Chasing Me Chasing You

An uncollared submissive struggling through depression, motherhood, and the constant craving of her next orgasm.

Nothing Good Can Come From This

“When you were having sex with her, were you thinking about me?”*

This question always confused and angered me. Long before we opened our marriage or I even considered being poly. First, wouldn’t it be terribly sad if that was the case. Presumably they would thinking about you out of malice and not any sort of positive feelings. Who has sex with someone and thinks, “Man, I really miss my girlfriend, this sub-par pussy will have to do”? And, because I think about things like this, how sad is that for that other woman (the sub-par pussy one)?

If both people sign up for a consensual, non-connection fuck, that’s one thing. But I personally know it would crush my ego to find out a guy had been thinking about someone else the whole time. Masturbating is one thing, or even fucking during porn and picturing me as someone else. Since I am someone who looks for an emotional connection with anyone I fuck, an old girlfriend would be a low blow.

Which leads me to my other issue with this direct statement. I’m not going to generalize as I certainly don’t know the manipulative capacities of all men. But, in my experience, guys are not thinking about the consequences of fucking while they are fucking. I don’t either, if I’m honest. Now, I’ve never played ‘pull-out pregnancy roulette’ as my family is as fertile as they come. So that may be something else all together.

Also, as far as I know, I’ve never been with a guy who was cheating. In my experience the guys who have fucked me weren’t thinking about how an ex or current girlfriend would feel about the situation. I’m not saying that to be egotistical, I honestly believe it to be true. Some other girls face in place of mine? Maybe. But I still would hope it wouldn’t be a past lover.

There is one more issue that this trope brings to mind for me. An admission, if I’m honest, about my own thought during sex: I don’t much. I wish I could say that whenever I have sex with someone I am 100% focused on them. Hell, I can’t even say I create a rich fantasy in my head of myself and Ryan Reynolds flying off into the sunset on his private jet. Nope, the best I can usually do is several moans and some ass grabbing (if my hands are free).

It’s not a personal thing, and certainly not a reflection if my relationship with said other partner. It’s that what I am physically feeling completely takes over my brain. During breaks I really try to make eye contact and focus on my partner. As we shift positions or move from one sex act to another I try to check in. This is generally because once said activity starts, my mind goes completely blank.

Trust me, I know how pathetic that sounds and I wish I could do better. Part of me thinks that is why I like blow jobs to much; I can completely focus on my partner. During sex I register what I am feeling physically and whether or not it feels good. How I feel about it emotionally usually doesn’t hit me until later. Which is probably why I look for guys that I have an emotional connection with. I need to trust them enough to know that they will be around for the aftercare portion of the evening (even for non-BDSM sex). During sex I let go and float along with all the pleasant feelings and moments of no responsibility. Having someone hold me as cold, hard reality slaps me in the face once again is nice.

This double-edged sword of a question also has a changing significance for me now that I’m poly. I guess I generally want my husband and Jack, or any other future partner, to know that when I am with them I am focused on them. And, I expect the same from them. I like the idea of Jack missing me and thinking about me, but not when he’s with another woman. If, for no other reason than I don’t want him thinking about them when he’s with me.

Poly, at least for me, doesn’t mean that I’m thinking about other people all the time. Whether you are emotionally invested or not I think you should be able to respect your partner enough to focus on them during sex. And, even if you don’t, consider your answer to the above question carefully, though any answer is likely to be wrong.

I should also add, if you ever find the urge to ask someone this question (or a variant of it), don’t. Even in the heat of a fight. No answer will make you feel good or win the argument. The very asking of means you’ve already lost.

*I should clarify that I’ve only really ever heard this used on television. A few sitcoms and daytime soap operas (when I watched them) would bring it out from time to time in order to add even more drama to a fight. I’ve never met anyone who has actually use it in an argument. But then, I also don’t have a lot of close friends that I talk about my sex life with. Except all of you, of course.

