I wasted a lot of energy in 2011 on other people. Any of it that wasn’t going to my job went to other people, with a teensy tiny bit of leftovers coming to me. (And of course, I always have a permanent chunk for my lovely husband. That doesn’t change.) I lay . . . → Read More: Becoming the Hunted]]>

Big cat says "Me-ow"

I wasted a lot of energy in 2011 on other people. Any of it that wasn’t going to my job went to other people, with a teensy tiny bit of leftovers coming to me. (And of course, I always have a permanent chunk for my lovely husband. That doesn’t change.) I lay myself bare to be attacked last year, removing my heart from my chest and serving it on a platter for other people to nom on. Along the way I completely forgot what it was that mattered to me. I pursued others because I thought that’s what I needed or they wanted but I really had no idea what I was doing.

I realize now that all of that time spent pursuing was an absolute waste. The only benefit of it has come in the self-awareness I have gained, knowing that I don’t want to ever feel like I did last year.

So while it has arrived at the beginning of the year, this isn’t a resolution. It’s more of an awakening. Or a slap over the head if that’s a more eye opening way of looking at it.

2012 is not going to be about pursuing others while hurting myself. This year (and life moving forward) will be about making time for people that are good to me. I will put effort into seeing friends and lovers who offer my life richness, excitement and affection. And I will allow myself to be pursue like I totally deserve, because I. Am. Awesome.

At the moment I have a pretty, sexy lady who is offering me plenty of attention, and it’s lovely. I’ve also thought to myself about putting a bit more effort into dating some friends I have crushes on, but I’m going to leave those possibilities in their courts.

The hunter is FINALLY going to allow herself to become the hunted and that sounds like perfect evolution to me.

I suppose for . . . → Read More: Three’s Company; part 1]]> I believe pretty strongly that every man and woman deserves to be presented with the opportunity for group sex. It might not be their thing and it’s ok to say no, but with only one life to live on this earth, why do so many spend theirs not working harder on their bucket lists?

I suppose for some, it’s a matter of circumstance. Which is why I’ve been hoping for years to be able to offer Harvey a threesome. People in my life that are nice should have nice things. And what’s nicer than two gals willing to do what you say, all nekkid and stuff?

So I kept it in the back of my mind for years. Relationships with others came and went; Harvey was always around. While our level of interaction has changed over the years, the idea was never shelved. Though I don’t think he really expected it would happen; and who can blame him considering we’ve known each other for 4.5 years already, sans group sex.Then a few months or weeks ago … I don’t really remember … we started to head back down into dom/sub territory. It’s always been an aspect of our relationship; but not always at the forefront of our interactions. There isn’t simply one reason why we have explored it further lately. It’s been the perfect storm of Harvey spending more time understanding his dominant streak and gaining a new understanding for both before and aftercare of someone, combined with me having a shit time emotionally in 2011 and needing some clarity and grounding.

It’s a funny thing, to be completely aware of the fact that you’re giving more and more control to another person and to still let it happen. A few years ago it was probably a bad thing to use myself in a psychological experiment with him. Learning about submission while at the same time experiencing it with a man who hadn’t yet learned the importance of aftercare. There were many times I would go home crying, but not cathartic tears.

Now though, he gets it. And the appeal is so strong. To know, feel AND trust that he knows me; what I like, what I don’t, how far to push me and when to stop and hug … well it’s unreal. I have one wonderful man at home who takes care of me in so many ways and other out there who does in completely different ways. Sometimes it’s frustrating to have gotten so familiar with my submissive side as I realize what an important role she, Samantha, plays in the life of Sam.

But I digress.

This past weekend, Harvey had the house and some time to himself. I realized a couple of months ago that I knew a girl who might be perfect for a one time deal with him. Someone who understood discretion (though I hate that element – more on that later in part 2) and submission. After much personal anguish, the choice became clear, though complicated due to her being connected to friends of mine. While it may make some weirdness for me moving forward, I hope that it doesn’t because everything fit into place, which I had been looking for for so long.

