Goings-On

Dear Blog,

I know, I've been woefully neglectful the past few months, but really I have a lot going on, so it's not you. It's me.

I'm going to Momentum this weekend. How could I pass up a chance to see most of my favorite educators and a good number of my favorite kinky-kinsmen? While I'm there I'll be going to Dark Odyssey's Happy Hour, and a friend's birthday party, plus some tentative extra stuff that should be interesting. It promises to be a great weekend!

Also, have some scene plans in progress for Fusion, working on an Unbirthday Party for my cabin (saturated with kink, of course).

I also finally submitted my application for school, I should hear something back in 3-5 weeks from today. I'm extremely nervous, and half-tempted to post my essay on here. Would anyone take the time to give me an honest opinion? I can't change anything about it now, but I'd like to know if I missed something by chance. If you'd like to, feel free to drop a comment here, and if I get a few responses I'll post it.

Ive been extremely fortunate the past few days. Since I'm so far from the community im choosing to be a part of, it's hard to feel connected. The past few days have been great though, lots of communication and just enjoying seeing what other people are saying via twitter and fetlife. If you habenet followed me on twitter, or dropped me a message on fetlife, feel free to do so, I love talking to new people.

Also, big news! I'll be posting a review of Tristan Taormino's Rough Sex 3: Adrianna's Dangerous Mind where the gorgeous Adrianna Nicole pushes her boundaries and delivers a full movie full of incredibly steamy scenes produced by the ever-talented Tristan Taormino, so check back in for that!

Until next time, hopefully not too long from now.

Resounding

It's been two weeks since Winter Fire, and already it feels like a lifetime ago.

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Just a note, this post is more of the actual things that went on, and less about how I felt and how they effected me, that will come in a later post. I'm still working things out, as usual.
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Driving up was actually great this time, the weather was beautiful and it was about 3 hours shorter than the trip to Camp. No traffic, even in the city, and luckily the hotel was very easy to find (although getting in the door with all of my stuff, not so easy).

Remind me next year to try carrying all of my stuff at once instead of packing up the car with the logic that, if it's less than what I brought to Summer Camp, it'll be fine.

Instead of going through a play-by-play of the entire weekend, I'll hit the highlights.

I had a lot of firsts this go-round, and tried some things that weren't in my usual scope. I had my first foot massage (with mouth) that was really enjoyable, mostly because they were in absolute heaven and also because it felt really good for my tired feet. Mine were two of about 10-12 feet on them, and they were one happy Bunny. I also had my first full caning (tried it once before, but was only a sampling) and also was told that my skin marks easily, but goes away quickly. I should mention that I see this as an upside and a downside. The upside is that I get very pretty marks and designs quickly, the downside is that they go away quickly too. I gave one of my roommates some lovely hallucinogenic orgasms (I'll be bragging about this one for a while folks) and also watched a waiter get his spanking cherry popped.

Overall, I didn't do much in the way of play. I saw a lot, met a great deal of people, and just enjoyed myself. I met a few people who I've admired since I first went to Summer Camp, and I met a lot more who I never expected. It was really weekend among friends, and I left feeling very thankful for it.

But, onto the juicy bits...

I saw my first pole dance from not one but two strippers. The bonus points came when they started teaching each other moves on the pole. I had a front row seat (naturally) but if I turned my head to the left I could watch three very distracted men in a refreshing all-male tango, it was really a tough choice for my eyes, and spent a good amount of time watching each scene.

Normally I wouldn't get too excited over strippers and male-group-sex, but you gotta understand, I'm living in a state where gay is alright outside the bedroom -- as long as all of your clothes are on, and where if you're a woman wanting to go to a strip club you need a male escort to accompany you at all times. It's frustrating, so scenes like this taking place in the corporate meeting room of a hotel, it's just exciting.

In one night I discovered my love of holding hands and a love of fire. I held the hands of two pincushions as they were transformed into works of art (one into a violin, the other into a jungle scene complete with parrot) and it was really a good time. I have an awful awful fear of needles and staples and most things sharp and pointy that pierce skin, so holding their hands while they got skewered soothed my fears. My nervousness which usually comes out in humor-vomit also set them at ease. Whoever said humor and laughter doesn't belong in a dungeon clearly never got jabbed with surgical staples. I even got a lovely kiss afterwards from the boy with the jungle scene!

