Sunday, December 25

Merry Christmas!

Thank you, dear readers, for your support again this year; particularly in the past few months where I've been distracted by real life and not blogging as frequently as I'd like to.

As I said in my last post, I see my blog as a safe place where I can be me. From the start I've loved processing aloud, sharing my thoughts with you all. But, increasingly, I'm also enjoying sharing the photographs that capture the spirit of me.

This year's photo was taken by my good friend Master Retep during a visit to Camden Town over the summer. It's very fitting as this year's photo, symbolising the main change in my life this year - the move to London. But also showing EJ's cheeky, girly side that lurks within the confident career girl who more regularly travels on the London Underground.  And the faint blush of a smacked bottom reminds me that I'm never too far away from my next spanking.

I hope you love this photo as much as I do. To my surprise and delight, Abel had it printed on canvas for me and it now proudly adorns my bedroom wall.

Merry Christmas to you all and I wish you lots of love and good fortune in 2012!

Friday, December 9

Safe Places

When I was little my Grandmother’s house was a safe place; a refuge from the world of alcoholic parents screaming at each other, and being the eldest child who grew up very quickly. A place where I didn’t have to be in charge and where I was unconditionally loved.

Uni was my next safe place. Living away from home, making new friends, getting involved in things that interested me and for the first time feeling it was all about me. 

In myrew up very quickly. r ng the eldest chidl ld  kinky life my blog became another safe place. Where I processed my new experiences and grew up in the scene.  Amelia Jane put it best when she said her blog is her sitting room where she invites you in to sit down for a chat, but it’s her place and you are a guest.

I feel like that about my blog. It’s my personal place where I talk about what’s important to me in the scene and in my kinky life, sharing with other like-minded people.  But I have been reluctant to let too much of my real life invade this safe place. I preferred to record and live my kinky life only. I’ve never even talked about why I like discipline and rules in my kink, as so many others dissect. The truth is: I’m text book Freud; I grew up without either, I’ve always felt an adult in my house and I love to regress to be without responsibility. In my real life I am organised, controlling and at times domineering.

Apart from discipline and submission I love the catharsis of play. When I’m feeling vulnerable and emotional in my real life I find it empowering to play dark and abusive scenes, where I immerse myself fully and come out the other side having survived.

In roleplay I also get to act out another life. Caoilfhionn is the smart, sporty girl that’s uber confident. Lucy Plackett is the bitch I never was, even if I was capable of it. My Regency ladies are pretty, accomplished  and composed; the equal of everyone else.

And sometimes my EJ is petulant and moody. Sometimes she says things that aren’t nice. But luckily people who care about her don’t let her get away with it. The residual guilt that being nasty leaves me, is effectively dealt with through punishment. 

But despite those intentions real life is creeping in. I can’t explain where my head is at without giving real life context. And where my head is at, influences my play. Which is why back in May I blogged about losing a member of my family; I needed to process the link to roleplay and feeling disconcertingly disgusted by my kink.

Once again I find myself dealing with another family trauma; this time it’s my Grandmother. She’s dying of cancer and I am scared of losing my safe place.  As I come to terms with it I am leaning on my friends who are staying with me, despite the tears, rage and irrationality; a tantrum of epic proportions.

All my friends are being so supportive it’s humbling. Whilst both HH and Abel are offering shoulders to cry on, hugs for when I’m cried out, gentle admonishments when I’m out of line and discipline when the subsequent guilt sets in. The most powerful of which happened at Kink Towers, when HH strapped me for being a bitch and Abel observed. When I petulantly asked why was he even bothering if I was such a nuisance, his patient answer made me cry before the strap landed.

I’m hoping that opening up my blog to these things won’t take away the safety of it. After a couple of years in the scene I thought I didn’t have anything else to learn. The past six months have taught me I can’t pretend kink and real life can be kept separate. I can’t switch one off when I please; they both clamour for my attention and both insist on impacting the other.

Just as my friendships can no longer be defined as kinky or vanilla. They are simply friendships and how we met is now irrelevant. And the ones that have prospered the most are those where all aspects of our lives intertwine, easily and beautifully. I have found another safe place.