Three years....
Guess what I found out!
Three years...
It's our leather anniversary!
Just so you know.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Three years . . .
There should be an adjective.
Three [something-or-other] years.
Perhaps that word my Master used when my physical service rendered him nearly speechless.
Three amazing years.
Or maybe:
Three extraordinary years.
Or even:
Three unlikely years.
Or how about:
Three years of struggle and joy.
For me, too, in this as in so many other things, words are inadequate.
Utterly, inevitably inadequate.
The richness and complexity of
who we are and
how we are and
what we are
cannot be pinned down.
What we have is an exquisite, elusive butterfly that you will never catch and nail to a board for a thorough and dispassionate examination.
There is nothing dispassionate about our relationship.
Below is what I posted on September 2, 2008, one day after I begged my Master to allow me to serve him, which happened a mere one week after he first found me on FetLife. He found me, wanted me, set his trap, and got me. All in the space of a week, which was exactly what he had predicted to his masochist slave.
You can read the whole post below, but you might want to go back and read it in situ. In context. with some of the surrounding posts. Including our first meeting in the flesh. (I notice that there, as so often now, I display an unwillingness to really describe our interactions.)
The following speaks of the philosopher as well as of the sadist - so I suppose I should offer this update that we've had some extended e-mail conversations in the last few months, kicked off by the death of Osama bin Laden. Which is good. What the philosopher and I had was also very special, and I was sad that we were no longer in contact. (Note: he did finally finish his dissertation. And does still read here.)
Here, then, is a remembrance and a tribute
to what was
and what is
and what will be.
A remembrance filled with love (and offered with uncorrected capitalizations).
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This change in my life I never imagined existed. Not for me. Not now. And certainly not quite this fast.
In some ways I’m not even sure what happened. Or how. One day I start getting odd messages from an evil man whose over-the-top enthusiasm for my writing makes me laugh. A day or so later, I’m inspired to write a very dark piece which I don’t feel like posting here. By Saturday we were having some horribly long volleys of messages and I was still teasing him for the way he worshiped my words, but I was distracted and aroused and aching to please him.
On Monday, Labor Day, I begged him to let me serve him. I am perhaps the first literary service slut in history.
Monday was very odd. It could have been a very rough day – the day on which my poor philosopher would have called to discuss where we went from here – if he hadn’t already dismissed me by e-mail on the anniversary of his taking possession of me as his slave kitten, his selkie, and as his best friend. It could have been a very very difficult day.
But it wasn’t.
The philosopher wrote me after reading about the fiend and about my dream, acknowledging what the day would have been. I was so, so happy, spending all that time writing back and forth, talking about the film i had seen (Starting Out in the Evening, which I liked a lot), learning that the dissertation is going well now and that i’m free to ask about it whenever i wish. Things are good between us, however they might be defined.
Meanwhile, my demon muse and i continued to write throughout the day, and… and i have no idea what happened. I’m not going to share the conversation; it loses something in translation and feels too intensely personal. Too intense. Very personal. Mainly, there was all this frustration on both sides that the other just couldn’t understand what needed to happen next. My fault, really, for being so afraid of rejection and for not knowing the rules.
What i CAN say is that by Sunday i was desperately wanting to please him. The more nice things he said, the more intensely submissive i felt. i was drunk on it, i think… perhaps my intense desire to serve him was a way to jump in the barrel and drown in the sweet strong wine of his approval.
(and yes i know i have completely lost any consistency in my capitalization and i’m not going to correct it. you can see what happens to my mind as i write. certainly, when i’m feeling submissive “I” gets rapidly replaced by “i” – not as a conscious thing, just as a reflection of something very deep and very uncontrollable. except, of course, by someone who very much wants to control me.)
so yes. i am his service slut. his literary service slut. his imprisoned poet, his treasured pet. i'm not totally sure what he wants of me, but whatever it is, i will give, and will learn to anticipate. i do know that we won't see each other all that often - but then, i am used to that. and since much of what he is looking to accomplish with me is guiding and disciplining and inspiring my writing, e-mail works just fine. i am already seeing a difference. (and oh... i have a secret goal... aside from all the other things i hope to achieve through my demon mentor's training, i'd really love to be able to write a sonnet one day. i've wanted to write a sonnet for years.)
