Tuesday, 23 April 2013

A Temple

I'm slightly miffed, irked, annoyed at a friend of mine.
I've known her since my teen years. She used to be a dancer (as in, classically trained dancer).
 I hang with her because, I love her laugh. And her smile and she she has an interesting perspective on life that I don't always, okay, seldom agree with but somehow, we get along just fine.
 Over the last few years, she has been having a problem with her back and she has gained some extra weight.
But...she has become kind of stuck in her shell. There are things she tells me she wants to try but uses the "oh, I can't manage that" or "I would be out of place"  lines as excuses.
Recently, her doctor had advised that she try some gentle yoga to see if that would help strengthen her spine, increase strength and flexibility.
 I started yoga this year after I had trouble sleeping. I tried it, liked it, saw a slew of differences and continued. Until we moved here and I can't find a yoga studio that I'm comfortable with. So I've been doing an at home practice and even with only doing half an hour, three times a week, I still see differences.

My friend, lives over in Toronto, where there are yoga studios on every corner. I helped her research a few.
"Try this one--its 'chair fit' yoga geared to people with mobility issues" I suggested.
My friend said no and said she would feel weird.
I pulled up yoga studio after yoga studio (hot yoga, zen yoga, relaxing yoga, yoga specifically for back pain, yoga for the elderly, yoga for people with arthritis) and she said,
 "I can't do it, Bleue. You don't understand what its like."

Really? You're going to tell me that I don't understand what its like to want your body to do something that it isn't doing? Or how it feels to feel physically awkward?
My friend, you clearly haven't been paying attention to my life.
And I really don't blame her because I don't talk a whole lot about my physical 'limitations' or the struggles that I went through in order to get my body to behave how it does these days. So I can forgive her a little for that ignorance.
 My friend's real problem is, she is holding in her mind a picture of herself of how she was twenty years ago, when she was a dancer and in perfect fitness. She hasn't grown to accept and love her body how it is now...that's the real problem. And if she could just start thinking a little differently, I know she would feel better and if she felt better, maybe she wouldn't let those excuses get in her way of doing the things or trying the things she wants to try.
 I haven't been able to get her to listen but this is what I have wanted to say:

You know the phrase, "your body is a temple"? Oh gods, I've heard that from every fluffy and non-fluff wiccan bunny throughout the years. And they are right, my body is a temple.
 But the word "temple" brings to mind something pristine, clean, sacred.
Have you seen pictures of old temples? The floors are dirty, stained with blood or ash, the walls are often crumbling and there are adornments with pieces missing. But yet, its still beautiful.
 That's the kind of 'temple' I think of when I think of the whole 'your body is a temple' line.

My body has been prodded, poked, examined, charted, put through the paces, time and time again.
I've used this body hard: The times have been few but there have been long moments where I drank too much and tried a substance or two.
And I'm still doing that smoking-thing (though my days are numbered on that but that's a different post),
I have scars from self-inflicted wounds back before 'self-harm' was a trendy phrase to be thrown around.
There are countless times when I've cried and yelled in frustration because it felt like I couldn't take one more step or grab something the right way, when everyone else around me could, effortlessly.
This body has been used and played with and even abused; there are times when I probably should have said "yellow" and didn't, there might be one or two times when I should have said, "red" and I didn't (because really, who wants to admit to that? and that was all pre-Horace days, of course).
 When I'm really tired, my body is my worst enemy because it doesn't work how I spent countless hours and tears teaching it too until I've had a coffee or two and sleepy consciousness is awaken.
This body has much I don't like about it: my mouth and sometimes, I think my vagina looks weird.
Obviously, I am a true masochist because even with all the body-issues I have and gone through, I engage in kinky activities that only heighten all the ungraceful, ungainly, awkwardness.
Honestly, real-kink, doesn't look as glamours as those shiny magazines make it out to be.
A gag: drool is not attractive.
Impact play: ugly welts that can last for days because I mark easily.
Nipple play: tearing and peeling, its not beautiful.
Face: contorted in pain or ecstasy it pretty much looks the same.

