By this time tomorrow I will be in Seattle, ready for the week of kinky outdoor camping that is Paradise Unbound. It promises to be a full, exciting eight days, and I honestly can’t believe it’s almost here. I’ve never been to Paradise, but the combination of a wonderful kink/leather community and camping in the Pacific Northwest is vastly appealing, and that’s not even including the time I will get to spend with Max.
We talked a bit about scheduling over the phone yesterday, and then last night, I dreamt that I missed my flight to Seattle. I went to another area to get on another flight, except I got distracted and missed that one too! This meant I would not be able to get on a plane until the next morning. This put me in a panic, and all I could think about was that I was messing up our schedule.
Traveling always makes me very anxious, and it affects my whole body. As much as I try to plan ahead and make things run as smoothly as possible, my body just reacts immediately when I think about packing and getting to the airport and checking in bags and getting through security and finding my gate. So it’s not surprising that I had that dream.
I’ve actually travelled quite a bit, which of course raises the probability of things that go wrong in airports and on airplanes to happen to me. I have: flown to the wrong airport for a summer program; sat in an airplane at the gate for three hours before getting herded onto another plane when whatever technical issue couldn’t be resolved; missed a connecting flight and been unable to get to my destination until the morning after; had a nine hour layover at an airport due to weather; missed a flight completely due to poor time management; had two swiss army knives and a bottle of leather conditioner confiscated; and left a ticket for a connecting flight in the seat pocket of another plane.
That said (and hopefully I won’t jinx my upcoming flight), I’ve never lost any baggage or valuables like my passport, and I’ve never had much trouble with security. Let’s hope that trend continues!
Continuing with the theme of whips, here is part of a journal I wrote about Max’s visit, where I describe our scene with my whip. It was a … breathtakingly powerful scene.
Standing there, facing you, I felt awe at the way my whip came alive in your hands. It was a beautiful sight: your body and the whip moving together; the whip flying and curling in the air towards me; the liquid electricity flowing down your arm and through the length of leather, making the silk cracker hiss. At that moment, I stopped seeing the whip as an instrument. It became an extension of your will, your touch, and your energy. I could feel its yearning to make contact with my skin.
And with each throw, I could hear the whip sing – an expression of pure joy at fulfilling its maker’s purpose. Finally.
I watched my whip, listened to your words, felt the sensuality in the first few light touches – almost caresses. There were not many of those. Time sped up as I felt the whip hit me like a punch to the gut, or a blazing trail of fire. Time slowed down between strokes, as I emptied my lungs and fought the instinct to curl into a ball and hide from the searing pain. Holding my arms above my head only made my belly curve outward like an invitation. I could not see through the white-blinding sensations. All that existed was your voice counting out each stroke and telling me not to move, the force of the whip across my body, and the throat-shredding sounds being ripped from my lungs.
A lifetime later, you reached “20,” and it was over. There are no words I can really use to describe my relief at hearing the finality behind that “20” – seeing you coming towards me, wrapping your body around mine, bringing me down to the floor while I clung to you – combined with the ecstasy I felt at being able to withstand the pain, hold still and keep my arms raised while you whipped me. The two states, relief and ecstasy, merged and expanded to fill my body, and were exhaled out through the sobs that I could not hold back.
The pain faded remarkably quickly and just as quickly was replaced by giddy pride. Pride in taking that pain, but also pride in my whip flying straight and true in your hands, and the delight and joy you took in wielding it. Knowing that the catalyst of this electricity, and heat, and power, and magic, was something I created with my own hands made me want to laugh through the sobs, to exult in our connection.
You told me you’d never done a scene like that – never used a whip on the person who’d made the whip. I could not stop grinning. Neither, of course, had I. I felt high as a kite; I suspect you felt similarly.
The desire to be on the move again has me feeling incredibly restless lately. Yesterday Jewel and I went on a long coastal drive along Route 1, talking about our various travels and what we want to do in upcoming years.
I find myself yearning more and more strongly for a different landscape, different lifestyle, different environment. My relationship with San Francisco feels like it’s close to expiring, and I’m starting to feel claustrophobic.
Don’t get me wrong, this city is an amazing place for many reasons. The SF bubble has been a wonderful place to nurture the kink part of my life. For a year, I’ve been able to focus almost solely on exploring my kinky side in a completely safe, encouraging environment. I have met some incredible people, and I’ve been fortunate to call many of them friends.
Yet, yet. I find my mind wandering to the vast western country I passed through on my roadtrip. I think back on Santa Fe, Denver, Aspen, and it makes my heart skip a beat. I think about the possibility of visiting New Zealand and Australia, and wonder if I’d be able to return to the US after such a visit. And then there are the multitudes of opportunities to volunteer, for weeks or for a year, on farms and intentional communities in another country.
How much longer will I be able to stay rooted in one place? Why is it that I cannot be satisfied to settle in place for more than a year? I feel the travel itch in my sitbone, crawling under my skin, making the soles of my feet tingle impatiently.
I’m not sure where my next step will take me. But if I don’t make one, I will go stir-crazy.
It is not an insignificant thing for me to be proclaiming a relationship, or any intimate connection, after guarding my independence so closely for so long. Yet here I am, announcing not just that I am intimately connected to another, but also owned by him. It’s been a long while since I’ve been in such a relationship.
The beautiful realization now is that I am no less independent; rather, my life is made the more enriched by this addition.
A phrase that I learned quickly through the poly byways was “new relationship energy,” or NRE. Because of our distance and thus infrequent visits, I found that the NRE has stretched out over a longer period of time. It makes the time between visits more difficult, but certainly builds up the anticipation and desire for each next encounter as well.
This status change, while changing nothing of how we have interacted together from the very start – my wearing his collar, him filling me with his will and power – does signify the continuation of our encounters, each time bringing us deeper into the other’s bodies, and hearts. I could not be more thrilled by the thought.
Thank you, Sir.