It hasn’t been very long yet in my serious search for a sub, but I feel like I’ve already gone through a huge number of frogs. Does a prince sub even exist? I’m not really looking for or expecting a prince. What I want is not a “do me” who’s sole purpose in finding a Domme is to fulfill their kinky sex fantasies. I want Someone who communicates with the big head, not the small one. When I ask questions, don’t come back with only a line or two. I want someone I can sadistically abuse a little. I want someone who will cater to me and I can use…..yes, even sexually BUT only I after I’ve known the person a bit and not have that as an opener to our communications. That will turn me off real fast. However a turn on would be intelligence. I do respond well to someone who pays attention to what I write and say. Someone who has given time, thought and brains in their exchanges to me is good thing.
There has been one person I’ve had good chat and email exchanges with. The funny thing is though, around the time I mentioned in a post here about wanting to keep any connections I make local, that I didn’t want to do another long distance relationship, I get a message.
The message is from a person who listed himself as living in Toronto. Our interactions are wonderful. We exchange thoughts and ideas. He hasn’t been long in D/s. He has sissy tendencies. He asks me questions and wants my opinion on things of these natures. We just seem to have a good rapport. There is one fly in the ointment.
A couple exchanges in, I find out he is not in Toronto. He is abroad for business. He is a consultant and doesn’t know when he”l be back. He says it depends on what happens with his projects. He’s not able yet to tell me what they are (so he says)
All through our exchanges, he has communicated to me as me being a Domme, him a sub. I have not taken on being his Domme. One I thing I believe is a D/s relationship should not be if there hasn’t been an official offer or request. It’s the respectful thing for both parties involved. Plus, I really dislike purely on line D/s. It’s not real to me and there are elements missing in this dynamic.
I’m not putting any hopes on this becoming anything. Especially when it is unknown when or if this person will come back to Toronto. I am still in search mode. When I get discouraged though, I now have Mr. Non Toronto to remind me that there is still hope. That there is someone out there who is not a bone head.
So……….
…………..There’s one little difference between a contracted work with Ellora’s Cave and that of other eBook publishers I have seen. They require a contract binding your project for the lifetime of the work. I assume that THAT is different from lifetime of the contract.
I would really like to send them my tale, BOUND: A POST-APOCALYPTIC LUST STORY (the title I decided on after much deliberation for the tale of my jungle huntress, Ana, and her first interracial adventure).
I am in the process of writing a shiny synopsis for Ellora’s Cave to try and win their approval/capture and hold their attention…
…given that I have NO intention of having Ana’s interracial erotica/BDSM tale end after the first encounter with her hero, if EC is interested in publishing her, I will have to find a way to ensure that her background story as a fictional character is fair game in the next installment…
…Now is Ellora’s Cave going to be interested in my dear sweet Ana and her adventures in her jungle home? I am really looking forward to hearing their opinion on thist project…
So I haven’t really updated this blog in forever except for using it as a way to send steamy pictures to some good friends, so I thought I’d outline a couple of scenarios that really turn me on.
This particular fantasy came from a weekend of online play with one of my playmates other then Ada in which she said she wanted to drain me dry. That phrase stuck in my mind, and I crafted this scenario out of it.
I’m tied to an alter or table or such. There are women all around me, the first one mounts me and rides me until I come. I may be drugged to be it up faster, then the next women mounts me, and again and again, going back to the first women if they all take me, until I cannot come anymore , I have been drained dry.
So yeah, just a short post, but well, I thought it was hot.
There are many reasons for the sense of unease that floods in once the euphoria of handing over another level of control or exploring something new has worn off. I am very sensitive to mood shifts, so a high automatically comes with a corresponding low. We can usually plan ahead for these and do what we can to mitigate it. Other times it’s due to the childhood mindfucks I received, and all I can do is let go and let my Master catch me. Last night, we were able to articulate the last source of unease.
When we started this journey six months ago, it was under my suggestion. My husband is the best Master I could ever ask for, but it is not a role that comes naturally to him and he’s fighting a tremendous amount of societal conditioning to be the Master I need and he wants to be. We move very slowly, especially since he crossed a line which was actually harder on him than it was on me. As a consequence, each new step into BDSM requires me topping from the bottom.
I am a sub who is rapidly realizing that she is more slave than anything. Directing my Master to do things to me or to speak to me in a specific way is unsettling. We can kind of ignore the fact that I’m pulling the strings by phrasing things in a certain way, but we both know what’s really happening. This does cause a bit of distress for me and makes me question if I’m pushing him into things; that he is dominating me because it’s what I want/need, not because it matches up with his own desires. Nothing could be further from the truth – each new level of play awakens more desires in my Master and once he finds where the edges are he comes into his own (does he ever come into his own *swoon*).
Many times we are thinking the same thing but I’m reluctant to say/ask for it being in sub-mode and he’s reluctant for fear of crossing a line. He was fucking my throat the other night and while I was happily being choked by his cock in my mouth, all I could think about was being his cum bucket (a sentiment the me of six months ago would have cringed at in disgust). I wanted to hear him call me that as he was praising me for the throat fucking. To hear my Master croon, “Are you so greedy for my cock, little girl? Do you want to be my cum bucket so badly?” as he caressed my cheek would have pushed me over the edge with delight. Even now I’m shivering just thinking about it. With some difficulty, I told him of this desire last night and he confessed that he wanted to do it in the moment as well but was afraid of crossing a line.
