Blog

Perceived Inequity

In polyamory, or non-monogamy, or any power dynamic…actually, in any relationship ever…perceived inequity is an enemy to peace. Peace is lost when I feel like you shouldn’t want to be with her as much as you want to be with me. Peace is lost when I feel like my lover has another partner who sets them on fire in a way I cannot or do not. Peace is lost when that NSA didn’t happen in reality the way we planned in theory. Peace is lost when I cannot give you all you want or need or deserve. Peace is lost when I can give you everything but you don’t trust that I can or that it is even possible. Peace is lost when perception of balance is off.

Is perception real though? Is it actually inequity?

I know I get a version of you that not even your wife gets. I know that you are open to me in a way that you are not open to another person on this earth. I know that you know you get that from me also…

Is it fair to say that this statement is possible with more than one person without being untrue?

Every pairing is its own thing, but the expression of that balance is predicated on perception. Can you feel it when I intend it? Can I feel it when you intend it? Can we learn to adjust our feelings to meet the intention?

Peace requires equity – actual balance and perceived balance. How much balance are we capable of managing? Where will our skills fall short so that peace is disturbed?

Shower me with your affection. Tell me how you feel. Tell me when I make you hard. Tell me that you need me in your life. Tell me your news. Make time for me in your world. Give me your truth without hiding. Share your fears with me. Learn and grow with me and for me.

My affections are yours. My feelings are yours. You make me wet all the time. I need you every day. You hear everything that crosses my brain. I find you every single day. You get everything I can give..and that is a bundle of fear much of the time. I am scaling the learning curve for you with every agility I have at my disposal. I should not accept anything less in return.

Everyone deserves peace, honesty, and equity…mirrored energy, understanding and intent.

Thank COVID

Meeting with people in this COVID environment is tricky. I have barely been out of my house other than to work, get some exercise in local parks, and run errands of necessity at a smattering of local shops. I get anxious thinking about doing anything with many people.

I lost relationships with this absence. I lost friendships with the separation.

I also ended up with some extra time that I wouldn’t have had – that ended up furthering a relationship. Global pandemic means that two people on other sides of the world are similarly on lock-down.

As I look at the time COVID has afforded me, and I weigh it against the separation it has also engendered, can I fairly say it hasn’t been kind to me?

My anxiety is extreme, but don’t mistake that for poorly placed fear. The risk to me is real, present, and damn near all-consuming. I have lost 45 pounds vibrating in my own skin. Every email from my kids’ schools about a confirmed cases nearby makes vomit rise up. Every time someone from my household returns from the outside world, I make a mental map of every single thing they have touched before decontaminating properly. The wrongful dismissal of my very founded concerns has made me weak and small…weaker and smaller. I fold up, and I hide under my covers and shake.

I didn’t lose a job to COVID. I didn’t lose my place to live or my ability to feel secure that my family would be fed. I haven’t lost anyone I know to the virus…yet. I have lost my ability to feel safe in the world. Sleeping is difficult. Being still is impossible, but moving is also a challenge.

But, I have my love. COVID has delayed my ability to be in his space with him, but it has absolutely played a large role in our relationship and its glorious closeness. I rely on him in a way I might not have without COVID. I like to think it would be the same no matter the environment, but I know stars aligning makes the otherwise impossible more probable.

So the dichotomy lives. Fuck COVID for my loss of peace and safety…and thank COVID for making possible a different kind of safe peaceful reality.

I have indeed learned a lot about myself and others through the eyes connections needed to manage this new world. Whatever doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.

Please, dear gawd, don’t let COVID kill me.

______

Use this struggle to make me fierce

to test me and train me and make me endure

Use this challenge to make me see

to show me and teach me to see others’ obstacles clearly

Use this pandemic to make me resistant

to fortify me and adapt me into a super power of radiant joy

Use this separation to make me cling

to connect me and hold me close to the humanity of another

Use this time to make the unfathomable future crystal clear

to pause my fear and soothe my insecurity

and make way for the never ending time that is after

After now and on to the list of tomorrow’s infinite potential

Seeing red

There is a red set of bra and panties that I can no longer wear. They came out of the laundry yesterday, and they are clean, but they still cannot be worn. When I see them, I see red…or I don’t see.

