Getting Real

I am struggling at the moment, fair readers, with the editing of my blog.  I will let you in on a secret.  I play a little harder than what I write about.  I want to be honest, I really do, but there are somethings I skirt around a bit....and there are other things I skirt around a lot.  What I suppose would normally take half an hour to an hour to write takes me painful hours of deliberation trying to make sure you can understand why I am in the emotional headspace I am in without being too explicit...Don't for one second think I am anything less than honest.  Everything I am feeling and experiencing is real for me, it is just some of the physical stuff I am careful with - especially since I know some of the people who read...

So what do you think, guys?  For those of you who blog yourselves, especially the subbly bunch, what do you hold back?  Do you hold anything back?  Do any of your real-time friends read or know about your life?

I personally find the duality difficult.  I am not used to holding back anything from anyone.  I am about as much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get person as you can get.  Most of my close girlfriends know.  A few of my close male friends know.  My sister-in-law knows.  

The people I have around me love me and think I am crazy.  They have always thought that though, so this just serves to confirm it.  They shake their heads or say they always knew, even when I used to play back in the day, they knew.  None of them have felt it appropriate to even feign shock.  I wonder about that.  What is it about me that screams kink?  Not that it matters.  If I have always known, then why would everyone else have been oblivious?  I will say though that there was a bit of a murmur when I said I had a Sir.  It was expected that I have pup, but a Sir for you?   That has quite possibly been the most interesting part.  The reaction (especially some of my rabbidly feminist friends *waves*) to the idea of me submitting.  I have found that treatment of me is reflective of how people react to life in general.  Some of them read here religiously, some read occasionally, some don't read at all.  Some want details, want more from me, some ask and then don't ask, look and beg curiosity and then get squeemish - they are the ones who enjoy thinking things are terrible.  Some want to talk about the emotional side, want to understand the reasoning, the need, the desire.  Some want to talk about the physical.  As long as I am safe and happy they don't really care about TTWD. 

It makes me wonder how much of hiding and closeting BDSM really has to do with other people and how much it has to do with how we percieve ourselves.  People know there is 'kink' out there.  People, all people, have their fetishes.

I am not planning on handing out business cards with my blog-link to the other mums at my kids' new school, but really...this is part of who I am SO this is my warning to all you who look me in the eye.  I am going to start gradually being more honest on here.  You will be reading more of the physical realities of TTWD.  If you think there is even the slightest possibility that you will be uncomfortable - stop reading.  If you are reading out of morbid curiosity - stop reading.  If you think I am a terrible person - stop reading.  If you are a little turned on, you have my mobile number, give me a call....

I am good at keeping the pieces of my life whole within me and separate out of the necessity of life but that is something we all do.  You wear your daughter hat for your mum but it doesn't sit on your head at the office.  You wear your office hat at work, but not as a lover.  Your hats are all there, tucked away, to be pulled on when needed.  My BDSM-side is the same.  It is just a collar, not a hat!

So the questions were: 

For those of you who blog yourselves, what do you hold back?  Do you hold anything back? 

Do any of your real-time friends read or know about your life?

Why do you think we hide TTWD?

Kinky Excursion Part Three - A Lesson on Shoes

Every pore of my body was screaming for more. I was getting pouty and petulant and sulky - playfully so but the undercurrent was very real. He was immovable. I love that as much as I hate it.

We moved downstairs to the smoking area. I could not think of anything but want. I begged him with my eyes, with my words. I lost count of how many times I asked to go back upstairs. His eyes were playful, enjoying my torment I think.

Interestingly talking with Sir afterward I remembered many of the same people as he had: the pretty little thing in the denim skirt with a huge mouth and gorgeous pouty lips. Not my cup of tea, though I did have one or two ideas of where I would like to see her mouth. The girl with long dyed-black hair, who was much more my style (despite her hair) and sat behind us talking loudly about true bisexuality - a conversation which did not go unnoticed by me...I actually would not mind going back to look for her one night. Another girl who was, as we were leaving, being spanked over the couch by two men...yes, much more my thing.

People moved around us, talking, laughing. There were couples pairing off, kissing and fondling, perhaps a lover, perhaps a partner, perhaps someone whose name they don't know. There were one or two people around I would normally give a second glance but really, I just wanted to cum endlessly, to feel some real pain. I was not interested in scoping. Sir would not have permitted it anyway so it just would have added to my torment.

