Wednesday, 31 August 2016

hanging threads

My head is not in the greatest place.
And i wonder, isnt it his responsibility to fix that? 
But he can't   fix all the things.

Yet...
if you know how i'm going to react and you take me there, how unfair it is to expect a different reaction.

My emotions are real. I think i deserve to be heard. You cant throw me into crisis mode then say, "Oh everything is fine now" i don't have switches to flip. I can't unfeel what I felt, or unthink what I did. I can't make all the words disappear. I am still there, kind of dangling. Hanging where you left me.

You can't demand, then don't follow through. Well you can because maybe all the words convince you of the reality you want to eschew but they are just words so meaningless they barely register in my ear.

Admit to what you can give me then do .
Tell me what you need but don't give me direction is leaving me hanging. Its not fair


Don't insist you are someone else that  you never where that doesn't get us very far.

You could have taken me. You could have taken control. But just leave me hanging...I have grown accustomed to dangling.

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Because of course....

Dropping a note to say, sorry not to be responding to comments. I appreciate the words so much!

Experienced a hard drive death so that's kind of put a damper on blogging things.

In the old days "Ohmygods did we back up  all the work files?!"

Now, it went like this: "Are the pics backed up?!!!!!! Whew."
We don't care about anything else. Amazing, how the perceptions change, yes?

Hope to catch up with everyone soon

X


Friday, 19 August 2016

Friday Fragments: Feeling This A Swan


It wasn't bad.
 It was okay. It was pretty good. There were highs.
 It got better as the days came closer to the weekend.
 I hope this week was good for you, too.
Thank-you for the commiseration and reading, friends. 



Wednesday, 17 August 2016

Embracing the Exhausted Pigeon State, M/s Style

Sleep has been unpredictable and a bit of battleground this week. 
My day started at 4:48am.
Officially started at 6:00am when there was just no hope of staying in bed. 

He likes his mornings alone. 
He likes to have time in the morning or at least have space to rush and get out the door--maybe saying goodbye to us in the last moments.

So his style was cramped this morning.
I was one bleary-eyed grumpy mama bear who just wanted a full coffee pot. 
Oh and sleep. 

In my grumpy state, stuffs got to me.The state of the Hovel, the unfinishedness of it all, dear goddess how I miss clean-surfaces, the enormity of the day ahead.

Both of us shouted.
Both of us snapped at each other.

I felt a couple moments of resentment for the fact that he gets to go to work.
He picked up on that and said it aloud, made me smile.

He left. I got on with things.
He texted, hope my morning was improving.
I texted an apology for being a grumpy bear and life went on.

Earlier in the week, late at night.
Both of us tired, weary, empty.
He asked me to do something so ordinary and mundane.
I said no.
I noticed his irritation; me saying no is still something that isn't really a norm for us and this time I observed how it bothered him.
He helped me figure something out.
I dragged my sleep-deprived self up and grabbed a sponge and cleaner and started tidying way all the debris of the day from the counter, so I could get to it to clean it properly and did as he asked. 

It seems like nothing.
But its how I feel.
Its bits and pieces and windows opening here and there.
Its resistance starting to yield and soften.
Its the start of giving over, of making space in my head of letting him fill that space again.

Communication is so crucial in M/s. And there are two types of resistance  or miscommunication: The out and out in your face resistance of saying "no" and the resistance that doesn't seem like resistance and its the quieter resistance of not asking, of not being honest with what you need and want.

We had that long talk of needs and wants of asking and honesty and it propelled us into a better place.

I may not be snapping to his every request, but I'm not meeting them with hostility, either. 

And he is meeting me with more patience.
He knows I am one exhausted pigeon.
He is keeper of the coop after all and has held us together with sticks and tape and spit and gum and frayed threads.

It might be dysfunctional M/s but its starting to feel strangely functional.



Monday, 15 August 2016

As It Turns Out....

I need a coffee house.
Seriously want to do that writing thing.

Anyone else?

(Have other posts to post. But I'm on day three of sleep deprivation. Tell me they sleep. Please.)



Friday, 12 August 2016

Show Me


In the last post, Willie commented with these words:

"I wish he understood that there seems to be no maybes. If you mention it, I cling to it." and and "I wish he understood what it does to me when he says but then does not do."

Oh yes, a thousand times that.
But how not?
You taught me to believe you. 
You made me dependable on you.

You wanted me to be yours.
You emptied my mind and filled it with you.
I surrendered to you.
I gave over my power.

I gave you my independence.

There shouldn't be any surprise that  I sustain on your words like air and when they fall flat, I feel like my life has lost some substance.

That I feel like I have been led down a grievous path. 
That I shouldn't of let my heart out of that cage...again.
That I shouldn't have believed you with all that I am, all those particles of bleue.
That maybe I should have held something back.