The bra was chosen for me by my first Dom. I needed a new bra, and I sent him pictures from dressing rooms until he chose. For a long time when our dynamic was strong, I felt clothed in his care when I wore it. There was a long time toward the end of our practice that I didn’t wear the red as it wasn’t our default color choice. He used to designate the color of my bra and panties each day, and if he forgot, I was to wear default black. There was a long time toward the end of our practice in which I wore only black until the default ran out in my mind. He had forgotten me, and so I allowed myself to forget him also.

It is hard to forsake a bra that fits well, even when chosen by a Dom that lost his title and my submission. I wore it without association, and it often peaked out of otherwise conservative clothing. There was an edge of lace, the cup shape was round, and the straps were thick. The exhibitionist in me took pictures in just that bra in my car.

The red panties are lacy, and I have taken many a picture of kitchen ass sent to my love while making coffee. They are full coverage, pretty, and my ass hangs out the bottom. He always commented on the red ones.

There was a day of bad decisions, ultimately filled with catastrophic consequences still being managed…I wore red top and bottom. There is no wearing those again. Never. I lost time wearing those reds, I missed details, I destroyed trust, and I endangered my most treasured connection. Seeing that red isn’t a trauma from which I will easily recover. Neither he nor we may ever recover fully.

I see red for all of my traumas. I see connections to the language of my dependence on my spouse and the abuses he has perpetrated on my fragility. I can name the feeling I have when suicidal ideations fall from the mouths of those I love – having lost my share of treasures to suicide, that button is hot and very red. There have been many times I have felt trapped in my own body when it is a mystery to the modern medical profession. I have had so many surgeries, and I have felt so much pain and uncertainty. I am covered in infectious black ink turned blood red as this virus Covid threatens me from every angle. I watch my husband turn mean as he struggles to understand what has happened, and I have no fight left in me. Will burning these two, small, insignificant articles of clothing make the world settle? Will it wipe some of the red from my vision?

Probably not.

I burn them anyway.

____________

My red blinds and infuriates

My head struggles and debilitates

My heart pounds and won’t recuperate

My body writhes and pulsates

My breath increases and hyperventilates

My panic

My red

Oh, my…

Responsibility

In recent post Take Control or Submit, I began talking about concepts in BDSM that feel relevant to my learning. I feel like the practice resonates with me even if I am not always actively practicing it sexually. Power and dominance has a language that also encompasses responsibility.

Dominants assume a great amount of responsibility. They must track limits, and often teach their submissives to actual make choices and define for themselves what they need. Under no circumstances are the needs of the Dominant to color the needs of the submissive. There are sheets of limits and checklists for people to use for reference.

Tasks are a beautiful way of creating connection between a Dominant and a submissive. I have had those submissive to me keep a running list of tasks to track the ways we connect…anything from a one time thing to an ongoing daily activity. Customized tasks can help the submissive address areas of growth. For example, I forbid a submissive from hiding his cock from me in pics. I wanted him to see his own body the way I did. There is no sense in shame when I can tell him he is beautiful. It saved him the energy of strategic photography and allowed him to present himself to me as fully vulnerable.

Submitting to a Dominant is freeing at times, when the Dominant can be trusted. If the Dominant remembers every boundary without flaw, and allows the submissive to stretch safely, it feels easy. I had some really great experiences submitting, and receiving the submission of a partner. I also had some shitty sub drop experiences when my Dom communicated poorly and left me directionless after fostering dependent connection.

When developing my own Domme voice, it was not surprising to find that I am a care taker. It was not a surprise to find the unconditional submission of a partner. It was a surprise to me to feel that as a weighted responsibility that was more than I could handle. Fostering close connection, reliance, trust…it is beautiful. When I needed space to breathe, it meant I dropped my submissive hard. He went from the warm glowing comfort of ownership to nothingness. I stayed with him through that, talked him through that, but I was very surprised by the power of that bond.

