trumpet.

LAYER FIVE: In the past month have you...

Drank alcohol: Yup. :)
Gone to the mall: Yu huh.
Eaten an entire box of Oreos: I haven't had an Oreo in years. No, I take that back, I had an oreo cookie shake at Dennys a few months back.
Eaten sushi: Yes. Yummy yum yum.
Gone skating: No. Been on stage: Um, I don't think so. Almost at the strip club, but I wasn't drunk enough. I'd love to strip one day though.
Been dumped: Nope. Well, sort of. I'm usually the horrible bitch. With him, it wasn't really mutual. My heart was broken, but it was for the better. I don't consider what happened to us as me being dumped, I consider it a mutual nuclear explosion.
Gone skinny dipping: Yes. ;)
Dyed your hair: I need to touch mine up, in fact.
Stolen anything: Yeah. I was a bad kid.

LAYER SIX: Ever...

Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: Um, yes. A lot.
Been called a tease: Hahaha. Only jokingly. I usually go all the way, baby.

LAYER SEVEN: Getting Older

Age you hope to be married: Well that just depends on you, doesn't it baby?
Describe your dream wedding: I don't have one. I just want something intimate. I want to be so wrapped up in him and the moment that the setting doesn't matter. I like to get dressed up, but I'd get married in jeans and a t-shirt if that's how the moment found us. On the beach, in Vegas, at the Justice of the Peace - it doesn't matter.
How do you want to die: Freezing to death. Or old age.
What do you want to be when you grow up: Veterinarian with my own practice. Or a pet store owner, that's really been interesting me lately (since I work at a mom and pop pet shop).
What country would you most like to visit: Ireland.
Number of CDs that I own: Um, mostly burned cds that he's given me. My ex took my entire HUGE CD collection.
Number of tattoos: None yet, but two quarter sleeves planned for this fall.
Number of times my name has appeared in a Newspaper/Magazine: A handful, all for GOOD reasons. Number of scars on my body: A few kitten scratches on my hand, a large gash shaped scar on my upper left leg from falling when I was younger.

The minute hand takes hours to move at work, yet the hours tick away like seconds when I'm home. It's the enigma of the working stiff, I suppose, stuck all day slaving away to pay her bills with barely enough time to read a chapter of her book before crashing at night (I'm currently reading Harry Potter and I don't want to hear any shit about it - I want to reread Order of the Phoenix before the Half Blood Prince comes out. Yes, I'm a dork and yes, I'm proud and unashamed).

I guess this is getting older. This is growing up, this is getting mature. I had been forced into such a substantial parental role at an early age (I basically raised my sister from the time I was twelve) that I really don't even know what it means to relax. I work all day, I compulsively clean, I read to my daughter, I shop for things I could never afford... but sitting and taking time for me (a bath, a shower, a good book, etc.) is a thing I find much harder to do.

I look into the mirror every day, surprised to find the girl staring back at me. I look older. I feel older. I'm starting to feel dead inside and it's starting to show. I've worked myself into such a coma of repetitive tasks that spontaneity is impossible. I need to shake things up. I need to dance for no reason. I need to stop loving like there's an end date and start loving like there's all the time in the world. So what if the world has other plans for me. Fuck the world. I'm in control; it's about time I start showing it.

I need a break, but one is unlikely to come soon. My daughter will be gone for a week at the end of June, I think, but time off is nearly impossible to come by. Time is such an elusive bitch that I'll have to jump on her back and choke her into submission.

I'll let you know how that goes. :)

This weekend was just what the doctor ordered. Almost literally, as his was surgery this morning (which went fantastically well - no more surgeries!). We tried to do a lot of fun things (which almost meant driving to Minneapolis for a Dillinger Four/Lucero show at the Triple Rock), eat a lot of great food (pizza, paneer masala, fettuccine alfredo) and have a lot of great sex (goddamn I love doggy style).

