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Archive for November, 2006

introspection, in two parts

November 27, 2006 4 comments

What hurts me the most, really, is knowing that I have been replaceable all along. That I may as well have been a number, a tick mark on a chart of victorious pursuits. That the trust, loyalty, and integrity I believed in, defended, and protected, was an illusion. That I see no sign of remorse or regret.

Because I regret, greatly, a certain loss. His loss, not mine. I regret this, because I have so much to give, so much willingness, so deep a devotion; because I am endlessly eager to give of myself to the ones I love. I want nothing more than to open completely, encompass another’s soul, treasure his existence, and be allowed to show affection I have never before felt able to.

I did not believe, before now, that “love” could be a word so easily abused, but that is because I grew up in a family that did not speak of it openly. There was affection, there was familial honor and devotion, and there was pride; but we did not kiss cheeks and exchange “I love you”s before bed, or end phone calls with it before hanging up, as many of my childhood friends did.

Of course we loved each other; it was just never mentioned openly. I think there is, at least in my family, if not many Asian families, an aversion to such mention of affection; a kind of embarrassment, or need to “keep face,” prevents it.

Which is why I say I felt prevented from showing affection myself. It seemed too private, too personal, and slightly embarrassing, to show overt emotions of any kind.

I can count on one hand the number of people who have seen me cry.

I have often wondered, but especially lately, if I am not mistaken in my pursuits. I have wondered if I am merely chasing a fantasy, trying to escape an inability to cope with reality by finding that Dominant who will Solve Everything. A panacea for my social awkwardness, for those little holes and niches that I do not fill adequately in the world. Someone who will lift me up because I cannot, myself.

Sometimes I wonder.

I think (because, as my friend adamantly said, we Think, not Feel) my own submission cannot be denied. It seems an intrinsic aspect of my personality, and to ignore it would be pretending to be what I’m not. I’ve read numerous times the defense of submissive natures, but I’ve seen as many times, if not more, how people mistake submissiveness for weakness and powerlessness.

I think my obsessiveness in other aspects of my life lends itself quite nicely to the release I feel in giving over control to the Other. I think that exchange makes me a more satisfied, complete person, and allows me to let go. I think, with the right person, in the right relationship, at the right time, it is completely healthy and betters me as a human being.

I think my submission is a beautiful thing, something I give completely, deeply, richly, from the soul, and that I have so much, so much to give.

But what do I know?

Categories: reflection, submission

humbug

November 26, 2006 Leave a comment

It begins…

With a low buzz. Barely above a bee’s whisper; emanating from between my fingers, from between my pressed thighs. I press down harder, feeling the vibrations, massaging tender flesh, exciting a second heartbeat, stirring the latent warmth in my loins.

I turn the dial slowly, feeling the heat build, feeling the vibrations quicken. The buzzing increases, but it’s still soft. Soft enough not to overpower, intense enough to lock my attention and focus. I feel it start. The waves. Undulating waves, rising and falling, each wave riding the one before, rising a little higher than the one before, the friction deepening and filling me.

I press down harder, feeling the vibrations resonating through, down into the depths of my vagina, into my center, feeling the aching, yearning, the need to be filled.

Turned the dial again, slightly slightly more, teasingly and tortuously slowly. The buzzing rising in pitch echoes the rising heat waves, and I can see/feel it, shimmering mirage-like, that shining point. The point of no return.

There is no more hope. I turn the dial all the way, and my world becomes unfocused, pivoting wildly and centering at the vertex, the source of the crashing waves. My eyes roll, the vibrations shoot through and up my splayed body, my vocal cords vibrate in response and a guttural ululation tears out between my dry panting mouth.

It’s there, the apex, and I abandon myself to embrace the cresting sensations. It’s glorious, I want it to last forever and I want it to end, my spasming lips already too sensitized. It builds neverendingly, and as I come it feels like something is torn out of my groin, something lifted up and out from between my thighs and carried above the waves.

It is beautiful and pure, and ends all too soon, and I gasp at the harsh buzzing vibrations against swollen flesh. I turn the dial back down until it is a bee’s hum again, and sigh with bliss.

Delicious.

Categories: ethereal, sex, writing

sleep junkie, etc

November 25, 2006 1 comment

I’ve clocked over 40 hours of sleep since Tuesday night. And given our family’s aversion to turkey, that can’t be blamed on any tryptophan-induced comas.

Granted, I barely slept over 4 hours a night the weekend before break started, but it’s still amazing how hard I crashed once I got home.

My lack of energy is depressing. I’m very tired even when I am awake, and I take frequent naps throughout the day. It doesn’t make for a very productive schedule, and I do have a lot of work for classes. I’m heading back up to school tomorrow to shoot my animation, and I need to have all the drawings done.