I have not left him to fend for himself as my Dom did to me. I didn’t fail my responsibility for his well being despite ending the active practice of that dynamic. When I look around at others in the practice, it seems more often than not, that Doms are okay with just walking away and letting the submissive take care of their own pain.

If you are privileged enough to earn the trust of a submissive, you must pay for that with flawless attention to after care. That is for one session or an ongoing, ever present dynamic. The responsibility is there when someone calls you by your title, and it never really ends. You can release your submissive, and you can dissolve your dynamic, but the imprint within the mind is made. Will your imprint be positive, colored by clean, clear energy? Or will your imprint be negative, colored by negligent, pungent pain?

I may never practice a sexual power dynamic again because of the level of responsibility I felt. I cannot stand the idea that my imprint on another is anything but radiant joy.

I cannot imagine a scenario in which I submit to another Dominant in an ongoing way. Reliance on another isn’t predicated on power dynamics expressed, but that bond is special. I learned of its potential power, and I will practice only with eyes wide open in the future.

My hope is that people reading this…and thinking about exploring BDSM…I hope that people will take the responsibility seriously, and practice with skill and awareness. You are responsible for caring for your partners beyond the fuck. Do not crawl into another person’s mind and take a proverbial shit. Be careful, be cautious, and be loving.

Cuppa Contentment


We drink from this crazy cuppa confusion, thickly infused with dissonance cognitive 
Our hands tremble, soiling our clothing with spilled consternation 
Fingers burning while gripping handled curvature   
One after another 
Cuppa constant conflict 
Cuppa cutting chaos 
Cuppa complicated clutter 
… 
We drown in this cursed cuppa Covid, masked and dripping in cuppa contamination 
Our control challenged, carrying others with forced compliance 
Vulnerability boiling while crying in crescendo 
One after another 
Cuppa calcified crust 
Cuppa caustic chemical 
Cuppa chunky contaminant 
… 
We drink habits and taste with old pallet, tongue trained poorly by burning constant 
Our new course created, throwing out cloaked cloudiness 
Freshness creating while clarified water steams our creativity 
One after the other 
Cuppa quiet 
Cuppa clear 
Cuppa calm 
… 
We sit on couch cushions in sunshine’s energy clean, contemplating with growing certainty 
Our future seen, deciphering from clumping tea leaves through clarity 
Draping my legs over yours, on my knees rests your cuppa complete 
One after the other 
Cuppa cuddle 
Cuppa comfort 
Cuppa confidence 
… 
We breathe in and out taking sips cautious, cuppa compassion is robust with flavorful cooperation 
Our guts made sure, by cuppa care in two hands cradled 
Occasional cuppa chance, but not enough to disrupt our preference for cuppa chill. 
One after the other 
Cuppa celebration 
Cuppa commitment 
Cuppa contentment 

Vulnerability breaking

Years ago I took a class on body language communication from a world renowned mime. I paraded around a room full of participants, and he would tap a person to freeze them. We would all then view that person as a piece of art…sculpted perfection. We would look at the softness of their hair, the expression in their wrinkles, the glint captured in the glass of their eye, the tension held in their suspended movement, their chest and breathing open or protected by the posture of their arms, their vulnerability exhibited.

If you look at any person, you can see all the things they are not divulging with words. You can see secrets they haven’t yet told themselves. The language of the body is very vulnerable. It says everything even when it is protecting itself from mortal attack.

I believe very deeply in presenting my most vulnerable self to people, specifically as it relates to partners in love. Vulnerability free and cared for is a high like no other, and vulnerability in the face of fear and trial is a low that is equal in intensity.

For the first time in my life, I want to shell up like a turtle and lay in the middle of the road waiting for the end. Where is my energy to play “Frogger” with a frenzy and time my crossing of dangers with accuracy?

