I'm tired this evening. After a massive overhaul of bedroom and bathroom cleaning, wishful thinking in regards to fall and winter clothing (Daddy-O's is my downfall, I swear) and gearing up for another semester and my new career (I start Thursday at my new job), I feel like sinking into my recently messed up pink sheeted bed and floating away to dreamland.

Bear was just here and it's amazing how he can choose to steal my energy or replenish it. He walked in with two giant bags worth of art supplies and movies for my daughter. I promised I wouldn't get mad and I really didn't (after all - Miroslav Satan is a free agent now which increases his chances of being drafted by the New Jersey Devils. That's a hockey wet dream of mine, Satan playing for the Devils... imagine the possibilities!); I find it completely adorable and attractive that he loves my daughter that much. My eyes have been opened a lot wider in the last couple of days and I'm seeing, really seeing, just how much she means to him and just how hard that is for him to admit.

After she fell asleep on our laps watching Aladdin (I'd forgotten just how hysterical that movie is), we snuck into the bedroom for a little bite before saying goodbye. Soon my shirt was pulled down, my pants were on a crumpled pile on the floor, and I was begging to come. My orgasm welled inside me, breaking my mind and leaving my cunt twitching furiously around his cock. He returned the favor, coming on the small of my back (which is perhaps the place that makes me feel the most submissive) before leaving for the evening. I wish he could have stayed, yet I understand that sleep needs to be the number one priority right now. Someday soon we'll be able to drift to sleep next to each other, right now I just need to accept that that day isn't today.

Lying in bed together last night, around one in the morning, I shifted to see him a little better in the moonlight and felt him stir.

"Is the beast awake?" I laughed.

"Yes," he answered. We joked about how if I moved or didn't move it turned him on, if I spoke or didn't speak it would only make him more aroused. This isn't far from the truth, joking or not, and we both know that extremely well after three years together.

"Take off your pants," he ordered. I did as he asked, and layed on my back to allow him easier access to the parts he wanted. He took me quickly, entering as he made notes about how wet I was and how much of a good slut that proved me.

I asked permission to come, as is standard these days, and was granted it twice. On my hands and knees, my ass up in the air like a cat in heat, he spilled himself into me as I mewed in pleasure.

This morning, I'm beginning to drip. And I love every milliliter of fluid that is flowing from my cunt.

From Post Secret.

Yes, that's the real wave in my hair. Horribly 1920s, I know. No, I don't do anything to it to make it behave that way. Yes, I attempt to straighten the hell out of it on a daily basis. And yes, I know I should embrace it. Fuck you.

*********

Today, fall is in the air. It's still hot, humid and stuffy, but I can feel the slightly breezier tinge to the weather. The blue skies foretell autumn... I can almost see the fat orange pumpkins and smell the apple pie now. Summer makes me forget there is a light or a dark side to life - life simply is. I sweat, I curse, I get as tan as an Irish girl possibly can get... I frolic outside and try to enjoy the moment.

Autumn, as much as I love the season and consider it my favorite, brings with it a certain darkness. A deeper understanding of the more torrid forces of life, if you will. It makes me think, regret, debate... it makes me much more introspective than I usually am (which is saying something, especially if you know me well).

I'm going to try to enjoy the rest of my summer. I'm going to stop obsessing about my hair, my weight, my relationship, etc. and finish living life while I still can. Although, I did realize just how important it is to me to get married in the fall. Maybe not this fall, but next fall. All I know is that I want to become his wife in the crisp autumn air. Maybe even with devil horns on. ;)

I dyed my hair again last weekend, for the second time after nearly two years of not touching it at all. I feel almost defeated at this point, running a brush through my hair as I contemplate cutting it all off again. I'm weak. My desire to change myself on the inside always leads to these physical manifestations. I dye, I cut, I style... but nothing ever changes. I still feel the same way - indecisive, lacking of any personality to speak of, feeling this sort of dull ache when I think about the way things should be.

I'm debating cutting it off, like I said. Not because I necessarily like it short, but because I need a major change to jumpstart a better lifestyle. I need to do something, just to get it over with. I need to grow up, I need to stop changing the color of my hair to suit my mood. My hair is the color it should be... I can't change who I am. I need to stop trying. Maybe next time you see me I'll be sporting a Layla cut. ;) Who knows!

