Category Archives: musings

These New Jeans

Size is such a funny concept. I haven’t focused on my weight as a number of importance in a long time, but clothing size isn’t something that can really be avoided – even if you make your own clothes, chances are you’re using a pattern and even those patterns have size guidelines. For better or for worse, my size has become part of my identity. I like to think it’s for better; I haven’t had a problem with my size in quite some time. In fact, one could say it’s become a point of pride, being a larger—yes, FAT—curvy woman with breasts, belly, hips and an ass that can’t be overlooked. But when that changes? The size, I mean. (Gods know the curves are still present.) It’s an odd thing to wrap my head around, now that the discovery has been made that My Number is not what it was for years—what I’ve been comfortable with for years.

Certainly I’m comfortable with these new jeans fitting better than my jeans have fit in a while. I’m really alright with not constantly hitching them up, and definitely celebrating the lack of saggy pant-seats! I’ll be frank with you, though: this new size that I bought last night is a size that I haven’t bought since high school. And I know that’s kind of the coveted “thing,” to fit into one’s old high school jeans, but for those of us not obsessed with being our younger, supposedly smaller selves, for those of us who are comfortable with our current size, it’s just strange. For me, it hearkens back to a time when I wasn’t as comfortable with myself, when I did dread going up any size at all. It hearkens back to a time when there was more self-loathing present in my life than self-love.

That’s where it changes, folks. I may be back in my old high school size, but I will not be slipping back into my old high school mentality along with these new jeans. These jeans will be worn with self-love, self-acceptance and self-confidence. I will continue to strut and sashay my way down the street, not revert back to scuttling along with my shoulders hunched, trying to shield myself from the prying eyes of unforgiving peers. I have come a long way since those days, and I intend to hold on to that growth, regardless of how my body shrinks—or expands, for that matter. Because expansion may very well happen again, and that’s okay. The most important discovery I have yet made—infinitely more important than the superficial discovery of a changed pants size—is that true comfort happens when we grow and/or continue to love ourselves, accept ourselves and treat ourselves well (which, by the way, includes indulging every so often) despite any changes that may occur. Our bodies are constantly in flux, but our love for ourselves and our desire to take care of these bodies we inhabit should never diminish. When we can acknowledge that we are beautiful and worthy creatures despite sizes, shapes or any other external factors, that becomes the most comfortable fit of all, and everything else is just the denim-clad cherry on the sundae.

Mmmm… ice cream.


Onward We March

I expected to find a great many things in the act of submission. Liberation, connection, growth both personally and between us. I also knew that in submitting, I was not giving up any of my own personal power. Control? Yes. But not to the state of powerlessness. I never expected, though, to find so much empowerment in the act of submission. I never expected to be moved to the brink of tears by the simple act of being brought to my knees at her feet. I never expected the uncertainty to completely dissolve and be replaced in its entirety by joy and an all-encompassing feeling of being centered both within myself and in the Universe.

For someone who, for the longest time, was unsure if she even had the ability to submit, there sure is a very strong sense of belonging. Like this is where I should always have been. But only with her. This vulnerability, the character and depth of the connection.. I couldn’t imagine it being with anyone else. This is rare, and precious.

I think I had deliberately put the thought of kneeling out of my mind, after the coast. There had been a feeling inside me all along that there would be a finality to that act, and perhaps the time was not yet right for it – for that threshold to be irrevocably crossed, even if the gesture was welcomed. After all, more talks are to happen, soon enough, but time is still being given to honor the sheer enormity of these developments and the adjustments they require. I didn’t want thoughts of it to overtake me before it was time.

The opening of a new year, though, is a time for new beginnings and new journeys. This particular threshold has been crossed now, and as I had suspected, there is no going back from it even if I wanted to – but, I don’t. This belonging is a powerful creature. The path extending from this side of the threshold is long, winding up and out of sight beyond the horizon, and it is full of exciting mysteries – mysteries I’m eager to explore. I will walk – not run – with care and measure, but I will walk nonetheless, at her side. There is no direction in this adventure but forward. And so onward we march. Beyond fear, in love, joy and not a little curiosity. Onward we march. It is begun. And there is no end in sight.


It’s terrifying sometimes, being seen – truly seen. In those moments I want to shrink back, slam the door and retreat into the gloom, where this vulnerability is reduced to memory and potential only. For so long I have carried the habit of holding others at arms’ length, making sure no one ever got too close – close enough to hurt. It was lonely, yes, but it was safe. I was safe.

I am revealed now; all of my pieces and parts have been seen and can be seen again on a whim, smeared on a slide and placed under the lens of a microscope for careful examination. The kicker is that I’m still safe, really, under her gaze. She does not mishandle my revelation. Every new facet of me turned under her loupe, she cherishes. But it is just that: new, uncharted territory, the new frontier of my being, and I cannot know for sure just what that territory holds within its undiscovered boundaries. To give myself over to an unknown–it’s reckless and joyful and maddening, but at times I am sucker punched by a fistful of fear, wondering if I have gone too far, revealed too much. Questioning myself: why can’t I just stand alone as I have always done? Why do I give myself over for another’s study, or approval? Why do I feel compelled, why do I FOLLOW the compulsion to show her everything? Why not retain a little mystery?