We are in the process of remapping my limits. In the beginning, I wanted no part in being objectified. Now, I practically beg him to call me his fuck toy, his pet. Begging was something I was sort of meh about – now I feel like its the hottest thing he can require of me. Orgasm denial? Never in a million years. Now I’m into my second day and am loving every minute of it. Being choked by his cock and cum? He cannot use me in the fashion enough – the joy and pride I feel at making him cum like this is incredible.
I’m thinking that it shouldn’t be too long before I can retreat back to the fuck toy I so long to be and he can just be my Master. I am a lucky girl, indeed.
As I circled the drive slowly, I smiled, saying, “I see you now, I’m right here,” and finally flipped my phone shut. She was nearly hopping in her driveway as she saw me wind around other parked cars before finally pulling into the nearest open visitor space.
She rushed to my door as I began to open it.
“I can’t believe you’re finally here!” she exclaimed, eyes sparkling almost as brightly as her smile.
“Hello sweetie,” I said, happily realizing that I could finally speak those words in person. She looked nearly as I expected her to look, but there was something about her that no picture could ever have captured in an image. I was immediately comfortable.
She made me feel important. I was excited to finally be with her. We had been talking on the phone and chatting on line for over a month regularly, whenever possible. And now we were finally together face to face. She made me feel like royalty as she welcomed me.
It was natural for her to act that way. Before I ever decided to meet her at her condo, I had already established with her what kind of relationship this was going to be — the only kind I would accept. And back when I began to reveal these ideas to her, she became so receptive to them that I had difficulty concentrating on my ordinary daily activities. I craved the arousal she stirred up in me each time we spoke on the phone. And it became clear that this girl had an insatiable desire to worship me.
How could I possibly keep that from her?
~:~
The drive gave me a long time to think of what I really wanted to do the moment I finally arrived. A kiss. Many things had flown through my mind, but a kiss alone would satisfy me like nothing else would.
She hesitated. She could hardly contain her excitement as she watched me step out of the car and turn to face her. I immediately took a step forward towards her, and kissed her. As an involuntary giggle slipped out, I captured it forever between the magical touch of our lips.
It was a natural step to touch her face with my fingers in the kiss, so I did. That night it was also natural for me to wrap my free arm totally around her above her shoulders in a controlling embrace, and then glide my touch from her face to her chin, to her neck, fingers spreading to surround her throat, holding her there for a heartbeat.
I did not release this hot kiss. I sensed her excitement rising and would not allow her to cool down at all. Instead, I tightened my hold of her shoulders and head, while my other hand moved down the fabric of her blouse to the full round shape of her breasts, first one, then the other.
At first I allowed her hands to find my face and hair during this passionate kiss. And eventually her hands were on my back embracing me. But as I groped her huge mounds with one hand, I turned enough to grasp her wrist from behind my back and pushed it down to the front between my legs. And as if to have been waiting for the invitation, she found my bulge and worked it into a defined hardness.
At this point I released the kiss for a long needed breath of air, and to tell her my first rule. “I expect to be hard like this all weekend long, and it is your job to make sure this happens. Is this clear, girl?”
I fixed a stare at her eyes, which were now taking in their first vision of what she had been rubbing. She looked up at me and answered, “Yes.”
I did not move, nor did I change my gaze, waiting. She reduced her smile as she muttered her forgotten word, “… Sir.”
“Good girl,” I said, and broke slowly into a warm smile, which, when she heard me and noticed my expression, sparked a renewed excitement in her and visibly transformed her into what would become the transparent emotional being I had desired to possess.
~:~
Originally, my expectations were quite different, but certainly not alien to the world being created at this moment with this girl. Originally, I planned to meet in person only if and when she understood in advance of my arrival how to perform some of the required actions I intended to teach her. I imagined a more formal ritual, taking place at our initial meeting. During my days of inexperience, I imagined a girl meeting me at her door and, upon my entrance, immediately sinking to her knees and diligently kissing my imaginary boots, until I finally give her my first commands, whatever they might be.
The difference with reality is the intensity of the feelings that surface in the presence of human flesh. Intense emotions that can never be imagined or predicted, arousal that even the most vivid dream would miss entirely.
In reality, a voice will bring arousal. As time went on, I had experienced fresh, erotic feelings, simply from phone calls with the girl I had met only days before. Our conversations had developed into a verbal experiment of sensual fantasies and articulated desires.
A fantasy coming to life is as fulfilling as its participants allow it to become. I allowed things to play out as naturally as possible, beginning with our first kiss. Everything progressed naturally from there.
A year before I met my slave (precious), I had discovered how important the Lifestyle would be for me. And because I was only beginning to learn about the lifestyle, and what my role could possibly be in it, all of my time was spent online. I met My precious on line, in a virtual world called Second Life. She was the smartest of any of the girls I had been “talking” to, and we grew together. I introduced her to her submissive side, and I felt fully comfortable accepting her eventual submission to me as my slave.
When I met my slave, I created a profile on FetLife and claimed that I was doing very well in a 24/7, TPE, Master/slave relationship that is also a long distance one. However, we only communicate via our computers, and have never met in person. We have maintained contact using internet chat and voice, essentially all day, and every day since we met, but we naturally wish our physical circumstances were much more favorable. Our intimacy was enjoyed in our vivid imaginations and it challenged our skills of communication between us.
