Calm down. Breathe. Inhale. Hold. Keep holding. Exhale. You’re okay.
I finished my first semester! My grades range from B+ to solid A’s, and I am one extraordinarily happy camper. L just wrapped up as well, and we’re still adjusting to that “we can snuggle without having to set an alarm or worry about what we should be doing?” mindset. I have a juicy 6 weeks before I go back, and I am relishing the hell out of it.
L and I had a nice little date this morning, despite the massive amounts of snow we got hit with last night. Aftermath of a blizzard = waaaaaay more tables at our favorite cafe, so….(blueberry pancakes, mmmmmm…) We came home and completely rearranged our bedroom! I was pretty skeptical, and it was pretty grueling (we have a lot of crap, whoa), but it looks really nice! And it was a good workout, to boot. Ugh.
Speaking of workouts, have I ranted about aerial yoga yet? I probably have, but I don’t care. I’m hooked. It feels like self-suspension without the rope. I can even volunteer to clean the studio and do some computer work in exchange for free classes! The space is really beautiful and soothing. I have a feeling that I’ll be spending a lot of time over there. J and I are actually going to talk to the instructor about renting out the aerial studio to rehearse suspensions, because we’ve been talking about working out a performance piece or two. To practice suspensions in a nice, well-lit, ventilated room? With big mirrors and pillows and incense and music and no irritating holier-than-thou kinksters hogging the hard points? YES PLEASE.
Most of my readers also follow me on tumblr (willtumblefortea), but for those of you who don’t…
Several weeks ago, a few good friends from my kinky circle and I were discussing party-wear. I was talking about how I tend to veer towards cute sundresses and boots and leather cuffs, but secretly wished I could pull off the corsets, garter belts, and fishnets that were happening all around me. My friends were all equally perplexed.
“But…you could totally pull all of that stuff off.”
Nope. No way. I look silly in fishnets, and I just don’t have the body confidence needed to pull off something…skimpy. My breasts are tiny, I have bony little hips and weird, muscle-legs…just no. Eventually, it boiled down to two or three close friends quietly encouraging me to order some fishnets, because when push came to shove, I was avoiding the clothes as a preemptive guard against body image triggers. Avoidant behavior becomes very cyclic and destructive, and so I caved. I ordered a dress, thigh highs, and a bodystocking. As soon as I confirmed the order, I was filled with regret.
The package came in about three days later. I had been having a good day, and nobody was home, so I figured I’d try them on. Why not? J and Le had already told me to call either of them if the experience was upsetting. (I was optimistic that I could surprise L with the sexy results – as far as I know she was almost unaware of this whole process.)
The dress went on first.
I’d fuck me in that dress, you guys. <_<
The bodystocking and thigh highs were equally successful. I could have cried. It was an incredible feeling. I looked like I was ready to kick ass and get laid.
In other news, things with J are getting…more physical. We’re becoming more comfortable with each other, and each other’s bodies. I’ll probably password-protect forthcoming posts about that sort of thing, primarily for L’s benefit, but hit me up if you want the password. It’s been pretty wonderful. Jute leaves legit bruises, and I love it.
In the meantime, I plan to drink a few mugs of spiked cocoa and cuddle with my sweet butch while we re-marathon Orange is the New Black. God, I love winter break. I love life. I have amazing friends and two magnificent partners and I fucking love everything, you guys.
…how has it been nearly three months since my last update? I want to pin the blame on graduate school, but that would also imply that I’ve been a graduate student for four months, and that is equally weird. A lot of stuff happened. I want to promise to update more regularly, but that is in no way a guarantee.
- Graduate school is wonderful and intense. I adore it. (I curse it every day, but only in that loving sort of way.) It’s challenging and fulfilling, and I’m more convinced than ever that this was the right choice for me. I like my professors and classmates a lot, and am actually doing pretty well! I only have a few weeks left, actually.
- L is doing really well! She’s nearly done with her penultimate semester of graduate school, and she is kicking all of the ass. We’re balancing chores and other sundry responsibilities, and it just feels so good to come home to her at the end of a long day. Her old apartment felt like a safe haven, but this new apartment feels like our home. We’ve settled into a fairly consistent Daddy/girl or Unidentified Big/boi dynamic, and it is excellent. We even got to have a nice outing to a local farmers market this morning! Dates are always, always good. Dates with Indian food are even better.
