Magic

I went to your class last night and it was magical. Not just the topic but the entire package. Yes, part of it was that you and they were there and hot and teasing and got me all flustered and lip-bitingly anxiously excited. Part of it was being in that space after so long away and realising that I made the right choice when I decided on a break, and that my pain was soothed rather than deepened at the knowledge that I am not welcome to proceed along the path I thought would be mine. A huge part of it was the conceptualising of magic as a reframing for the stuff we do that has the most value.

The best bit though – that was the witchy GQ of you and the delightful honesty of them. When you built them a boner and finally managed to embarrass them, it was beautiful because there is obvious joy between you and you shared it with the class so generously. I felt safe and comforted basking in that joy. I enjoyed the so-called humiliation afterward more than you can know. I babbled for a good hour and a half, with my cheeks flushed and fuzzy, high as the proverbial kite.

When I woke up this morning I had so much residual energy and jazz-handedness that I would swear the daily post prompt was “Magical” and I was thrilled to write on that theme. Well, thrilled to think about writing and you and them and other wonderfully magical friends in my life. Apparently the word is “identical” so the old adage of seeing what we want to see held true 🙂

Thank you. Thank you for the magic. Thank you for the comfort and safety. Thank you for holding space. Thank you for the flirting. Thank you for the deviousness and glee. Thank you.

“Ooooooh-ooooh-hooo, witchy GQ
See how high they fly-ay-ay
Ooooooh-ooooh-hooo, witchy GQ
They got the moon in their eye-ay-ay-ays”

In other news … the YA series name thing at the top of this post popped up in my feed as I was noodling and I adore it. A kitchen of amethyst and rain sounds pretty fucking magical to me!

Identical

Cautiously Hopeful

I did it. I opened up and let them in. I needed to do it, especially last night and especially after what happened over the weekend, but I still didn’t expect to do it and I certainly didn’t expect to do it in the way that it happened.

It feels … right. I went with my gut and I took my cues from the universe. That said, I’m worried. I don’t want to focus on all the ways this could suck for me if it goes bad, but after living through the past eight months I don’t know how to tune the anxiety out.

So I’m hopeful. Cautiously, yes, but hopeful.

Risky

Desire

God I want you inside me tonight. In class today we talked about anatomy and sexual technique and I couldn’t stop remembering the last time I had your cock in my mouth… the smug expression on your face as you watched me squirm uncontrollably with your hand in my cunt… the love in your eyes, your voice, your manner as you told me all the things you were feeling as we fucked, the hoarseness as you described how it felt to hear me call out your name as I came…

I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m holding out my hand. Why are you gone? Where are you?

Succumb

With friends like these …

I’m in a pretty dark place tonight. My anxiety is off the charts, I talked to my therapist about some of the most traumatic events in my past today, and my period started yesterday – knowing those things, I really shouldn’t take anything my brain is saying seriously right now … but how does one do that? How does one completely dissociate from the noise? I know there are those that can pull it off – and, to be clear, I don’t exactly envy them – but I’ve never managed that trick.

I’ve been thinking – and feeling, let’s be honest – a lot about friendship for the past few days. I am very fortunate to have some of the best friends any person could ask for. People who really and truly care, who have held me together during some pretty terrible things over the past twenty years or so, not to mention the shitstorm that has been the past two years. But I’m tired of being mired in the muck and I can only imagine the toll it has taken on them to constantly be propping me up. Still they’re consistently there. They drop what they’re doing to help.

Then there are … others. I’ve had a few friendships implode in my life for various reasons, these moments generally come about once every seven years or so … until this past July. Since the middle of July I’ve lost about fifteen ranging from the friendly acquaintance to the deeply loved. There have been some extreme circumstances, sure, and a crucible is a much better test of character than a field of flowers but I can’t help but wonder what is going on with me. Am I just that bad at picking people? Am I just that bad of a friend?

I had one of the deeply loved ones tell me recently that it’s hard to be my friend because I’m too self-absorbed. Ouch. She gave me some things to work on in order to keep her friendship and, while some are the very real and valid get out of my own head and be better at listening sort of things, some feel like total bullshit. It feels like she doesn’t actually want to be my friend – she wants to mold me into someone I’m not. She doesn’t approve of how I manage my other relationships, she is tired of me grieving something she doesn’t think I should want or be involved in, she doesn’t want to deal with my tears, I’m not queer enough to have a shareable opinion about being queer, I’m not allowed to ask that she not use the word ‘cunt’ as an insulting description of a female-identified person, I’m not experienced enough to provide guidance to other newbies, etc. I don’t even know how to approach a conversation about this cuz how do I express any of this without making it all about me?