For me, the best time was spent at our local strip club. I forced him to join me (no shit, he didn't really want to go and actually ended up watching ESPN the majority of the time!), while I drooled over the beautiful women and did body shots off of them. There were a few smokingly hot strippers, a variety of wonderful pole tricks and an assload of hot ass. :) The body shot was amazing - she stood in between my legs (I was wearing a dress with no underwear which made it even more hot), spanked herself, grinded on me, groped me, gave me a shot from her tits (as she sucked on the other end) and rubbed my face in between them. It was very nice. :)

Overall though, I was reminded how lucky I am to have him. I can tell him to do things to me, or to do things differently, and he listens and doesn't feel insulted. It's rare that I come from oral sex, but he still tries and listens when I tell him what works/doesn't work for me. I couldn't ask for anything more.

I really don't have much of substance to say. It's been a long, tiring day that I spent mostly sitting in a hospital waiting room, so I'm ready for the warm paradise of sleep.

Him: do you work at all?
Aine: no. *cringe*
Him: bring some rope.
Aine: how much?
Him: hmmm.
Him: all of it.
Him: i'll probably use varying amounts but don't want to have to leave you tied up while i run to lowe's
Aine: Oh you don't want to, do you?
Him: be civil.
Him: otherwise how your ass felt the other days will be a warm tingling sensation compared to what you'll get.
Aine: yipe.
Him: do you understand?
Aine: yes.
Him: good girl.
Him: you should expect to be tied up, used, stretched out and filled with come this weekend.
Him: i may or may not be nice about it.
Him: your task is simply to obey.
Aine: May I interject?
Him: what is it?
Aine: my submissive desire is partly sex, but there's a whole other side that i don't want ignored this weekend if possible.
Him: such as?
Aine: The nonsexual side.
Him: and what do you have in mind?
Him: i don't want to tell you to do my laundry or dishes, for example.
Him: i don't think that's what you have in mind.
Aine: Eh.
Aine: LOL
Him: so what do you have in mind? give me some examples.
Him: telling you what to wear?
Him: ordering for you?
Aine: Things like that, yes.
Him: what else?
Aine: Things in that vein, mostly.
Him: all right. you'll have no say this weekend.
Him: i'll select where we eat. what you're having. how you dress.
Him: we'll solve this indecision problem a different way.
Aine: Mmm.. I like that.
Him: and if you argue with me, i'll see to it that you sleep on your stomach and eat breakfast the next morning standing up.
Him: do you understand?
Aine: yes.
Aine: what should i bring this weekend then? I have to pack tomorrow.
Him: skirts and blouses.
Him: i want you to look sexy.
Him: you won't need underwear.
Aine: alright.
Him: bring your boots.
Aine: which?
Him: well, since i can't see your closet, bring the long, stretchy skirt that is slit up the side.
Him: bring the chunky ones, not the ones with pink stitching.
Him: bring a couple of blouses.
Him: make sure you're clean shaven tomorrow.
Aine: ok.
Him: in other words, i want you to shave tomorrow before you come over.
Him: do you understand?
Aine: yes.
Him: do you have any questions about clothes?
Aine: no.
Him: bring the rope tomorrow.
Him: all of it.
Him: bring your cuffs and your work collar.
Him: bring the chains and the clamps.
Aine: if i can fit it, i will.
Him: bring your blindfold.
Aine: ok.
Him: do you have any questions?
Aine: not really.
Him: good girl.
Him: if you are properly obedient, you should enjoy this weekend.
Him: if not, your ass is going to hurt. a lot.
Him: are we clear?
Aine: yes.
Him: what a good girl you're being tonight.
Him: what prompted this?
Aine: nothing, really. been in control all week.
Him: this weekend, you'll have none.
Him: that's a nice balance, isn't it?
Aine: yes, definitely.
Him: i love you.
Him: i'm looking forward to this weekend.
Aine: i'll bet.
Him: you should be as well.
Aine: a little.
Him: you should be anticipating it
Aine: mildly.
Aine: * wink *
Him: i love you, girl.
Aine: i love you too.
Him: go to bed.

*It should be noted, for the record, that I have problems with addressing him formally. I'm not being coy or a bad submissive by not calling him Sir or Master. It's just not usually part of our play.*

"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."
- Jack London

As soon as I typed that quote, I lost my creativity. Ironic, isn't it? A true test of a writer's will. My eyebrows are furrowed, my brain is churning. What to write? What little piece of myself to expose? What secret to unbury? (For other amazing secrets, click here.)