Therein lies the true mystery, or perhaps the solution: my thought processes need to be switched from thinking that the mystery is diminished with each new bit of me that I reveal. Each of us, we are beautiful mysteries gift-wrapped in human skin, but even more so than that, we are masterpieces of fractal art: mystery built upon mystery, sinking down further and further until the naked eye, the loupe, even the microscope can no longer discern the separate puzzle pieces. They can only marvel at the sheer beauty of the universe they have discovered – ever expanding, ever building upon itself in an endless, infinite scroll of glorious human nature.

To that end, I let go of my fear. I let go of the death grip I have on my own self, and I give myself over unto revelation. I peel back my protective layers and let the underlying surface of my mysteries shine through, beckoning her in to look further, to discover more, to dig and sift – gently, please! – until the universe of my spirit lies before her, and she is awed by it. I am not diminished by this openness any more so than a galaxy, a nebula, a newborn star is diminished by being captured in the lens of the Hubble. I AM a revelation, and my mysteries delve deeper than any mind can fully comprehend. Such artistry as this should be shared, not locked away in a vault whose walls are built of fear. The most satisfying developments in our lives are often the most terrifying at first, but I will steel myself and take that leap – I will leap into my stars, touch them, dance among them, and let them shine.

New Beginnings

I am learning to be alone again.

Relationships are funny creatures; no matter how much we work to retain an individual identity and fight against the codependence that tries to seep into the cracks, a little bit of The Meld still happens. We still become accustomed to having that person very deeply involved in our lives, whether that means spending weekends together, running errands together or what have you. Then, suddenly, all of that changes. Oh, perhaps we have a bit of an inkling that it’s coming. We start feeling that the relationship has reached the end of its natural course and will probably fade away soon, like the last ember of a campfire quietly dimming into the darkness. Nothing fully prepares us, though, for the aftermath of extricating our separate identities and absorbing them fully back into ourselves. Even if a friendship remains–even if a good friendship remains–it’s not quite the same, and adjustments must be made.

I reflect on these concepts most calmly. I accept the slight ache that comes even with a foreseen separation. I know that the decisions mutually made were for the best, for both parties. And now, I readjust. I accustom myself to not being so in need of alone time because it is much more readily available. I acclimatize to moments of complete silence and stillness. I prepare for being completely open to my own mind, to being subject to moments of intense reflection and self-evaluation whether I want to face them or not. I steel myself for the brutal honesty of my own unhindered thoughts, because I no longer have anything behind which to hide.

It is time to come to know myself again, intimately and without bias. It is time to reexamine the cracks and chinks in my armor and adjust–remove?–where needed. It is time to reevaluate my faults and become acquainted with the new ones that have popped up largely unnoticed. And, because I am not composed entirely of complex configurations of  shortcomings, it is time to recall the good that lies within me, to embrace and harness that power so that I may be a source of illumination upon my own journey as it enters into this new phase, and also to shed light onto those who walk with me. I am full of love, but first I must turn it inward so that it can reflect upon the mirror of my spirit and, in turn, shine more strongly outward.


As of late, I feel as though I have been perpetually seeking. There is something just outside my grasp, almost outside of my line of sight but I know it’s there. And I want it.

One of those things is a Top. I crave surrender—of control, of myself. Particularly in the surrendering of the self, I crave someone into whose hands I can give myself in good faith and in complete trust. Succinctly put, I desire a Top who won’t fuck me up—not in the bad ways, anyway. I know so well how to handle myself, the ins and outs of managing someone like me, that it is so, so difficult to let someone else do the handling even for a little while, particularly because I have been not so well handled in the past. Maybe those people just didn’t care enough to learn, or maybe their desire in the first place was to mishandle. I couldn’t tell you. I can tell you, though, that those experiences make it verrrrry difficult to trust someone enough to give myself completely over again. I think perhaps also that people who could potentially fulfill the position of a Top in my life see that hesitation and either don’t want to deal with it, or think it a sign of lack of interest. It makes me wish I could more readily wear my heart on my sleeve, but.. well, if it’s on my sleeve, how in the hell do I protect it?

On the flip side, and in holding to switch form, I seek also a bottom who would kneel to me as I would kneel, in turn, to my Top. This is somewhat thrilling and scary for me, as I have never held a dominant position over anybody before. I do identify as a Top-heavy switch and sadist, and do most certainly contain a more dominant energy, but it has never been exercised on a person for more than the duration of a scene. But I want it. I want to go there with someone. Not only for the practical purposes that a service bottom would fulfill, but to experience that power dynamic and energy exchange. I want to feel the weight of someone’s trust upon my shoulders, and learn to bear it with pride, humility—yes, I believe those emotions can coexist—dignity and caring.