while i may not be totally sure of what my poetic dominant wants of me, it is quite clear and agreed upon what he doesn't want of me. he has no intention of being my boyfriend, and i am not looking for that from him. our goals are clear, the work will be hard, and our time together will be focused. it's true that i thought i was done with active BDSM for now, but every so often an opportunity comes along that is too rich and exciting and fulfilling and challenging to pass up. however, that doesn't change the fact that as far as Relationships go, with a capital "R", i'm feeling quite fulfilled at the moment.
because there is the philosopher. even as friends, even as we are, whatever we are to each other, i regard this bond between us as my primary relationship. and my sadistic jailer knows that. he respects that and he supports that.
i wonder if something like this would have helped things when the philosopher tried to break up with me as far back as last February. what with the stress of the dissertation, he has been feeling overwhelmed by the relationship for a long time. everything came to feel onerous – putting me to bed, giving me attention, giving me the control i needed, even accepting my love perhaps… i’m not totally sure, really. what if we had been able to think of this as a solution? someone for me to serve, someone to command my obedience, to give me attention, to praise me and to chastise me, to arouse me and control me, and to nurture my submission. i would still have belonged to the philosopher, we both would have had that to hug to ourselves to keep us safe and warm at night. but i would have been out of his hair and locked away safe until he was done and ready to resume life. and then we would have figured out together the new rules for a relationship that would work for us both.
but things don’t happen that way. we don’t always think of solutions when we need them, when life is coming apart, and i can’t imagine going shopping for someone to take me in hand. besides, that’s not how my life works. opportunities present themselves. people suddenly appear, people far beyond what i could have imagined. and then there is no choice. all i can say is “yes, Sir” and obey.
besides, the philosopher was always so possessive, even when he tried not to be, that i can’t imagine his having accepted such a thing.
so now he is my best friend, and i try not to say “yes, sir” when he calls me kitten. because i don’t ever want him to stop calling me kitten. and i still think of him a lot, i could never stop that, but am saved from brooding by this demon ex machina who commands my submission and demands my words and scares me and delights me and makes me tremble and makes me want to throw myself at his feet which maybe i can do later this week. how else should i feel about a man who likes my very feeble singing?
i am happy.
And today, I put the philosopher’s picture back on my desk. He is part of my life, whatever label we may stick on his role, and i like being reminded of that. Besides, he’s cute.
Three [something-or-other] years.
Perhaps that word my Master used when my physical service rendered him nearly speechless.
Three amazing years.
Or maybe:
Three extraordinary years.
Or even:
Three unlikely years.
Or how about:
Three years of struggle and joy.
For me, too, in this as in so many other things, words are inadequate.
Utterly, inevitably inadequate.
The richness and complexity of
who we are and
how we are and
what we are
cannot be pinned down.
What we have is an exquisite, elusive butterfly that you will never catch and nail to a board for a thorough and dispassionate examination.
There is nothing dispassionate about our relationship.
Below is what I posted on September 2, 2008, one day after I begged my Master to allow me to serve him, which happened a mere one week after he first found me on FetLife. He found me, wanted me, set his trap, and got me. All in the space of a week, which was exactly what he had predicted to his masochist slave.
You can read the whole post below, but you might want to go back and read it in situ. In context. with some of the surrounding posts. Including our first meeting in the flesh. (I notice that there, as so often now, I display an unwillingness to really describe our interactions.)
The following speaks of the philosopher as well as of the sadist - so I suppose I should offer this update that we've had some extended e-mail conversations in the last few months, kicked off by the death of Osama bin Laden. Which is good. What the philosopher and I had was also very special, and I was sad that we were no longer in contact. (Note: he did finally finish his dissertation. And does still read here.)
Here, then, is a remembrance and a tribute
to what was
and what is
and what will be.
A remembrance filled with love (and offered with uncorrected capitalizations).
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Life makes its own decisions
Sometimes, things happen very very fast. Which can really blindside you if you never imagined they existed.This change in my life I never imagined existed. Not for me. Not now. And certainly not quite this fast.
In some ways I’m not even sure what happened. Or how. One day I start getting odd messages from an evil man whose over-the-top enthusiasm for my writing makes me laugh. A day or so later, I’m inspired to write a very dark piece which I don’t feel like posting here. By Saturday we were having some horribly long volleys of messages and I was still teasing him for the way he worshiped my words, but I was distracted and aroused and aching to please him.
On Monday, Labor Day, I begged him to let me serve him. I am perhaps the first literary service slut in history.
Monday was very odd. It could have been a very rough day – the day on which my poor philosopher would have called to discuss where we went from here – if he hadn’t already dismissed me by e-mail on the anniversary of his taking possession of me as his slave kitten, his selkie, and as his best friend. It could have been a very very difficult day.