I did something uncharacteristic today. I gave someone I barely know my website address. I don't honestly know what possessed me... maybe it was that the likelihood of finding someone in which you have so much in common is slim to none out here. Maybe it's that I'm gaining more confidence in myself and am less afraid to show and tell the real me to people. Or maybe it's that, in my ripe old age, I'm finally coming to grips with myself and that "I am who I am." All I know is that we talked and it was hard for me to believe, looking into her big blue eyes, that she was being anything less than sincere.

So I decided to post that picture as a welcome. I'm no longer hiding anything. It's all out there, plain as day. Welcome Phedre. Although we won't work together for too much longer, I hope that we can develop a friendship more lasting than just being co-workers. It's too odd to meet someone like you here, I can't just pass that opportunity up! And anyway, I need a new cohort to go to the gay club with! :)

The picture I posted above was from a journal Bear and I held for about a year called Sexual Anarchism. When our relationship both imploded and exploded (is that physically possible?!), we were left with the fall-out and a year's worth of sexual memories. That journal is no longer available online, but I keep it in my archives and close to my heart. It reminds me just where we went wrong and what we can do better this time. I'm lucky to be able to have such physical memories.

These days, I've settled into our routine much better. Before I do anything in the morning, I don my collar.



It's not much, just a little reminder of my submission and how much I love him. We don't live together anymore, so the little things matter much more. I always ask permission before I come, usually waiting a few days or more between asking. I submit to my punishments as bravely as possible. He's been mostly lenient with me, but there have been times that the welts have lasted for days. I have such a drive and need to please that there isn't much he could ask of me that I wouldn't quickly jump up to do. I respect him, he respects me. That's the best basis of a D/s relationship I could ask for.

Life ebbs and flows around here. I go through phases of adoration and annoyance, regret and infatuation. Some days I'm tired of waiting around for things to speed up, other days I would walk to the moon and back for him. But, through it all, there's the permeating belief that things will work out for the best. Life will bring me exactly what I want and need, if not a little more than I can handle, to test me and make me stronger. I will have love, beauty, truth, friendship... all these things as more. I just need to wait for them. And that, my dears, is my true test.

I've been detoxing for about twelve hours now and it's having some rather unintended side effects...it's making me increasingly turned on.

Fruit is just so unbelievably erotic! The look, the smell, the taste...biting into a bright red, slippery, sweet strawberry can send me into a refrain of nearly orgasmic glee. As my tongue sweeps the remainder of a tangy chunk of pineapple from the left side of my mouth, I can almost feel my taste buds standing up in a phallic salute. Dining has never been this much of an ordeal for me.

It was a long day at work, but that's one day down and only four more to go this week. Seems like I'm only living for the weekend these days. Our lives are caught up in the hustle and bustle that is the work week, leaving us with little to no time for each other. Conversations are short, at best, making me wish for a little more time and a little more energy. I'm tired of being alone here. Tired of coming home to an empty apartment, dreading going to sleep alone. It's all in the guise of "working on things" before making that next step, but what we are actually working on sometimes mystifies me. I'm turning into a bitter old woman, angry at people who are happy, waiting for an event that may never come. I've almost resolved myself to living alone for the rest of my life. I'm almost ok with that, and that scares me.

The weekends are lovely, but they hold me over far less these days. I can't go two weeks without seeing him, and I don't want to. I've never been one for long distance relationships, and this seems the case even though we live five minutes away from each other. Five minutes has never seemed like forever before.

You know, waking up in a rather seedy motel room (although they did have CNN which we watched for a whole five minutes before getting angry and switching it off - neither of us have television in our apartments) with Bear's soft moans in my ear is about the most delicious thing I can think of in recent memory. His cock was growing hard in the twilight of sleep and, as he began to regain worldly consciousness, the softness of my body stirred him awake much more quickly.

We didn't speak, we let our bodies do the talking. He pulled me closer to him and I sunk my ass into the cavity made between his stomach and his angled legs. Our eyes still closed like newborn kittens, we felt our way to each other. Underwear was shed as the orgasms rocketed us into a morning frenzy. He hurts me sometimes, as our size difference is even more apparent when we fuck. Some days his cock is just too big to fit comfortably but I take it all, like a good girl, letting my face cringe and contort into the pillow as my agony quickly becomes ecstasy.

