The Knee Jerks

On Thanksgiving Day, I felt ‘off’, all day. Weepy and odd, a ball of emotion. So extremely thankful for so many things in my life, hopeful and blessed beyond measure. Also, confused about how to deal with my family and upset at myself for avoiding them, even on Thanksgiving. A closeness to friends online, a few beautiful women who enrich my life like I hadn’t imagined friends could, but wistful and sad that I cannot sit and speak to them, see their faces, the brightness in their eyes and the shine in their smiles. So incredibly happy about the positive changes in our household over the last year, yet worried about some of the speed bumps we hit. Just life, all of it. I was just thinking of all of it.

In the kitchen, after a morning and afternoon of hanging out together, playing games and eating a lovely lunch, M and I were cleaning up a bit. He did something so trivial and for whatever reason, I flashed him a look. For the first time since this all began, I FELT the old Kay rear in that moment. That look was much more than a look, it said so many things. Ugly things. And his reaction was the reaction of the old M.

We both knew it, right away. He left the room. Of course, I felt terrible, but I didn’t run after him or push him to speak about it. I waited. When we’d both had a bit to think, I apologized. I let him in on what had been weighing on me, which was no excuse, just a way for him to understand. He did the same for me.

Later, I received a consequence. I apologized a few more times. I was embarrassed and so disappointed I’d allow myself to react like that, to hurt him. No matter how raw or confused I’ve been, I haven’t reverted to a reaction so much like that old me. A knee jerk, backward. Those old us’s, echoing.

Even later in the evening, as his body covered mine, he whispered in my ear.

“You tell that old Kay she’s not welcome here anymore. This new us works, it’s who we are. There’s no room for that, anymore.”

“Yes, Sir.”


Yeah, that’s how I say it. I even gave it my own definition – the act of touching one’s self purely for the pleasure of one’s Master, at the direction of said Master. Because, at my house, that’s the only kind of bation going on.

Since we began down this path, I’ve had to ask permission to come. That evolved into permission to touch myself or use any toys alone. In the beginning, maybe a handful of times, I asked. Usually if he wasn’t home and I thought it would be hot to ask…knowing he’d know what I was doing at home while he was not.

That lost it’s luster pretty quickly. Our connection became so primal and deep so quickly, masturbation wasn’t even something that crossed my mind. I had no desire to touch myself – I’d much rather be in his presence, feel his skin, hear his voice and his commands. In fact, I’d become so engrained with the notion of asking to come and doing so via his doing, it became difficult to do so without him touching me or being in control of the activity.

This particular activity is one M likes. It’s one of the things he expressed interest in not long after this all began, one of the things we’d not communicated about before. The first few times, it felt awkward and I was so self-conscious. The look in his eyes and the obvious, positive reactions he had, along with the fact that he was directing the activity helped to make me feel more comfortable. It was something he’d ask for occasionally.

The week leading up the that catalyst event, M asked for me to Master-Bate several times. It had been a while, and that first time, I was having a difficult time in my head. Intellectually, I knew he was telling me to do it because he wanted me to. It was a way for him to feel control, still be sexual and connected and touching, and maybe be less stressful on his body after all the work he’d done on the house. But emotionally, I wondered if he was doing it because he thought I just wanted to have an orgasm. Because he thought I needed it. And now, I was also experiencing some difficultly getting there, because my body and mind were so used to his touch or his command, under different circumstances.

We had a lot of communicating to do after that first time. We talked about all those feelings. He expressed his desire to have me carry out his instructions. I had to resolve in my head that he was doing what pleased him, period. And that’s all I want, to make him happy. It’s not about an orgasm! It’s about us connecting so deeply and freely, together. You know what he did? He had me do it again. And again. And again. He even forced orgasms. He even made me force my own.

Such a simple act, but it’s only deepened our connection. I must trust him. I listen to his voice and his breath, usually on my cheek. I feel his body next to mine, his breathing reacting to the sounds of my pleasure. The low growls and commands in my ear. His hands, roaming my body, one hand usually clasped around my neck. I just follow. That’s the only kind of bation for me.