However, I found it difficult to discuss that having my physical needs met was crucial to my being a healthy Dom. I initially did not hide, but instead tried to be frank and candid with my precious slave. Although I remained honest about my personal physical needs with her at that time, I feel as though the issue remained wholly unresolved and hidden since then. It was easier to enjoy My precious while we were together (on-line, as usual), than it was to create disruption by discussing something that couldn’t be resolved without hurting her. She had stated her understanding of my needs, but I believe she did not accept that I would seek to meet them without her. Of course this hurt her, and it brought into question feelings that could jeopardize any relationship beyond repair: issues of trust, and commitment. Sadly, I believe that hurting her was totally unavoidable. I felt that hiding these feelings damaged our relationship, yet I would not allow a discussion about them disrupt the wonderful experiences we had together every day.
Separately, through email and chat beginning a year ago, I met a girl who I already knew from back when we were kids. I grew close to her, because I was teaching her to discover her submissive side as well. She eventually (and more recently) became My babygirl. The time I spent with babygirl in chat changed quickly to phone, and then within a few months, became plans for a weekend visit to her home, when I decided to drive six hours to see her. I think the pace was not so surprising, mainly because of my eighteen month personal dry spell, and the question became only for what distance was I willing to drive to end the drought. Details of our time together and the experiences we both had are insanely hot. Any significant bumps along the way had primarily to do with my dedication to being the owner of my precious slave, and the conflicted feelings I had about my physical needs and desires, versus feelings of faithfulness to My precious.
The purpose of writing this now, is to be honest with myself, and provide myself with some self respect. I believe I can save and heal the relationship I have with My precious in England, and I can nurture it. And also nurture the relationship I have with My babygirl at the same time. This is something I have struggled with ever since meeting My babygirl. I had no idea how either relationship would grow, and hoped for the best. Separately, each relationship on its own has grown to be very desirable today. But together, this has complicated my life and also theirs. I owe it to all three of us to be honest and straightforward as much as possible, and as quickly as possible.
Now, I need to find a way to put the pieces together in a healthier way. I need to come clean with My precious, even though she might get hurt. I believe that we can thrive someday soon, even though things are quite messy for us today. It will take a great deal of care and sensitivity on my part, and a great deal of forgiveness on hers. I can not deny my own needs just for her, by committing to abstain from intimacy with My babygirl, or anyone else. I refuse abstinence – is that selfish of me? Or is it selfish of her to insist upon establishing a commitment between us, that I abstain from intimacy until we finally meet in person? Without making selfishness the issue, I believe it is more selfish trying to control the activities of another person, than for that person to refuse to be controlled.
This weekend I went to a barbecue and met some people who are members of FetLife, and to whom I can connect through FetLife and can enjoy getting to know them. If she looks, My precious will easily find them within my profile friends. She will easily look to see that they are within the same geographic area, and that I met many during the same weekend. And so she will identify the activities I have been reluctant to tell her about.
The profile in FetLife remains to this day, showing that I am Master to My precious slave. But I am at a turning point, now, because I have met people in person, who are also in FetLife, and I would like to make the connections with them in this network. I need to do something, because I have sheltered My precious from elements that would make her sad. For example, imagining her Master with someone else in a Dom/sub relationship of any kind, would hurt her, and she has been hurt by this in the past. Unfortunately, I can not protect her from this hurt any longer. The long distance relationship is no longer something that will hide the activities that I do without her. I need to be honest with her and with Myself.
Ladies, please be aware of this board member or handle : “Bravotoosero, Kl505, OnePanther, Panther1, Bravo115, Bravo
I did an out call to his hotel in Los Angles CA. He did not want to render the payment for the services and taken my clothes and threw them into the hallway of the hotel and threaten me he would call the police.
The APA Paraphilia Subworkgroup agrees:Kinky is not a diagnosis
In the new proposals for the DSM-V, alternative sexual behavior has been depathologized. The American Psychiatric Association’s Paraphilias Subworkgroup’s DSM revisions acknowledge that you can be a fetishist, transvestite, sexual sadist or sexual masochist without having a mental disorder.” Read the rest of the article here
For those who don’t know, “The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) is published by the American Psychiatric Association and provides a common language and standard criteria for the classification of mental disorders.” (Wikipedia)
I am building my repertoire. Along with having fun beating and giving pleasure, pain and discomfort with my various toys and natural gifts, I am expanding it with the use of rope.
I have for a long time already been able to do little very basic knots for tying wrists and ankles. Now I want it to look good and function right when I bound someone. I have friends/know people who are quite the experts in this and I have admired their work for a long time. I don’t want to be just like them. I just want to do well with what I have and want to do.
So now I pick up a workshop and tutorial when they are available and when I can. The difficult thing right now is practicing. I may be able to practice on pet but he is not what I would call an enthusiastic rope bottom. Until I get the hang of things, I may need someone with a lot of patience. Husband has said I could practice on him sometimes. I will be taking him up on that offer.
Mmmm, I’m imagining the additional fun I can have now.
Technology advances so quickly that our verbs and their related tenses struggle to keep up. Reflect for a moment upon all the new verbs we use. Twitter, “Do you twitter?” Google, “I googled you.” Webster’s, Merriam and their brethren are way behind the vernacular in not only accepting their usage, but also in helping us to determine the past, present, future, subjunctive and conditional forms of all these new verbs. In this chasm is created opportunity; we may now determine via sweeping logic and careful historical research the perfected tense forms of these new verbs.
Allow me to present an example forthwith, using the verb necessitated by the use of the proper noun “Twitter”. Twitter is, of course, originally a verb deriving from the Middle English word twiteren which is itself born of the Germanic verb Gzwitschern. As all right thinking people realize with verbs born of German stock the past tense form often changes the vowel structure of the word. Extrapolating then, if the past tense of “run” is “ran” and the past tense of “swim” is “swam” isn’t it logical to posit that the past tense of “twitter” should be “twat?”