I was fire cupped for the first time, which was interesting, it's so hard to describe the feeling because its so much more than intense pressure on a particular spot of your body. I found that the cups on my legs and labia were cold, while the ones on my back and later my chest were warm. Certain spots on my body were fine with the cups, but others really really weren't, and I pulled some contorted faces and swore to the high heavens when he moved them around on me, still suctioned to my body I might add.

Back to the skin thing, I only got one really good bruise from the cupping, and that lasted about a week and a half afterwards, it was a perfect dark purple circle just below my left shoulder blade, it was my one physical trophy from Winter Fire.

I also demo-bottomed for the cock-sucking workshop led by Dr. Ruthie, which was an absolute blast. I was a demo-mouth, and my demo-cock partner really loved teeth, I enjoyed it. As the workshop was winding down I gave a few more blowjobs to some of the audience, and I got to try a flavored lube for the first time, I think it was dulce de leche flavored? It tasted great, and I should add that the lube was needed cause I was giving blowjobs with latex gloved hands to condom-wrapped penises, and spit can only go so far.

I bought a gorgeous green silk brocade corset from Le Chateau Exotique which was my big purchase for the weekend, I do wish I could wear it more often, it's really a work of art. I also purchased two full length floggers and a full riding crop, which so far have proven to be a sound investment.

I also saw my very first burlesque show! It was a great time, and the performers were absolutely gorgeous, and one in particular was positively ingenious.

So, here comes the big shake-up of my Winter Fire weekend. Ready for it?

I delved into the woo-woo, and I came out sweaty, sore, content, and confused.

I, who have renounced pretty much everything spiritual and mystical, jumped head-first into the womb of woo-woo, and I so wasn't ready for it.

But that's next time.

I wish, I wish

I really do wish there were more than 24 hours in a single day. Although the past week or so has been pretty exciting and nerve-wracking for me. I finished my admissions essay (after about 4 months of writer's block) and I have to say, I'm pretty sure I killed it. Or at the very least I brought people to tears, so either I've succeeded in writing an exceptionally good essay, or an exceptionally bad essay. Either way, it's exceptional.

I'm still so nervous though, especially about the things that I can't control anymore like test scores. I want to get into this particular school so badly but I'm terrified that everything I've done just might not be enough.

Which is why I made a back-up plan, and am applying to a second out-of-state school. It's not in a major city, and it isn't particularly ideal, but it'll do. I also have a back-up to my back-up, which is the local university. I'm definitely not worried about getting in there, so I guess no matter what I'll be in college come Fall. Finally.

So between work and flipping out about college applications, it hasn't left me with much time for other things, like sleeping. I'm also gearing up for Dark Odyssey's Winter Fire, and I can't begin to tell you how excited I am to be escaping reality for a while. I except to return home tiptoeing on clouds, or at the very least hovering just a tiny bit.

I also got this sexy lime green toolbox that I've converted into a toy box. I'll have the most distracting toy box in the dungeon, maybe.

I should also mention that I'll be wearing not one, but two dresses over the course of Winter Fire, and one corset. This is a weekend for the record books, folks.

Oh don't worry. I'll tell you all about it.

Cheers!

Connecting

I'll be the first to admit that the past 6 months all but broke me.

It's the strangest feeling, being in your body but knowing parts of you are missing. You almost can't help but check your limbs to make sure everything is there. There's a profound sense of being hollow, and you try pouring  whatever you can into yourself, only it's never filled.

I felt disconnected, I still feel disconnected. Slowly though, things began to build mass. I cut my hair, got different glasses, cared for myself, and yesterday I actually spent a solid 7 hours cleaning and scrubbing my apartment. It's the first time I did more than what was absolutely necessary in months. I reached out to a friend that I hadn't been there for as much as I should have, and we talked. It was really nice. I cried.

Slowly, parts of me are coming back together. Sexually I'm completely blank. I haven't felt connected to myself sexually in ages. I don't bother masturbating, I don't bother putting any effort into finding partners, I don't even want to watch porn. I've made some play-dates for Winter Fire, surprisingly it's more topping for me, which is unusual, but I'm excited. I'm hoping that weekend will be the jolt I need to pull myself entirely together.