Women swathed in too-short fake leather, cut-off shirts, plunging necklines and denim skirts that are only for this purpose - the purpose of picking-up. The different styles and choices of clothing suggesting different things. The clothes are there mainly for everyone else, what they think others want. The truth of a woman is in the way she carries herself. It is about whether they lean in, or back, touch your arm, look over, smile, touch their face, catch your eye. You can tell what sort of lover a woman will be by looking into her eyes. Stare one time into a woman's eyes who is lusty as fuck, who is smoldering, brimming with need and you will never forget it and always look for it. The problem with most men is that they get so caught in looking at breasts they never find that out.

The men in their jeans and t-shirts with a little too much aftershave all looked the same - except for their shoes. You can tell a lot about a man by his shoes. Experience has taught me what sort of lovers they will be and though not all conform, it is quite accurate. There are three main categories, all were on display that evening.

There are the trainer-boys. My guess for the record - all single. These boys, wearing their "going-out" trainers, stood uncomfortably around outside talking to each other. They were leaning against the wall, pretending they didn't care they hadn't picked up and that they weren't still hopeful (they were). No confidence, just quiet and wearing their eau-de-desperation like a foggy haze - enough to gas any passing, equally desperate girl.

Trainer-Boys = immaturity but malleability. As lovers they can be hit and miss. They are much easier to mold into what you want but ladies be warned, you will have to be very specific and patient. They need a map, a compass, GPS and will still get lost, however they make up for it in enthusiasm. Don't necessarily pass them by every time, but pick carefully. They are definitely a regular partner - takes a while to train one. One night is not worth it.

There are the Work-Shoes Guys. These ones are usually a little older, their shoes scuffed and worn, they are a little more forth-coming in terms of talking with women but with about the same success rate as Trainer-Boys. Downtrodden and reeking of selfish need, a few had come to the club with their wives, a few singles. I would hazard a guess that they are there most weeks with varying success. Their shoes beguile their lack of personal care, a need for someone to take care of them and somehow a lack of confidence. These guys won't talk to the other guys, except perhaps to retell an exceptionally bad joke for the third time and are exceptionally socially awkward (as opposed to trainer-guys who just lack confidence).

Work-Shoe-Guys = selfish and needy. Needing to be looked after (read as mummies boys) and wanting to have someone care for them makes them prime stalker candidates (of which I have had a few). One night stand means little to them because they are desperate for a carer. Their selfishness means that they can't find your clit and don't care if they do, and they don't believe in a g-spot. Two minute wonders, at best. They just want to get their end in and then for you to come over to their house and do their laundry. Steer clear at all costs.

Suave-Shoes-Man. Last but not least. This is the guy you need to look for. Actually, you don't. He will look for you. He will have good quality leather shoes, not the ones he wears to work. They can be exceptionally modern but don't have to be, they will be clean and not scuffed. He is the one that will stand back and watch for a while, he will talk to everyone. Once you have noted his shoes you can take in the rest of him, he can be younger or older but he has got-his-shit-together. He knows what he wants, he knows who he is. Not to be confused with the arrogant twin who is just a Trainer-Boy-in-Funky-Shoes. This guy is smooth and alluring.

Suave-Shoes-Man = fuck. This guy knows his way around the female form. He is a Man-Whore. Man-Whores are hopeless romantics who love lust and fucking and women (not to be confused with the Trainer-Boy-in-Funky-Shoes who is just a player, out to get his end in and does not know what to do with a woman). Suave-Shoes-Man is calm, confident and knows what he wants. He knows how to make a woman swoon. He will please you - because that is his mission. Don't walk, run to your nearest hotel suite.

I thought about how I must look in there, in amongst the meat-market. I dress a little like a sassy-school-teacher, an art I have been perfecting. Walk past me on the street and you would think sweet house-wife, proper but with an edge.

We sat and Kate was talking about my cumming-on-command and asking about what the orgasms felt like and commenting on the faces I pull. Sir asked her if she would like to see another face. He pulled my shirt down, pulled my bra down and grabbed my nipples - hard and commanded I cum. Gasping, breathy, desperate for more I was taking anything he had to give. I wanted it all and I loved it right there, infront of whoever was watching. I didn't care I just wanted what I wanted.

Fence Sitting or The Case for the Switch in the Affirmative

So Mick and the Sub-Sisters are at it again. SFP started talking about switching, which lead to Sin talking about switching, which lead to Mick talking about switching. As a bonafide Switch I could not pass the topic by and it has come up a fair bit for me recently.

Let me jump in to explain something first. I am arguably the Merriam Webster poster girl for Fence-Sitting: a state of indecision or neutrality with respect to conflicting positions. I identify as a bisexual, switching, sadist and masochist in an open marriage.

Lets start with Sadist and Masochist.