Just Weight

I’ve always felt just a little ‘off’ or different in social situations. Like I’m the puzzle piece that just doesn’t quite fit right. I’ve felt like I fit better in some places, with some people. I’ve even had best friends who’ve known me well, but only as much as I allowed them too. So I suppose some of that feeling different is, or has been, my own doing. Either way, I’ve always felt I had something to prove.

Being overweight was definitely a contributing factor to that feeling, later in life. I began to gain weight beginning around age 25 or so and kept it on until about 40. I’ve written about it before….I began to feel like I either stuck out like a blinking billboard, or that I was invisible. I felt like I spent a lot of time worrying so much about what others thought of me…either trying to blend in or trying to just be heard and be valued for what I had to offer, instead of being unheard or discredited for what I looked like to them. I needed people to see beyond the layers, to like what was deep inside. But, that’s so terrifying.

I have lost (still more to go, ideally) and I don’t know if letting go of control to M has contributed to the depth to which I feel exposed, but I do feel so raw and exposed. I imagined I’d feel so much more confident. I have moments of feeling better about how I look in the mirror with clothes on and I feel proud of my accomplishment….but I’m no less insecure. It’s just different. Sometimes I’m even so angry that I worked so hard and my body is still so imperfect. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. I’m not looking for perfection, but I didn’t imagine I’d be left with skin and saggy bits and other shit like that. Add to that my awkwardness in small talk situations and feeling like I just want to be myself and not worry about proving a damn thing to anybody (but worried that will scare the shit out of people or flat out disappoint them), and that weight wasn’t the only thing creating ‘layers’. Now, I don’t have it to hide behind. Crazy, I know.

Most importantly, I’m understanding that exposed feeling is a feeling I’m much more comfortable with. It may always feel that way, so I’m making peace with it. It allows me to be me.

Just As He Is

M’s body hurts. He wants me to get it through my head that’s he’s not broken, but I know he hurts, that’s he is always in pain. He manages it well and hides it well, too. Except, I see it. I feel it. So many thoughts go through my head, all the time – regret for not having been happier and more sexually fulfilled together earlier in life, confusion over whether to express my wants or needs and worry he feels he needs to continue to keep me happy or I’ll be unfulfilled, and even guilt for having needs or wants that may not mesh with what his body can do. Most of all, I have an overwhelming desire to make his days better and easier and just happy. To be the best me I can be to just make him as happy as I can. All the time.

This is one of the topics that has been a continual discussion, especially since that catalyst event. A long while ago, I stopped asking for sex. Not that I don’t flirt and express my desire for him, because I do, but I don’t ask for sex. We discuss our wants and desires with one another and I can ask for something to be on our list of things to try, but he decides if and when, not me. I don’t even touch his cock without permission. 😃 I want to allow him to lead, to get out of his way.

Although I’d stopped asking for sex, that catalyst event was the perfect example of how I’d still operate with expectations. I trusted M to lead us sexually, but my own control issues still got in the way. Maybe not control, but my lack of trust. More specifically, my lack of trust in me, not him.

My sexual expectations ALWAYS revolve around whether something will happen when I think it will. Because I think it should…because if he loved me and valued me, he’d want me. He’d want that time to be with me, in that way. Because I want him to think I’m worth that effort. I don’t feel worthy and I want to be worth that effort. I want him to want me so much, that he just can’t help himself. That’s the crazy, selfish truth.

Add to that notion the fact that M is not historically a man of many words, and that seemed to help fuel those expectations. I see all the little things he does….the caresses, the ass smacks, the neck kisses and nose kisses, the snuggles and hair pulls…and the list goes on and on. I KNOW what he means with his actions. But, sometimes, in the absence of words, the grander gestures speak volumes. At least, that’s what I thought.

Since that first big talk, we’ve talked and talked about this, about these things. About how his body doesn’t always cooperate with what he’d want or like to do. But, what we’ve found is that we’ve had to consciously connect in so many more ways, so much more deeply even than before, outside the bedroom. I didn’t think that was even possible, but it has been. It’s opened up even freer, more frequent communication, which is insane. M even expresses himself more.