But it wasn’t.
The philosopher wrote me after reading about the fiend and about my dream, acknowledging what the day would have been. I was so, so happy, spending all that time writing back and forth, talking about the film i had seen (Starting Out in the Evening, which I liked a lot), learning that the dissertation is going well now and that i’m free to ask about it whenever i wish. Things are good between us, however they might be defined.
Meanwhile, my demon muse and i continued to write throughout the day, and… and i have no idea what happened. I’m not going to share the conversation; it loses something in translation and feels too intensely personal. Too intense. Very personal. Mainly, there was all this frustration on both sides that the other just couldn’t understand what needed to happen next. My fault, really, for being so afraid of rejection and for not knowing the rules.
What i CAN say is that by Sunday i was desperately wanting to please him. The more nice things he said, the more intensely submissive i felt. i was drunk on it, i think… perhaps my intense desire to serve him was a way to jump in the barrel and drown in the sweet strong wine of his approval.
(and yes i know i have completely lost any consistency in my capitalization and i’m not going to correct it. you can see what happens to my mind as i write. certainly, when i’m feeling submissive “I” gets rapidly replaced by “i” – not as a conscious thing, just as a reflection of something very deep and very uncontrollable. except, of course, by someone who very much wants to control me.)
so yes. i am his service slut. his literary service slut. his imprisoned poet, his treasured pet. i'm not totally sure what he wants of me, but whatever it is, i will give, and will learn to anticipate. i do know that we won't see each other all that often - but then, i am used to that. and since much of what he is looking to accomplish with me is guiding and disciplining and inspiring my writing, e-mail works just fine. i am already seeing a difference. (and oh... i have a secret goal... aside from all the other things i hope to achieve through my demon mentor's training, i'd really love to be able to write a sonnet one day. i've wanted to write a sonnet for years.)
while i may not be totally sure of what my poetic dominant wants of me, it is quite clear and agreed upon what he doesn't want of me. he has no intention of being my boyfriend, and i am not looking for that from him. our goals are clear, the work will be hard, and our time together will be focused. it's true that i thought i was done with active BDSM for now, but every so often an opportunity comes along that is too rich and exciting and fulfilling and challenging to pass up. however, that doesn't change the fact that as far as Relationships go, with a capital "R", i'm feeling quite fulfilled at the moment.
because there is the philosopher. even as friends, even as we are, whatever we are to each other, i regard this bond between us as my primary relationship. and my sadistic jailer knows that. he respects that and he supports that.
i wonder if something like this would have helped things when the philosopher tried to break up with me as far back as last February. what with the stress of the dissertation, he has been feeling overwhelmed by the relationship for a long time. everything came to feel onerous – putting me to bed, giving me attention, giving me the control i needed, even accepting my love perhaps… i’m not totally sure, really. what if we had been able to think of this as a solution? someone for me to serve, someone to command my obedience, to give me attention, to praise me and to chastise me, to arouse me and control me, and to nurture my submission. i would still have belonged to the philosopher, we both would have had that to hug to ourselves to keep us safe and warm at night. but i would have been out of his hair and locked away safe until he was done and ready to resume life. and then we would have figured out together the new rules for a relationship that would work for us both.
but things don’t happen that way. we don’t always think of solutions when we need them, when life is coming apart, and i can’t imagine going shopping for someone to take me in hand. besides, that’s not how my life works. opportunities present themselves. people suddenly appear, people far beyond what i could have imagined. and then there is no choice. all i can say is “yes, Sir” and obey.
besides, the philosopher was always so possessive, even when he tried not to be, that i can’t imagine his having accepted such a thing.
so now he is my best friend, and i try not to say “yes, sir” when he calls me kitten. because i don’t ever want him to stop calling me kitten. and i still think of him a lot, i could never stop that, but am saved from brooding by this demon ex machina who commands my submission and demands my words and scares me and delights me and makes me tremble and makes me want to throw myself at his feet which maybe i can do later this week. how else should i feel about a man who likes my very feeble singing?
i am happy.
And today, I put the philosopher’s picture back on my desk. He is part of my life, whatever label we may stick on his role, and i like being reminded of that. Besides, he’s cute.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Daddy's little slave outdoes herself
Imagine an Irishman left without words.
All that remained was one:
"Amazing."
All that remained was one:
"Amazing."
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Submitting to Irene
A force of nature.