The New Definition of Lonely

If I stop trying, then I can really see how much he has given up. Talk about having no power. I feel like I’m crawling behind him, begging for scraps. If I stopped crawling, would he even notice me at all. I hang on his every word, hoping for something positive. A compliment, a smile. Most of the time he won’t even look me.
I’m just throwing myself a little pity party, but I don’t know what to do. I can’t hide my sexual frustration, especially after a week or so. And his lack of desire for me is having a much greater impact on my self-esteem than he realizes. But it’s more than that. It’s that he’s using this lack of sexual desire as an excuse to stop everything. We don’t talk, we don’t play games. We interact through the kids and that’s it.
I just feel like I’m a burden to him. Some sex-crazed manic that he has to deal with when he would rather be doing anything else. I know that deep down it’s not my fault, that I didn’t do anything to make his sexual desire wane. But my heart doesn’t feel that way.
This is worse than a year ago when he decided he didn’t want to do 24/7 D/s anymore. The kids and I are some horrible burden of responsibility that he would love to abandon for something more fun. Working hard and earning a living for our family is a waste of his time. Yet I go my low-paying job every day so we can have insurance.
I think this is probably just a backlash to the week. Feeling like I have no power in the country I live in. Worried about our future as a nation and the safety of friends and family. The joy of getting to see my brother yesterday, only to be crushed by how much he has changed. His face looking at me in confusion and pain; like how did I let this happen. It was all I could do not to cry in front of him. But how could I possibly add my pain to what he has already suffered.
I want to be angry. Angry about all of it, but right now I am just sad. I will wear my safety pin until I am strong enough to take more action. And I have to get that strength from myself.
This is going to involve a serious wedgie from hiking up my big girl panties and a large amount of coffee.

Fuck It

I wanted to write a post for Wicked Wednesday. But I can’t. I can’t write about anything happy or positive or hopeful right now.

I’m scared. I’m scared for my children and what our country will look like when this is all over.

Neither Sir nor I can sleep. We are too upset, too pissed, too shocked.

Ignorance and hate have taken the reigns of one the most advanced countries in the world. There will be nothing ‘great’ about us when they are finished.

A Post I Shouldn’t Have to Write

This post is not sexy. This post is not kinky. This post is angry and sad.

I’m not sure I’ve ever discussed it before, but my brother has learning disabilities. My parents adopted him when I was six. When I was growing up I was very resentful of him. I had to grow up fast to help care for him. And my parents often had to put him first. They tried their best, and looking back I don’t begrudge them anything. The very idea of taking on a child with special needs and giving him a home was something that I couldn’t conceive. Even now, as a parent, that responsibility seems daunting.

Having a brother with disabilities taught me a lot about life and all the advantages that people have just by being ‘normal’. My parents had to fight for his education and his equal treatment by others. I took that on as well. I remember when a school employee struck him once and I witnessed it. I walked into the principals office without knocking to let him know that he was about to be sued. I protected him as much as I could as a big sister and a caretaker. Other students knew that he wasn’t to messed with; me and my cousins were always there. It was a space I always knew I could keep him safe.

Since becoming an adult my parents have tried to make sure that he continues to have the best opportunities. He has lived in a group home with other people with similar disabilities for several years. He goes to work, has his own space, and takes parts in life skill activities (i.e. cooking, laundry, cleaning). We can visit and he comes to holiday functions and family gatherings. The home has been making small changes over the last year, but he has been acclimating pretty well. Or so we were led to believe.

A few weeks ago my parents found out that my brother was being abused. Apparently, after the last housing switch there was a change in staffing levels that my parents were not notified about. As time passes we are finding out more and more horrific details. Calls to my parents that were documented but never made. Bruises that were never reported. Outbursts that were blamed on medication levels. My stomach turns the more I think about it.

Now that we are aware, my parents and I have forced change. My brother has been moved to a safe location. We are following up on police reports and getting him crisis counselling. The company is failing to answer our questions, and I know that we will force them to account for their behavior and/or lack of response. But it doesn’t make it easier.

My heart breaks to think about it. He’s twenty-nine years old, but to me he will always be a little boy. My parents have been to see him and they say that he’s not the same. I will be going to see him this week and I’m afraid. I’m scared I will just cry to see him. We don’t know if he was sexually abused or not; and I’m afraid we will never know. The very thought makes me sick. I know that he cries and panics when the other house is even mentioned. He is terrified of being forced to go back there. He’s gained nearly fifty pounds and apparently isn’t sleeping well.