Hi, sorry for taking last week off. I was with my girl, and frankly got busy with doing things with her. That said, the NCSF has basically declared victory in their efforts to have Lifestyle activities removed from the DSM – V.
For those not familiar with the DSM (the Diagnostics and Statistical Manual), this is the book that the head doctors use when trying to figure out what sort of crazy you are.
Most important, it’s used by doctors to define what’s normal and what’s not. It was the DSM that officially declared homosexuality a mental disorder, and then in 1973 officially undeclared it. It’s defined an ever-expanding range of phobias and addictions that we’re still arguing about, but this time demands for more transparency aim to crack open the window on DSM deliberations, so interested parties can weigh in before they are enshrined, because once they are, the FDA approves drugs to treat them, and any further debate is drowned out in the flood of direct-to-consumer ads. [Link]
The NCSF says:
In the proposals for the Diagnostic and Statistic Manual (DSM-V), alternative sexual behavior has been depathologized. NCSF applauds the American Psychiatric Association’s Paraphilias Subworkgroup’s revisions which state that you can be a fetishist, transvestite, sadist or masochist without having a mental disorder. More work needs to be done but this is an important first step!
Hi, everyone. This morning I imported our old blog My Life In Slavery from blogger. That blog covers about a year- from May 2008 to June 2009, I believe. So, if you followed us here from blogger, our old posts are once again available for viewing. If you are new followers of our writing, do check out the archives for our older stuff. Unfortunately, wordpress did not note who the old posts were written by- it assumed they were all by me. So anything you run across that reads differently was probably written by my Master. Enjoy!!!
For the first time in a long time, i am hopeful that i have found a long-term Domme. She is beautiful, close to home, and it would be a real pleasure to serve Her. i auditioned for Her this morning, and i am nervously awaiting my “grade” at this point. i will let you know how that turns out. It was a mostly tame experience, although there were some fairly sexy moments. But no strap-ons or anything like that. As i said, i’m hopeful.
I love four day work weeks where you THINK it is monday, but really it is Tuesday.
Yesterday was a much needed do nothing kind of day. Master woke up before me (which is incredibly rare!), and when I woke up I mewed from the bed. I usually mew when I’m alone in bed since it happens so rarely, so Master knows I’m awake. After a few minutes he came in, and had a leash. I was totally bleary eyed, and thinking in a lazy sleepy kind of way ”Hmm, play before breakfast, eh? Cool.”
He leashed me, and had me crawl into the bathroom, where he washed me in the tub, then he made me breakfast, which I ate on the floor. <3 I don’t know what I did for him to be so nice to me, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.
The rest of the day was kind of sleepy and awesome. I don’t think I fully woke up until around *4PM* lol! Talk about a sleepy zombie kitty. We watched movies, and played some xbox a bit. Then after dinner, we had some “fun” ))). It’s back to business today though, can’t wait till Master comes home at 6PM. Wonder what I’ll make for dinner.
Oh, and one thing we worked on yesterday was getting through episode 4 of the Star Wars movies. One of my Day Zero goals is to watch every Star Wars movie once. To be honest, I’ve never really been able to get into them. Finally, Master showed me episodes 1-3, which made it a bit easier to follow along with the story in episode 4. I know that’s not the way they came out, but I just couldn’t get through episode 4. I found that episodes 1-3 were alright, fun to watch, but so NOT subtle at all. Hello! You don’t need to beat me over the head with the plot, I swear I’ll get it by watching. *Ahem.* Anyway, last night I finally watched all of episode 4. It was OK. I didn’t hate it. I think the problem for me is that the special effects are obviously so dated now. That might sound like a silly reason to hate a movie, but I have friends who have been trying to get me to watch Clerks for a long ass time, and I just can’t get through the opening because it is black and white. Lol! I know I’m letting a lot of good movies go unwatched though, and I want to at least be able to sit through all the Star Wars before I go on hating it. Can’t hate something you haven’t seen all the way, I think.
“ROGUES, REBELS, AND RENEGADES: The Art of an Outlaw”
Is a Documentary directed by: Ariel Hilton Ruiz.
Art or Porn? That is the question
the art world has asked ever since man first put
his mark on the wall.
Artists include:
Guy Gonzalez
Tony KnightHawk
Mayumi Barbara Nitke
Steven Speliotis
Michelle Wild
This is an important film, that I had the pleasure to be cast in…Yes it is of the “EROTIC” type…with ONE EXCEPTION…it is also a very insightful comment on the politics of erotica in art
Through interviews with the artists themselves (erotic photographers, graphic artists, performance art) the director attempts to elucidate the motivation behind their unique and controversial creativity providing a solid argument for freedom in artistic expression, which has more recently been regulated by newly implemented governmental media standards.
While I am just a small part of this project (the model) I urge you all to support the freedoms this film represents politically…and hopefully you’ll be able to come out to one of the viewings…the first was 2/10/09 at Anthology Film Archives and this was also the first time I had the chance to view the film and to be honest I am very very proud to have been included and to have my opinions and commentary so conscientiously portrayed-not to mention the sexually explicit scenes are hot as hell (thank you to my editor! Lol.).
This is a fantastic and well made project as a whole and the buzz in terms of distribution and appreciation of the film is HUGE (think major markets) and I think the director, the artists, and all involved in the project deserve IT ALL! Good Work…and I hope to keep everyone posted in terms of where this little project with a conscious ends up…and that ALL OF YOU…will join me for the REALEASE PARTY…which of course TWISTED SEDUCTION will be hosting.