We are still very active sexually, but sometimes, that means getting a little creative. It’s meant a lot more letting go from me. I have to trust he’s doing what his body can handle and trust that whatever it is he’s asking of me is what HE wants and isn’t just for me. I have to let go of and adjust (and continually so) those expectations. I have had to work on knowing he loves and wants me and that his sexual desire for me is not the only way he shows me. He shows me all day, every day. He has nothing to prove and neither do I. We just are, and will always be.

I love him more than I ever thought I could love another, just as he is.

My Blogging Journey

For the last 10 years or so, my job up has allowed me to be largely isolated from adults for most of the day. It’s allowed for a tremendous amount of introspection, a whole lot of learning about myself and my relationship with M, and it’s allowed me to be present for my children. But, it’s also allowed me to retreat to an extent, inside my head and those affects have been both positive and negative. I over think everything. I doubt too often. I try too hard. Yet, I’ve come to a place of peace within myself, amidst any churning emotions or struggle, a place I know I’m meant to be. A place where I can be ME. A place where I’ve made true friends.

On top of all the things M and I have been working on and talking about since that catalyst event, I can’t stop thinking about these friendships I’ve made. The ones I’m making. The entire process of connecting with others via the internet, actually. Of putting myself out there, honest and raw, for anyone to see. It all began about a year ago…..

After M and I returned from our 15th anniversary trip in October last year, I knew something about us was different and moving in a direction we were both pleased with, but I was still rather lost. I’d read dozens and dozens of books. We’d been getting kinkier and I’d been consciously facing some difficult things, trying desperately to make some positive, lasting changes, and beginning the process of letting go since earlier in the year.

It began with Tumblr. I’d been reveling in the freedom of expressing my sexuality and exploring it in ways I’d never done before. Looking at and reblogging photos and talking to M about them. Trying my hand at some pretty poor erotic writing. Then, I ran across the blog of a woman who wrote about her journey of submission, which quickly turned to frantically seeking words written by other women who’d maybe walked or were walking a similar path. I found some. Wonderful, expressive women who shared their beautiful words and experiences and I was profoundly affected. This thing in my head, this idea of how I might want my life to look, it was no longer something I just read about in fortyhundredtwentyseven books. It was REAL. I immersed myself in reading all the things I could find on Tumblr about D/s and submission. As I did, I ran across a letter, written by a woman which affected me so deeply. It resonated, it mirrored thoughts and feelings, and it gave me hope like I hadn’t had before. Most of all, it helped me have the courage to speak to M about what I really wanted. About what I felt we needed, the both of us….and so it began, this journey together.

Immediately, I felt this urgency to get my emotions out in writing, a medium I hadn’t used in years, apart from things I’d written to M. I needed to sort and feel and experience it all and I NEEDED to write it as it happened, as I felt it. I felt as if I desperately needed to create a space to connect with others who seemed to be helping to light my path. I felt as if we’d be lost without that connection. As I wrote and others commented, I realized just how desperately I craved that connection. Not just the reading of words, but the exchange between us. Tumblr makes that exchange process rather difficult with it’s awkward system of character limiting commentary and who-the-fuck-knows-if-my-message-was-received messaging. It takes forever to have a conversation and get to know anyone. I felt like I was pouring my heart and soul into my blog, but I just couldn’t connect on a deeper level as much as I’d like. Add to that this terrible confusion festering in me, because I always feel as of I have something to prove and I was just awkward. I tried way too hard to fit in. I wanted so desperately to meet others, I often wondered, just who I was blogging for. Still, I was fortunate enough to make a few friends, ones I care for dearly, but I was frustrated.

Another blogger mentioned WordPress, so I checked it out and decided to try the same blog there, too. Same posts, same blurbs about me, same story. It was a slow start, but I loved the easier format. I LOVED that I could read and comment and have a continual dialogue if so desired and that others could do the same with me. I felt such freedom in being able to just be me and have actual ongoing commentary with others. I just wrote, the real me, and didn’t worry about proving anything to anyone. I reached out and commented. I felt validation and comradery. I felt such unbelievable connection to the words of others; some I felt I could have written myself, others that opened my eyes to hidden parts of me, and still others that gripped my heart so tight I wanted to reach through this square box and hug the person on the other side. The best part was that I could say so and get a response in return.