My husband has a rule that goes like this: "No disparaging comments about my wife" it started off as a joke, when I started in on myself of "I don't like the extra weight I've gained, or I am awkward."
Because he thinks I'm beautiful.
And he also thinks I am graceful.
 Which is hilarious.
When I try to do the things that I think are graceful--something as simple as handing someone a cup of tea--it never turns out like I envision it to because by the time I get it to the person, the tea has slopped over the cup. But he tells me, "You have more grace and eloquence than all those others combined."
To be honest with you...I don't always believe him.
 I try, I'm learning because learning to love myself for my awkwardness was a goal I set out this year and because I like to put my faith in his words.
So my friend, I know its hard. I understand it can frightening and scary to face years of habitual thoughts and focus into new beliefs and the self-growth can be painful.
But sometimes I dance on my way to answer the phone--and its definitely not with any ease.
Often, I run when I'm walking home and have to go under the scary underpass--even though I look like a complete dork.
Because the truth is, I enjoy moving my body.
And I'm damn grateful I can.
Try and allow and love yourself as you are now.

Like the real temples, this body has been well trodden on and so far so good, it has stood the testament of time, climate changes and experiences.

Monday, 22 April 2013


We are currently in the calm before the storm; work and business picks up in the Spring and its going to be a whirlwind, very quickly.
Horace and I had a great weekend, where we socialised little, ran a ton of errands, took walks by moonlight, where I discovered a new latte, had great sex with a side of play and we regrouped and recharged.

But all through that, I wasn't on my best behaviour.
There really wasn't something wrong, it was just a bunch of little annoyances all compiling together.
 Yet, there were moments over the course of these three days that I was unfocused and grumpy and where Horace didn't have my full attention.
Things got to me.
 And the fact that I was letting things get to me, got to him.

Horace asked me something and I responded kind of snarkily and that was enough.
He took me by the shoulders and said, "When we get back, you're going to be punished."
And that directive, stopped me in my tracks.
It brought my attention back squarely where it needed to be and sent a wave of emotions through me: disappointment that I had been acting this way, a tinge of fear from thinking of what was to come and contrition.
I had stepped out of bounds and I know better.

We ran another errand and talked about plans for the upcoming week.
Horace spoke to me about what he wanted and I made sure he knew that I knew and I wasn't holding any kind of grudge. I apologised for my behaviour and admitted I hadn't really realised I was acting in a way that wasn't pleasing to him.

In some ways, I guess its easier or more direct if there is an actual rule being broken. But really the one rule we have is "Do what I say" and all the other 'rules' are just the flushing out of details of that one, how I was behaving certainly fell into the category.

We got home.
"Floor" Horace said.
Its amazing how 'trained' you really can become, I thought.
 If Horace wants to correct me or get my attention, all he has to say is "Floor", sometimes he just points. And I know it means to get my seat to the floor cushion that we finally found after a long search. The cushion is a weird symbol for me, because it can be used to modify behaviour, its also where I kneel, where I sit at his feet and sometimes, I kind of hold it if I'm upset or contemplating something, its a tool that when used, makes me feel all submissive-like.

I settled on the cushion.
 Horace left me there for--of course what seemed like a really long time-and I thought. And I kind of laughed at myself, because what was happening in that moment, was so contradictory to a realisation I had the night before (post coming up on that) and it occurred to me one of the reasons I had been so badly tempered is because I was trying to get wrapped up in my thoughts and didn't have the time to do it. I need time to focus and think, especially when I'm grappling with a new idea.
 I had shared the new realisation with Horace but we hadn't talked about it at length.

After forever, Horace came into my field of vision.
Paddle in his hand. He sat down in a chair, patted his knee.
I crawled over to him, put my cheek against his knee.
He stroked my hair.
"That's a better girl" he said.
He reminded of what he expects, acknowledged that he understood when things get chaotic, its the one time I try to control everything. Told me I certainly wasn't in charge.
 At his signal, I wrapped my arms around his waist and he lifted me up with his strong arms, draped me over the chair and started paddling.
Horace didn't let up, through my course of 'ows' and eventually I remembered to breathe and accepted the fiery pain.
"Be my good girl now, my pretty bleue girl", he said.
He hugged me and I felt the peace that comes with being brought to centre.

Even though it was nothing too major that caused the punishment, Horace knew what would work best to refocus my head.
He pressed the reset button.

Friday, 19 April 2013

Friday Fragments: Parlez-lui?