- My anxiety has been so much better! I’m still not 100% sure that these meds are perfect for me, but I can really tell a difference! I’ve been seeing a school counselor every other week, and that has also been extremely helpful. We’ve been talking about my family, relationship(s), poly, BDSM, my eating disorder and associated anxiety, school, internships…she says I make her Thursdays more interesting. I’m taking it as a compliment, I guess.
- Plot twist! J and I are dating. We’re Fetlife-official and everything. It’s fun and sexy and comfortable and sadistic. Clothespins are nice. Making pretty boys squirm is also nice. I’m toppier than I thought. :)
That’s obviously an abbreviated list. Life is busybusybusy, but also goodgoodgood.
So glad I got out of Collegetown. Albany is being far kinder to me.
I’m curled up in bed, in that blissful and confusing space where I’ve had some coffee, but not enough to feel fully functional. It’s Saturday and I have an egg and turkey sandwich (on wheat toast!) in my happy tummy.
“Come here, babygirl. Daddy’s gotta go to work.”
Daddy works from 11a to 11p on Saturdays. I sulk a little bit, because I want to be little spoon and please can’t I get a few more minutes to cuddle?
“Babygirl. Come here.”
Daddy picks me up. I’m all curled up and it smells like Old Spice and apple shampoo and my leg is cramping but I don’t want to let go.
“You gonna be good?”
I shake my head. I try to be good, most of the time, but I mess up sometimes. Sometimes I am a sad girl, or an anxious girl, or an angry girl. Sometimes I am not as good as I want to be.
Daddy gives me The Eye.
“I said, you gonna be good?”
I nod. It’s not a promise, but it’s a promise to try.
I get a kiss for my efforts.
Grad school is interesting, and challenging, and stressful. I get frustrated and lonely and worried, but I’m also excited to see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak.
Plus, I get to come home to Daddy and our cats and sometimes I have tea parties and sometimes I get to go play with rope and rubber mallets. I’m making friends in my program. I still have time to weave. Daddy and I are reading Artemis Fowl together, and I’m finally caught up with Breaking Bad. I found a tequila that I really, really like. Sometimes I wear collars with locks on them. My mom hasn’t called me a hedonistic swinger in a few weeks.
All in all, it’s been pretty good.
About a month ago, a local dungeon announced that a Very Well Known Japanese Bondage Master would be gracing the dungeon with his ropey presence for a weekend-long seminar. It would be a hands-on, dojo-style experience, and the event coordinator swore that it would be a once-in-a-lifetime type of experience. I wasn’t going to go – this was back when J and I weren’t allowed to play, and I didn’t want to risk bottoming to a total stranger…even if the curriculum sounded excellent. In the end, J and a few other friends convinced me to go, and a friend of mine even offered to partner with me. We’d practiced at ARC events before, L had met him, I trusted him, and J would be there with Le, another rope bottom of his.
It was my first big event – a bit of a splurge, since I cancelled my Geeky Kink Event registration earlier this summer.
God, what a letdown.
First off, this Wondrous Master of Kinbaku was a total jerk! He came off as nice enough – a Florida resident in his early 50’s and a long-time lover of Japanese culture. He was more laidback than I had expected. Unfortunately, he was also pretty ignorant and racist about the culture that he claimed to value so highly, making sweeping (and innacurate!) generalizations and really showing himself to be a bit of a sexist egohead. The “dojo-style” class involved us watching him perform some simple kinbaku-esque ties on various models, and then having us repeat the same tie. I was actually familiar with about 90% of the ropework, as they had already been taught at various ARC events.
As irritating as the class itself was, my own mental state was the bigger concern. Whenever I play with rope, I really require a lot of physical contact. A hand on my shoulder or arm or waist, someone rubbing my back, playing with my hair, nuzzles. It grounds me in my ropespace, connects me to the rope and whoever’s doing the tying. Unfortunately, this type of physical contact really triggers my anxiety whenever I’m not in ropespace but feeling very vulnerable anyway. Due to the class structure, I never hit ropespace. K did all the things I would’ve loved while spacing – he massaged my shoulders and hugged me and was generally awesome. He’s a very considerate top. I spent most of the first day in a nonverbal panic, trying to keep myself together. (K later told me that he got a sense of distance from me that I was trying to cover in order to be polite. I’m impressed that he got such a good read, but also a little sad.) I wanted to talk to J, because he has a lot of the same touch-related triggers as I do, but he was working with Le, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I missed L like crazy, felt guilty about leaving her alone our last weekend before school, and was generally miserable.