I am so glad to be able to share two super-special gals with you today. First, brooding and sensitive Cheryl Kubert from earlier in the day (R.I.P. and I wish her many hopefully joyful and educational returns to this earth after her unhappy retirement; that’s what reincarnation is for), the solemn, petite brunette with tall skis and deep eyes, and now — for something completely different! — ebullient and absolutely adorable blonde ray of sunshine Julie Michelle McCullough: model, actress, stand-up comedienne, and maligned-but-triumphant victim of sitcom scandal. Take it away, buttercup!
Photographed by Arny Freytag.
“I’ve always felt that I have little eyes, a mouth full of teeth and ears that I call elf ears. They kind of poke out.” That’s her opinion. We certainly didn’t notice any flaws when Julie McCullough showed up for our salute to The Girls of Texas last February. In fact, we tucked her ears under a Stetson and put her on the cover. It was the first time she’d ever seen a copy of Playboy.
Although she was born in Hawaii, Julie was then, and is now, living in Texas. But as the daughter of a Marine Corps lifer, she has moved around a lot. “It bothered me when I was younger, but as I look back, I appreciate it, because it taught me how to get along with different types of people. If you make good friends, you never lose them.”
During most of her childhood years, Julie thought she wanted to be an artist. “I really love to draw,” she says, “but I could never see myself as a starving artist. So I realized art would have to be more of a hobby than a career. And then, in high school, I started entering pageants, and I got a couple of Miss Photogenic awards. And everybody would tell me, ‘You should try modeling; You should try modeling.’ And all of a sudden, it’s like, ‘Hey!’”
Playboy’s cover picture, and the less covered picture inside the magazine, caused a furor in Julie’s home town of Allen, a rural community 26 miles north of Dallas. A local pastor, announcing that he planned to preach a sermon on the subject, was quoted as saying — we kid you not — “The easiest thing to do is jump on Julie.” He went on to say that he saw her appearance in Playboy as part of a larger problem, that of “general moral disintegration in the fiber of the nation.” (“Return of the Cover Girl,” Playboy, February 1986.)
While working as a model, she was also honing her skills as an actress and had landed a part on television’s sitcom Growing Pains, featuring Kirk Cameron. He unfortunately shared the opinion that the easiest thing to do was jump on Julie, it seems, because he used his pull with the network to have her summarily axed off the show when he learned she had posed for Playboy, accusing the network of tacitly endorsing pornography by continuing her employment.
Because Mr. Cameron was the breakout star of the show and a teen heartthrob who kept the network flush with sponsors (his charming smile conveniently moved hot amounts of Noxzema pads and Snickers bars to both cleanse and satisfy), they went along with his wishes and terminated the object of his objections.
McCullough appeared in eight episodes until she was fired in 1990, which stemmed from series star Kirk Cameron’s conversion to evangelical Christianity, a conversion that, according to “The E! True Hollywood Story” episode focusing on the show, served to alienate him from his fellow cast members, as he did not invite any of them to his wedding. He accused the show’s producers of promoting pornography. (the wiki)
Sez Ms. McCullough now: [Kirk Cameron] thinks if I read science books that I’m going to hell. I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints … the sinners are much more fun.* And a lot more interesting than some book-burner who is still having growing pains! I am at peace with God. Kirk thinks people like me are going to Hell; if I do, then at least I’ll go well-informed and well-read!
(Ms. McCullough’s myspace.)
*That is a reference to the Billy Joel song “Only the Good Die Young,” about young Virginia, a Catholic girl who starts much too late. Rock on with it, Ms. McCullough! Good people quote the Beatles. Great people quote the Beatles, Queen, and Billy Joel.
Contemporaneous with her being fired from Growing Pains, Ms. McCullough was also stripped of her crown as Wilmington, NC’s “Azalea Queen” for posing for Playboy. Sheesh. I try to keep shit to myself, but I really feel the need to address Mr. Cameron’s and the people of Wilmington’s position on this issue. Leaving aside for now the fact that the lord decreed we enter this earth naked and that nudity is a major factor in procreation, which what good man can decry?, let us address the point where it seems people feel it ill befits a person of “good” moral fiber to celebrate the physical gift of their bodies. As a hippy-dippy meditative and soulful Christian who has thought my way deeply and thoroughly through these issues and can confidently and guiltlessly balance both Playboy and my beloved monthly The Way of St. Francis without throwing out the baby with the bathwater, loving-the-Word-but-thanking-God-for-earthly-forms-wise, I can only cite and gently suggest a review of Matthew, chapter seven.
Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the plank that is in thine own eye? Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a plank is in thine own eye?
Thou hypocrite, first cast out the plank out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye. At Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and the region across the Jordan, Jesus was talking to the multitudes gathered there after hearing of His message and of His healings to beseech them to not become like the pharisees and hypocrites who think they are above sin. (Matthew 7:1-7.)
Mmm-hmm. This a serious issue. I’m not playing about the no more judging stuff. It’s just like Blessed Mother Teresa said: “If you judge someone, you have no time to love them.” And which one do you think Jesus would rather you worked at doing? Get with the program!
Today, Ms. McCullough is a well-received and widely admired stand-up comedienne who continues to act.
Some of her film and small screen credits include The Golden Girls, Beverly Hills, 90210, Jake and the Fatman, the Drew Carey Show, The Blob, and Harry and the Hendersons.
She is also a published poetess, with a number of anthology and private publishing credits to her literary name, and she was on a basketball team with Casper van Dien of Starship Troopers fame (I ♥ Heinlein and Johnny Rico forever). According to the imdb, she began working full time in 2006 as a stand-up comedienne.