I thought of a conversation I had a few weeks ago with a woman at a local kink event, today.
 Nice woman, been with her Dom for many years. She was telling us--a group of four of us--all girls, we were sitting together-- that one of her rules was 'no talking to men (relatives excluded)'.
 This also brings to mind a very awkard-nerves moment I had with a new friend earlier this year, when in the course of my first introduction to them, when I was trying to comment on something they had said I made the god-awful comment, "I also don't talk to men or make eye contact" or something along those lines, still trying to explain that one, by the way. And I should probably stop worrying about it but gosh, did that one stick with me.
Back to the conversation.
We all chipped in of course and started doing the comparison thing (which happens a fair bit: "Does your do this?" "Is this what its like for you?" "What do you think of this?" "Do the two of you do this and that?"). Three of the girls, really didn't have a rule when it came talking to strange men--as long as the strange men followed the typical protocol of making introduction to their D-type first.
 I explained that, generally speaking I don't have a rule that says no contact with men (though Horace wouldn't take kindly to someone who struck up a conversation with me first without introducing themselves to him but on occasion it does happen, and this applies only in a kink setting but generally the typical protocol is followed) in life but online, I certainly do, which is I can't talk to men I don't know. Various reasons for this, does it matter? Its Horace's rule and it works for us and I'm comfortable with it and besides which, I've rambled about it on here before.
No, the woman said, not just in a kink setting. I can't talk to men at all.

Now, I try not to judge. Your kinks definitely aren't mine and every relationship is different and belongs to only the people who are in it, really I mean this all when I say it over and over again. I honestly believe those statements to be true.
"What?" I exclaimed to the woman. Couldn't help myself. I honestly was trying to sort out how this worked, in my head. And I was curious.
 So...if your mail-person is a man, do you not say 'hello?' What about your neighbour? A co-worker? Teller at the bank, Your grocery-clerk? You get where I am going with, I'm sure.
 She insisted it applied to men, period.
Hmmm. Okay, that's what works for you, cool.

More often than not, I am really happy we moved here. Its a great community and, the kink community here is golden, we lucked out on that aspect. And even with the hovel (still) being in the state its in, I am happy about how its all going.
 People here are polite and friendly; which probably doesn't give you a good description because stereotypically speaking, that describes pretty much anywhere in Canada. Let's put it this way: People here, seem to be happier and more relaxed.
Everyone says "Hello" to each other, my door has been opened for me more times than I can count while I'm out on the town (even by males of all ages), people make conversation all over the place and even though I abhor small talk, I join in.
It would be rude not to.
 This is also an exceptionally clean little ville, there is not a trace of litter on the streets and Horace feels comfortable enough here and assured, to let me wonder out at night, when he's away. Which is really good, it means I can go pick up a bag of milk from the grocery, without having to wait for daylight or Horace's return.
 And, maybe this is what makes the noticeable difference: there is a higher level of wealth here.
 Since we've moved here, I haven't had one bad experience with people or anything like that and I can't call what happened today a bad experience...but its just that lovely contrast thing kicking up Fate's dust again...

A raining, wet, damp spring day.
 I had to make my way across town to pick up some reference material for work at the library.
 Its only about a 4km walk but I was already cold, so decided to take transit.
 Made my way to the station. As I was walking in, this old man, said "Hello, rainy day eh?" and I kind of nodded at him and continued on.
 Came out of the station, to wait at the stop and watched as the old man was saying the same line to everyone else who walked by him.
 He crossed the street, to where I was and said the same thing to me again.
I pulled out my Kindle.
Then, you know what he did?
 He asked me for change!!

I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't believe that this old man was pan-handling in my beautiful town.
Now having lived in much bigger and busier cities, getting asked, "Can you spare any change?" is a pretty common occurrence. If I was in any other city, I wouldn't have blinked at it.
 But here, I actually felt...insulted. And slightly confused. And then of course, when you say 'no', there is always that slight tinge of guilt that creeps over you.
 Then I reminded myself, of the sentiment of 'you really can't get poor enough to help the poor get rich' and the guilt went away.
I often joke to my friends, "its weird to walk in a downtown where you aren't asked for change", that's how much the difference struck me when we first moved here.
 So that's what made me think of the conversation I had with the woman who has a 'no-talking-to-men-at-all-rule" and for a brief moment, today I wish I did.
 But then the guy who always seems to be on cash when I get my groceries and who is in third year of social sciences might be awfully confused as to why I am no longer commiserating with him over the University hunts the next time I go in for my stocks.

Wednesday, 17 April 2013


My blog! Lovely little bit of webspace that I use to think and ramble and babble and express thoughts and connect with others!
 How I have missed coming here over the last few weeks. To say we have been busy would be an understatement. Spring has brought on a whirlwind! 

 Life is chaotic but its good and happy!