It makes sense though, that my sexuality would be the last piece of the puzzle. My sexuality springs from my mental security. I have to suss out my major problems before I can really connect with my sexual self. And once I'm together, and whole, then I can start connecting with other people.

I'm getting closer. Last night I went out with a friend and coworker for her birthday, a lot of other people we knew were there, and some people I didn't. I had a really great time, granted I was slightly intoxicated, but even before then, it was fun. I was actually reasonably social, which is never something that has come easily to me.

Connecting with people has always been hard for me, I've always been more of a thinker than a speaker. I listen, but I don't always catch everything, and it's always been easier to just maintain the relationship I have with myself than to maintain it with others. I've gotten better connecting with other people, but I feel like I still have so far to go.

Right now, I'm focused on connecting with myself again. I know me better than anyone, I just have to find me again.

Burn

I'll be the first to admit that I'm extremely emotional. When I feel something, it's complete and absolute, it's something I can feel radiating through me in waves, it's intense and powerful and an absolute roller-coaster at times.

The past few weeks I haven't had that though, the only thing radiating through me is containment, control. It's been calm, eerily calm, and I'm not exactly sure why. My logical self has taken the wheel, and my emotional self is somewhere else, maybe in the trunk, or just napping in the back-seat. Granted, I tend to make better long-term decisions when I'm being logical, but there's just something so -alive- about being emotional.

My best guess is that I'm under repair, like one of those old rickety fair rides that looks like it was supposed to break yesterday, and they finally got around to shutting it down for a while so they could look it over and fix it. It's happened to me before, when something happens that I can't process quickly, and eventually I get over it, but something feels more permanent this time. It just feels like if I do revert back to being emotional, that cold logic will still be there, more pronounced than before.

I don't think I'm broken, I think I have a lot left to process. I've dealt with so much but I still have even more left to sort through. I need to get things in order.

There's my favorite word, order. No matter what anyone says, the key to being bat-shit crazy is having your ducks in a row first, then you turn into a hurricane.

But I want to burn, I want to smolder with emotion again. I want to feel as if I'm going to burst at the seams from anything, any emotion at all, I'll take it. If I'm lucky, it'll be passion. You really get to shine with passion, it's the best feeling in the world; warm and comforting, but at the same time it's intense and electric, and it doesn't have to be about another person, it can be anything. Your whole body hums with it.

I'm not sure how you might describe it, I don't know how other people experience things. It's the best high in the world though.

It's a process, and I'm changing, which is scary. But the more I look at the changes, the more I seem to like them. I'm being reworked with heat and pressure, and hopefully the next finished product will be even better.

Well hello there...

This is more of a reminder to myself, but I'm still alive. 

Right now life has me pretty busy. Between my real job, moonlighting as an accountant, getting ready for Winter Fire (more about that another time), some new things in my life, an odd fascination with a TV show, lots of thought and contemplation, and very strange dreams, I've been pretty consumed.

I like it though, there's a hum of excitement around and I have that stomach-twisting-thrill-of-new-things feeling all the time. For the first time in a long time my mood isn't overcast, it's turned to the positive and I feel lighter. In the past few weeks a lot has changed for me, I made some hard decisions and some changes, and the more things settle down the more I feel that I made the right decision about a lot of things.

I know, this is pretty vague, but specifics aren't really necessary right now. The bottom line is that I've made some changes in my life and I'm starting to see the benefits. I'm busy, and hopefully soon I'll have a lot to share. 

Once I'm done percolating, of course.

Until next time...

Ties that Bind

I was tied up when my father died.

Not figuratively, literally tied up.

I've only mentioned it once to someone, even then I don't think I got it all off my chest.

I should elaborate.