In conclusion, it is a widely known but nonetheless truth that, frankly, haters gon’ hate. All love and good wishes to Ms. McCullough and her sunny resilience!
[01.02.2010: Bente Steinnes] The Norwegian Directorate of Health has decided that certain diagnostic codes are now invalid in Norway, thus changing the Norwegian version of the international diagnoses register (ICD-10).
The following diagnoses are taken out: fetishism, fetishistic transvestism, sadomasochism, multiple disorders of sexual preference, and transvestism.
- In our opinion there is no basis, neither in today’s societal norms nor in professional health thinking, to classify these diagnostic groups as disease, says head of the Health Directorate Bjørn-Inge Larsen (picture). By excluding the use of these codes in Norway the Directorate wishes to contribute to the weakening of a general opinion that certain sexual preferences, sexual identities and gender expressions may be seen as states of illness.
We want to avoid stigmatizing
The Directorate of Health gives considerable emphasis to the fact that several interest organizations as well as health professionals from various environments have for a long time presented knowledge that these diagnoses in and of themselves, are experienced by many people as offensive and that they contribute to stigmatizing both groups and individuals.
The diagnoses mentioned are outdated and not at the level of the scientific standards that otherwise characterizes the international diagnostic manual (ICD-10).
There have been no essential changes to these diagnoses for over one hundred years. They came into being as a result of theories based on the current knowledge and viewpoints on human sexuality in society of those long gone days. At best these diagnoses, are completely superfluous. At worst they are stigmatizing minority groups in society.
These diagnoses are not useful to the health care system
The main objective of the classification of illnesses and health problems is to enable clear and comparable statistics describing the health care assistance to patients in contact with the health care system. The diagnoses which are now deleted are very seldom reported, and are therefore of minor relevance as a basis for the contents of the Norwegian Patience Register.
The decision applies as of February 1st 2010, and the code register will be updated as soon as practically possible.
By making this revision Norway has now joined Denmark and Sweden which made similar revisions in 1995 and 2009 respectively. The World Health Organization, WHO, is currently working on a new version of the diagnostic manual: ICD-11. As all the Scandinavian countries have now abolished the diagnoses for use at the respective national levels, this will be a significant professional and health political signal to WHO in the compilation process of the ICD-11.
The diagnoses of Transsexualism remain unchanged
The diagnoses that cover transsexualism among adults and children (F64.0 and F64.2) are not affected by this revision. Concrete treatment offers are available to these groups. In 2010 the Directorate of Health shall investigate the treatment options which are available to transsexuals and transpersons, and evaluate possible improvements. In that connection it will be reasonable to evaluate the diagnostic criteria and how they are being used.
Last night, Master and me were playing. He told me to kneel in front of him, and I got up to obey. Before I kneeled down, he said “Oh wait! Here’s a pillow so you don’t hurt your knees.”
I totally laughed at him, and threw the pillow behind me. I never *ever* complain that I don’t like kneeling because it hurts, or because I’m bruised or anything like that, so I thought it was funny as hell that he offered me a pillow. I *LIKE* kneeling. I like having bruised knees the next day if I’ve been down there a long time. I like having abrasions, burns, welts, blood dots, rug burns, cuts, etc, etc, etc. After being with Master for nearly 6 years, and never having him offer me a pillow, I had to laugh.
I love funny weird totally “Where the hell did that come from?” moments. lol
I am considering a definition of abusive relationships as power imbalanced relationship, where the more powerful partner applies his greater power into keeping the relationship running. The motivation for this stems from a series of problems that I believe the practice of consensual power exchange causes for ethics and social theory, but can the scope of the definition is abusive relationship in general, not merely among sadomasochistic relationships. I have worded the the definition in such a way as to make even extremely asymmetric relationships possibly non-abusive, conditional on the desires of the less powerful partner.
So here is the definition:
An intimate relationship between two partners, D and S, with D being more powerful than S overall in the social areas pertaining to their relationship (whether resulting from wealth, status, physical strength or anything else) is abusive if and only if 1) if D were not more powerful than S, there would not be an intimate relationship between D and S; & 2) S would prefer a possible situation in which D were not more powerful than S to the actual situation.
Comments:
1) states that the power difference is a necessary condition for the persisting of the relationship while 2) excludes situations where S desires to be in a power skewed relationship with D. Note that 2) talks about the power of D, not about the relationship between D and S. Thus, in order for 2) to be true, S must not merely prefer having a relationship with D, but prefer it because of the power asymmetry.
The definition takes the preferences of the less powerful partner to be decisive and ignores the preferences and particular actions of the more powerful partner completely. There are several reasons for this. One prima facie good way to describe abusive relationship is to say that the less powerful partner wants to leave but cannot, due to the influence – emotional, financial, social, physical,… – of the more powerful partner. I think it safe to assume that the more powerful partner can leave the relationship if they prefer to. Since we already assume power asymmetry between D and S as well as the current persisting of an intimate relationship between them, there is no reason to consider D’s preferences. If he would not prefer the relationship to persist, he could abort it.
Fleshbot has posted an excerpt from “The Hardest Part” by Alison Tyler from Bottoms Up – check it out!
Here’s an excerpt of the excerpt:
With infinite slowness, he slips my panties down my legs. My knickers are pink with hearts printed in a row, and now, they dangle from my ankles: not on, not off. I’m primed, ass up, totally exposed, waiting. He has to start now, doesn’t he? He has to spank me now.