I'll begin. I'm more sensitive than I let people believe. Sometimes I have to turn my head away when I'm talking to people about things so they don't see me start to tear up. I'm horribly empathetic, I have a sweet streak a mile long, and it embarrasses me to no end.

Now it's your turn...

Surprise me. Scare me. Embarass me. Shock me. Make me feel something. Feel free to post anonymously. Sexual or nonsexual, let me into your head.

"You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'"
-- George Bernard Shaw

The sun died gracefully this evening, sliding away beneath the horizon in one last explosion of bright pink and blue. The summer feels like it's already here, but it's not quite official yet. Spring never lasts quite long enough around these parts; it's here for a few fleeting days of sixty degree weather, cool breezes, blue skies. Then it vanishes just as quickly, leaving behind ninety percent humidity (which causes my hair to fluff unless I straighten it on a daily basis) and days too warm to do without air conditioning.

The summer has always been a time of romance for me. People say spring is the time when "love is in the air," but for me the hotter months have always been where it's at. Summer reminds me of fucking on the hood of the car on the way back from drive in movies, making love on days when we can't tell whose sweat is whose. Watching bunnies frolic in the grass, drinking in the look on his face when I first taught him to catch fireflies (apparently there are none in California). My most romantic things have happened here and I can't wait to see what this summer will hold.

I've come to a situation where I must force myself to act and react differently than in the past. He needs my help right now, my stability. I need to put all my shit behind me and be his strength. It's a little easier today than yesterday, and tomorrow will be easier than today. That's the way life changes, molds itself to each new day. I'm up to the challenge, and I'm worthy of all the trust and love he's given to me over the years. Someday, I'll be able to pay that back to him threefold. I want to spend my life trying.

---

I was having a discussion with a coworker about love, religion, politics, morals/ethics, etc. today. He brought up the subject of destiny and asked what I thought. I paused for a long time, it's not something I have given time to lately. This kid is way more mature than his days, I don't give him enough credit. I enjoy talking to him far more than most other people and he makes me think in a way that very few people can.

Destiny is all in the eye of the beholder, and he's proof of that. Who would have thought a person who is seen as a kid in most people's eyes could make me think so much about things I should pay more attention to? I've opened up to him more quickly than I have with most everyone else, and he doesn't shun me or put me down. He just returns the favor, telling me his deep dark secrets because he knows I won't laugh. It's nice to have another relationship in my life that's mutual. It's based on respect, trust and truth.

Life is funny. Silly. Painful. If we're lucky, we meet people who help us become more than we were. I have a few in my life, and I'm eternally grateful for each one of them. Thank you.

There is a safety in his arms, a safety I have yet to recreate outside of physical contact with him. The world could be crashing and burning around us, a virtual Armageddon, and I would still go to hell with a smile on my face and a calm soul. He does that for me, that wonderful man.

Most days, most years, I am my own sanctity. I am the calm inside my heart, I am the slow beating of my pulse. Lately, I've found that it's only in his eyes that I can be as complete as I always thought I was. He believes in me, he needs me, he depends on me. That makes me a lot more dependable to myself.

I don't believe that anyone is ever completely whole. There are always unexplored facets of the human condition, pieces of personality that is completely unknown to even our unconcious mind. Believe it or not, that is relieving to me. I would hate to get bored of myself. I enjoy, most times, finding out why I behave the way that I do.

But he gets me. He talks to me in a way I would never let anyone else talk to me. He loves me, he knows me inside and out. Perhaps that's why I submit to him. How could I not trust a man that knows me better than I do?

I'm not intending on letting this blog become a personal love letter for him. He knows how I feel, I know how he feels. It's just that sometimes things happen that make me more aware of how lucky I am, how life does sometimes work out for the better.

If you've stuck around past all that, you deserve a treat. :)

My favorite part of my body, the small of my back. How that part loves come...

I've officially shaved again. I made it a whole two weeks, I believe. :) I'm just meant to have a bald pussy, I guess. Even under my pink robe, I feel like sex. It screams out to me "touch me, lick me, fuck me." Although he doesn't seem to mind, I feel like this is something I do that benefits the both of us.