It got a little better once J, Le, another friend and I got to the hotel where we’d be crashing. I got a chance to get away from K, and had to decide whether or not I’d attend the play party being held that evening. We all hung out and had a pretty good time – I meditated with MJ, which was pretty intense, and we all encouraged J to wear his exceedingly slutty costume to the play party. (Damn.) I decided to go at the last minute.
As soon as I got to the party, I began to get twitchy. MJ and J could tell that something was wrong, but they clearly weren’t too sure what to do about it, and I assured them that I wanted to wait it out. I watched some of the scenes taking place, and quietly panicked because I didn’t want to play with someone that I didn’t know, MJ and I don’t have compatible play styles, and J was planning on suspending Le. I had nobody to play with, and I didn’t really know anyone. K offered to flog me, which I gladly accepted, because I’ve been going on about how much I’ve missed being hit with things.
K began by hitting my back, ass and thighs with his hands to warm me up. Within the first few hits, I had tears in my eyes. It hurt, but it wasn’t about the pain. It was the panic and anxiety being released. I was flogged for somewhere between 5 and 10 minutes, and by the time I safeworded out, I was sobbing very calmly and methodically. It was like all the tears that I’ve had a hard time crying out since going on meds decided to erupt all at once. K brought me over to a couch and cuddled me, scratched my ears and told me I’d done a really, really good job. I felt a little better, but couldn’t seem to stop crying. He went to go get my pants and shoes, and J came over to look after me (Le was hitting up another potential play partner, I think.) J knelt by the couch and held my hand, and just nuzzled me once in a while until I began to calm down. Le came over and sat next to J. They had a lovely nonverbal moment that I could read pretty clearly.
Sai is hurting. She’s scared, and she needs us.
Le nuzzled against my leg while I leaned on J’s shoulder. They were so, so wonderful. I’m incredibly grateful. After I’d calmed down, J did a self-suspension while Le and I ogled together. It was cute. I discovered that Le is also a little, and I think that really brought us together more than anything. J suspended Le, and then we went back to the hotel. I felt better the next morning – when all was said and done, the scene and the aftercare was very cathartic – but the class was even more obnoxious, so J, Le and I left before lunch. We spent the afternoon exploring Le’s college campus (so pretty!), got coffee, got Indian food, and generally bonded. Plans for bondage snuggles and margaritas are in the works. Hugs and group hugs were had, and then I got to spend the rest of the evening with L. Kind of a mixed weekend, I guess. When it was up, it was really, really up. And when it was down…
Oh! I also got hit on the sternum with a rubber mallet! That was cool! I should ask L if J has permission to hit me hard enough to bruise, because mallets are awesome.
I have wonderful people in my life, and the best Daddy I could ever ask for. (She surprised me with pesto and a cupcake from the farmers’ market when I came home!)
So I’m officially a full-time graduate student. I have one intensive, weeklong course, and then when that’s over at the end of this week I start my regular schedule. Labs, lectures, mandatory club participation, research, a strong chance of submitting work for publication. A thesis – for real this time. Neuroscience and anatomy and kinesiology and a hell of a lot of theory. My four lecture classes each have a lab – one of them has 2! – plus a lab component for my online course.
Yesterday was my first day, and it was crazy stressful. I bit my lip all day. Today was a lot smoother.
L and I are both full-time students, so we’re working on ways to spend time together/give each other the recuperation time that we need, all while balancing academics and L’s job/internship responsibilities. It’s going to be really hard, but I think it will give us new ways of enjoying each other’s company. I already can’t wait for the first chance that we’ll get to sleep in past 5:30 together.
It’s finally happening, you guys!
I got to go to my second rope party with J last Friday! Affectionate nuzzling and cuddling were green-lighted, along with kisses that didn’t involve lips. Sexual touching beyond the inherent sensuality of rope was not. Disappointed, but not surprised. We didn’t take much advantage of the lifted ban on snuggles, but it was nice to know that the option was there.