I wanted to make sure that before she joined us that he and I had some time alone. I got over there mid afternoon and, besides some stomach wooziness, felt instant relaxation. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, there is an undeniable sense of calm in the air when I hang out with him. No drama or passive aggressiveness. If there is aggression, it’s clear and strangely soothing, delivering catharsis, not confusion.

We hung out on the couch for a while. He worked me into a gentle fever with simple denial. Easy actions that removed my control of the situation, just, for lack of a better word, nicely. His tone changed, and he told me I was pretty. He asked his trademark question “Isn’t that lovely?’ and I wasn’t about to deny that it was. I don’t get off on degradation. I get off on making someone proud and doing a good job. When he called me his little girl a couple of times, I felt an overwhelming emotional surge. Feel free to Freud me up and down ’til the cows come home on this one and I’ll be the first to admit that I know I have Daddy issues (and he is often surprisingly very much like how I remember my dad sometimes). So maybe being called someone’s little girl is all inter-connected to my childhood and feelings of inadequacy when suddenly my family structure changed and I got a new step-mum and three step-brothers. Or hey, maybe it’s just relaxing to feel a strong man’s arms around me basically telling me I’m ok and don’t need to worry about anything.

Really, who the fuck cares, as long as my vagina was amused. Which it was, so very much.

After some amusement and a slow burn orgasm (always frustrating, never embarrassing) for me, he let me know I was going to give him a bath. I remember when I first started exploring kink, I read this book “Female Submission: The Journal of Madelaine“. In it, the author talks about bathing her Dom and how it felt so nice to be of service that way and it was always something I wanted to do. There is something so very appealing in taking care of a person in that way. It’s indulgent to indulge him. So I was more than happy to head upstairs and turn on the taps.

It was calming to wash him. How strange, right? But really, it’s kind of like ironing. Hmm, except ironing sucks so maybe that’s a bad example. Let’s say it’s like baking cookies. There’s this feeling of doing something good. Taking care of him and offering him relaxation and, as I said, indulgence. It’s so easy to zone out in that moment. To focus on nothing but the task at hand. Wet. Soap. Rinse. Repeat. Service based submission was almost built for people like me with a million things on the brain at any given moment … Peace. Quiet. One task. One objective.

When he was clean, I dried him. For a moment it didn’t feel like human to human interaction, but more like an art project of some kind. It was important to do a good job, to not miss a spot … to stay within the lines. Moving slowly to not miss a spot. Doing it softly, with affection and care.

When I went into the bedroom to get his clothes, I was thankful that he didn’t follow right behind me because I was slightly taken aback and needed a moment to breathe (Remember that a couple of hours of slow subspace can give tasks like this an extra layer of overwhelming). There on the bed was his outfit, his boots and his bag of tricks. His belt folded, ever so neatly on his shirt. His shirt folded, ever so neatly on his pants. It was obvious that thought went into placing every item so precisely. And whether it was to make me feel special or just show control, make me feel special it did. He came in the room and I basically dressed him. It’s strange, thinking about it now. Almost like I was a mother dressing a child … (I did think to myself while putting his socks on that it was good practice for when I have children) … except as the “mother” I was completely not the one running the show.

Fucking fascinating.

Then we headed back down to the couch area so I could shine his boots. Not before stopping off for a quick spanking (Something I wish there had been more of. Such a relaxing feeling giving into a spanking. I’m sure some would say the same about a hot bath, but I just find that boring and sweaty face making.)