Well, while I am fairly certain that I could survive without inflicting pain on someone else, would life be as fulfilling? I think not. The power in your touch, in your physical being - that someone is willing to accept it, to take it, to trust you to take them there is nothing short of amazing. The feeling of a human being completely willing to give themselves over to you, to be bound and under your complete direction, to allow you to hurt them, to want you to is just an inspiration.

Why an inspiration? Because for all intents and purposes people have every reason not to trust each other. We are hardwired to recall more clearly every bad experience we have ever had. We are supposed to spend our time looking for danger and protecting ourselves from it. We should be spending our time trying to protect ourselves from hurt, to save ourselves from trusting in someone (both physically and emotionally). The fact that someone can give over so much of themselves amazes me every time; that I am able and willing to surrender that part of myself amazes me also. I do not think I could live without the masochism. I think I would wilt away. The feeling of pain in its varying forms is delicious. Really, how could I choose between the two?

I am married but I choose - we choose - to allow other people into what is presumed to be a sacred act between two married people. For me sex and emotion have never been closely intertwined. Sex is sex and if you have an emotional relationship you do and if you don't you don't. I am not sure why I am wired that way, I just am. I talk with friends frequently and (particularly when I am talking about women I would like to fuck, but men too) I realise I sound...well....like a man. I look objectively at a person, at what I want to take or have taken, my eyes glaze over and I sound like a horny old guy sitting at the bar nursing his eighth whiskey. Pick the one person you can sleep with for the rest of your life....you want me to choose that? Seriously!?

Women, men - really how could I possibly decide? When presented with the prospect of a luscious pair of breasts and a juicy cunt with a perfect little clit to tongue and nibble or a thick hard cock and throbbing balls to ride and suck and tease and pound...Pass me a coin - I can't choose. Yes, I sit neatly and squarely in the middle of the fence.

Women and D/s for me are a different kettle of fish. The relationships I have had with women over the years have been far more balanced. I guess I have a much higher expectation for emotional intimacy in relationships with women. I don't really do high levels of emotional intimacy in my primary relationships. I know that sounds like a really strange thing to say....I guess it works in neatly with the above "sounding like a man" thing. I have had three relationships with women but I find it uncomfortable - that I give over too much of myself. I prefer to keep things purely sexual. As such I have had two significant relationships with women where I was more Dominant and one where we were on even ground. Purely sexual relationships are fun and light, the air passes between us. The relationship relationships are like suffocating fire and ice. All encompassing. I do one of two things, drown or run - so I keep my significant relationships with men where I am safe and controlled.

When I examine the idea of Mistress or sub, I think about my pup in his womens panties (yellow suits him), on his knees after being brought to the brink of cumming for four days with no release. I hear him beg "Mistress please may I cum". His pleading eyes cast down as directed. When I tell him to look up, to look at me, I smile and nod my head and say "yes, pup...cum for me now" and he cums, thanking me. I feel a surge of pride in him and in myself that I have brought this from him. This secret thing that he has kept locked away that he so desperately needed and I cultivate it, refine it, make it shine. That he is happy and fulfilled in his submission makes me happy. That I am happy makes him happy. Perfect circle, akin to nothing. Then I flip and look at myself, bound, gagged, whipped, pleading, begging...I see myself as if outside my body; up on the tips of my toes shaking and cumming until it is too much then being pushed to go once more, a little further, pushing the edges of myself. Offering my body and soul to be to be owned. Blissed in my submission, happy to serve, happy that he is happy that I am happy that he is happy....How could I possibly give up either? How could I possibly choose?

As a switch I do not switch within relationships. For my Sir I am his sub. He is my Sir and that is it. Not that I haven't on the odd occasion said to him "how about I shove that there on you and see how you like it!" Not that a little part of me didn't imagine tying him to the bed the other day during his massage...Neither of us would have it though. It would not give him what he wants or me what I want. I am not after playing at Top and bottom for the afternoon. I want his Domination to be real and enduring. I want my submission to be whole and complete surrender. Not for a minute but for the duration of the relationship. It is much the same in my role as Mistress. I cannot be what pup needs if he sees me for one second as less than his Mistress. Pulling in the reigns of control re-energizes me in much the same way as submitting does. Sometimes it gets hard. Probably not as much hard work as I am for Sir. I have met one or two switches I would play with. I would not consider it even close to a D/s relationship. It would just be play. Like a pleasant evening wrestling for the remote control. I want real D/s not this top bottom fun play. To go where I want to go and to take what I want taken I need real D/s. To me (I concur Sin, SFP) you cannot get that in switching - within a given relationship dynamic. I have thought about how I would feel if Sir had a Domme. The idea makes me laugh a bit. Not in this lifetime. To be honest I don't think he would be the Dom I need if he had that little bit of Switch lurking....