But I'm an all in or all out kinda girl.
Yet for me, there is no out. 
For better or worse, promises met or promises forgotten, 
I am owned.
So I hang in limbo.

After you tell me, show me.
Show me that I can count on you.
Show me that you mean what you say.


With action and deed.

Be surprising.
Engage me.
Woo me.

Make it so that there is no doubt in my head, where my place is and where you are.

Show me.


Show me that you want me.
Show me that you need me.
Give me that substance that I crave.
Offer me the certainty that eludes me.
Show me trust is not wasted.



I need to know that your words are going to be carried through.
I want to find that place again, that bliss of being just us.
I want to feel the ebb and flow.
I want to know the freedom of surrender, once again.



Show me love without strings.
Give me grace and think the best of me.

Show me, that we can be us again, that we can be one again.
That I can freely be the slave you made me be.







Tuesday, 9 August 2016

Its Important.

(Random...half formed...thoughts...ramblings...here)

Keep your word.

Yes, that's important. So important. That is everything to me. Because if I strip bare and lay it all at your feet, if you want to take me back into surrender, into the ecstasy and heights of possessing, then I need to believe what comes out of your mouth. Your word has to be iron clad.
It has to mean something. In the now.
Not in the would, could, should.
Not in the will, can, future.
In the now.

I have to believe that you mean what you say, with all the particles that I am.

When you say, you are going to hurt me, but will keep me safe, I have to believe, with everything, that you won't harm me.
 And your word has no power, if it doesn't hold true.

When you tell me, that's how it is, then I need to be easy and rest, trusting your word that it is so, confident and secure in my belief.


I can't surrender without it.

Monday, 8 August 2016

Dinner Before and After

Eventually, I will stop making before and after comparisons.
Kind of laughed to myself while typing this because it seems like I spend a great deal of time talking about food on here. Not surprising though, as a lot of our old protocols were in fact around food.

Before....

"This is horrible slave. Did you forget how to cook?"


I would have jumped up, cleared his plate, apologised profusely and offered to make something else. He would have said he would beat me for it later and chances are, we would have gone out to one of the restaurants.

Now....

We are done dinner. He is grumpy.
I ask, "What's wrong?"
"Don't be mad at me."
"Tell me."
"This dinner was disgusting I couldn't eat it."
"Okay. You didn't like it. Sorry about that."
(He launches into a tirade about how terrible it was)
"Its my job to cook dinner, its highly irrelevant to me if you don't like it."
(He continues tirade)
"Okay. I get it."
"You are mad."
"More mad that you waited until after we were done eating to tell me."
"Why would you make it this way?"
"Its totally fine you didn't like it."
(Tirade again)
"Fuck you." And I marched off to shower.

I cook dinner.
I actually spend a lot of time planning meals and a lot of thought, normally goes into what I cook. I try to be budget-friendly and try to get lunches out of one dinner. Also?
I have discovered that cooking, gives me a sense of both control and accomplishment, that i never really appreciated beforehand.

This is what he has asked me to maintain, if I do nothing else on the list, make sure that I do this. Important to him.
So I do it.
And cooking isn't a big deal. We gotta eat.
But the fact that he has identified it as something he wants me to do and that I am to do, makes it a bigger deal.

Sometimes he will tell me he feels like something but mostly what I cook on any given night, is up to me.

Its not just dinner--I cook at least three times a day--but dinner serves as our connection point.

And? You know what, I don't want to suck at it. I have no intention of serving him unpalatable food. I like my efforts to be appreciated. So yah, I was equally annoyed with myself that it didn't turn out the way I wanted it too.

But whether he likes what I cook, is kind of low on my priority list.

He used to have protocols around language too.

We have both learned though, that using accurate words is important and expression is too--me swearing like that, is a clear indication of where I am in my mind or my frustration levels.

Whatever, that dinner didn't work.
Next two did.
And we roll with it.



Friday, 5 August 2016

Opening and Touch

I'm not wearing His physical collar these days.
Its highly unpractical.
But I miss the weight of it on the back of my neck.
I miss the subtle reminder that it evokes.
I miss the physical thing that reminds me of the bonds I am in.
Its His touch, without him being there.

Touch is so important.
And touch has been something I have struggled with.
How to find the balance between feeling touched out almost permanently and still take His touch because that leads to intimacy and is a huge part of the language we use.

His touch is something I have continually pushed away from, fought off, ignored and railed at. His touch has been hard for me to take.

Touch is a tool.

He pushed through my defenses the other night. Pulled me closed. Bear hugged me into his chest. Didn't let me go.
 I softened.
I relented.
I gave over.

He said all kinds of lovely, wonderful things.
And I breathed, deep long breaths.
He said all kinds of mean and cruel things and I opened for him.