And, yes, it would be lovely not to have to do a lot of housework. And to tease them by denying them pleasure as I pleasure myself. And to rib them for not making the coffee perfectly, but still let them know that they have not lost my approval with a soft touch over their head and down their neck.. ending with a swat on the ass.

This thought just occurred to me: what if my Top were also my mentor in learning how to successfully navigate the dynamic between me and my bottom? I’m sure this idea isn’t new to the realm of D/s. But would it work for me and my dynamics? Could I find someone who is comfortable enough in their Top energy not only to top me but also to help me top another? The idea is exhilarating.

I honestly couldn’t tell you if I will ever encounter either of these dynamics in my world. I know that I am not an easy bottom and therefore not many Tops or Dominants would want to take on the extra work, so to speak. I also know that due to how reserved I tend to be around other people, it’s harder for me to make connections with others despite how much I may want to. I sure as hell haven’t yet gotten up the courage to tell a few of my Top crushes that they make my knees melt! So I guess we’ll see. I have gone this long as something of a “freelancer,” so of course I can continue doing so. But I will certainly keep my eyes open and, though she may be heavily guarded, my heart as well.


Well, I’m only about a tenth of the way through the multitude of blog posts that have collected in my reader over the past couple of days, but something I read triggered some thoughts so I might as well let them flow.

What I read was this: “We have to open [our hearts] in order to love.”

My knee-jerk response was, “But I don’t want love.”

I daresay that surprised me a little bit. Mind you, I’m not the type of person who needs a relationship in order to feel whole, but I’d always thought that, like most people, I want love; I want a deep, committed, long-term relationship with a person about whom I am crazy and who is crazy about me. Apparently I thought wrong, or perhaps my mind is just completely turned off of the idea of a relationship right now. That’s very possible.

So I’m sitting here, thinking about what it is that I want right now. Sex: YES PLEASE. (Did I even have to say that? I mean really?) Companionship: yes, but not the kind that comes with high expectations or high amounts of maintenance. The one thing that keeps going through my mind lately is how relieving it is being responsible for no one but myself. Maybe that’s selfish, but honestly it might amaze you to know just how few fucks I give about that. It is a huge weight off my shoulders to not have to worry about anyone else and what they might be thinking/feeling about me, or why they’re not calling/texting or anything like that. If my phone buzzes, my heart doesn’t skip a beat and I don’t practically fall all over myself trying to get to my phone because OMG finally they’re contacting me! Having stability again is a truly wonderful thing.

I know it’s possible to have stability actually IN a relationship but right now I am just enjoying having no complications in my life whatsoever. Granted, I’m really ridiculously horny, but then, what with my last two relationships being long distance, that’s not exactly a huge change in my life. Right now I am just enjoying being surrounded by excellent friends who don’t yank me around like a puppet on a string… and when some good sex comes along, well, I won’t be complainin’.


Looks like this poor blog is on death’s doorstep again – whoops. Then again, being sick for most of February doesn’t exactly help matters.

My coherency isn’t in peak form tonight given that for the last three nights I have had the most bizarre, disturbing dreams that left me feeling more exhausted than when I went to bed, but I’m feeling the urge to write. I don’t really have a subject in mind–I just need to expectorate some words into this text box.

I’ve been doing a little bit of thinking about the reasons I originally started this blog. I wanted to examine and document my thought processes and journeys through the realms of gender, sexuality, BDSM and poly. Well, the poly is no more. I will not share the boi and don’t want the boi to share me. Period. Re: the gender and sexuality aspects, obviously I am still a queer femme, but I feel like I have that figured out. Yes I am always evolving and yes I am very fluid but, well… I am what I am and that’s all that I am.

I suppose the BDSM aspect is still alive. I have become active with a self-identified-women-only BDSM group here in Portland and I love it. They are a wonderful group of people and I have felt like I belonged since day one. I get out to their munches and discussion groups for social hour, and even a little bit of play occasionally, although really that’s just another social aspect for me. Yes, I am very social with my floggers in hand – ha!

That’s something else I’ve come to realize about myself: that kink play is not in the least bit sexual for me. And thinking back on it, it really never has been. Playing does not sexually arouse me–it fulfills something else, I guess you could say. A desire for connection, perhaps? The catharsis that inflicting pain or having pain inflicted on me brings? I can tell you one thing for sure: I am really getting the hang of Florentine flogging, and I feel like a fucking goddess on Earth when I get my twin floggers going perfectly to the beat of some badass music, feeling the impact reverberating from the handles up into my arms and shoulders. It’s magical. But sexual? Not so much. And at the end of the day, y’know what I really want to do? I just want to go home, to my boi (we’re speaking hypothetically since the boi and I are still separated by many miles and hours), and be nothing but myself. Not a Top or a switch or anything else that comes with labels and titles and expectations–just me.

Speaking non-hypothetically, though… I cannot begin to tell you how much I am looking forward to the day when I really can go home to her.