All in all, it was a fantastic weekend. We ate some wonderful food (Thai, Indian, vaguely Afghani) and drove almost three hours to see a great band, Communique (again, thanks for the adorable pink shirt, guys!), who also happens to be people Bear has known for a few years and are men I'm proud to begin to call friends (they played with Tegan and Sara - cute twenty four year old twin Canadian lesbians, too bad the music didn't really do it for me). Bear bought me some yummy truffles, the remainder of which will have to wait until my week long raw food fast is over. I also found out Thursday that I got that job! I couldn't be more excited, I start next Thursday! A perfect weekend, if one exists.

Stay tuned, I can almost see the sun shining again...

****

Bear,

Another year has passed. A year that has brought us closer together in ways I couldn't have even imagined last July. A year in which we've both grown older, stronger, more mature and more capable of an adult, functional relationship with each other. But this isn't about us. This is about you. You're wonderful, you know that? I'm blessed to have you, blessed that you consider me close enough to divulge your secret date. You've fought against enormous odds, genetic and societal, to be the person you are today. I'm proud to know you, proud to be your friend, proud to be your girlfriend, proud to be the girl you want to marry. I won't say the words, Bear. The words don't matter to me. What matters is that I love you, and I want to thank you for letting me in for one more year of your life. Thank you from the top, bottom, middle, left and right sides of my heart.

Yours,
Bunny

I could gloss over the events of the last few days easily, forgetting that they ever existed in a show of willpower, and talk about the weather or the latest Supreme Court nominee (*cough cough* pro-life bigot *cough cough*). I'd like to say that everything is for the best, true though it usually may be, and chalk each negative experience up to the learning of a life lesson. Try telling that to my best friend, though.

In a fit of selfishness and just plain unthoughtfulness (is that a word?), my best friend's husband of four years )and partner of seven) left her. Everyone remaining in the aftermath of this separation has been left stunned, speechless and racking our brains for any hint that would have given us cause to think this would happen. While it's no secret I dislike him, we've never gotten along in the many years I've known him, I still don't want to assume that people can be this malicious. I hope he knows what he's done. I hope he understands the fury of the people left behind. And I hope that he doesn't underestimate the righteous anger that will level him should he ever decide to set foot, tail between legs, in our world again. That's all I'm saying about that.

But this begs the question... do people really just fall out of love with each other? Can you wake up one morning and think "Damn, I just don't love him anymore"? I don't want to live in that world. What the fuck is love, anyway? Is it something that you feel? A way that you behave?

More ruminations on love to come, I'm sure.

Life is beautiful right now. I breezed through my second interview with the veterinary clinic this afternoon (although a message on my machine requiring that I call the manager back in the morning has shaken my confidence a bit), and am looking forward to beginning that first quivering step towards my ultimate goal.

Even after some uncomfortable, tired bickering in the past few days, we still fit. We still work. We still want to communicate, want to spend time together. It's wonderful, that. Renews my faith in the whole system of monogamy.

I think I've finally been able to shake my past. I used to be almost fanatical about it, needing to go over and over every little error I've ever made. Every mistake became disproportionately huge in my eyes. I've stopped that, and it's wonderful. I've made mistakes. Hell, everyone has. The trick is not to dwell in them. I've learned from them, I've become stronger. I'm proud of who I am and what I've accomplished in my life thus far.

That's all for tonight. Not a lot to write about. :)

But, I must add, the most wonderful thing in the world is listening to his breathy voice say "I love the way you breathe" as we make love on my bed, knowing we both should be asleep so we're not horrifically tired the next day. We were, for the record, and it was worth every dark circle. Thank god for power outages.

Not feeling all bloggy and shit this evening, thought I'd just give you a picture instead. As a peace offering for putting up with all my whining, anyway. :)

Making up my mind on anything has always been difficult for me. I always go back and forth; it takes a year for me to make a decision that most people could make in seconds. Right now, it's about lunch. It's 11:30 and I've been trying to figure out what I want for lunch for the last hour and a half. Do I want Indian food... aloo gobi does sound fantastic today! Or do I want nachos... Qdoba makes some extremely excellent ones. I wish I could just matter of factly make up my mind, go get it, eat it and feel satisfied. It's always the what-ifs that kill me... what if I need that extra money later in the week? What if I need to buy groceries? What if I'm just being selfish or lazy? It always makes me insecure to spend money, like I'm somehow letting someone down.