He’s my baby brother. I remember sitting in the kitchen with my parents when they told me that he was going to be joining our family. I remember discussing what his name should be. We have photos of all of us with the judge on the day we officially adopted him. And the thought that anyone would put their hand on him in any sort of violent way just makes me so angry. I don’t understand and I don’t want to. I just want him to be safe and happy. And the fact that that isn’t assumed weighs so heavily on my heart.

Beautiful Image

Sometimes I think that if I wore make-up, waxed my eyebrows, and wore designer clothes I would be more successful. I hate even the possibility of that being true. My exterior looks have nothing to do with my work ethic. Just because I don’t regularly dye my hair has nothing to do with my inner-beauty. But there is a part of me that would love to feel like a put together woman and maybe that would make me more successful in general.

You know those women. The ones who pick their kids up at school completely put together. Walking across the playground in stilettos looking fabulous. The ones who balance their work life, home life, and everything else perfectly. The woman in the grocery store who looks better than you do going on a first date. Or those women who can make me feel unaccomplished and lazy just by talking about their workouts, charitable donations and craftiness in making their kids’ Halloween costume. No matter what I’ve cleaned or what project I’ve finished, I just can’t keep up with them.

The reality is that even if I did take the time and pay the money to have all those treatments and services to make myself beautiful, it wouldn’t magically transform me into one of them. Hoping that a manicure will suddenly make me more attractive and therefore more productive is just stupid. And honestly, I would just feel guilty for spending the money, so I wouldn’t even end up feeling good about myself afterward.

Sometimes I wish I would though. A wax or some hair color might be nice once in awhile. As it stands I’m not sure I’ve had a haircut since early in the spring (I want to say March). Sometimes I wish I could forgive myself for wanting something for me every once in awhile. Currently my tattoo appointments are the only things that I pamper myself with. And the guilt after one of those is quite high as they tend to run a few hundred dollars each time I go. Hopefully my appointment in December will finish my sleeve and then I will have to be done for quite a while.

To clarify, I don’t begrudge those put together women. If anything I am jealous of the way they manage their lives and obviously still find time to put themselves first for at least part of the day. My apparent self-flagellation is the out-liar here, not them. I just have no idea how to get to where they are. Moving through self-doubt and poor body-image is a slow process. And making time and using money for myself is difficult when both are scarce.

Sorry, I was really hoping I was going to come to an actual conclusion there. That my brain would realize an obvious solution or something as I wrote this mini-rant against myself. Apparently not.

Just one of those days

Tuesday was just an off day. I really tried not to let it bother me. I tried to be positive and up beat as I struggled with each little annoyance. But it didn’t work. It took so much energy to wear a smile through each an every problem that by the time I drove home after work I had a massive headache. And having a headache as you walk  into a home with two toddlers (one of which is sick) is not a good plan.

The 2 year-old is on the mend. My dad came to stay with him on Monday so Sir and I could both go to work. Yesterday, however, we had to tag team time off. I stayed home in the morning so he could go to a meeting and then I went into the office in the afternoon. Getting to lounge around in comfy clothes was nice. But the crying child made it slightly less relaxing. That and my brain constantly worrying about the piles of work on my desk kept the morning rather tense.

Once I got into the office things calmed down. Except, of course, one of my co-workers who decided that I smeared my son’s snot all over my clothes before I left. She was positive that I was merely an incubator for my son’s illness to infect her immediately. This, while slightly annoying, would have been easy to ignore. But she let my presence sour her entire mood and preceded to sigh and grump to everyone for the rest of the afternoon.

This was after Monday when I got the call that my son was sicker than we thought. That was when she informed me that that is why she was a stay at home mom (her kids are college-age now). Because, obviously, since I was a working mother, that explained why my son was ill. Like I was being punished for my employment or something.

Sorry for the mini-rant, but without significant outside assistance, it is very difficult to be a one-income family anymore. If you can do it, good for you. But don’t judge and tell me that I am somehow a poor parent because it’s something that I have to/choose to do. I love my job. Don’t even try to make me feel guilty about it.

So, anyway, headache when I got home…

It wasn’t even like I could enjoy a good drink and a hard fuck either. My calories for the day were shot and after two nights of little sleep Sir and I were knackered. Well, almost knackered 🙂

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings

Warning: Bad Slave Rant

You know what the worst thing to call me is: lazy. I’m fine if you want to call me a slut, a whore, I probably wouldn’t argue too much if you wanted to call me a bad mother on most days. But don’t call me lazy.

