I'm without Internet access for another 2 weeks (gotta love being forced to deal with your addiction to technology by having it completely taken out of your hands!) but I wanted to drop in and wish everyone a happy new year.

May 2007 be filled with love, kindness, unadulterated joy, laughter and as many zen moments as humanely possible. Live well.

Money and presents are just fine for Christmas, but orgasms are the best gift of all. Especially when the mood strikes right in the middle of playing the brand new Final Fantasy XII game (yes, I'm a nerd. But a hot nerd!) and forces me to succumb to my urges while lying on the living room floor surrounded by bows and discarded wrapping paper. Touching myself never felt so naughty before. And so oddly festive.

My pupils dilated as I implored him, without words, to take a moment out of his time. The soft whirr of his MP3 player, each solemn chirp pushing me to the limits of my patience, made sure I knew every folder and every song that took precedence over me.

I rubbed my head against the inside of his thighs, relishing the scratchy denim and the smell of both soap and testosterone. I was on my knees in front of him for no sexual reason; all I wanted was a quick tousle of the hair and a little attention.

It's moments like these that remind me just how much he means to me. He's tough and vulnerable at the same time, a beautiful combination of balls and brains. As much as I fight it (dominance is just so much more prestigious than submission), kneeling in front of him with an adoring gaze is something that comes so natural to me. To us.

He respects me, he loves me.. we interlock because our differences mesh so well together. He craves the dominance, the feel of my flesh as it gives way under his hand. I crave the morning after, watching the bruises turn from purple to blue to green to yellow. He loves rutting me, pressing my face into the bed as he ravishes me. I love walking around hours after, my sore and tormented pussy serving as my naughty little secret.

I love him.

I have a creative block. Instead of continuing to sit here, pushing myself until I see the bright tiny beginnings of a migraine start to form, I'm going to give in for the moment. There is a reason I'm unable to write and I need to figure that out instead of forcing it. I'll be back again soon with writings about torrid sexual encounters and insights into my twisted mind. Promise.

I have never been a good writer. Sure, I'm creative and I thoroughly enjoy sitting down at the computer and letting my fingers help my emotions come to the surface. God knows I have a hard time manufacturing them on my own. I've never wrote for anyone other than myself though and, thus, I'm not really too concerned with what other people think of me or this site.

Of course I enjoy that you read this. It helps me to know that people are coming on this journey with me. I just can't write for you; it would make me dishonest if I was catering to the people who wander in and out of my online life.

Knowing all that, it makes me want to rip my hair out that I edit and edit before publishing. Why am I so concerned with finding the perfect word to express my discontentment or my pain? Why will I write and rewrite the same sentence with the same sentiment over and over?

I supposed I'm more concerned with what you think than I'm aware of. I want to make you think highly of me, but I also want to not care what you think.

Double edged sword, that. This whole blogging thing is quite the obnoxious cultural phenomenon.

Labels: Insight.

As the life left her, I choked back tears and concentrated on my job. I placed myself outside the moment, forcing myself to continue breathing for her minutes after her heart had stopped and her eyes had glazed over.

She was the first patient I have ever lost. In the nearly two years I've worked at the clinic, I've been the kind hands that ushered hundreds of beloved pets to their final destination. I've stroked their heads and told them how wonderful and cared for they were, even if their humans weren't strong enough to be there as they passed. But never have I tried so hard to save one, been the sole moderater between the dog and the afterlife, and felt so incredibly helpless.

It hurts. There was nothing I could have done, she had been poisoned by antifreeze days before and the damage was already done. But sitting with her for six hours, petting and taking her vital signs every fifteen minutes as she stared up at me with eyes full of hurt and the desire to die, made me feel as though I should have done more. Watching her breathe in, unable to catch her breath and knowing that every breath hurt more than the last, I wanted so badly so save her.

I'm sorry, girl. I wish I could have saved you.

Death is a part of life - it's the natural end for each and every one of us. No one can cheat death, not when her final price is so steep.

Labels: Work.

I'm still alive. My lovely daughter is out of town until this weekend, so I've been spending most of my time over at Bear's humble abode. It's nice "playing house" again, as my grandmother would say.

Mostly, things have been fairly even keeled. I'm trying to ignore the rabid countdown to both Christmas and the end of the year and focus on what's important - my child, my relationships, my family and myself.

I did, however, get laid yesterday. And can I just say, Bear fucks like a lesbian. Seriously. That man has some natural born manual dexterity that no one else should ever even aspire to. Totally other scale, that wonderful man of mine. I've almost forgotten just how wonderful orgasms are! I'm a fan, imagine that.

Anyway, I'm working 2 jobs now (regular vet clinic and overnights at the emergency vet clinic) and spending this week at Bear's. If you need to or would like to get ahold of me, email me.