Why the idea of shining his boots appealed to me I’m not sure. I know that I had been looking forward to it for weeks. He could mention it in a task and I would feel my shoulders shrug. My mouth going into that weird little sub pout and my eyes feeling slightly … doe-esque. Such a simple task but the meaning behind it, pretty awesome. Here I am on the floor, making sure to get every little bit of dirt off these boots. Knowing he loves the things so much, I was thrilled to make them look nice for him. Again, the zone out zen feeling of focusing on a task, knowing it’s something that you’re doing for someone, feels absolutely wonderful. Combined with the fact that he was wearing them and lightly flogging me as I lay there shining – when I had anticipated originally that they’d be off in a corner, not attached to his feet, while I did it – it was perfect.

The look of aggression was getting pretty strong in his eyes at this point. Once I was finished he slammed me to the floor and tied my hands. He gagged me (cursing my small head for being too small to really fit the gag) and abused me a little. All par for the course, really. It’s lovely to be abused sometimes. To be a doll for someone else’s amusement. Again, the lack of thought is zen. Why zen translates into a wet vagina is something that scientists can figure out. I am just glad it does and consider myself lucky to have made the connection.

After some abuse, I went into the bathroom to wash the polish off my hands. I came out, realized they weren’t totally dry and went back in to dry them completely. I paused just long enough to realize what had just happened. These, albeit strange to some people, fantasies that I had for so long; the bath, the planning, the boots, they had all just happened. He was of course doing it for himself, but I was certainly being considered. Another emotion wave hit me and before I knew it he was right behind me. His intuition has always been one of his stronger points and over the past little while has been ridiculously on point. At that moment when my subconscious started thinking “Woah, this is intense. You sure you’re handling it ok?”, I was able to collapse into a hug and have him tell me it was ok.

I hadn’t even had a chance to realize I was questioning it before he told me what the answer was.

Next we headed to the kitchen. Our guest was due to arrive in ten minutes.

More on that in the next post. It’s kind of ridiculous how many words this one got to already and I’m sleepy!

My wedding ring and I have a strange relationship. When I’m at home, I often pay it no attention, abandoning it on a random shelf as soon as I walk in the door. It never sleeps with me or sees me naked. I won’t let it eat at the dinner table and it certainly never gets . . . → Read More: One ring to rule me]]>

My wedding ring and I have a strange relationship. When I’m at home, I often pay it no attention, abandoning it on a random shelf as soon as I walk in the door. It never sleeps with me or sees me naked. I won’t let it eat at the dinner table and it certainly never gets to hang out during sex.

However when it’s time to leave the house and go out in public, I am absolutely lost without it. On those days where I cannot remember which one of five random shelves has been graced with my white-gold, sad excuse for bling band, I find myself sometimes hiding my ring finger when surrounded by strangers, lest someone see me as not married or worse … with a wedding ring tan line (a sure sign of cheating, some would say).

My relationship with Ringy started out pretty rocky in the early days. I really resisted having to hook up with a wedding ring for a few reasons. First, I really didn’t think that having one was necessary to be married. It’s like I was ok with actually getting married, but still an activist against all of the traditions that came along with it. Second, we were poor. Spending money on a piece of jewelery that I assumed I would inevitably lose seemed like a complete waste of good resources. So Steph and I did our very best to get the almost cheapest rings we could find.

We spent $150 on a simple white-gold band for me. A figure that we decided was ok to have to spend again should we have to replace it. (so far, we haven’t.) And somehow, seemingly against my will, Ringy and I are stuck together.

When I’m out dancing or looking at cute boys – and girls – I can’t not wear the damn thing. If I’m in one of those moods where all I want to do is make out with a stranger or maybe more, there’s something that makes me feel uncomfortable not wearing that identifier. When I sometimes take it off and put it on my necklace I feel amazingly cheeky, like a nine year old boy who’s just found his first Playboy magazine. Those casual hook ups I sometimes want would likely be much easier if I didn’t have the strong desire to point out “Hey! I’m married! I’m ALSO non-monogamous! Hope you’re super cooooool with that!” from the get-go. In fact, maybe there actually would BE some casual hook ups because I would likely be more relaxed about the whole situation.