I'm getting ready to come. I had crawled into bed last night, wearing sweat pants and an old Dropkick Murphys t-shirt; my recently licked fingers were trailing down my stomach. As soon as I made contact with my clit, the phone rang. I knew who it was, although I wasn't expecting his call. Like a good girl, I told him what I was doing. He replied, "You can wait until sunrise tomorrow."

I complied, but not without first making sure that was a direct order and not a smartass comment. It startles me how easily I listen to him, without usually having to be corrected. I could fuck myself all day long, he would never know, but I don't. I crave his praise and acceptance, even when I could get it simply by lying to him. I've never been submissive before (minus the rape fantasies I've had since I was 10, of course), but with him it flows so naturally. I've found that I have sexual fantasies about being submissive with other men too, as if he has opened the door to something I was denying for a long time. All I know is that I need this. It's an important part of my life now, this being down on my knees.

So I'm going to go. It's been a few days since I've been allowed to come and I'm definitely going to relish this one. I'll probably post again later (gasp! two posts in a day!)

"A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." -- Thomas Mann

Ain't that the truth. I'm constantly second guessing what I'm writing, as if I'm not sure I'm ok with that much honesty (sexuality, mundane behavior, description, etc.). Most days I read the blog six or seven times before I post it, editing and making sure I'm being as clear as I want without displaying too much openness. I can be very obsessive compulsive, I tend to want everything to be perfect.

That's why I'm so frustrated lately. Things between him and I are far less than perfect. We're both feeling the stress and acting hypersensitivity, which means we're quick to snap and slow to forgive. I keep breathing in and telling myself that this will all be over with soon. And I question myself. I second guess. I wonder why I say the things I do, what reaction I'm hoping to elicit. There must be some payoff, or I wouldn't continue acting this way. I suppose the payoff is still attention, positive or negative, something that I felt I've been lacking lately. I slipped back into old abusive patterns far too quickly for even me to realize what was going on. This disturbs me, to say the least.

So here I sit. Afraid to even talk to him, afraid of what will come out of my mouth. Don't get me wrong, this miscommunication is mutual. But, for my part, I'm feeling rather sheepish at how I've behaved up to this point. I sat by the phone last night, needing him to tell me he wanted me at the hospital. But I couldn't admit that. Instead, I acted tough. I told him he should find someone else to take him. We made it through that, but my stubbornness is so infuriating.

So I sit here. I should be talking to him before bed. But I'm not. I'm afraid to. I'm going to do some Yoga/Pilates, think and rethink about my behavior and call it a night. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

I was a very naughty girl yesterday. I'm horrible to flirt with underage boys so forwardly, especially those I have no intention on ever sleeping with. I shouldn't use my sexuality for evil, only for good.

We fought about that last night. Seems we've been fighting about a lot lately, mainly silly things based on miscommunication. I'm busy and tired, he's feeling less than perfect and tired. That generally doesn't make for a wonderful partnership based on love and conversation.

So, to attempt to make up for my bad behavior (that I so brazenly wrote about yesterday), I donned my collar this morning.




Just this little piece of jewelry always makes me feel better. We picked it up at a gay porn store in Chicago's Boy's Town when we still lived together a year or two ago, along with some other implements of torture that I'm sure will be introduced sooner rather than later. I was trying a lot harder at being submissive those days, something that seems to come rather naturally with increasing frequency these days. The feeling of the leather at the nape of my neck keeps me in check, the tightness of the collar around my windpipe makes me grateful for the support and control I have in my life.

I went over to his apartment on my break from work, bearing the weight of a heavy conscience. I felt guilty about being such a whore, I felt badly about flirting with someone just for fun. That isn't how someone in love behaves, that's not how a good submissive would act. We talked for a bit, then he starting to spank me through my jeans. This progressed to my pants being tugged around my ankles and being spanked open palmed until my ass was welted and screaming. He fucked me, pulling me to him as a bear would, rutting me entirely for his pleasure. I asked him not to let me come, I felt that that was a fitting punishment for my bad behavior.

He grabbed my hair and forced me onto my knees, shoving his cock into my mouth. I asked him not to, complained of the canker sores on the inside of my lip, and he looked at me with fire in his eyes. "Oh, I had forgotten," he said. Then he rammed his cock back into my throat as he pressed me against the wall so I couldn't escape.