When I made the decision to start writing here, it was mainly to document my submissiveness and my sexual adventures. The beginning statement from my first post, the words that I uttered to begin this project, were:

"I am a submissive. I make no apologies, I accept no condemnation. It simply is who I am, my basic genetic makeup has made this my fate since before I was born."

This site has blossomed into so much more for me. I've learned about myself in ways I never thought possible, watched myself change and grow in infinite directions. Although I have gotten away from the original intent, I feel like I'm still valid in my thoughts and desires for writing here. There is the occasional pang of guilt that I'm not following through with some unsaid promises for lascivious words and prurient intentions, but I hope that some pleasure is still derived from my words.

In that first post, I promised honesty. The beautiful or ugly truth. Here it is...

Simply put, I'm not having sex currently. A few months ago that would have horrified me. A few years ago I would have told you that I'd have put a bullet in my head by now. While I'm still consumed by my more base instincts (I find it incredibly hard to fall asleep without making myself come first), I'm finding pleasure in other more understated things.

This morning, I helped my man clear his car of all the ice and snow that has fallen lately. He sat in the car most of the time while I took my aggression out on the nearly one inch accumulation of packed ice and at least 2 inch accumulation of snow that covered his entire Ford Escort. We may not be fucking, but I still get pleasure out of serving him. I'm not submissive in non-sexual situations, a bit hell no to that, but I felt accomplished that I could still make his life just a little bit easier by giving up a few minutes of my time.

I also get a lot of pleasure from Phedre, though we're not currently sexually involved. Watching her doze off on my couch, her head in my lap, or talking about nothing while we're eating lunch out makes me just as happy (and perhaps, more happy) as fucking her would. I've never existed in relationships without sex before; I'm proving to myself that I can do it and that it's not quite as horrid as I imagined it.

I'd still fuck them both at this exact moment if they walked through my door, though. Having hands in my hair, being held down and having my clothes ripped off is one of my favorite past times. As is making beautiful girls cry while ripping their perfect skin to shreds. You know what they say... you can take the girl from the sadomasochism but you can't, well, that doesn't make sense but you know what I'm getting at.

My apartment is also much more spotless with all that channeled energy. You win some, you lose some.

There is something so satisfying about life when it brings people back to you that add something intangibly good to your existence. I don't know why and I don't know how, nor do I particularly care, but it feels good to be back in contact with this person.

And now I'm using my website to make a plea... Eala. For real. Come visit. We'll go to the gay bar. We'll eat indian food. We'll sleep in the same bed. It'll be great. You know you want to.

Anger. Of the many qualities that constitute me, that is the one I am the most comfortable with. I have no demons with my anger. I make no excuses. I am a fiery Irish woman; it's simply in my nature to want to be in control of every situation all the time (unless, of course, I control the fact that I choose to be out of control). I react with fury when I'm not - sometimes physical (if the situation calls for it) and other times verbal. I rarely step out of line when not provoked.

Along with that anger comes jealousy. I'm not jealous of other people - how people choose to live their lives and the blessings and curses that come along with that is simply none of my business. I'm insanely jealous of those I deem "mine," people that have become prized possessions in my life.

Don't get me wrong, I see them as people. I value them as the people they are - friends, lovers, etc - but also treat them as someone would treat an expensive sports car. It is mine to drive at will, no matter how fast or how reckless, but the second someone else tries to step into that car I will take them down. It's my car. Mine. Don't look at it, touch it, breathe on it... under penalty of duress.

I do feel guilt that my mind works this way. Obviously not enough to actually do anything about, but enough to realize that this might not be the healthiest way to behave. Close friends have pointed out that I bait people, trying to engage them in this game of cat and mouse to extract their jealousy, so that I'm not feeling one-sided and culpable.

The truth is, I love my things. If I could take them out and play with them when I want to and put them away when I'm finished, I would. If I could have my cake and eat it to, avoid all the emotional entanglement required in really giving myself to people, I would. Fucked up, huh? Sometimes I have to work to be human and that terrifies me.

When I'm feeling down and out for the count, life has a way of showing me just how beautiful it really can be. There are a limited number of perfect moments - moments that let everything else melt away in a perfection that seems to stop time. This was one of those moments; my MP3 player (on shuffle) provided me with my favorite song (The Weakerthans - My Favorite Chords) and gave me this stunning miracle of nature. The trees are coated in ice from the storm that dropped nearly a foot of snow on us and, although I was on my way back to work and remain extremely stressed out from the impending holiday, I allowed myself the time to simply breathe and take it all in.

May your life be blessed with one of these moments during this season as well. I don't need religion to remind me that I'm very lucky to be alive. In the hustle and bustle, in thinking of everyone else before taking the time to think of yourself, everyone needs time to relax. Take that time. You'll thank yourself later.

Wow, over 500 hits on my site in the past few days and only 5 people have voted? For shame!

That wonderful creature below happens to be my beautiful girlfriend, Phedre.