Sometimes I’m Not Very Submissive

Am I the only one who, on a rare occasions, goes into a situation I’ve imagined and anticipated and just loses the ability to remember who I am?

Am I the only one who checks her mind at the door and gets caught up in the situation to such a degree that I act solely on the feelings of those around me?

Am I the only one that can live in her imagination so deeply that I ignore reality and swan dive into the fantasy that’s been created?

Am I the only one who wants to make other people I’m with so happy and pleased with me that I forget the one I am to please?

Thought so. I wasn’t a total slug, though. I did obey, but not at the level I should have. I wasn’t disrespectful and I followed instructions when they were given, but I didn’t seem to remember who I was. I just floated away and wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. Nothing else mattered and it was complete green lights straight down the boulevard for me. It wasn’t intentional and it wasn’t premeditated. It just was.

We’ve done so much talking the last few days that I’m all talked out. I need to step back for a bit and take a rest. Coach told me to take a three week break from blogging and I must do this. This morning it was six weeks, but I asked him to reconsider. He read that it’s a minimum of three weeks to break a habit so he’ll let me do it as long as I add in a book he wants me to read and study out. I can do that.

During these three weeks I plan on attending some local sub events and meetings. I think I need some local support; real live people to meet and talk to. I really think that’s what’s been lacking. I don’t see my friends much anymore because we’ve grown apart. I have so many of you here that are so encouraging and supportive and I thank you for that. I have a wonderful blogging friend I’m very close to (love ya, Viv), but she’s so far away. I’m a face-to-face person. I need voices and smiles and winks and nods and hand holding and hugs and body language and facial expressions. I need to learn and grown more in my submission.

I’ll be back blogging about the third week of November. I’ll miss Boobday this Friday, and on Halloween of all days! I had one hell of a Vamp pic, too. Seriously…me in my corset, fishnets, stilettos, bite mark on my neck. You would have loved it! I may still have to post it when I get back. I think I may come back Vamp-ier than ever 😉

This will go by quickly as I have so many projects I have to finish, and, along with the personal assisting job, there’s a very real possibility of a full time job. I’m excited about this one because it’s for a major event planning company. I would be doing admin so I won’t have to work all those nights and weekends. Lots to do, lots to do.

My official end of blogging break is on a Thursday and there is a very special club that has a new member meet and greet and dinner on Wednesdays. As much as a sub needs discipline, she needs rewards as well. That would make for one super hot reward and one hell of a “I’m Back” post.

See you all soon!


To My Dom

So early in the morning and we’ve already said goodbye
I sit in silence thinking about all we’ve said
We learned where I’m vulnerable and weak
We both thought I was stronger
But I go back and forth from strong to weak too easily
I am unaware of my own triggers
I have so much more work to do
A new layer was uncovered and we both don’t like what we see
I know you’ll hold my hand and heart through it all
But who knows how long it will take to repair
I can’t see who I am in anyone’s eyes
I’m blind to my own aura, my very presence
Too easily swayed because I don’t own my own worth
Right now I’m so very fragile that one wrong move and I’ll break
Don’t let me shatter

He Called Me Kiddo

I am doing some personal assistant work one day a week for a new client. He’s actually one of Coach’s clients and now he’s hired me to help him get organized in his business and home life. I helped out at one of his stores last week and today I was at his home. He and his wife had several projects for me, from going to one of the houses he’s flipping and putting together a lighting needs breakdown to purchasing him a temporary out of state hunting license for a big hunting trip he’s taking next week. I’m good with these task and over a two day period I’ve knocked out an impressive list. I got very excited on the drive back to his house and couldn’t help thinking, “I hope he likes the frames I chose. Are my lighting recommendations going to work with his plan?” And then it hit me, I freaking get off on this! I was even a little nervous.

Once back, I gave him everything he needed. He was extremely pleased and I was glowing. As I was leaving for the day, he told me how much of a help I’ve been and how glad he is for our new arrangement. Then he said, “Good job, kiddo.” I almost tripped on his steps. I feel no attraction to this man, who’ s only nine years older than me, but I will tell you, I just loved hearing those words!

No, Mama, No!

Still to this day, at age 49, I cannot understand why your love for me is conditional, but for your four sons it’s given freely. You say you love me, but actions speak louder than words.

My nightmares are about you. You are the monster in the dark, but at first you appear as a protector and I fall for it every time. Did you ever feel the need to protect me or was that all daddy? You hated that he sang me to sleep every night, that he and I sang together every morning as he got ready for work, that he took me on little get away day trips to see the leaves turn in the fall or just spend time looking out over a green valley. You hated that we were so much alike, you hated that I drew attention when I walked into a room just like he did. You hated that we even looked alike and that everyone knew I was his daughter, his only daughter. You hated that he protected me from you. Those nights he held me in the dark, in my bedroom with the door locked, while you screamed and pounded on the door like a lunatic. We were both scared of you. You blamed me for his death, but you and your sons broke him.