The break ended with another spanking, this time sharper and more rough. Afterwards he bunny-marched me into the bathroom, forcing me to look at my raw and welted ass in the mirror. Over all, it was a nice break. Although I would have preferred to come.

I really revel in my sexuality. I'm a trumped up sex kitten on a rampage, some days. I'm aware of the physical effect I generally have on men and I use it to its utmost. I've been told I exude sexuality; that simply looking at me makes men think of sex. I don't disagree with that at all. Most days, sex drips from my pores.

I think that's because I have no sexual hangups. I've fucked people I've barely known, I've been involved in just about every type of consensual sexual behavior known to man. I don't judge anyone, I act on the principle of pleasure (if it feels good, do it!). When people look at me, they see a girl who isn't afraid to tell someone what she wants. I'm a "ready to rock" chick, says my boss. No regret, no hesitation.

My entire day was spent fucking with the kid. He wants me so badly, in his high school way. He's a cute kid - witty, smart, mature. I bought popsicles for everyone at worked and thoroughly enjoyed making him squirm while I sucked on the end of my bombpop. I filled my six hours by being flirtatious, raunchy, sexually aware. I'd brush my arm against his at the cash register, I took a bite of my popsicle while he was holding it (I was ringing someone up). Is that wrong?*bats eyelashes*

Coming out of work today, I had on a lavender cardigan. It was hotter than hell out (and my personal version of hell would definitely contain this much humidity), and I didn't think twice about taking my sweater off. I had a skimpy wife beater under it, covering a black push up bra. Sure, I looked white trash as hell. But I was cooler. I was unashamed of my body, and every man in that parking lot took notice.

Quite the lucky man I've got, certainly. I may flirt with other people, sometimes knowingly and sometimes not, but he's the one I want. He's the one I want to marry, he's the one I want to come home to. I don't even want to fuck anyone else, which is totally weird for me. I guess there is such a thing as fate.

I'm sitting in front of my computer with a dandelion yellow towel wrapped around my body, my red hair making water patterns down my naked back. I adore these moments - wet, shivery, completely in the moment. I know in a few minutes I have to get dressed and head out to begin my day, but right now there is nothing but my thoughts and sensations.

I've been turned on all morning, probably due to an intense round of dreams that I can no longer remember. My clitoris is silently chirping, sending tiny reminders through my body that are getting harder and harder to ignore. I always feel like this after my shower, especially on the days I shave my pussy (although I've only been shaving the sides and trimming lately, I've grown tired of the constant up-keep that comes with a bald cunt).

Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I thought about being raped in the backseat of a car. I imagined the sensation of being held down by my wrists, my panties ripped off. I felt it as he entered me rudely, with no foreplay and no lubrication. It made me so unbelievably hot, but I resisted the temptation to orgasm. It just makes them that much more delicious when I wait.

I forgot to comment on a scene that happened between "him" and I last weekend. We were lying on the bed after eating some incredible Italian food, tummies full and happy. I'm not sure what started it, but he had my arms pinned behind my back as he was ripping my cardigan off. He bared my breasts and began to bite and suck at them as I resisted, tossing my body back and forth on his sheets. I've never really been one for breast play and, although it felt wonderful, I wasn't 100% into it. That's what made the whole scene so much better for me. He really wanted me, really wanted my breasts. I really didn't want him to get at them, so it fulfilled that masochistic spot in my libido that is into rape and forced sexuality. He pressed on, pulling my hair hard enough to make me grunt and scream, slapping my face when I resisted.

I wish we did more like that. It seems that, even though he's an experienced dominant, he gets a little uncomfortable when it seems like I'm saying no too convincingly. We've never had a safe word, never had to use anything like that. My body is his for the taking, at any time or place. He knows that. I just wish he would take advantage of that more. For instance, at one point last weekend he forced me onto my knees and made me suck him off. I resisted (what fun is it if I give in right away? Force me!) and he stopped trying. I wish he would have held the back of my head, ignoring me as I gagged, and fucked my throat. But how do you say that to someone in the heat of the moment? Especially from a submissive perspective?

This is all about communication. There is just so much going on lately that we don't worry about sex right now. I'm just missing that part of us a bit. Hopefully this will open up the lines of communication! :) Come on honey, fuck me. Beat me. Slap me. Hurt me.