That’s the thing…..there is a human being on the other side. Living, breathing people, tapping on keyboards, purging their hearts into this virtual medium, just like me. The more I read, commented and connected, the more visited me. Not only was I able to find some sort of peace in the writing process while learning about myself and M along this journey, but I got to know some of you through your words. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere as ME. I could say all the things in my head, real and uncensored, and just be me. I made connections within myself that I’d spent 40 years trying to make, simply by writing out my thoughts and feelings, reading and connecting to deeply thought provoking words on blogs, and by commenting and connecting to those lovely people on the other side of those words.

It’s never been about the number of followers or how many people visit my blog, love my writing or how famous I can get. I’ve only ever cared about keeping a diary of my process, of our journey, learning about myself, and connecting with open-minded, real PEOPLE. Doing so almost became an obsession. I jumped in with two feet, posting on both Tumblr and Wordress, starting a Facebook account in my pen name, and joining a couple discussion groups. This whole world of fantastic people opened up. It felt so free to just be me. To be accepted.

But, all the time I spent doing all those things takes away from time spent out here, in the real world. What a conundrum, huh? This world, the one where my free, raw, real words float, it seems just as real to me. It’s just as me as this me out here and sometimes much more free. It has seemed that all this time, I’ve been struggling to find out how to be the real me, how to uncover and rework and build this me, and I can say all those things here, in this medium. But out in the real world, not so much, aside from with M. So, the worlds seemed to be apart from one another, competing for my attention. I had to find a balance….

To my surprise, the more I shared, the more people reached out to me. I never imagined I’d meet people who’d want to reach out. Amazing people offered emails and phone numbers or began to chat. On the one hand, I wanted nothing more than to develop real friendships based on just being me. But, that prospect also scared the shit out of me. What if, outside of the words I can tap on my keyboard, I don’t measure up in real life? So scary. What risk that takes to jump in. And, knowing and speaking to real people outside of blogger land also made this way we live much more real. It’s felt real, the realest thing I’ve ever known, in fact. But, it’s so validating to know that real people live and love and grow as we do. It’s also scary and saddening to know that if some people were to find out, my family’s livelihood could be affected. Yet another risk. Yet another reason it felt as if the two worlds were colliding, becoming one, as I got to know others.

As silly as it sounds to describe it that way, that’s how it felt. It’s also one of the best things to ever happen to me. I feel as if I found my tribe, finally. I live in this one big world, comprised of all the people I encounter in a day, whether it’s behind a keyboard, on the phone, or walking through the grocery store. I am lucky enough to have people in my life who live freely and love deeply. Awesome people who understand me, have common goals and see the world though some amazing lenses. They’ve helped to give me the courage to be me, all the time, even when it’s difficult, behind the keyboard or not. This whole experience has helped me to realize what I find important in this life.

Blogging has given me the courage to take risks in allowing others to get to know me, to find and accept who I am, and the beautiful friendships that have resulted are more than I could have ever imagined.

Better Day

M and I had some intimate time this morning. As I lay there with my head on his chest, relishing the last few minutes together before we had to get up, he said to me,

“Do you know what the only bad thing about this is?”

“No, what?”

“My day can’t get any better from here.”

At that moment, mine just did.

The Realest Thing

Last night, M and I conserved water (showered together). We’d washed one another and were simply relaxing under the water together. Leaning onto the wall of the shower with one side, I behind him, my arms wrapped around him, my face resting on his back. He with his arms tightly embracing mine. The water hot, trickling down from our sides, washing away the last bit of stress and grime of the day. At once, we both took a deep breath and exhaled, just standing and absorbing one another for a moment.

“Oh my god, holy fuck.” I see him mouth the words, as we turn to face one another and embrace that way.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but I read your lips.”

With my face cradled in his hands, he says, “No, nothing’s wrong. I just can’t believe you can love me as much as you do. To have such a long day at work like that and come home to this. To you, someone who WANTS to be near me all the time. It’s unreal. You’re not the only one who feels it like that.”

But, it’s not unreal. It’s the realest thing we’ve ever known. WE feel it. How amazing is that?