In general, I think that women should be able to choose how they’re treated. Want to be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen? Fine by me, provided that you boil the product of your sperm-gargling nether-mouth into a nice broth. Feminism is a two way street. But I do have to draw a line just this side of strict Islam. I mean, it’s one thing to be into extreme BDSM, but when it never turns off because it’s the only way god will love you, you’ve got issues.
Some chick is defending her choice to wrap her entire head with fabric while teaching. Others want to wear the niqab in drivers’ license photos and at the beach. Sorry, honey. You want to be a faceless subordinate to men? You don’t get to teach. Or drive, or swim. Or receive proper medical attention. You get to speak when spoken to and listen to your husband fuck his other wives and concubines. And if you misbehave, you get to feel the back of his hand. Want to press charges? Good luck. Even if you get raped, it’s your fault. You shouldn’t have flashed your fingertip, slut.
This halfway bullshit gets under my skin. It’s in league with corporate bitches who demand gender-neutral everything until they want someone to open a door. Or sorority girls who throw their floppy assholes at anything with a cock and then get offended that no one respects them. But unlike the niqabi, total cunts can still be picked out of a lineup.
What pisses me off the most about these women is that they paint an inaccurate picture of extreme Islamic life. The women you see on CNN, following their husbands in burqas in 400-degree heat, don’t go home, turn on South Park and put a pizza in the oven. The men who stone their wives in the street don’t whisper sweet nothings. Young girls who have their clits cut off are nobody’s little princesses. The men are assholes and the women are slaves, and there’s nothing poetic or beautiful about it.
But I guess that’s the beauty of America. We’re not a theocracy, so moderate Islam flourishes among other moderate religions. And moderate Muslims are free to choose the niqab without giving up anything else, just like moderate Christians who embrace modest dress and ritualized prayer without conforming to a strict interpretation of the bible. It’s like a buffet of hypocrisy at which we all feed like self-righteous cattle.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go shave my head, change my name and move to another city… just in case my readers aren’t all moderate.
That’s how much sleep I have gotten in the last 3 days. I am extremely tired, so much so that when I do lie down, I can’t fall sleep right away. When I finally do, I drift in and out, my head throbbing. I am so tired that I am nautious. I am detached, disconnected, back in a world of nothingness far away from what I want in my life. I can’t have the safety of being home right now and so in response my mind rebels, pushing everyone away. In short, I think too much.
I have several splendid possibilities coming up that titillate the nerves. One is with a good friend, good enough that I have said no to Master for the first time in… well for the first time. To be more accurate, this morning I will tell him soon, but not yet. Meagan and I have been friends for a long time, longer than I have known him and we need to be settled before anything happens. I’m happy about this circumstance and I refuse to rush it. This friendship is too important to me and I will not compromise it, even for him. If it happens, it happens, but we’re not quite there yet.
Andy and I have not spoken, not really, for several months now, but he texted me to check in a few days ago, Seems he and his longtime girlfriend split up and he needed a little shoulder to beat on. No, no I haven’t seem him at all, much less in a sexual way, though I admit to thinking about it. Andy will provide an exquisite pain. He is so full of quiet rage that when he looses it, he may actually kill me, I exaggerated slightly of course, but not by a lot. I fear that when he does lose his anger, he will not be able to reign it in immediately.
Well why in the world would I see him then you ask. That is an excellent question. I have figured out a lot of my disconnectedness of late. Way back when I started seeing Bear, when I asked him for that emotional connection, I meant it with my whole heart. I was in that place as a sub, as a slave where I needed more than just mind blowing sex. This venture is about more than that for me. I think it always has been, but I needed to realize it again.
I know in my vanilla life that things can’t change and I’m not asking for that. Right now, I can’t be collared, not really as I am married. I’m not asking for that. What I want is to be needed. I look around at my non-vanilla friends and I see the kinds of relationships that I want. I know it can be done. It isn’t so much about being together constantly… its… *sigh*
I want him to think about me when we are apart. I want him to desire me, not just my body but who I am. I want him to think of me and all the splendid little pains and pleasures he will inflict and when he does, I don’t want him to be able to think about anyone else in that capacity. I don’t mean physically as I would never presume to tell any Master who they could or couldn’t have sexually, but emotionally… I need a strong Master who will possess me entirely, bring me to my knees quaking and tenderly push my into being a better woman, a better slave.
Yes, I realize this is selfish and childish in a lot of ways. It even borders on being not at all subby the demands I am making. The men in my life… all of the men, in every capacity… if I were to fall off the Earth tomorrow, every one of them would pick up, move on without blinking an eye. Some wouldn’t even notice. I’m good in bed, enjoy sucking cock and have been told I am quite good at it. I have a deep capacity to take large amounts of pain and my body gushes with excitement when I do. I am extremely obedient and will do damn near anything, take anything he wishes to give in order to please the man I am with. My one desire, my one demand is that in return, he possess me, by force if necessary, body and soul.
It’s Wednesday, and I just got through spending 15 minutes lacing up my boots. In all fairness, when I first got these boots it took me twenty minutes to lace them, and my mother would sit there and laugh at me while I did it. lol. Gotta love mom. I’m not heading out to school though, I’m heading out to meet Master at the train station, and as it turns out, Colorado is the muddiest place ever. Yeah, I still have the boots I wore back in High School. I tend to take really good care of my things.
Right now, we don’t have a car yet (it’s on my Day Zero list though, and I’m working hard on it!), and when we need to go to the store it’s a two-mile walk. Usually we walk it both ways, but tonight we’re taxi-ing it home, since we want to get home at a reasonable hour. My wrist is also hurt and I don’t honestly know if I could carry groceries two miles without risking further injury.