When did fear take over?

It happened when I fell in love.

When all is right with us, I can do anything. When we shake, I see nothing but movement in even the most static of realities. I experience motion sickness as everything rocks. I look at the world as if infinite chaos. The vulnerability is extreme, but the opportunity is present as well.

What does it feel like to trust someone with your complete, vulnerable tenderness and have it cared for? What risks would you take to experience that? Does sacrifice or compromise feel like harsh payments when the goal is mirrored, loving, fully expressed SAFETY in vulnerability?

I want to turtle…I do.

But I will not. The shell slows me down and makes me shit at agility. Shed the shell. Remove the layers of safety that are not really safe anyway, and I run for it. NAKED. Vulnerable. Free to choose life of open, expressive, love…

Please, let me make it to the other side.

What happens when I get to the other side, and we decide it is all wrong? We hold each other, we care for the vulnerability, we heal, and then we do whatever comes next. We have learned, and we have loved, and vulnerability is still worth while.

Dreams

We are the moon that governs the waves and throws around the ocean between us.We wiggle our feet in the sand warmed by long days and sigh into the breeze of the shifting moods. We find our peace on our beach whenever the world is in need of simplification. 

We are the field of childhood freedoms and memories of the time before obligations made our choices. We feel the sponge of fertility under our feet that feeds the grass’s inspiration to tickle our fingertips. We find our space together on our backs whenever we must smell the opportunity for newness. 

We are the tent far from all paths that will shelter us from outside expectations and misunderstandings. We hear the rain outside as only a reminder that we are joined inside safe from the world washing away. We find our isolation and insulation when the growing importance of being one takes over. 

We are our dance floor of unknown band with repeating rhythm already ongoing between us. We smell the sweat pouring from the energy we have always had even before the first note was played. We find our groove and grind when the words cannot be discerned but the intent is well understood. 

We are our drum booth at session’s end, the smell of cymbals still soaked in concentration. We break the focus over the edge of desire to be close within a confinement. We find our spaces within each other knowing the answer to separation is recording endless intimacy. 

We are our dreams so that we go where we cannot while the world around us layers reasons why not. We bathe dripping in the wealth of imaginations and realize our dreams are a fraction of what will be. We find our parting nightly so that we may fool our senses into a closeness we know is ours to claim. 

Goodnight, my love. I know where to find you. 

Story time…

Once in Kik, for the hell of it

I wanted to find a group for fun

Music or bisexuals, philopsphy, NOT politic

Find a cool place local to hang in the sun

Join a group – I found, Minnesota Glory

thinking that, yes, my state is cool

want to see more..but…….eeeeeeeeee

Was more of a lesson than life’s school

“Weird” he says “We don’t get many women here”

As I state my age, sex and location for the room

She wonders, “why uncommon,” but sips silently her beer

I like Minnesota, and there is more to see and do than I do

The room stirs, with new person added

More comment on a lady in the house

Makes me feel out of place, and needing safe room padded

Makes me retreat small like mouse

Welcome, new friend, this is Minnesota Glory HOLE

HOLY FUCK! Do what? With who? You don’t know WHAT is on the other side?

I have slipped through to the other dimension like blind mole

Beer sprayed through my nose, color me brightly RED, surprised

NOPE out right away, although no kink shaming for that

I just wanted to see my state more

I wanted to know cool places for coffee with chat

I sing, “No thanks” to dick through virtual or literal hole in door.

Moral of any story I suppose is this…

The possibilities online are infinite

There are so many options, find what fits

Make sure you see the you in it.

Nope out of the things not right

Lean into the resonance true

Find your tribe and your band and your light

Use it, as YOU want and need, but be sure you learn to be YOU.

Chasing

He says he is grateful for how I reach him when he folds up, but am I chasing?

A friend asks me “Have you ever been alone….just you?”

Fuck. No. What does that mean?