So many suspensions! (Only two, actually, but they were in rapid succession over a fairly short period of time.) No pictures, unfortunately – J was trying a few new techniques, and between the focus required and the energy of the scene, neither of us thought to ask for pictures. He got some nice pictures of the aftermath, though. Those will probably be forthcoming.
L gave me the go-ahead to get suspended/play in my underwear. (She seemed confused and kind of frustrated with all of my nit-picky questions, but I wanted to cross my t’s and dot my i’s, so to speak.) J had been threatening me with nipple clamps via text earlier that day, and lacy black panties seemed to be an appropriate response. I was looking forward to getting a chance to show off a little – after last weekend, my body confidence has fairly skyrocketed, and I’d been feeling exhibitionistic and horny all week.
Unfortunately, there were only about 5 other people at the party. They were all crowded in the dungeon’s antechamber, learning about some basic rope safety. Everyone was clothed. J asked if we could play in the dungeon, and we were the only two who played there all evening.
I was antsy. My clothes felt scratchy, unnecessary. I wanted the freedom of near-nudity in a way that I usually don’t, unless I’m with L. I wanted to tease. I wanted to feel that same emotional strength that I’d gotten from spending most of last weekend completely naked. It seemed…inappropriate, though. I was the youngest one there by 8 years, and nobody else was making any moves to undress, with the exception of J.
“Do you think I’ll get in trouble? I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable by undressing.”
“Sai, look at you. Nobody is going to stop you. I’m certainly not going to.”
I need more lace panties in my life.
I’d asked J if we could do some floorwork at this party. I enjoy suspensions a lot, but for me, there’s something more intimate about having all of the rigger’s focus. It’s you and the rope, instead of the mechanics and engineering and safety calls that go into suspensions. He suggested that we do all of the preparatory harnesses for the suspension on the ground, and then he’d hoist me 5 feet up into the air. Best of both worlds!
These were tough suspensions. J likes to suspend me in yoga poses, due to our mutual interest. I was put into a seated butterfly pose, and was tied in such a way that I couldn’t move my lower body. That was fine until my arms were bound up in the subsequent chest harness. I was a few feet away from the dangling hard point, sitting in my underwear on a cold, concrete floor. The last time we faced this logistical problem, J just carried me over. This time, he just sort of smirked. He had told me the position he was looking for.
Payback for the lace panties, maybe?
I made it with minimal help, and with a few adjustments, I was up in the air. I was face-down, just a little higher than J, who was sitting back on his heels. It was a lovely moment, a few inches away from being a kiss.
“Shit! Fuck! No fucking way – I left the nipple clamps in the car!”
Clamps hadn’t been run by L, and I’m kind of scared of them anyway. I expressed my relief, and shook my head when he asked if touching my breasts was allowed – less relief, this time.
“This is tragic! I can’t believe I forgot them! You don’t understand just how sad this is – your nipples look absolutely amazing, and I don’t have anything to torture them with!”
Sadists. A breed apart.
From this position, I was lowered until I was completely upside down. It was hard, and scary, but my endurance is definitely improving. I began to get nauseous, so I was lowered back onto the floor and untied. We were both in our underwear by this point, and I’d be lying if I said that some serious eyesex didn’t happen.
The next suspension wasn’t as successful. The goal was to have me suspended from a one-leg harness that J routinely self-suspends himself from, but had never tried on anyone else. There were a few technical difficulties, and although I could’ve handled the position for a few more minutes, J took me down after barely a minute. He’d panicked when he was how purple my leg looked, but we realized that this was probably a result of my albinism. Something to consider.
We got dressed and went back into the antechamber to talk with the other attendees. An expert rigger who frequents ARC was there, and he complimented J and I on our scene(s). This was something that I had not been expecting – respect for my growth as a rope bottom. J hugged me and told me that I’d done very well, that I was a “hardcore suspension bottom”, and that he really appreciated the trust that it took for me to let him dangle me upside down over a concrete floor.
We tried to get ice cream, but the place was closed. We talked about early sexual experiences, and how fucked up sex education is these days. We compared musical tastes, and I congratulated him on his new car, which didn’t stall, break down, or ignite in flames once. We hugged outside of my apartment – I kissed his shoulder, and I think he kissed the top of my head.
All in all, a lovely evening out.