The lack of energy also has consequences elsewhere – namely, the lack of orgasms. Between sleep, helping prepare for Thanksgiving dinner (the most non-traditional one we’ve had yet), and the little drawing I have done, sexual satisfaction has definitely taken a backseat.

It’s also that time of month.

Which is just the cherry on top of a rather sucky week…


I can’t deny that I miss the sex, kink, and play. I’ve had almost nonstop visuals of begin taken forcefully; of hair pulled back, of greedy lips and teeth and hands; of wordless possession. I’m bombarded by the memories of our last couple sessions. How ironic that it was during that last meeting, which I knew would be the last, that I felt I submitted the most…gave of myself completely, and felt complete.
It feels wrong, but I can’t help it.

The lust is the problem. Only now do I realize how dangerously addicting lust is. I try to fight it, to forget the need I felt in his grasping hands and in his lips, and how that need fueled my own…it is a vicious cycle.

And I also remember the sage advice I received once, from a complete stranger no less, to “go with [my] gut, not with [my] heart, or brain, or the part that thinks, ‘I need a man.'”

That is all I can think right now. I need a man.

Sometimes, I don’t know why I make myself so vulnerable here. Writing posts has become a push and pull of wills, emotions, and reasoning lately.

Categories: life, school, sundry

breakaway

November 22, 2006 Leave a comment

I drove home last night in a daze. For the short period I was driving, in any case. A resident was bumming a ride south to a nearby city, so in return he got to drive most of the time. Which was ideal, given my lack of sleep in the last…3 or 4 days. It passed quickly, our little road trip. We found much in common, and he proved to be a great conversationalist.

I’m going to miss my residents terribly after this term. They are wonderful, amazing, talented people, with incredibly bright futures.

But back to the drive home. I recognized all the roads easily, saw the familiar landscapes and buildings. But I realized, as I entered the town of my childhood, that the environment no longer resonated as home. I really have completely flown the nest, and while I am not saddened by this, as some are, there is still a tinge of…nostalgia? fondness? I’m not sure.

Still, it is nice to be back in my house. Besides the warm greetings and my mom’s subsequent fluttering about the kitchen warming food and soup and gossiping away, I got to see the finally finished basement, which looks beautiful. After so much strife and drama over its construction, it was nice to see that it was worth it in the end.

And this afternoon when I finally woke, I also rediscovered the joys I find in service to another; one whose appreciation is therapeutic, needs are simple, and warmth is sustaining. I rediscovered the peace one finds in the purr of a cat.

I’ve missed her so much. I did not want to leave the bed with her pressed inside the curve of my stomach, this tiny warm bundle of a cat. I stroked, scratched, smoothed, felt her velvety ears, and I had to keep from crying.

The purr of a cat. It has become my healing balm.

[edit]:

I would swallow my pride
I would choke on the rhines
But the lack thereof would leave me empty inside
I would swallow my doubt
turn it inside out find nothing but faith in nothing
Want to put my tender heart in a blender
Watch it spin round to a beautiful oblivion
Rendezvous then I’m through with you

I burn burn like a wicker cabinet
chalk white and oh so frail
I see our time has gotten stale

The tick tock of the clock is painful
All sane and logical
I want to tear it off the wall

I hear words and clips
and phrases I think sick like ginger ale
My stomach turns and I exhale

I would swallow my pride
I would choke on the rhines
But the lack thereof would leave me empty inside
I would swallow my doubt
turn it inside out find nothing but faith in nothing
Want to put my tender heart in a blender
Watch it spin round to a beautiful oblivion
Rendezvous then I’m through with you

So Cal is where my mind states
but it’s not my state of mind
I’m not as ugly sad as you
Or am I origami
folded up and just pretend
demented as the motives in your head

I would swallow my pride
I would choke on the rhines
But the lack thereof would leave me empty inside
I would swallow my doubt
turn it inside out find nothing but faith in nothing
Want to put my tender heart in a blender
Watch it spin round to a beautiful oblivion
Rendezvous then I’m through with you

I alone am the one you don’t know you
need me take heed feed your ego
Make me blind when your eyes close sink when you get close tie me to the bedpost
I alone am the one you don’t know you
need me take heed feed your ego
Make me blind when your eyes close sink when you get close tie me to the bedpost

–“Inside Out” – Eve 6

Categories: hope, links, love, lyrics, sundry, writing

November 21, 2006 1 comment

How appropriate, given recent events and findings, that I happen upon this chelseagirl post.

It is easy, as I’ve said before, to make a blanket statement from my experience of the past year; something cynical about online dating, perhaps.

