Stamping my foot...

I haven’t been neglecting my blog; I’ve actually been avoiding it. My last post was very raw for me and the comments and emails from you all overwhelmed me. I felt needy and attention seeking, doubting my dramatic sentiments. And yet your support on here, via email, over Twitter, meant a huge amount to me.  But I couldn’t respond, had nothing else to say.

I didn’t want the next post to be in that vein. I wanted to come back with something cracking and insightful, entertaining and thought provoking; hence the silence. I haven’t had the energy to write such a post. I’ve had plenty of things I want to write about, but little concentration or ability to get past an idea in my head. So I left it for a few days until I had something kinky to offer. And a few days turned into weeks until it’s nearing the end of a calendar month of nothing and I find myself despairing of ever blogging again. Just like I despair about ever being properly kinky me again.

When I wrote my last post I expected the aversion to kink would be a blip, that I would quickly be back to roleplay and hard core scenes. As much as anything I figured I’d need the distraction; would need to lose myself from the everyday pain and stress. But it hasn’t happened that way.

Yes the aversion passed. I know I still crave what I’ve always craved. I find myself coming up with roleplay ideas, stories to write, fantasies to share. It’s better than hating the whole idea of it all. But actually playing has been far harder. At times it’s felt like the most horrendous pain, even a handspanking or gentle strapping. I find myself questioning what is the point of feeling such pain, what did I ever get out of it? And then there’s still a little niggle that it’s all a bit stupid.

The irony of it all is that I really need the release and catharsis that I can only get from play. Apart from the bereavement, there’s a hell of a lot of other stuff going on in my life. New country, new house, new job, new inner circle; a time of enormous change. The past, present and future all seem to be colliding with each other and I’m struggling to keep all the balls in the air. Kink has by necessity fallen down the priorities, yet it’s also a source of comfort and release I’m now lacking.

The first weekend after going home and dealing with the horribleness I went to visit HH. I warned him the idea of roleplay left me cold, but that I wanted and needed to try to play. Indy was there for the first night and being able to talk to someone so emapthetic really helped; as did HH’s hugs, picking up from where Abel had left off. It reinforced what I’d been feeling all week, that I was surrounded by good people and real friends. 

For that weekend with HH I told him I wanted to feel safe and little girl like, not to make decisions, be told when to sleep and eat and be disciplined in between. As I’ve blogged about before I am mainly disciplined for transgressing agreed boundaries, which I generally ask to be out in place.  But more and more we play a game of me being at best submissive, but more usually obedient to HH. When he uses a certain tone I obey or face the consequences. It’s not a constant feature of our time together but it’s frequent enough for it to feel real, for me to respond to the tone . I’m at my most calm and safe when I’m answerable to him. It takes the strain of real life away and let’s me be or play at being a carefree individual. It’s a complex dynamic and only works from a trust built up over two years of playing. At this point I don’t know if it’s play or real. I wouldn’t disobey him and I fret when I even feel resistant in complying. However he’d never ask me something I couldn’t or wouldn’t accede to. I don’t really have a label for it: it is what it is and that’s enough for me.

This kind of play or real life discipline is pretty much all I’ve been capable of play wise. That weekend, I got a bed time spanking to settle me for bed. But I couldn’t cry, couldn’t find the release. I had cried so much that now I couldn’t, so much was out of my control that suddenly this was my way of taking some back. All the opposite to how I wanted it to be. And so the weekend went on with me struggling to cry and he being endlessly patient.  Dealing with me when I went cold and angry at feeling pain, responding to my neediness with punishment and orders, continuing to persevere even when I was becoming defiant, trusting me more than I deserved to be.

On the Saturday night he resolved to break me. Told me he’d start with a spanking and then I’d get slippered. The thought of the slipper filled me with dread. But in truth the hand spanking was the hardest I’ve ever had and that’s saying a lot. I thought at one stage he was using a hairbrush it stung so much, and not only did it sting but it was so fast. In my mind I thought I don’t want this I’m just going to end it, there’s nothing to be got from this. But I hung in there, I too wanted to break. I was sweating from the effort of taking it, struggling to breathe from pain. 

Then he paused and said he didn’t think he’d slipper me after all, that his hand was sufficient.  And this act of mercy undid me. I started to cry, softly at first, then loud gulping sobs. I didn’t notice when the spanking stopped. I cried through the hugs and then I let it all out. Beat my fists on the bed in frustration and anger then finally let myself cry for what I had lost, the person I had lost, silent tears of personal grief. When you’re the fixer in your family, the forever dependable adult from a very young age, it’s very hard to let your own feelings take precedence. It takes being treated like a small girl with no responsibility to let myself be selfish with my feelings.  I cried for a long time because I was allowed to. Indulged myself until I had cried myself out.

And I slept properly that night, deeply.

Of course it didn’t last. One weekend and one spanking can’t fix everything. My subconscious wouldn’t let me escape.  Through a series of dreams made me guilty for imagined responsibilities I was shirking, brought up the past and left me more unsettled. I tried to play with Abel but resorted to hugs after the briefest of spankings. Attempted to play at a party but couldn’t make it work for me, it just felt like pain; needless pain.

Right now I’m on the way back from visiting HH again and I take a sliver of light with me. It’s been another weekend of struggle but in the midst of it all there was one scene where I did let go a little and get partly into the head of another. A baby step, but a step none the less.

However we did a lot of D/s play which I did enjoy. Sent to wait in various positions. Then made to hold them as he beat me; the worst on my back with my legs in the air and the cane striping my thighs. The only downside of our play was that it felt much more painful than usual. Whether that’s because I’m out of practice or he was being really viscous or I can’t process pain the same way I cannot tell. But it’s a sign of how much I fear and respect him that I took what he gave me, even when my head wasn’t fully engaged.  It felt like a very safe place and as the weekend wore on I became more relaxed.

As I write this I’m sitting very uncomfortably on the train home. I have hope that I’ve made a kinky step forward but trying not to run away with myself. It is what it is. I need to let it be what it is. As usual I understand the logic. I rationalise my feelings perfectly. Yet, I have so little patience. I want the world to get back on its smooth access and until it does I’m going to stamp my foot a little. Thankfully I’ve got my friends and partners to rebalance me and keep me in line. I’ll get there.