I am social being. I have been married but alone forever. I have been married but without partner. I have been married, and accountable as a wife and mother and teacher and friend and leader and…and…….and……

Am I chasing the idea? Am I flailing about trying to grasp onto the nearest comfort? Or do I see him when he cannot see past his own walls? Do I ooze through cracks, seep in, expand, and make possible the crumble of the mortar carefully built by habitual hurt?

What does it feel like to chase, and not be chased? What would happen if I literally just stopped? Stood still. Would he fight for me the way I fight for him? Would he chase and position himself to break my defensive barrier?

I have been hurt habitually too. I deserve to be chased when I am too tired.

Have I ever been alone? Just me?

Yes. I have. I am.

Forgiveness

I was talking with a friend today, and he celebrates Yom Kippur. I have friends who are Jewish, but I haven’t asked enough about the holidays and traditions that are part of their faith. With the passing of Ruth Bader Ginsburg recently, I have been thinking a lot about how she expressed her faith through a dedication to justice – to be sure voices were protected by laws. Jewish faith has been more present in my mind this week that my otherwise ignorant ass will admit.

The month before Yom Kippur is the month of forgiveness. Fuck. I am late to that party. Yom Kippur is on us. Here we go…because I can absolutely get on board with the annual (if not more often or constant) evaluation of wrongs to be righted.

  • For my love, I am sorry for hurting you. I am sorry for my lack of forethought and consideration for your beautiful heart and the soul that you entrusted to my care. I am working to be the best version of myself I can be for you and for us. I am sorry that my communication needs feel like oppression for you sometimes. I am sorry for anything I have ever done or said that made you even barely question my love for you. Please, hear my apologies, and don’t shush them away with discomfort. I mean them, and you need to hear them in order to forgive me properly.
  • For my local, I am sorry I couldn’t offer you all of me. I should have seen in advance what power dynamics and that responsibility would feel like for me, and I am so sorry for the pain that was caused when we had to let go. I am so grateful for what we have and who we are, and for the understanding that has come from that hurt, but fuck. I am sorry for the hurt too.
  • For my former lovers – the lawyer and the musician… my intensity caused you both pain. I didn’t tell you that you were hurting me when you were, and I let you hurt me and make distance. You didn’t see it, and I didn’t tell you. I am sorry for keeping that secret.
  • For my husband, I am sorry for doing emotional work for you for two decades and then stopping without warning. That pivot was hard on you. I am sorry for the pain I am dragging you through now, and the pain that is still to come. My abilities are very compromised, and our process will be difficult. I cheated on you…many many times. I am sorry for that pain whether you know about it or not, though I am not sorry for the affairs that were essential to my process. I am sorry I wasn’t strong enough to both care for my own needs and yours.
  • For my children, I am sorry for the impact my current crisis has on each of you. I am not present for dinners and processing and life in the way I would choose if I could. I love you both and I want you to learn the strength I lack.
  • For my friends, I am sorry for the emotional drain that I am on each of you lately. You worry about me, and there isn’t anything you can do to help. I have caused you pain by shutting you out, but I have learning that has stretched me beyond being able to handle your well-meaning concern.
  • For Mom and Grandma, I am sorry my life makes you embarrassed. I am sorry you worry about me and that causes intense stress. I am sorry I am not able to offer you comfort.

Here is the rub in all of this…I look back at lists of atonement for things…and I am apologizing for taking up space. There must be a handbook for healthy atonement practice. And how do I forgive myself for the pain I have brought into my own life? How do I ask for and offer grace when the hurt is ongoing?

Oh, my heart, how do I atone for the cuts I inflict?

What ointment will heal, treatment’s positive outcome predict

My heart, I did this to you knowing the pain

I, self, me…my own apology’s fruitless refrain

Let me use my own fingers to paste firm my own heart

Let me use my own lens to see gritty debris picked apart

Please let the sea salty, winds wailing, and moans nauseated abate

Let self love and forgiveness in through the rusted locked gate

I am sorry, my self, for the wrongs and fright

Please forgive, my self, and atone to make right.