But really, online dating just makes easier what is possible to do in reality, and both can cause pain. Neither being online, nor dating in social cliques, cushions anyone from the bad apples. Obviously, however, I cannot tell which ones are rotten until I’ve bitten deep to the core and been hooked.

I still have a sour taste in my mouth.

Although, somewhat surprisingly to me, my libido has not suffered at all. Like wordslut, I have been heartily celebrating Orgasm week.

I think I’ve averaged 5 or 6 the past couple of days. And with an almost full week of break ahead of me, I am looking forward to much celebration (oh, and Thanksgiving).

I can’t say the abyss has receded from my mind yet. The danger is still there. I feel like I’m holding back floodgates that, should I give in, even just a little, will overwhelm and overpower me. It is the kind of strain and tension that runs along the concrete walls of a dam.

There have been leaks, late at night when I am fully alone with my thoughts and memories. The betrayal I feel is devastating, although perhaps I am not allowed to say that. But at night, curled tight in a ball in bed, I feel the wall cracking. A little of the tension flows through, rushing through my brain, down my body, through my heart, limbs, stomach. And, for just an hour each night, I let it run its course.

I am…so tired. It is a deathlike feeling, settling heavily on my bones.

I’m so tired of this.

“…the disorder of guilt is not brought back to the order of justice, except by punishment: since it is just that he who has been too indulgent to his will, should suffer something against his will, for thus will equality be restored.” – Summa Theologica

Categories: emolicious, links

an unassuming girl and her desperate plea for silence

November 17, 2006 1 comment

It’s far too easy, after something like this happens, to cloud my mind with mistrust and cynical thoughts of others. It’s very tempting to create blanket statements that box people into neat little packages, to avoid the logic centers of my brain and veer straight for the emotions.

To begin to think, all Masters are X Y Z.

Or, worse, all men are X Y Z.

Where X, Y, and Z are lying, cheating, and bastards, respectively.

My shields are up. There is still the great possibility of falling hard, although I am fighting not to succumb to it.

The first couple nights, I stayed in my bed, laptop at hand, rereading all of our IM conversations. Wondering at my naivete. Wondering at the all-consuming capacity for deceit.

But I had to stop or risk tumbling headfirst into the kind of inky numbing half-life I felt back in July.

What a period of uncertainty. It feels at times as if I am teetering on the edge of an abyss. Other times my spirits seem impossibly high, elated by some unknown source.

I’ve had evil thoughts as well, of course. I think that is an allowed, maybe even expected response. But I told him I could not take justice into my own hands. I would not. Not even cutting the collar in half, as someone once suggested to me.

I now understand the great temptation that was the plotline for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Sometimes, although not often, I wish I could erase him from my mind. From my soul.

Categories: emolicious, life, links, reflection

objectives

November 17, 2006 Leave a comment

For a significant part of my high school years, I was quite the Objectivist. I read and reread The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged with near-religious fervor. They were my teenage Bible, Torah, and Koran.

Rand’s philosophy radically changed the way I viewed the world. Before, I was on a crashcourse path towards tree-hugging hippie and hermithood. I believed selflessness to be the highest virtue, but in a town of 95% white Catholic, upper-middle class families, there was little of that. Fueled by the lovely angst that seems to closely follow puberty, I saw only a twisted, corrupt world, and wanted as little to do with it as possible. It was with pride that I told others of my lack of knowledge and interest in politics.

In fact, that attitude hasn’t changed dramatically, and I did not vote in the recent midterm elections. But my reasoning for that was because I knew so little of the candidates, and I also don’t really approve of blind party voting.

And I still hold a somewhat cynical view of the world.

But I digress.

Rand’s novels shattered my self-isolating mindset. I saw, although perhaps not to in as extremely idolized a manner as in those books, the huge potential in the individual. She opened my eyes to a different way of viewing the world, where capitalism and ‘selfishness’ are the highest virtues of human civilization and true corruption resides in communism and the wiping away of individuality.

Suffice to say, among the significant events of my still-short lifespan, discovering Rand is high in the rankings.

That devoutness to Objectiveness passed as I entered the next major stage of my life: college. I’ve started to mellow a little, finding a balance between those two opposing forces. It is too easy, following either perspective, to become either wholly jaded or pessimistic. And Rand’s world is too black and white to be realistic.

We are what we are. All susceptible to hope, temptation, folly, and sometimes disastrous mistakes.

I have always known of my naivete and easy trust. I like to believe the best in others, even knowing full well what others are capable of. It is a very vulnerable position to be in, and yet I secretly hope I don’t lose that muted innocence.

I also hope that does not destroy me when I leave the bubble of secure campus life here.

Categories: life, links, reflection, writing