You hate that I married a man just like him…handsome, charismatic, smart, funny. You hate that I have the marriage you never had, but faked it to the world. You hate that your son-in-law loves his only daughter the way daddy loved me and that he sings to her and takes her on outings. I LOVE that he does all those things. I LOVE that she looks like her daddy, that they have the same weird sense of humor, that her eyes light up when he comes into the room, that the both of them turn heads.

You took away my protector and defender. You took away my security and to this day I am wounded so deeply that I don’t think I will ever completely recover, but I do not allow your mistakes to dictate how I treat my children and those I love and care about because you are not allowed to have that kind of power over me. You tried to break me, too. Congratulations on your legacy. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him. Not a day goes by for the last 30 years, 30 fucking long years, that I don’t look at his picture and cry, even if it’s just one tear.

So with the help and guidance of my husband, the man you’re all afraid of because he doesn’t put up with your crap, I forge a better life for myself that cannot include you or your sons. Just know this, my children will never cry out in the dark, “No, Mama, no!”

My Hands


Someone noticed my hands today. She commented that I had several faded scars, and in particular, scars on my wrists. She gave me a strange look and I just gave her a smile. I feel no need to explain myself or my life; where I’ve been or what I’ve done.

My hands bear witness of trials and triumphs. My hands defy my age and are a testimony that no matter what has gone on in my life, I am still young at heart.

I’m not afraid to lend a hand, to applaud you, to shake your hand, to hold your hand, to high-five and fist bump you, to pat you on your back, and to wipe away your tears.

My hands can even defend me. I can slap you across the face, punch you in the stomach, or flip you off.

I can draw and paint with my hands, I can cook, I can sew, and I can make a living all with my hands.

I can even use my hands to give you a massage, to run my fingers through your hair, to stroke you hard and soft, to touch you so you know you’ve been touched, to scratch my nails down your back.

My hands can do many amazing things.

The Land of Milk and Honey

Her restless heart cannot be tamed

Echoes of want harmonize
A song of wantonness on her tongue
The land of milk and honey

Drifting on a raft in a raging sea
The current of desire drawing her in
To the only place she longs to be
The land of milk and honey

A smile forms on her soft petal lips
As she throws her body into the deep
Powerful waves lap her onto shore
The land of milk and honey

Sand beige skin glistening with gold
The fiery sun igniting her lust
She walks the sacrificial walk
The land of milk and honey

One Year Ago

One year ago, today, we found ourselves faced with a decision. We could fall apart or we could rise up. We could be the people we always wanted to be and live the life we always wanted to live or allow ourselves to fall apart and sink into a deep, dark hole. We owed it to ourselves and to our children to rise up against adversity. We had to set a good example and we had to prove to ourselves that death would not swallow us whole like it had in the past. The preceding month of my father in law’s hospitalization and then his week in hospice actually brought the best out in each of us. We first felt the pull to let circumstances dictate our future, a route so easily taken when life seems out of control, and if we allowed it we would have lost everything.

I knew I had to give Coach my unwavering support because of all the times he needed me to walk perfectly in my submission, this was the time. I then got to see something amazing – I saw the fullness of Coach’s dominance rise up. Coach has always been a dominant man. He is his own person and when he wants something he goes after it. He’s in control of himself, but he’s lighthearted at the same time. He never forces my submission because he wants me to willingly offer it, just like I want him to willingly dominate me. Something in him clicked, like that last puzzle piece being snapped into place.

There was a hold back between us since we first started living our lives as Dom and sub. We’d been feeling each other out for a while and we had some amazing times, but we also hit some road blocks along the way. I often wondered if we could continue, not just as Dom and sub, but as husband and wife. We really were at a make or break point and it was at this critical junction we found out what we were made of and what was really living inside. According to Coach, his worry was that we had lived a certain way for so long that the changes we needed to make to be successful at D/s would be too hard. In all honesty, I needed to do some major changing and unless I could go to that level he wasn’t going to move much past the place we were. I took responsibility for who and what I was. Coach made the changes he needed to make as well, and in our grief, he came to me and told me that we would no longer repeat the mistakes of the past. We started getting really honest with each other in ways that I never thought we could or even should, but when you face yourself head on you have to go there. The deepest of the deep started coming out, a little at first, and then within a short time the floodgates opened and it was a baptism of water and fire. We had a cleansing and a purging, which resulted in a refining.

Today is the one year anniversary of the death of my father in law. To say that a lot has changed in the last year is truly an understatement. Instead of fighting death we allowed it to birth a new life.

“To everything – a season, and a time to every delight under the heavens.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1 Young’s Literal Translation)




Caught between reality and fantasy
Floating in and out of a dream
A rip tide of desire draws her in
Then a tidal wave crashes her back onto shore
For a brief moment she was free
In the stillness of night
Out of all sight and sound
The ache throbs
Forbidden fruit
Never to be tasted for fear of its poison
Her delights remain a mystery
Given to those who share her fate
The only ones who can consume