Another one, this one somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, has decided that we aren’t friends anymore because I asked for some space and, when she didn’t give it to me – that is to say, when she told me over and over and over again about how she was going to give it to me – I took it for myself. I gave myself a few days off. She’d just given me a diatribe about how the trauma I experienced recently and the resultant fallout have negatively impacted her ability to develop a new partner relationship… even though neither she nor this potential partner (nor that person’s current partner) were in any way involved in what happened to me.

Then again, I’m totally stuck in my head so of course I can come up with all sorts of reasons why they’re the jerks and I’m the victim. God, I’m so fucking sick of feeling like a victim. Of all the aspects of my mother that I NEVER want to claim for myself, that’s got to be at the top of the fucking list. I read over this and that’s the feeling I get though.

I feel like such an impostor in my own skin.

Fraud

I am who I am who I am … but who am I?

I’ve written quite a few love letters of late but this one is different. How does one go about writing a love letter to oneself? I’m chaffing against this request and pouting and grumbling and employing all manner of immature procrastination tactics.

Having compassion for myself – admitting that I’m a “mere” human and that’s ok – is incredibly painful. It feels like admitting to failure.

Partly I think that’s because I have this idea that if I can just pour my heart out sufficiently, if I can just make him see the error of his ways, he’ll redeem himself (and grovel obsequiously) and it feels like this is the point where I have to let go of that fantasy. I have to come to terms with the fact that he may never figure out that he’s on the wrong side of this. And the solace of knowing that I’m right is pretty damn lonely.

God, I’m so sick of being lonely. I learned a long time ago how to be alone and, as someone who tends toward introversion, I’m often quite content in that state. But a few months ago I bought a dream that turned out to be false and I want my money back. I want to return this bleak hurt broken shell and get back the old me. It’s great to have been strong and resilient and whatnot through this whole mess of a shitstorm that has been my life since May or so … but I’m fucking exhausted.

Maybe that’s the point here. It’s ok to be tired. It’s ok to want to stop struggling. It’s ok.

I dropped a class this week and expected that to hurt more than it did. My plans aren’t really derailed, they’re just edited. I’ve been giving some advice about self-care and trying to take deep breaths and maybe implement some of those same strategies for myself.

For all that I’ve been screaming into the void a lot of late, things are starting to go right. There are bumps in the road, for sure, but things are moving more consistently in the positive / forward direction. As with so many things, positive energy is a spiral and it builds as you open yourself to it and allow it in. Being open means other things get in too but I’ve been living in that fear for far too long.

They say once bitten, twice shy and it strikes me that there’s a piece missing. Once bitten, twice shy implies that you won’t go after a thing again cuz you got hurt – but you will. I WILL. Not right away and not in the same way. The lesson of the bite will imprint and the scar will linger long after the pain subsides – but I don’t dislike dogs because I got bitten in a gnarly way once and I know that I will love again. Hell, I already do – even if it isn’t romantic love. Considering the household in which I grew up, the fact that I can love at all is pretty damn impressive.

I am so fortunate to have the friends that I have. I don’t always do a good job of maintaining those relationships but somehow I have connected with my people over and over throughout my life. I have a new friendship developing that is looking like it’ll be one for the ages. From inside the hurricane that is my life of late I have reached out and leaned on my friends in ways I never have before and I have tested the friendship of a number of potentials that didn’t come up to snuff –> but overall I am so pleased with my core tribe.

I’m not an easy person to get close to and I have incredible people in my life that have refused to allow me to push them away when things get dark.

I really like the person I’m becoming. I’ve liked myself more and more for the past few years. I’m working dilligently to be more conscious of the things I’m not pleased with about myself so that I can replace them constructively. It’s a slow process and very 3 steps forward, 2 steps back … and sometimes 5 steps back, or 29 … but it’s happening.

I’m living more and more in my true self and the fact that I can do that – that I can even get in touch with those long hidden and repressed parts of me, and that they have been so eager to be reintroduced, fills me with warm fuzzies.