Finally tea and coffee, chocolate and vanilla, day and night, summer and spring. I like both in all cases. They are both fantastic for different, opposing, complementary reasons. You want me to choose to have one and not the other....I just can't. Perhaps it is greedy. Perhaps I should make some firm choices...I want it all - everything.

I have decided I am not a fence- sitter. I have decided to look at myself as an equal opportunist. It just happens that I see everyone as an opportunity!

Much love, JaT

We Are Not Real

We are not real.

My husband, my children, school runs, making dinner, laughing with friends, holidays, paying bills, running late, rainy-PJ-days, swimming-at-the-beach-weekends, grocery shopping, bathing the dog - that is real.

We are not real.

When my nails rake down your back, you borrow the lines for a time and then they are gone. When I speak with you on the phone - moments of time snatched away from my life, my real life. When you respond "Yes, Mistress" in desperate, strangled whispers. When you beg for more, for less, for something, for everything. I know your wife is in the other room - your wife is real.

We are not real.

When you pull me to you and I am on my knees, your hand wound in my hair, sweat and cum dripping. When I lay splayed across the floor, my back burning feeling the whip bite into my skin. When you are there with your cock inside me, driving me home, pulsing in my mouth. When my eyes roll and I shudder and grab at you with my cunt and we are lost, I am lost, that is a fantasy - a longing. When your eyes lock with mine and we move in sync, we touch the core of each other and do not have to look away because we are there only for that moment. It does not exist before or after, only then and once you have touched it, it is gone

We are not real.

When you are with her and you think of me, tracing the lines of her face remembering mine. When you feel yourself slide into her and you can almost taste my scent. When I am with someone else I close my eyes and see you staring into me. When I feel that I am with you with them in that moment and that moment is gone - they are just imaginings.

We are not real.

When I see you stretched out above me, the curve of your breasts, your hair falling softly over your shoulders, my mouth over yours. When I watch you sleep and kiss your belly. When I wake I see your shadow has not etched into my wall by candle light, your arching back, your gorgeous thrusting hips, your lips calling my name. When I smell you on my sheets but you are gone I smile softly - a midnight apparition.

We are not real.

I will carve myself into your soul, burn my touch onto your skin, leave my taste on your tongue and you will cherish it, wrap it inside your mind and keep it safe. We hold our imagined-together-dreams and they sustain us. While you touch yourself you are there in those moments.

Then they are gone because we are not real.

Some Sub Text

For all those folks who do not know, I am now a regular contributor to Some Sub Text , a poetry blog (squeeee - so excited). While I know that the term regular implies some sort of regularity - the exact meaning of regular in this context is something to which I cannot attest.

I can say however, that I was so extremely excited to hear from sfp (who writes an amazing blog that I just adore) so I jumped at the chance to contribute.

My second poem is up here so any of you who are that way inclined, please have a read.

They are short and sweet with just a sprinkle of what makes subbies so very special!

Big Love, Big Kisses and yes I do kiss my mumma with that mouth! Thank God she doesn't ask where its been...

Panna Cotta Ramblings

Words curl from your lips as

smokey ribbons of nothing.

Binding me to you,

possessing me,

tying me
down

and up


and down.

I fear this moment like no other.
To look at you wholly and unafraid.

That you chance to see me, I could not suffer;

That you do not see me,

I would not

conquer.



So here sit I of the blogisphere tapping away as the sun comes up. I have not slept all night. I think I was tired at some point but can't remember. I am not sure of its importance anyway. I tend to get a little philosophical and poetic after reading too much and sleeping too little so I shall make you no promises of quality or coherence but will persevere nonetheless.

I have decided that on Saturdays I will post about food. I may on other days too. However, since Saturdays are slow and lazy and mainly filled with cooking for me it seems to fit well. **Watch this space** Gorgeous food to come! Am thinking of Vanilla Panna Cotta (Saturdays must be vanilla days - well as vanilla as I get) with a tart Raspberry Jelly....unless sleep finds me first!

I am working on taking some pics of the food and have decided to go back and re-create all previous recipes to take photos just for you! As well *I* am doing a bit of re-co on the blog layout (read into that Dear-Husband, who is much more handy on the blessed electrical contraption than myself, is going to make it look how I want it) WITH a separate recipe page!

*SIGH* I know it will be tough, but someone is going to have to eat all the recipe-re-dos!