She was a force of nature.
Both in fact and in metaphor.
She fascinated me, like some mythological beast who won't let you look away, even as she draws nearer and nearer and prepares to devour you.
She swallowed me up.
I could not look away.
The storm wasn't even all that bad here. We were hit with nothing more than the fringes of her skirt and cloak as she twirled up the coast, enough to take down some trees but not enough to stop the city cold. I lost power for perhaps half a minute and no more, though others were not that lucky. We didn't even get a lot of rain.
But I couldn't look away.
I couldn't go to sleep.
Obsessively, I followed her path, swapping preparations, plans, and predictions with friends up and down the East Coast. We'd been talking all week anyway, not wanting to let go of the intimacy of our days at "Band Camp" and the surprise earthquake that came so soon after. I fed off Facebook and group e-mails, while Irene sank her teeth into my pale, bare neck and fed off me.
By the afternoon, I was insanely aroused, and not just from working on the first half of my latest sex toy review. It was Irene. She was tangled in my rowdy curls, winding her scarf around my neck, and blowing into my panting pussy. My Master was right to see that I was too sensitive not to respond to her.
I wanted to lay myself naked at her feet and feel her lash.
When she finally arrived at our latitude, she kept her distance. Like many people this time of year, she haunted the shore and merely breezed by the halls of power, monuments of stone already shaken by the rumblings of midweek. She treated us gently and I was disappointed.
I wanted more.
I needed more.
I wanted to walk out into the storm and give myself to her,
naked and unprotected.
I needed to offer myself.
I needed to submit.
I needed her to slap my face with gusts of wind,
to flog my breasts with sprays of stinging rain,
to cane my belly and buttocks
with switches of fallen branches.
I wanted her power.
I needed her fury.
But all she gave me was a hint.
A taste.
And roaring echoes of her passion.
It was my Master who gave me relief.
My Master who opened the locks.
My Master who said I could touch and could cum
and licked up the words that flowed with my passion.
He knew I couldn't help being drawn to Irene.
But he knows that I'm nobody's slave but his own.
She was a force of nature.
Both in fact and in metaphor.
She fascinated me, like some mythological beast who won't let you look away, even as she draws nearer and nearer and prepares to devour you.
She swallowed me up.
I could not look away.
The storm wasn't even all that bad here. We were hit with nothing more than the fringes of her skirt and cloak as she twirled up the coast, enough to take down some trees but not enough to stop the city cold. I lost power for perhaps half a minute and no more, though others were not that lucky. We didn't even get a lot of rain.
But I couldn't look away.
I couldn't go to sleep.
Obsessively, I followed her path, swapping preparations, plans, and predictions with friends up and down the East Coast. We'd been talking all week anyway, not wanting to let go of the intimacy of our days at "Band Camp" and the surprise earthquake that came so soon after. I fed off Facebook and group e-mails, while Irene sank her teeth into my pale, bare neck and fed off me.
By the afternoon, I was insanely aroused, and not just from working on the first half of my latest sex toy review. It was Irene. She was tangled in my rowdy curls, winding her scarf around my neck, and blowing into my panting pussy. My Master was right to see that I was too sensitive not to respond to her.
I wanted to lay myself naked at her feet and feel her lash.
When she finally arrived at our latitude, she kept her distance. Like many people this time of year, she haunted the shore and merely breezed by the halls of power, monuments of stone already shaken by the rumblings of midweek. She treated us gently and I was disappointed.
I wanted more.
I needed more.
I wanted to walk out into the storm and give myself to her,
naked and unprotected.
I needed to offer myself.
I needed to submit.
I needed her to slap my face with gusts of wind,
to flog my breasts with sprays of stinging rain,
to cane my belly and buttocks
with switches of fallen branches.
I wanted her power.
I needed her fury.
But all she gave me was a hint.
A taste.
And roaring echoes of her passion.
It was my Master who gave me relief.
My Master who opened the locks.
My Master who said I could touch and could cum
and licked up the words that flowed with my passion.
He knew I couldn't help being drawn to Irene.
But he knows that I'm nobody's slave but his own.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Masturbation mania (10) -Testing the Silky G
E-mail from me to Kayla, my contact at EdenFanatsys and steady supplier of sex toys:
I know you're at a conference and may not see it for a while, but just wanted to let you know that I tried the Silky G last night. It's so damn adorable that I couldn't wait. And I love it! A couple of things could be improved, and it wouldn't work for someone who needs things really strong or fat. But for me? Oh my...
