Today I was strolling through profiles as I have done for the past 7 years or so and a sudden flash of insight came to me.

Subs never get to be an expert at anything D/s related. Sure..pottery and soap-making, perhaps. Yoga.. Thats a really good one to imply plyancy and ability to hold oneself into um... shall we say convenient positions.

But anything with real D/s in it..nope. Doesn;t matter how many years we've been on the recieving end... or been a demo-chicks for classes on the subject or actually how well we use them on others. Subs don't presume to place quality measures on what they know.

Placing "expert" next to canes and crops anything else for that matter makes a sub seem pretentious and inherently diminishes thier "subby-ness"

Doms however..

That is one of the things I love and admire about my Master. He's been teaching D/s clasees and techniques for 25 years and he would be the the first one to tell you there is *always* something else to learn. Every playtime is different. Every person is different and even the same person is different on different days. I have to say, for someone who never claims to be an expert at anything, he's pretty damn good. And hurrah for me. :-)

I wonder what Icarus was thinking.

His face warm against the sun, feeling his wings melting around him, feeling the warnings of his pursuit, and flapping all the harder, staying his course knowing that the sun was everything. 

What was he thinking as he plunged toward the sea?  “I was there. It was so beautiful. It was everything I dreamt it would be.”

Baggage is a quirky thing. It holds your most cherished possessions, your memories, your destination and thoughts of where you've been. Baggage gives a man character. It says he's lived well and kept the best of what his hard work and good life has reaped. 

A woman's baggage does pretty much the same thing.

 My baggage calls me "Mom" . And I thank God and the powers that be that no matter how heavy my baggage has gotten, I've had the fortitude to carry it wherever it needed to go. 

Now, at just 50 years old, I am reaping the rewards of baggage well cared for. And I couldn’t be prouder and more happy. 

My Master had the foresight to be attracted to my baggage and helps me carry it here and there. He reaps rewards other men can only dream about. Then again His baggage carries bondage gear so I guess that goes both ways.

Just a few rambling thoughts.

This is what defines my Master and why he is SO friggn **HOT**.

Duty, Honor, Country...

An excerpt from MacArthur's Thayer Award Acceptance Address at West Point. 1962

Duty, Honor, Country: Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your rallying points: to build courage when courage seems to fail; to regain faith when there seems to be little cause for faith; to create hope when hope becomes forlorn...

...They build your basic character. They mold you for your future roles as the custodians of the nation's defense. They make you strong enough to know when you are weak, and brave enough to face yourself when you are afraid.

They teach you to be proud and unbending in honest failure, but humble and gentle in success; not to substitute words for actions, not to seek the path of comfort, but to face the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm but to have compassion on those who fall; to master yourself before you seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean, a goal that is high; to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future yet never neglect the past; to be serious yet never to take yourself too seriously; to be modest so that you will remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength.

They give you a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions, a freshness of the deep springs of life, a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of an appetite for adventure over love of ease.

They create in your heart the sense of wonder, the unfailing hope of what next, and the joy and inspiration of life. They teach you in this way to be an officer and a gentleman...

Ever walk into a room where your teen children are playing on the computer only to have them minimize the screen before you can tell them dinner is ready? 

Well, I found myself today doing the same thing to them as they asked me for a calculator for their SATs tomorrow.. 

 Got to wonder who has the most exciting content..

I'm not sure I could ever trust anyone who defines themselves based solely on their kink. The first things I look at in a potential friend is their non-kink interests, their base. I think it is fairly easy to be a good slave at a play party. The expectation by all around is to support the endevor to be a good slave or at least act like one.

It is far more challenging and rewarding to be a good slave, albeit more subtly, in a fine restaurant or museum. And believe me, there is plenty of submissive delight to be found in dining experience and plenty of kink to be found in a museum.

 There is one scupture at the MFA Boston that defines my fantasy of "Master" . It is a small Japanese bronze of a god copulating with a subjectified female while minions are crushed under his sandals.

Can't find a picture but.. yum.

My hair Bondage Experience

I’ve been contemplating a unique irony.

Last night my Master and I got a room at a rather lovely hotel away from the masses that tend to follow our rather busy lives. The focus of our play was to remove corn-row braids plaited into my hair a week or so ago while on vacation with my children.

First of all, I hadn’t planned on having corn-rows. I just wanted someone to put my hair in a single braid in the back so it would be out of the way during dodge ball bombardment. I asked if anyone braided hair and an hour later POOF corn-rows.