And I’m terrible at getting passed being called lazy. Once it happens I shut down.

Sir didn’t mean it. Not really. But that phrase: “If you find time today, if nothing else, could you…”. It didn’t matter what he said after that, I was already pissed. If I find time? Like I just sit here on my ass with my two jobs and a household run. I know he didn’t mean it. He wasn’t calling me a bad slave or anything. But in that moment it just hurt so much.

Ok Rye, time to suck it up. Mini rant over and time to go get shit done. If I have time to mope then I have time to do whatever he asked me to do. Maybe I am lazy.

Romantic Feminism

Bridge over the River Tay in the Scottish highlands.

I rarely get a chance to read. I have always been a lover of books and generally have at least three books going at any given time. So right now I have an Australian history book, an actor’s autobiography, and my standard Scottish historical romance. Oh yeah, and a book on meditation.

I’m a sucker for a romance novel. I know, I know, they are trite. Some woman in some form of peril or distress is rescued by a god-looking piece of a man in a kilt (I generally go for Scottish stories). They are incredibly formulaic and I usually read one hundred pages in one sitting. Over a weekend I can usually manage to get through the latest acquisition while entertaining the kids and catching up on the laundry. They are a weakness, but I have a few writers I enjoy that spin a good story and don’t have too many euphemisms for a penis that drive me crazy. Sometimes you just want to read something that entertains you while you wait for the nurse to call you into the doctor’s office. I generally take two or three of them on any plane flight.

Urhquart Castle in the Scottish Highlands.However, I was reading one of these the other evening and I began a internal struggle. Part of me kept getting frustrated at how much the female lead needed to be saved. Not that she was stupid, but she continued to get hurt or manipulated and needed rescuing. Now, she was being rescued by a big burly man who always made her come first, so I don’t think she was complaining, but the feminist in me kept shouting at her. Of course, then the submissive side just wished she was getting her hair pulled a little bit more. But even the sub in me wanted her to feel more comfortable taking charge.

Stirling Castle in the Scottish Highlands.I think there are several people who aren’t in the BDSM lifestyle, and even some that I have had the misfortune to run into on FetLife, that are under the extreme misconception that submissives are weak. Most of us, those I read on blogs and Fetlife, as well as the few I have met in person, manage households and hold jobs of some sort outside the home. While we enjoy the freedom of allowing someone else to take control of our lives in the bedroom (and also out, depending on the arrangement), that doesn’t mean that we can’t survive. The submissives/slaves that I have the fortune to know are the strongest, worldliest, most intelligent women (and men) I know.

So this is just a mini-rant to let you know that while I may have a sweeping beauty and Sir owns a kilt, I am not living a romance novel and I don’t need to be rescued from him or our relationship. If you would like to rescue me from my student loan debt or my laundry, please let me know in the comments.

*Please don’t judge my taking the full opportunity to dig up pictures of the Scottish countryside. It doesn’t come up often on a BDSM sex blog and I wasn’t going to miss the chance to look back through the holiday photos. You should be glad there aren’t about thirty, to be honest.*


My post from yesterday is stuck in my head. Not that that is a bad thing. For any who missed it, please read this so you will understand my upcoming rage.

Tori over at Pain’s Pleasure wrote a great piece this week about consent and the laws in the UK. I was thinking and incensed, just like I’m sure she wanted me to be. And, until I saw the above story yesterday, I had continued to ponder the injustice in the world.

But Jade’s situation is different. It’s not the injustice of laws or definitions of what consent really means. It’s the cruelty of people. People who refuse to understand or care about what a person really wants or feels. The idea of completely ignoring a person’s wishes for your own vindictive reasons is heartbreaking. If only these people would focus their time on cancer research or world peace or something.

I was too emotional and focused to talk about anything else last night, much less play. Sir was great, as always, and let me talk. Nodding and agreeing with my loud and random conclusions. His logical mind kicked in a few times and made some really good points.