My father had been in declining health for years, he was home most of the time, just drained. He had slowly dulled, and at the time none of us really noticed the slight changes. It was a slight decline at first, like how you don't notice that a floor slopes a certain way until you accidentally drop something round. Then, suddenly, he didn't just decline, he plummeted, if you want a specific date, it was August 30th, 2006. He had heart bypass surgery a few weeks before, and after his surgery he was glowing, his color and stature, everything. He appeared decades younger. Suddenly though, everything drained out of him, and on August 30th, his birthday, we brought him to the emergency room. He was admitted, and a few days later he was in ICU. At first he was telling us he would be out in a few days, saying that was more for him, he hated hospitals. A few days and then his words were slurred, his eyes were slightly glazed, his hand would twitch, he would see things, things you knew were vivid to him, he was in it. A few more days and he didn't know who I was. He couldn't form words, only noises. His whole body twitched. And he would look at me with the most blank empty stare. He was so far from the father I worshiped, his skin was pale with a hint of gray, his shoulders slumped, his eyes were empty, glazed over and dull.

I couldn't look at him without doubling over, weeping.

It got to the point where the doctors said he would be lucky to make it through the night. My mother was barely holding it together. My sister had completely withdrawn. I was drained, exhausted. That night they found the infection on his sternum. It had festered to the point where the infection seeped into his bone, by this point his liver and kidneys were failing, they air-lifted him to another nearby hospital the next state over.

His recuperation was long, he spent months in the hospital, it was a miracle he was alive, but he'd never be the same. His kidneys were shot, he was resigned to dialysis three times a week. He lost circulation in his right foot, his toes and part of his foot were removed.

August 30th would be the last time my father ever walked.

Eventually he would come home, and we tried to find some sort of normality. He would still go upstairs, sitting and lifting himself up to the next stair, we kept wheelchairs upstairs and downstairs for him. My father, who used to spend his time tinkering with computer software for major corporations, was now on a solid schedule of doctor's appointments, dialysis, and sitting around the house. His depression was evident, he felt useless.

Over time, he would spend about a week per month in the hospital with another infections. His limbs were slowly taken away until he had no legs, and one hand that only had a thumb. He was in constant and excruciating pain. In his last year of life, he couldn't do anything for himself, he couldn't feed himself, bathe himself, he needed help going to the bathroom, my sister would brush his teeth for him, he spent almost all of his time in bed.

I wish I could say I was there, helping my mother and sister care for my dad. I wish I could say that I was able to step up, but I wasn't. I was there when I could, but I still cried when I saw him. I rarely visited him in the hospital, I had nightmares where I found him, giving me that empty blank stare again.

A few days before his 56th birthday, my father was in his room, and my mom heard him talking to someone. He was talking to his father, my grandfather, who had passed away before I was born. My father asked him if he would be going to heaven, my father asked if everything would be alright without him there. My father wept while my mother held him, he was scared, terrified by what he had just seen.

That night he told my sister and I about what he had seen, he couldn't say more than a few words without crying again. My mother had to tell most of the story.

August 30th, 2010, my father decided that he would no longer go to dialysis, he refused any treatment, he stopped taking his medications. He decided it was time.

A few days without dialysis and your body builds up toxins that would normally be flushed away. A few more days without dialysis, and you stop thinking clearly. Your words slur, your body twitches, your tongue swells, you lose your connection with reality.

At least, that's what happened to my father. He believed he still had legs, he would get angry, so angry, when he tried to get out of bed, and you stopped him. He would yell, and those would be the only words you could understand. Some of the last things he ever said to me were out of anger, horrible things. What hurt more was that he had no idea he was saying them, or why.

I was hardly in a good place. I needed a release, I needed some way to refocus myself on something else, to get out of my own head for a while.

I had been talking to someone locally about trying a rope scene. I had never been bound before.

We met on Sunday, September 5th for coffee. We talked, we discussed, we negotiated.

He wanted to get together soon, I wanted to make sure everything was alright at home. I said I'd call if I got some free time, I had already been away from my parents' house for a little bit more than an hour and was nervous. I kept checking my phone for missed calls all through coffee.

When I got back, my mom was awake, sitting on the couch, crying. My dad was in bed, yelling, screaming her name, he was angry, no one knew what he wanted. This was pretty much normal.

A few hours later he was asleep, my uncle was there, and my sister was home to help my mother, she said I could leave and get away for a few hours. I guess it was pretty obvious that I was cracking.

I left and called my coffee date. I asked him if we could meet, I wanted to be bound.