Thinking about myself getting ready to leave and meet Master at the train has me thinking about how I used to greet him after work. When we first met, and for a long while afterwards – I would put my orange tigersquash blanket by the door, and kneel there while I waited for him. That was the rule. Always be waiting in sexy lingerie by the door. It made him happy, but it also made me happy. Whenever he came to the door he would be smiling and excited, and I would have a hard time sitting still. ^^ Later, I started meeting him at the bus stop, and walking him home. Then we moved here, and I started meeting him when he got to the bunny path outside the house, and start walking him home. That changed to staying at home, and making sure dinner was ready when he got here, and that’s pretty much where it is at the moment.
I like to cook, and I don’t mind it one bit, but I think I miss sitting on my orange blanket waiting for him. Waiting for him while I kneel makes me feel much more the slave, and cooking for him makes me feel much more like a house wife. I guess in the end I’m both of those things and more. It’s just crazy how things evolve, and continue to evolve. I love it.
There is this moment during sex that thrills me to no end. It raises a deep ache within me and pushes me over the edge every time. Some men drag the moment out making it a blissful agony. Some men push through it hard and fast taking my breath away. Some men ignore it and the thrill is short and lonely. Any way, with any man, that first moment when his hard cock slides inside me, I shiver with delight.
Over my lifetime I have been with innumerable men. Each was unique in their experience and each used that moment differently. The boy I was with when I lost my virginity was certainly more experienced than I was at the time, but not by much. He tried to be smooth, nonchalant as if it were nothing. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that moment when he pushed through my maidenhead, that small sweet pain would stay with me always.
I have been with gentle men both in touch and sensibilities. The moment with this kind of man is typically sweet, almost a hesitant softness that brings me closer to him. Wrapped in the arms of a lover it becomes a full body experience, as if when he enters me it is more than just my body he possesses.
I have been with men that care nothing for me, are just interested in the satisfaction my body can provide. Even with this kind of man the moment is perfect. Its fast, like a little electric shock sent down my spine, over all too soon.
I have been with fun men who enjoy teasing me. This kind of man draws out the moment, sliding the head of his cock in and out, just barely letting me enjoy a taste of what is to come. I’ve actually cum this way, the teasing frustrating me until the plunge sends me over the edge hard and fast.
I have been with men who love me, want more from me than the sex I can provide. This kind of man pushes deep and long, as if the moment can be made to last forever. For that gasping breath, he can possess me, be the man in my life he wants to be.
When I am with Master, there are several moments for me. He likes to change position often and because He is so large, it is as if the moment happens again each time He chooses a new way to have me. It is often hard, insistent, filled with blissful abandon. When he is gentle, slow, it becomes a sweet agony, my body arching against His, trying to draw Him closer. More than anything, when Master slides deep, I know I am home, right where I belong.
I can’t seem to pull myself out of the funk that this week’s events have brought. All my feelings are suppressed to the point I can’t feel anything. The world is kind of out of focus and far away.
No doubt my ex was utterly jealous and annoyed by the fact that I’m having a great sex life without him, considering he thought I was frigid because I didn’t want the abusive shit touching me. It was a really low blow to bring up my personal, private, adult life and imply that I had involved the children in it.
I asked Master to release me, but he wouldn’t. All the hard work he’s done with me seems to have just gone out the window. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to do what he wants from me now, and he’ll be disappointed in me.
What I really want to do is crawl into a cave and sleep until the sleep blends into a more eternal version.
I feel lost. And I’m alone in this. And I don’t know how I can be a good parent when I can barely function at the moment.
Beware of the people you love. So many of them say they love you, but they don’t.
And if you meet the wrong one, and believe his empty words, he’ll suck your soul for the rest of your life.
Hold your hands out as far as you can a do a little spin.
Let’s assume that anything you can touch either belongs to you or is within your sphere of influence. Everything else is not yours and does not fall within your domain, your realm or your magical kingdom.
A piece of rope or chain across the room does not become yours simply because you see it. A person does not become your submissive, slave, lord, master or anything simply because you can see them. They are not yours to petition, place under consideration, leer at, spank, smack or anything unless it’s mutual.
Do a little spin.
Hold your hands out as far as you can a do a little spin.
You might touch something that belongs to someone else – it’s not yours just because you think it should be by right of position. That might be my toy bag, my rope, my arm or ass. They are not yours.
Do a little spin.
Hold your hands out as far as you can a do a little spin.
If you can’t see me then what I am doing, who I doing it with and where I am doing it is not your concern. It is none of your business, it does not fall within your domain, your realm or your magical kingdom.
If you can see me on the street, in the grocery store or anywhere other than within the very narrow scope of your domain, your realm or your magical kingdom you are just another person that I may or may not acknowledge. I am not going to bow before you, offer my hand to be kissed or play the game.
Do a little spin.
Hold your hands out as far as you can a do a little spin.
Spin faster, then faster and faster until all of your clothes and the layers of fantasy fly off. You are just a naked person and your domain, your realm and your magical that you created kingdom do not exist.
Do a little spin until you spiral away in your own self created wind…
….
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- In our opinion there is no basis, neither in today’s societal norms nor in professional health thinking, to classify these diagnostic groups as disease, says head of the Health Directorate Bjørn-Inge Larsen (picture). By excluding the use of these codes in Norway the Directorate wishes to contribute to the weakening of a general opinion that certain sexual preferences, sexual identities and gender expressions may be seen as states of illness.