Don't take no for an answer.

I've lost all passion. I used to have it, tucked away somewhere in a back pocket, waiting to pop its fuzzy little head out at a moment's notice. But now, well, I'm not sure. It may have died of old age, or I may have washed that pair of pants one too many times. Whatever the reason, it no longer comes when called. It no longer surprises me by singing its romantic song and speaking only in rhythmic poetry.

I feel too young to be so jaded, but I feel too old to fight back. My ex-husband used to bring me flowers every Friday - stargazers, roses, tulips - to show how much he loved me. There were no words, no sleepless nights spent professing our love to each other. There were only gifts, physical monetary tokens of love and appreciation. I missed the words, I missed watching someone's tongue click between their teeth when they said the word "love."

An ex-fiance used to write songs for me. We'd spend the night on the phone; I could listen to his calloused fingers slide up and down his guitar strings for hours. He didn't have much money, we barely saw each other, but those moments on the phone with his musical expression of love was all I needed.

I used to email Eala (she has come to name herself - Swan in Gaelic - which is perfect because she will forever be my graceful beautiful swan princess) lengthy emails with expressions of love. I'd stay up all night with the sound of my fingernails clicking against the keyboard, trying to get out just what I wanted to say. It would never come; I never came close to being able to tell her just how much she means to me. Words could never do her justice.

With "him" in the beginning, we'd email back and forth all the time. The freshness of our romance was so new that we never wanted to say goodnight, never wanted to hang up the phone. I had to delete all those old communications as they were physical evidence of the betrayal of my husband, but I still remember them by heart.

And now. Now, I don't expect anything. I thought for awhile that I was being realistic, that the domestic reality was worth much more than any romantic inclination. I've been feeling lately, however, that something has been lost in the reshuffling of my life. It's not about the flowers, guitar strings, emails, love notes. It's about the spontaneity. It's about expecting the unexpected, not giving in to the monotony of always knowing what the other is up to.

I can remember the spark that kept me with each of my ex-boyfriends (girlfriends) clearly. I can almost feel my pulse raising, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing in loving salute. Now, things seem to have changed. I no longer yearn for that feeling, and I'm beginning to wonder if this is the first step down the wrong road. I don't doubt what I have with him. I doubt the degrading of my own feelings, and I wonder why its happening. Is this simply "growing up?" Or am I truly missing something?

My body is glistening with sweat after another successful hour of Yoga practice. I love this time of the day; it's the time I feel best. I'm worn out yet full of energy, which is the most delightful of oxymorons.

I've been feeling odd lately, but luckily my (ahem) cycle of girly-ness is almost over. I can't stand feeling so out of sorts, so much like the world itself is out to get me. My own hormones betray me, making me horrible to those I love the most. It's almost as though my mitochondria is screaming out through my skin, telling me that I'm not loved and pulling puppet strings to make my tears flow and my body tense. If you think I'm being overly dramatic, ask the people close to me. They'll tell you that doesn't even come close to describing it.

It's a new month and a new time to detox. I'm settling into my daily vegan meals - preparing food without dairy products, eggs and meat is refreshing. They usually don't take a lot of prep, they're extremely fulfilling and I feel great afterwards (both physically and morally).

I took a walk with my daughter this evening. We looked at puppies, leaves, dirt piles, ants. I taught her that she really can do things all by herself, even if it takes a little longer. Most girls are taught that they're pretty but reliant on other people. Not my daughter. She's a tough cookie. She's a girly girl, but she knows that she can be independent too. I'm so happy that I was blessed with her, even if I only get to see her a few hours every evening these days.

I haven't been thinking about sex these days, mostly because I'm never around him besides our two weekends a month. You would never guess we live five minutes away from each other based on the frequency of our physical relationship. I'm missing him a lot lately, just the mundane stuff. As much as I like living alone and am learning to cherish my freedom, I miss domestic life. I miss waking up next to him. I miss sitting down and eating dinners together. I miss crawling onto his lap and annoying him while he tried to type. I miss standing at the door to his office in the middle of the night, naked, pleading with him to come to bed because I missed his warmth beside me. Little things like that you can never replace. I wouldn't want to, not for a million dollars.