I went home, got some things, and met him in a parking lot a few miles from his house. I left my car, and rode with him, he didn't have enough parking space for me to drive myself. He lived with two other guys, they were all in college. His room screamed college bachelor, minus the posters of almost naked women advertising beer. He gave me a quick orientation, getting his ropes and showing me the material, explaining what he'd be doing, asking me questions, answering my questions, and then he tied me up.

About two hours later, my phone rang. He untied me and I answered, it was my sister.

She told me to come home, quickly. I asked if dad was alright, she said "Just come home."

I got dressed, gathered my things, and we left. He drove painfully slow, although I'm sure he was speeding. I wanted to get out and run back to my car, I felt like that would be faster.

After I got to my car, I raced to my parents' house. Halfway there I got a text message, from my cousin, saying if I needed anything, to call her. I messaged back asking what had happened, no response.

It's really a wonder I didn't get pulled over, or crash. I was checking Facebook, trying to see if there were any answers. I saw a message another cousin had posted, saying RIP.

I drove faster.

I flew into the driveway, spraying gravel as I braked. I didn't even close my car door, I just got out and ran. Inside, I saw my uncle sitting, typing up an email, then, in my dad's room, I saw my mom. She was sitting in a chair, holding my dad's hand, crying. Then I saw my dad.

You read things about how people look when they die. How the skin loses color and turns a lifeless gray, how, if you stare long enough, you can almost see them move. It's all true.

I couldn't stop apologizing, leaning over my father and weeping, saying over and over again how sorry I was that I wasn't there.

I've never been more ashamed.

Everyone was in a fog, I think. At least I was. The priest was called, the prayers were said, the funeral home director came and with an assistant took my father's body out, draped in a flag, and drove him away.

The next few days were simply going through the motions. Everyone said the same thing to me, they were sorry for my loss, I responded the same way to everyone. We miss him, he's in a better place, his pain is over, thank you for coming, thank you for calling, thank you for thinking of us.

I tend to tackle most problems head-on. I reason with it, I understand it, I make a decision and then I'm done with it. This was so much bigger, I put it away. I tied up my feelings and buried them as deeply as I could manage.

About a week after his funeral, I went to Summer Camp. The sun shone, everyone was friendly and open, my head was clear. I'm not sure if running off to sex camp is considered appropriate mourning, but I needed it. I had forgotten how to smile, how to laugh, and Summer Camp gave that back to me. It was the escape that reminded me how to experience joy.

I haven't touched rope since. I tried a rope workshop at camp, and even though I was calm and knew there was nothing to be afraid of, my palms were sweaty. I couldn't help but feel my phone in my pocket, focused on it, waiting for it to buzz, waiting for a phone call. I know it's all psychological, some day I'll try it again, but right now I have this obstacle.

I still mourn the loss of my father, I'll always miss him. There are so many conversations we never had, so many things we'll never do, so many things he'll never see. There are some days I forget he's dead, and then I'll remember. There are some times where I could swear it's been years since he passed, there are some times where I could swear it's been hours. It's been a little more than four months.

This is a story I've wanted to tell for a while. Believe it or not, this is the condensed version, I could spend days relating every little detail. I'm no longer ashamed, I'm sad. I wish I had been there, and I'm sad that I wasn't, but I would still like to ask something of anyone who reads this.

What I ask is that you take something from this story. Don't settle on something as simple as 'life is short'. We all know life is short. We all know that we want more time. Let this roll around in your mind, let it build mass until a though, and idea, a feeling is tangible to you. I don't ask that it be profound, I ask that it be true to your own story. Then, I ask that you remember it.

Why do I ask this?

It's hard to explain, but simply put, I want my father's reach to be far. I want him to be in the minds of more than his family. I want his story to be told, I want something good to come from it.

So, take a few moments to think and absorb.

My father died from complications due to uncontrolled diabetes. He could have lived decades longer had he managed his diet and life. As a daughter who watched her father crumble, whither, then die, and as a sister who watched her younger sibling grow up with only memories of her sick, dying father, I can say that all of this was preventable. What I take from this, is that we owe it to ourselves, and to our loved ones, to take care of ourselves.

That sometimes, you have to change to survive and thrive.

Until next time...