And yes. It's VERY quiet.
Finally.
Thanks so much!
Flashback:
Having finally finished my rabbit review, it was time to select the next product to subject to my rigorous series of consumer tests. But the clitoral vibrator I had in mind wasn't available for review last month, and the hoped-for replacement for the much beloved but now deceased Fun Factory vibrator the philosopher gave me has been discontinued. (You can see it pictured in the photo at the bottom of the right-hand column.)
Kayla, however, had been paying attention to my comments over the last few months, and offered some suggestions based on my preference for silicone and my sensitivity to vibrator noise. My noise issue is not so much that my housemate will hear; rather the buzzing is distracting and ugly and offends my artistic sensibilities.
I studied the small list very scientifically, as my other concern is the surprising tightness of my 62-year old pussy. And I never did like fat cocks. Not only are they uncomfortable, but they are graceless.
Eventually, I selected a G-spot vibrator from Evolved Novelties called the Fleur de Lis Silky G. Like last month's rabbit from the same manufacturer, the Silky G comes in a really cool and creative package. In fact, in 2009 Evolved Novelties won an award for Best Packaging. My only complaint about the package is that it's a little fussy. You can't just pop the vibrator out of the container when your pussy starts screaming for attention. There's a little plastic ring you have to unscrew first. But its great for storage and isn't inordinately larger than the vibrator herself.
This one I do call "she" because she's so damn cute.
Perky.
Slender.
A bit saucy.
With a jaunty little curved tip that reminds me of
a soft-serve ice cream cone dipped in hardened chocolate.
Except it's not brown.
It's purple.
A lovely purple.
And silicone.
I definitely prefer silicone.
Feels soft.
[Writing interrupted at this point when my Master responded to my plaintive cries of painful arousal by granting me permission to masturbate with the stipulation that I write him before, during, and after. Which I did, affording my pulsing pussy much-needed relief, my Master a flood of entertaining and decidedly pornographic messages, and the Silky G another chance to show her stuff. Which she did. I'm smitten.]
And here, I think, I'll stop for now.
Check back for more on the Silky G, either tomorrow or as power outages allow.
Meanwhile, I'll sigh wistfully, wondering when my Master will let me play with my new friend again. Something about this storm is making me unbearably horny...
Friday, August 26, 2011
Be prepared.
Hurricane's coming.
Are you ready?
Make sure you've got extra batteries for your vibrators.
But first, make sure you have permission to masturbate.
This has been a public service announcement.
Are you ready?
Make sure you've got extra batteries for your vibrators.
But first, make sure you have permission to masturbate.
This has been a public service announcement.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Naked wrestling with jealousy
sin has been talking about jealousy lately.
Here.
And here.
Specifically, jealousy in response to her Dom's interactions with another submissive.
I tossed in my opinion, and given that I've been feeling extremely disinclined to post since coming home from "Band Camp", as the philosopher calls it, I'll take the lazy way out and reprint my comments below. Not that there's anything new in them. You've heard it before. I know the sadist has numerous other submissives. More than the ones I've specifically been informed of. I've met 3 of them and expect to meet more, though surely not all. And it doesn't bother me.
It used to.
A lot.
Back when I knew of only the one.
His masochist slave.
Now I'm fine.
Which isn't like me.
Anyway, you can read my blathering below.
But first, a question.
sin wrote specifically about jealousy towards other submissives. But:
Please do weigh in.
And please do visit sin's blog.
It's the least I can do for appropriating her topic.
Now here's what I wrote over at her place:
I can't say that I'm turned on by knowing that the sadist has other submissives. But I no longer have a problem with it. In general I am very insecure, and have a great fear of being rejected. Earlier in our relationship, I did have a strong sense of competitiveness with his masochist slave. Now I'm just grateful that he has another outlet for his most extreme sadistic needs. His slave is part of the construct that protects both me and our relationship, and has literally saved my ass numerous times.
The main thing, though, is that I finally feel secure in that relationship. I have a stronger understanding of my Master's feelings for me and my special place in his collection.
It does surprise me that I'm so calm about it all. The only resentment I harbor is that perhaps he would have more time for me if he didn't have to manage such a big stockpile of submissives. On the other hand, our meetings are so reach and intense, I'm not sure that I could manage much more than one a week. Can one live on heavy cream? Even when spiced with hot pepper oil?
My acceptance amazes me, and I can't say I would feel the same about any other relationship, so I'm certainly not holding myself up as a role model.