The idea of becoming financially submissive is appealing, but I think it's for the wrong reasons. My inability to make financial decisions is something that should be delved deeper into, not shoved onto someone else's plate.

Maybe it's because it's raining today. It's grey, dreary and gloomy. I know that he (come on, baby, make up a name please. I can't keep referring to you as he!) is going to be going to lunch with a co-worker, probably at one of our favorite places. I don't want to run into him, not because I don't love him and don't want to see him, but because the idea of making small talk with people I don't know and don't really care to know is extremely repulsive. *sigh*

I'm going to go now - gotta return some things and figure out this lunch fiasco. Thanks for being a sounding board, as usual.

I bear the trademark raised welts of the trade - bruised and purplish red, stinging mildly when pressure is applied to them with less than a gentle touch. This is the litmus test of a good weekend these days; permanent marks in the mirror means I can remember his hands on my flesh a little bit longer.

We did what we do best this past weekend - ate exquisite food, talked up a storm, saw a movie, made love. We spent as much time together as possible, rarely a moment went by without some sort of physical intimacy. We fucked, had sex AND made love (sometimes all at once). Every weekend, it seems, brings us closer and closer together. A new facet gets revealed, something hidden comes to light, we know and understand each other just that much more.

My submission goes hand in hand with trust. I must trust to submit, it's an implicit fact of my biology. I place my body and soul in his hands, literally, and I trust that he won't hurt either of them. I understand to some people our lifestyle is "strange," but for us it is a necessity. We work better with the understanding that he's my protector. I can go out and work, I can protect and provide for myself and my daughter, but it's him that I depend on. He takes my submission as the ultimate gift and gives it back to me in the form of discipline, dominance and much needed release. It's our circle of life.

Big changes may be coming soon, but I'm confident in our shared ability to see this through. I've opened up to him more than I've ever opened up to anyone before, because I'm certain that nothing I ever say will be used against me. I can tell him anything and we can talk about it. I don't know who we were before, when we lived together, but who we are now (as a couple and as individuals) never fails to amaze me. I love him. More every day, it seems.

Sweet jesus. What a long day. First the London bombings (which included the anarchist protesters being immediately singled out for having done it, completely ignoring the fact that the fucking G8 summit is in Scotland and that anarchists don't randomly blow shit up - especially people who are merely on their way to work in the morning), then the news that Judith Miller was sentenced to four months in prison because she refused to reveal her journalistic sources. These both frighten me, especially considering the Miller case directly corresponds with the fact that the Bush administration leaked the name of a CIA operative to punish her husband. Bad news all around.

It's the weekend tomorrow, so don't expect to see too much of me this weekend. I'm trying to take it easy these days. Let my down days REALLY be down days. Stop over-scheduling, over-analyzing, over-planning... just chill and relax. God knows I need that.

Some days are harder than others to articulate. It's not that there is anything particularly different about the day in question, it's that (as he put it a few days back when I was balking at writing a story for him) writing is about perseverance. If you really are a writer, and you really want to write, some days you have to force yourself to do it. Words don't always come quickly, or easily, but they are always worth it.

My interview went well, I should hear back from them by the end of next week. I'm one of only two people (out of a hundred!) that they are recommending for the job. I consider that a pretty glowing recommendation, and I'm still excited thinking about the prospect of working there. I feel much more relaxed now, the hard stuff is finished and only the waiting remains. I can fill that up with all types of things - reading, writing, working, fucking... the possibilities are endless.

Now I'm heading to bed. The dark circles under my eyes are beginning to look like I was beaten savagely like the red-headed step child I am.

I have a job interview tomorrow at a local veterinary clinic for a veterinary assistant opening. I'm so full of nervous energy that the only thing that brings me any peace at all is thinking about bondage. This happens to me fairly often. Whenever I feel out of control, the one thing that can bring me back down is thinking about having all my control taken away from me.