We both fully respect the idea of non-monogamy. Marriage and one person and all that isn’t for everyone. And I want to clarify that I do NOT blame Jade or her partners in any way for what they are going through. But these tragic events will, hopefully, remind others of the importance of protecting yourself. Having the basics like a living will or a power of attorney is vital. I’m not going to suggest that every family would act in the same vicious manner as this poor man’s, but if you have people you care about, make sure they know what you want and have the power to make that happen.

This is the closest community I have even been a part of. My college was small and I felt at home there, but nothing like the support of what the BDSM and blogging network provide. The understanding and acceptance of people and activities is amazing, even if we don’t understand or enjoy them ourselves. It’s hard to remember sometimes that the ‘real world’ is not all on that same page.

Safe, sane, consensual. Those are the tenants of a solid BDSM relationship. Make sure that is everything in your life. Make sure that the people who love you have the power to take care of you, especially when you can’t take care of yourself.

Nudity Requested

I rant. I can usually talk myself around to a logical conclusion, but that can take awhile. Master has learned to let me just get it out of my system. Early on in our relationship he would offer logical statements and devil’s advocate comments; my crazy does not respond well to these. So, now he just ignores me while I talk out loud and eventually I will calm myself down. Like when we let our son cry himself to sleep.

So this morning my mother sends me an article which included an interview with Jamie Dornan about the upcoming ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ movie. I won’t even go into the fact that my mom is sending me these types of articles. We have both read the books. I don’t know if she knows about Master and my sexual arrangement. It’s not something we’ve discussed. I believe that as long as everything is consensual and I am not being emotionally abused, she would be supportive.

Anyway, the article is a short interview with Jamie talking about nudity in the film. Not surprisingly, he mentions his nudity clause and how their won’t be any full frontal scenes of him. I also expect the same can be said for Dakota Johnson, but you never know. This is meant to be a mainstream movie, I don’t think anyone expected full sex sequences. As soon as the production company stated that they were shooting for an ‘R’ rating rather than an ‘NC-17’ rating, you knew that things were going to have to be toned down. I am a rational person, I can understand this.

However, it was the next question/response that set me off:

“Dornan was also asked how graphic the adaptation would be, to which he replied: “You want to appeal to as wide an audience as possible without grossing them out. You don’t want to make something gratuitous, ugly and graphic.”

I would think, though I don’t know for certain, that Jamie read the book before he took the role. He knew what he was getting into and the subculture that he going to be representing. I don’t believe that E.L. James wrote Christian Grey as a ‘bad guy’. And while those in the BDSM community probably don’t want him to be their poster child (Master certainly doesn’t), he is going to be bringing one side of the lifestyle into the public eye. I don’t believe that the point of the book or the upcoming movie is to convert the general public to BDSM (it helped me to realize my sexual needs, but that is another story). But Jamie, and the film’s publicity department, do need to realize that there is a community being represented. And his comments about ‘grossing’ people out does lead me to wonder if they care about that group. Making movies is about making money, I can respect that. But the fact that the main character of one of the first mainstream films to openly discuss the BDSM lifestyle uses terminology like gross, ugly, and graphic makes me very concerned.

I want to enjoy this movie. I know that it will not evoke the same feelings that the book did. But I would love if this film could open a dialogue about kink. That will not happen if the main character thinks that it is ugly. My choice of sexual pastimes is not ugly.

This film needed to be made for the millions of people who bought the books and loved the story that E.L. James was trying to tell. The fact that the story is graphic is what makes it real. And the idea that the film is trying to attract a larger audience by making it less graphic I think makes it less real.

Jamie is just giving the byline that the film’s publicity department wants him to say. They don’t want a prudish backlash to hurt their ticket sales. I guess I can respect that fear. But this movie isn’t for those people anyway, so why pander to them. I wish they made this for the fans, and were proud of that. I know that these actors have future careers and families to think about, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t appreciate and own their part in this experience and what it represents. If people were going to lose respect for him because he chose to do this movie, then it doesn’t really matter what he says.

I guess I am just disappointed that this interview makes it seem like Jamie already regrets his decision to be part of this picture. He is worried about his mates rather than the quality and reception of the film by the fans. That is not a good sign.

Ok, I have talked myself back off the ledge. I am disappointed, but not entirely surprised. It will be interesting to see how the film’s publicity hits the ground running in the new year. And since the movie won’t be ‘ugly’ or ‘graphic’, maybe I will save my money and read the book again instead.