 Having my hair corn-rowed was a unique experience. It felt as if this woman was doing shibari on my head, my hair pulling everywhere whenever I lifted an eyebrow changed my expression. While she was doing it hurt so wonderfully, but ohhhh after a few hours the pain of the completed do became somewhat cumulative. I kept patting my head, pulling and fidgeting with the braids. One of the ladies saw my distress and told me not to worry, that in time they would loosen up on their own, that I’d have to pay $70 to have it done in a salon and I should enjoy them. Undoing them would be like ungifting.

It occurred to me that one of my favorite things was Daniel brushing my hair and running his fingers through the long soft curls, not to mention grabbing a full large hand of my hair and forcing my lips up to his to kiss me His way. He couldn’t do that now! It felt as though I was wearing a braided hat glued tightly to my head. Nothing flowed, nothing moved. Oh my goodness, I thought. I’m in hair bondage!! Hair abstinence!! *sob*

I called him on the phone and told him my plight along with a picture, long light-brown hair plaited into many small African corn-rows. He laughed and thought about it and said not to worry. I should consider it an assignment to keep them in. Not being able to touch or brush my beautiful long hair in his absence would be considered a form abstinence. When I got back we would get a room away, he would put me into the bath tub, personally take each one out, condition my hair back to normal, bath me, and oh yes do what He does best. After all, says he, he likes to take good care of his property.

And ohhh..Last night was GLORIOUS.

Now the irony. This was one of our most intimate Master/slave nights. No suspension, or rope, floggers,  whips, or canes, (well..some pretty intense bite marks), but all and all as innocent and vanilla as a new snow. Yet, I could feel my submission as deeply as I could feel our combined soul. In our quiet discussions near the end of the evening we agreed that this type of play was a in a higher plain of existence from our standard D/s fare of the whipping, flogging and fireplay we usually engage in when playing in public or in the dungeon. And He was so pleased in me that we could find such a deep and fulfilling haven on this new road.

I think how curious, the full circle in which I’ve come. For two years I’ve been gorging myself on everything BDSM in contrast to my vanilla life and here I find that the higher order of play was hidden where I started. How glorious to be a slave.

Angels in the Dark

Origin: Hebrew

Meaning: God is my judge.

“You said you felt like you’ve finally found your way home. Well, tell me then, who wired you this way? And who will judge you?”  August 2006

(I am a vessel.)

“God puts me places..places where I need to be..to help.”  I hear myself saying softly to him as I lay peaceful and complete in his arms my body molding seamlessly into the softness of his chest..perfect symbiosis, his warmth filling me as I remember the blue-green of his eyes, the natural musk of his scent, the sound of his heart beating through me.

He saved me, I thought to myself, as I molded more closely to him, feeling the damp hairs of his chest brushing along my nipples. If I could I would crawl right through him, melt into the core of his being. He doesn’t realize the epiphany.  How he saved me.. from the only person who could ever really hurt me in the first place..myself. He was put *there*, *then*  for *me*, and how much I love God that He did that, that I was worthy, the God that held steadfast while my definitions changed and rearranged.

An angel. How ridiculously sublime.  He touched my face and pulled me from the abyss, grabbed my soul and held it tight, unwavering in his strong and gentle arms. Could he ever know the part he played with a look down and an outstretched hand? Can I tell him just where I was letting myself go and how he brought me back? The place I swore I would never go again. I was a rock. I was supposed to be a rock. I promised myself. There was so much confusion. I wrapped myself into the comfort of the chains, holding on tightly, watching, too spell bound to leave, yet invisible to everyone in the room. *Everyone*. I felt myself becoming smaller with each passing minute.

Then He was there. His presence pulled me like a magnet.  I felt myself next to him, kneeling at his feet, his warmth surrounding me like a cloud. I looked up and saw him looking down at me, his sole focus. It felt as though someone was playing an odd joke with time and space. Everything slowed. I was frozen and my eyes glazed as I watched his hand reaching ever so slowly downward. Such large hands. The first thing I felt was the warmth of his hand against my face, then his energy running through me. Then everything went dark. The room went completely silent, all sound lost in a haze that took over my being. I melted into him and there was only need and hunger, seemingly insatiable hunger. I felt myself rising, floating upward, guided by his will and then with the first warm, gentle kiss, love and belonging. Home.