Right now, the thought of being hogtied on the bed is appealing to me. It's not even about sex, it's about loss of control. Not being able to move, not being able to say no. I find that I'm losing myself more and more (in a good way) in the submissive role lately. It becomes easier to call him sir each time I say it and I'm beginning to understand that good behavior = good rewards and bad behavior = punishment, without any hostility or ill-feelings. I'm finally grasping what it means to be submissive and accepting that he's a much better dom than I ever allowed him to be or gave him credit for. I'm a lucky girl, three years later, to be able to take this journey again and start out on the right foot this time.

Off to bed. I want to finish the bottoming book I'm reading, make a larger dent into the Jeanette Winterson novel and read the Shape and Parents magazines that came in the mail today. Good night all.

Ah, Independence Day. The celebration of a bunch of white boys signing some papers to make the country that we stole from the Native Americans "legal". We hold these truths to be self-evident. But do we? Have we actually used any of the so called truths that the "laws of nature and of nature's God" entitles us?

The United States was founded as a revolution against Britain. We needed a place that was ours, a place to adopt our own rules and form of government. Then we just gave up.

Where are the people who fight for truth? Where are the people who don't let the government forget that the people are still in charge? Why are we just play-acting through our lives instead of going out and making changes to the things that are still seriously wrong with this country?

This Independence Day, I'm declaring my independence. I vow to fight harder this year for social change, mainly those that I see as the most important at the moment - abortion rights and gay rights. The times, they are a changin'. With Sandra Day O'Connor resigning, shit is about to get hectic...

****

On another note, I'm also declaring my independence from conventional thought. I'm allowing myself to accept that I like certain things that aren't social acceptable. I like being spanked, slapped and ravaged. I like having to call him Sir, even though I choke on the words sometimes. I like having no say in our sexual relationship, knowing that he knows me better than I know myself and won't push my limits farther than I'd like. I love him, regardless of how non politically correct our courtship was (today is the two year anniversary of our initial engagement). I don't care what people say or think. And it's about time.

I just finished with my punishment for forgetting to put my collar back on after my shower - fifteen minutes of masturbation during which I'm not allowed to orgasm. So I'm sitting here, wet and drippy, the muscles on the inside of my cunt twinging in anticipation of an event that will not happen tonight. I'm sorry, my darling pussy, for not being able to give you what you so desire. I want it too, trust me. It's just that, well, I forgot to put my collar back on. We both know I'm owned, but it's the symbol. I'm sorry, I won't forget again. That's addressed to both you and my cunt. I was a bad girl. I apologize.

I'm heading off to bed though. I've been playing Carmen Sandiego since I got home, he found a mirror site online that has allowed me to play the oldschool versions of the games I loved best as a kid - Oregon Trail, Castle Wolfenstein, Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego... it's enough to make a geek like me squeal. And I did. Repeatedly. Confused the hell out of my daughter though. "Mommy, what's typhoid? Why do you have a broken arm? What's exhaustion? Who just drowned? Do you have to kill the bunnies/squirrels/bears/buffalo/deer? I thought we didn't eat meat."

Tommorrow, I work. 11 to 6. I'm not looking forward to it, but money is money. I can hold out until my job interview Wednesday, then my two weeks go in and I can finally get started a little closer to my career path. Finally.

Then there's the Fourth of July. See, I could really give a shit about the founding of America. I'm an American, yes, but I'm not a patriot. Or a nationalist. I just happen to live here until I get a better offer. Finish school here, get my degree, get a job that allows me to travel more. I want to see the world, I want my daughter to grow up to be a kind, softhearted, well-traveled, intelligent person (instead of the "American" stereotype of bigoted, nationalist and ignorant).

I celebrate this holiday as my independence from all THOSE types of shitheads. I light fireworks off, I drink beer, I hold the hands of loved ones. I celebrate that those I love the most still make me see fireworks and feel butterflies whenever I'm around them. I celebrate that I'm blessed - I have a home, I have enough food in my refrigerator so that I won't starve (sure, it's not good eating and it's lots of pasta but I'm still doing it myself and that's SO important considering where I've been in the last five years), I have a car, I have a job. I have the love of my husband to be (whenever we get the rest of our shit figured out), I have the admiration of my daughter. I'm free to do and be whoever I want. I'm independent, perhaps this year more than ever. That's worth celebrating.

*P.S. - I'm sorry for not writing that story this evening. I had just enough oomph to write this, play a game and finish my punishment. I'll write tomorrow. I'm sorry, sir.*