His hand, like a vise clamped the back of my neck.
He made me finger myself to orgasm, forcibly, controlling where I was and how, yanking me from position to position, where He wanted me.
 And I made sound.

Primal, animistic, noisy, sounds that came from the pure energy that was happening between us.
 In this exchange, He met me where I was and took me deeper through our connection.

He made me make noise.
He held me and moved me where He wanted me.
  He broke through.

I've needed more from Him. More dominance, more control, more. But *how* I have needed that more is something we have struggled with. And when. He has had to adapt how He communicates.

And so have I. And I was happily swimming in denial, thinking the last thing I needed was his dominance.

Life changes us.
We aren't the same as when I started this blog, that's for sure.

I get my back up when He orders me.
 Maybe next year I won't but right now, nothing sends me back behind my walls faster than that aggressive, straight on approach.
But when He is decisive, and takes control, when He keeps his word and shows me I can believe him, when He invites my participation, acknowledges where I am, then we get somewhere.

And then its very, very good.

***

In learning *how* I have needed more, one day months ago, there was a FL discussion on training and whether or not the Master breaks the slave's spirit. That lead me to this article: http://www.paganbdsm.org/articles/power-exchange/slavetraining.html and I have referred to it lots--Not that He has been one to take the "I must break her" mind you but in our conflict, it felt like that's what was happening or needed to happen to overcome the adversary, I found this writing interesting and helpful and I love Raven Kaldera's work. 


Wednesday, 3 August 2016

Control and Compromises

For the first time in four days, my kitchen sink is empty of dishes.
My counters are cleaned.
He asked me to pack his lunch last night.
I did.
Took about 15mins to prepare.
Not such a big deal.
He asked me to put five cherries in each round little dish container.
Fine.
He forgot the containers at work.
I used something else. And he got twelve cherries in total.

On Sunday, I made a breakfast (and if you've read here awhile, you know our obsession with breakfast) roasted veggies, blueberry pancakes, eggs, the whole works.
Sunday was a good day.
We found an hour alone and he fucked me like he owns me.

He asked for french toast on Monday morning.
We had all slept in late (9am).
I pointed out that if I cooked, we would probably miss our window of going out (its hot out there).
He relented and we ate yogurt instead.

That night, I wanted sex--He had left me hanging the night before, He needed to work.
I wanted sex! Not often that that is a request.

Last night, among the domestics, of getting back into the swing of things after the holiday weekend, He carved out time.
He wanted to hold me and to cuddle me.
 I resisted.
He ended up using me.

And I felt used.
But not in the good way.

It was messy.
He wanted me to submit and I resisted.
I couldn't give over.

He didn't or couldn't push through.
He took what he wanted.
And I'm not okay with that. I know I should be. But I'm not.

Just like my dishes and my counters would be done every single day when it was just the two of us, just like I wouldn't have put up an arugement over french toast, just like I would have gone to the store to buy another set of lunch containers, because I know that's what he prefers, I would have been okay with that because that's how we rolled. It was so ingrained in me for such a long time.

"I used to be able to point at the floor and that's all it took, Bleue."

Yep.

But now I am one ball of needy neediness need, need, need that I am finding it diffcult to find that surrender place.

There was a lot of protesting and yelling and withdrawing last night.

I ran off to shower.

He gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. We talked it out.

He doesn't like that I am a big ball of need.
I'm not that comfortable with it myself.

He needs to give, before I give.

Which is so far from our old normal, both of us are unfamiliar with this and it took us this long to identify this as being one of the challenges that have come up.

We managed to end on a good note, an even keel.

And I'm drinking warm coffee.



Monday, 1 August 2016

Jump

Connection.
Idea exchanges. 
Interaction.

I don't know what I would have done without my Blogger friends over these last two years. I am so grateful to all of you. 

But I miss Blogland. 

So here, I am.

Out and to be seen once more. 

Done some housekeeping. Been some changes.
 But so much is the same. 

***************************************

"You want absolution Bleue? I'm not some holy man. You're not going to find it here." Horace said.
It makes me laugh.
But its true.

I also chose the wrong path.
 Mine is more of the walking wounded type and keep on going.

In the past few months, in his emotional sadism, he has patched me up long enough to be useful to him.
Because he needed me. And I railed at the unfairness of that, to his chagrin and confusion--this is how we roll--this is that dark part of us that we don't discuss all that often--this is our extreme.

I've quivered like a bow and been flown and landed and came back to his hand.
Now I can stand steady enough to patch myself up.
Which is what he is used to.
Its how I roll.
Walking wounded.
Stronger.
Just another layer of amour.
Another battled in which I thrived.

A harder way because I don't know how to do it any other way.
No absolution.
But his steadiness. His support.
His love.

It might not be soul cleansing but it is soul affirming.
And its good enough for me.