(As a side note; lately there have been a severe lack of casual or serious hook-ups. 2011 has been a very boring, yet interesting, yet tragic year in my non-monogamous life, but that’s for another blog post … or auto-biography.)

Good ol’ Ringy here holds a sick power over me. I would love to chalk it up to sweet sentimentality and something along the lines of; I just have to make sure I’m always wearing my ring because it shows how committed I am to my husband and how I love him more than life itself and we will always be together and it is a symbol of our love and affect …

barf.

Not that I don’t adore Steph. Not that I’m not completely committed to him, but if I dig deeper into my relationship with Ringy, I highly suspect that we will find insecurities ruling this twisted relationship. For some strange reason, our formative years can often have more of a hold over us than recent times – perhaps because we haven’t lived as long then, so teenage angst takes up a much larger percentage of our overall life then vs. now – Anyway. In MY formative years I was never the girl in a relationship. Boys didn’t want to kiss me, or maybe they did and I didn’t notice. Without getting into the whole “poor me” routine, I was a bit of a tragic, single, third wheel, fat kid for a long time and that persona has stuck with me, albeit under the surface, for years.

I never grew up caring about getting married one day but now that I am? I have to make sure that when I’m out in public my persona is that of married woman. Like I’ve succeeded at relationships. “Ta da, look at me! You all thought I was a looooser, but Ringy and I are joined at the hip now, bitches!”

I suspect part of it is that I find it more amusing to tell people I’m in an open relationship AFTER they find out I’m married because they sometimes squirm more and boy, I love a good squirm. Maybe it is simply insecurities that make me cling to that ring, and even buy fakees to store in the car in case I do forget ol’ Ringy in the bathroom. I don’t know, and I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

Maybe I just like those times when I’ll catch a guy on the subway looking down my cleavage and I’ll slide my hand slowly in front of my tits, just enough to show off that evil, lovely band and bring a little Catholic guilt to a strangers face.

I’ve been thinking about he and I, and he . . . → Read More: Gooooooo Team!]]> For whatever reason, there’s been a lot of chat lately between friends, strangers and I about my relationship with my husband and I’ve been doing some thinking about things I’ve known for years. Questions that I’ve been asked have caused me to reflect on where we are now.

I’ve been thinking about he and I, and he and other people and myself and other people. I’ve wondered about being “enough” for him and what he gets out of relationships with other people that I can’t give him. And then I stop myself because I know the answers.

What he gets from others is the opportunity to hang out and be with them. They add value to his life by being who they are, not because they are “not me”, though that’s certainly an obvious statement. It just kinda’ goes without saying. They might click differently than we do, but that doesn’t take away from whatever we have together. And if it highlights something in us that isn’t working so well, while it’s tough to accept, once you overcome it, it can be a catalyst to work on problems within, together.

It’s tough to feel good for your partner being happy elsewhere when you’re going through things yourself. I’ve dealt with my fair share of insecurities or other relationship issues and trying to turn my own inner attention away from “me me me” and recognizing what we both need is challenging, but necessary.

And really, it doesn’t matter if you’re open or not. Whoever you are, it’s important to remember that, if you’re in a relationship, you are part of a team of more than one person. You have your needs and desires, but so does the other person. Not everything will go according to plan and not everything will go according to what makes you happy, first. But can there be happiness in compromise?

Absolutely. The strength we get by gaining control of our insecurities and owning them can help us come to the table with a clear mind and a clear heart. When we know that something is holding us back or causing us to feel pain, we can stand up for our rights, ask to be respected, but also be open to hearing why someone else may feel differently than we do and learn a new viewpoint to things that previously were quite self focused. When we feel insecure about not being a person’s everything we can reach out and ask for reassurance. We can be reminded of our value and our importance in each other’s lives.

My happiness is not based on if Steph chooses to be with just me or with other people, but instead it’s based on the life that we build, together. Ensuring that we are respected team players, secure in the knowledge that we support each other as individuals and as partners.