Horace and I have been having fun among the chaos and I'll write about the kindness of strangers, disarming with kindness, post some erotica and mull on the pride of being own, very soon. But for now, I just wanted to spring back in with this checking in post. Hope everyone is well and I can't wait to get caught up with my bloggie friends.

Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Sometimes It's Like This...

I'm tired.
 I have had really low energy all day and the sudden cold-snap we are in, isn't helping matters.
It was all I could do today to force myself to put in a few hours of work but I gave in and finished early.

This tiredness usually comes on the heels of a lot going on including work functions or socializing among large crowds (most of the populace thrives on being around other people and feels refueled by it; introverts are the opposite) and eventually it gets to me and leaves me in a sluggish mind.

My husband, has been working crazy long hours lately.
 He has had a much longer day than I.
But even so, Horace is cheerful, upbeat and happy to be home.
I'm really happy to have him home and that we are in the same space together.
And I want to listen to him tell me what is new in the beehive of activity...but his energy is kind of overwhelming. Just a tiny bit.
All I want to do is nap.
A nap, a nap with him would be nice.
 But I start dinner.

Because Horace hasn't eaten all day and the deal is I cook at home.
 Weekends are the exception.
He playfully follows me around the kitchen, chatting, chatting, chatting.
 I try to keep up with what he is saying.
  But my mind is a thousand paces behind and I am trying to watch the pan.
I am a very skilled multitask-er but not at this moment.

"Love, let me take over", Horace's hands are around my waist and he scoots me away from the stove.
 I make us drinks.
And perch on a stool, watching my husband cook, taking a kind of prideful pleasure in his smile, his glow, his exuberant energy.
 After a few moments, I get up and we finish preparing dinner together.

To be honest, I do most of the 'domestic' stuff, tending to hearth and home.
 If Horace has time, he will do the laundry because he likes to and he is particular about how he likes the clothes to be folded. But when he can, he does pitch in...quite a lot.

 Does this make him any less Dominant?
 Does this make me any less submissive and willing to be at his beck and call?
 Does his authority diminish because he was being kind and considerate?
Do I think "Hmmm...he picked up after himself and us, that makes him less Dom like?"
 And does this make us not 24/7 but kinky-sex only? Using the various labels when they apply?

 Of course not.
All of this comes with having a home together, at least for us.

I think on the whole, the conversation of Dom/sub/D/s/labels, gets bogged down in the actions of play; who plays with what, who uses what and how and how-much-pain-can-take-and-give and will-you-do-this-or-that-crazy-thing, that if we're very honest probably very few have done-and compare and contrast your experiences against everyone else's.

 I promise to return to some of the questions I received in March but I have been receiving a lot of questions from ahh..let's say barely legal readers and people who are very new to this.
 And questions I am not going to write about are the ones that trickled in about labels..."What is a sub?"
"If I do x does that still make me submissive?"
For one, I don't like labels (i.e. the "this" above? That probably could have been "lifestyle" or "scene" or "BDSM" or "Kink").
When I first started blogging, I had a heck of a time talking about what-we-do-and-how (which is one of the reasons I started blogging) and describing it all and choosing a label that would apply and not lead to confusion--which is why I chose a label--so in other words, I have written about all of that here before and I have pointed each inquirer to other blogs/websites that address the quandary far better than I ever could.
 And that doesn't mean we weren't D/s before I started blogging, only I really didn't have great ease in talking about it.

I think because I have experienced it to be true, there is a lot to the "a D/s relationship is more intimate" line of thinking but I think that is because a D/s dynamic, increases your awareness of the other person.
It is like, your senses are more attuned to what they are doing, what they need, where they are, their moods, their thoughts and emotions and I think this is true for both sides.

When the conversation gets bogged down in the play particles, I feel its like people are only seeing what is obvious. They aren't seeing what play can do.
 And so much of it looks like fun, or very simple or attractive.
 But there are things we do that I don't write about here because I don't want to be judged.
There are fetishes and scenes out there that would make most who have read a popular book, run for the hills, all with consenting participants.
This whole thing, can be messy and complicated and the "play" part of it can be harsh and downright painful and humiliating and not fun at all, or at least not fun in the way the glossies portray.

The depth of all of this, takes time to understand, time to experience.
 But because often what people see, is on the surface, a lot of the time they overlook or don't see what the kink experience is actually capable of giving. It can be hard to truly realize in that above surface space, there are emotions in play, there is some form of context; there are relationships (however short or long they may be) and it didn't just all happen in a moment.
 It is often, even with the messy bits, a very powerful exchange of energy and intimacy and love.