I have a damn fine ass, great tits, a sweet hot tight lil cunt, gorgeous hands and feet, lustrous hair, smooth skin, and dimples in my smile. My body and I haven’t always gotten along but we’ve been on better and better terms as I move through my leather journey. I can take a lot and I heal quickly. I never understood people who cut themselves until I found kink. I don’t cut myself now – to be clear – but I absolutely understand how freeing it can be to have a physical manifestation of the inner pain and turmoil and how fantastic is is to let that pain go. I am a masochist and it is so wonderful.

My primal is coming closer and closer to the surface. Not my playful cheetah self. My deep dark dwelling beast self. The part of me that scares me a little. The part I kinda don’t even want to admit exists and yet the part of me I am actively calling to. In some ways it feels like a guardian. I don’t know its shape. I don’t know its name. I’ve tried my whole life to pretend she wasn’t there. I stuffed her in an oubliette and hid from her in the sunshine. She forgives but she doesn’t forget. I called her under the new moon and she is coming.

I’m also identifying more and more as an elemental. When I was younger, I was always drawn to elemental magic stories. There is something so pure and real about working directly with the elements. I’ve always thought I would be a water elemental. I’m a Pisces and just assumed that since I resonated with the two fishies striving against each other, the mutable nature, that it was my element. I recently learned that my Chinese astrology chart has a lot of metal in it. My primal is tied to the earth and in chinese five element theory earth gives rise to metal which in turn gives rise to water, so the three pieces of my astrological nature flow together so nicely … and yet. That’s not my element.

I am the lightning. Much like the deeper primal, that knowledge scares me a bit but it is also so affirming. I am born as a result of systems trying to balance disparate charges. I’m quick. I light up the dark places and reveal the things evil would like to keep hidden. I create and destroy. I burn. I purify.

My feet are firmly on my path. It winds and there is more backtracking than I’d like. But I’m still moving. I’ll keep moving. I’m also going to curl up into a ball and cry sometimes. That doesn’t mean I’ve lost sight of my path or myself. It’s just an acknowledgement that sometimes this shit is too hard and I need to take a break.

Hot, Wet, and Deep

I played with someone new last week and the first time was hot AF. There was some incredible respect shown for our defined boundaries and that was the sexiest thing that has happened to me in awhile. I came twice during our first scene and would gladly have kept going, and kept cumming, if my partner’s hand hadn’t gone numb from the phenomenal open hand sensation play we were engaging in. Since I was at a party with many friends to ensure my safety and since my partner was so clearly intent on finding the best scene we could create within the parameters we established together, I went deep. Deliriously deep. Had a hard time walking to the car deep. Giggled for hours at just about everything deep. My body was still zinging with pleasure two days later when he checked in deep.

The second time we played, we both had a better sense of what we were getting into and I was wet before he ordered me to take my panties off. I was wet as soon as we started negotiating. The glee in my partner’s face when I told him I’d brought toys and the fun we had going through my bag. The saucy way he revealed the belt he’d worn since he didn’t have “real toys” to bring. More sexy boundary respect. I went into headspace almost immediately. I came three times. We broke two of the toys. We laughed a LOT. I called him an asshole and meant it in the best possible way. He’s discovering just how fantastic it is to be in touch with his inner sadist. I flipped him off and he hurt me harder. He said afterward how awesome it was that I was obviously instantly ready with anticipation cuz he could smell me as soon as he stood over me. Hotness achievement UNLOCKED.

It was so enjoyable that we played again about an hour later. I was high for days. I get wet thinking about it and the spank bank is filling up nicely with ideas. The feel of him as he rubbed his face and chest all over my back to switch up the sensations. The smell of him as we cuddled afterward. The pure, raw, primal energy that we created. I want to meet his beast. Mine is already trying to claw her way out to say hello.

I almost bit him while nuzzling into his chest but we hadn’t talked about it, consent is a thing, and my integrity wouldn’t let me do it. It was so instinctual that my mouth was open before I caught myself – but I DID catch myself because I wanted to honour the play and the boundaries we’d set up together. That moment led to a conversation about a mutual love of biting and it’s even fucking sexier that we have so much more to explore the next time we play together.

Even better – the joy I found in the catharsis was so empowering and it has helped me set up three play dates with people I’ve been flirting with for AGES. People with excellent boundaries. People with gorgeous integrity. People who truly respect autonomy. Perhaps most importantly, people who honour play as PLAY.

This will be my first Folsom weekend and I’m going to ROCK the FUCK out of it. Huzzah!

Mighty