Good luck.
I know it's hard.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I don't think jealousy is subject to logic. I can use logic to explain why I'm generally ok with my current situation, but logic didn't get me to where I am. And I definitely don't think that just because I'm ok, anyone else should be.
My recommendation? Don't beat yourself up about it. If the jealousy is to ease, it will happen over time. Work on the relationship as a whole. Focus on what YOU have with him, what you are to him, and what he is with you. Focus on your relationship FOR ITS OWN SAKE. What else is there?
And let yourself accept that yes, you are jealous, and that this is NOT an abnormal state to be in.
Perhaps the only other thing I might suggest is to try to avoid letting it affect your behaviour. You can't change your feelings by force of will, but you can try to control what you do. And that's one of the gifts of serving as a submissive: learning self-control. Learning to move our focus outside of ourselves and onto someone else, and basing our behaviour on someone else's needs and requirements. We willingly agree to change that focus and, in a relationship with a skilled, responsible, thoughtful Dom(me), we learn and grow.
It's hard.
I know it's hard.
That's ok.
I think if submission weren't hard, weren't a challenge, we wouldn't gain so much from it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
So what do you think?
Here.
And here.
Specifically, jealousy in response to her Dom's interactions with another submissive.
I tossed in my opinion, and given that I've been feeling extremely disinclined to post since coming home from "Band Camp", as the philosopher calls it, I'll take the lazy way out and reprint my comments below. Not that there's anything new in them. You've heard it before. I know the sadist has numerous other submissives. More than the ones I've specifically been informed of. I've met 3 of them and expect to meet more, though surely not all. And it doesn't bother me.
It used to.
A lot.
Back when I knew of only the one.
His masochist slave.
Now I'm fine.
Which isn't like me.
Anyway, you can read my blathering below.
But first, a question.
sin wrote specifically about jealousy towards other submissives. But:
- What about towards a Dom(me)'s significant other, if there is one?
- If that jealousy and resentment exists, is it of a different nature from feelings toward other subs and/or slaves?
- Does it make a difference if the wife/husband/partner is also a submissive?
- What if the other person is another Dom(me)?
- How do you feel if you are a submissive spouse/partner knowing that your Dom(me) has other submissives and/or slaves?
Please do weigh in.
And please do visit sin's blog.
It's the least I can do for appropriating her topic.
Now here's what I wrote over at her place:
I can't say that I'm turned on by knowing that the sadist has other submissives. But I no longer have a problem with it. In general I am very insecure, and have a great fear of being rejected. Earlier in our relationship, I did have a strong sense of competitiveness with his masochist slave. Now I'm just grateful that he has another outlet for his most extreme sadistic needs. His slave is part of the construct that protects both me and our relationship, and has literally saved my ass numerous times.
The main thing, though, is that I finally feel secure in that relationship. I have a stronger understanding of my Master's feelings for me and my special place in his collection.
It does surprise me that I'm so calm about it all. The only resentment I harbor is that perhaps he would have more time for me if he didn't have to manage such a big stockpile of submissives. On the other hand, our meetings are so reach and intense, I'm not sure that I could manage much more than one a week. Can one live on heavy cream? Even when spiced with hot pepper oil?
My acceptance amazes me, and I can't say I would feel the same about any other relationship, so I'm certainly not holding myself up as a role model.
Good luck.
I know it's hard.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I don't think jealousy is subject to logic. I can use logic to explain why I'm generally ok with my current situation, but logic didn't get me to where I am. And I definitely don't think that just because I'm ok, anyone else should be.
My recommendation? Don't beat yourself up about it. If the jealousy is to ease, it will happen over time. Work on the relationship as a whole. Focus on what YOU have with him, what you are to him, and what he is with you. Focus on your relationship FOR ITS OWN SAKE. What else is there?
And let yourself accept that yes, you are jealous, and that this is NOT an abnormal state to be in.
Perhaps the only other thing I might suggest is to try to avoid letting it affect your behaviour. You can't change your feelings by force of will, but you can try to control what you do. And that's one of the gifts of serving as a submissive: learning self-control. Learning to move our focus outside of ourselves and onto someone else, and basing our behaviour on someone else's needs and requirements. We willingly agree to change that focus and, in a relationship with a skilled, responsible, thoughtful Dom(me), we learn and grow.
It's hard.
I know it's hard.
That's ok.
I think if submission weren't hard, weren't a challenge, we wouldn't gain so much from it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
So what do you think?
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