My Favorite Reminder

The pressure, it’s so intense. On the edge of biting pain, teetering so I must focus, I have no choice. The grip of your strong fingers, just under my jaw, wrapped precisely tight enough around my neck, remind me. You could grip it tighter and restrict my breathing, but you won’t, that’s not your purpose. As your other forearm pins my hair to the mattress, ensuring my head is immobile, my chest is heaving long, drawn out breaths. I feel my brow pursed, not in surprise, or in pain…I’m overcome. I’m completely and totally immersed in you. In the heat of your skin and the rawness in your stare. It’s not your grip or my immobility that keep me looking at you, it’s your eyes. They take AND they give, at once. I see. I feel. I am that exchange between us.

But, it’s that pressure, that constant pressure on my chest that makes my brain follow each and every movement. Harder it presses down into me, then a little less so with each thrust, slow and long and deep, up and back. That forearm, resting just above my left breast, the same one connected to the fingers that grip my lifeline, pushes and presses into my chest, seemingly to the beat of my heart. Or, maybe my heart begins to match the pulse of you, I don’t know. But we move and press and pull and beat and see, as one. You are the control, I am your balance.

And that long, tender part of my chest today, reminds me. It reminds me how alive that heart is, beating beneath. Beating to the pulse of you, in me.

It’s my favorite reminder.

Caught in a Landslide


Recently, I shared about an event that sparked a conversation between M and I, which led to another, and another. One issue lead to another. Life threw one curveball, then another. So many things have been swirling around in my head, it’s been difficult to sift through them all. Some days, I don’t even try and I find respite surfing around Facebook, avoiding. Other days, I get stuck in my head, and can’t get out. Up there in that photo, that’s what it looks like, in my head. I jot down the fragmented thoughts until I’m able to put them all together into something that makes sense to me.

I have so many posts…started. Bits and pieces of things I know I need to write about, that I need to piece together first. To assemble some sort of understanding of the issue, even if I don’t quite have a direction as of yet.

In the meantime, as I’ve been sorting, I’ve not been around much, but I’m not going anywhere. This community has become as much a part of my daily life as coffee (and that’s sayin’ something). I love you all and miss your blogs, but I’ve just needed to think for a bit. When I read your writings, I need to be able to read them and absorb them. To chew on those words and give something of myself in the comments. They all deserve that. I’ve just been too full to give that my all, so I haven’t commented much.

Bare with me. I think once those posts start coming, it will likely be a landslide….

Just Being Me

Before M and I began this journey, I’d begun a long journey of my own. I’d lost quite a bit of weight, was feeling much better about myself and felt ready to finally begin to shed some of that old, counter productive thinking. I’d begun to come to terms with the way I was operating and was ready to begin the task of reworking my entire framework.

As I began to shed that armor I used as self preservation, to keep others at a distance, I found myself feeling more and more exposed, and not just to M. I was letting go to him, but I was also internally feeling very raw as I challenged and changed. My self confidence seemed to take a nose dive. It wasn’t just my looks I was feeling not so confident about. I was lost and frantically trying to find my footing as I reworked that foundation, building it with all the ways of thinking that work for the real me, the one I’d hidden, the one I want to be. I was scared, for the first time ever, that I would be totally exposed. That if I couldn’t don that armor I’d begun to shed, I could get HURT. And, I had to face the feeling that maybe the real me that I’m uncovering might not measure up. No one has ever met her before. No one but M, and until we started this journey, I know there were parts of me I protected with him too.

I can’t say that feeling is gone, the feeling exposed and raw and unsure, it’s still there. I haven’t been able to sit with a single person outside of M and feel like myself, partly because I’m still figuring out who I am and how this me relates to others. I am shy at first, worry about what others think entirely too much and suck at small talk. As long as I can remember, I’m not sure I’ve ever entered into a single interaction feeling as if I bring an equal amount of anything to the table, I always feel as if I have something to prove. Actually, I seem to always be drawn to the people I feel like I need to prove something to, if that makes any sense. The ones I feel might be true friend material. I always imagine the other person scrutinizing me and that I’m not measuring up in some way, no matter what they say or do.

I’m not sure some of that will ever change, it is in my foundation. But, the more I feel comfortable in my own skin, moving forward and being the true me, the more willing I am to being open to others, with less and less of that old armor. Just being genuine. Just being me.

And, look out, because if we are to be friends, I intend to be all in, I’m an all or nothing kind of gal. Take or leave it.