29 March 2009

On Combat, The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and in Peace

Have you ever wondered how soldiers handle combat? Wondered about the psychological cost of killing, and how some soldiers return with no visible problems from it, and others with serious cases of post-traumatic stress disorder?
Have you ever wondered how you, yourself, would handle a deadly conflict situation? Don't tell me you've never stood in line at the bank, and wondered what you would do if it was robbed. Or walked down a dark street late at night, and wondered how you'd respond if you were attacked.

For anyone who's wondered these things, whether for yourself, or for a loved one in a warrior's role, I recommend, "On Combat".
(Its prequel, "On Killing," is also reportedly excellent, but I haven't read it yet.)

Lt Col Grossman discusses the necessity in society for people willing to do violence with efficient, sympathetic, detail, and outlines some of the strategies used in training for helping society's warriors deal with the difficult tasks we set them to. 
The body's responses to combat and other traumas are discussed in detail, explaining such phrases as 'scared shitless' (a real combat response of the parasympathetic nervous system) and a 'mouth dry with fear'. He cites historical examples of these phenomenon, reassuring warriors that they are not alone, they are not the first to feel these things- and most of all, that it does not mean that they are cowards. 
He goes on to describe the psychological aspects of combat and killing, explaining how prior mental preparation is everything for the warrior, and explaining some training techiniques used by both police departments and the military. 

Far from being a primer on how "real men don't mind killing," "On Combat" is a sympathetic look into the difficulties of being one of the warriors that the rest of us count on to keep us safe, including suggestions for the 'layperson' on how to talk to those returning from combat and other traumas and a peek into some of what may be going on in their minds. 

If you are a military member who may see or has seen combat, or a member of any of the peacekeeping services (and yes, LtCol Grossman and I include paramedics and other 'combat healers' in that definition!), or have a loved one who is, then I highly recommend this book.  

28 March 2009


Vulnerable. Curled up, curled in. Hiding. Emotions askew, rampaging, until my Self seeks sanctuary in sleep. There, my dreams are quieter things and less hostile than the waking world.
Safety in loving arms in my dreams: no decisions to be made, no problems to solve.
For just a day, someone else to hold me safe, someone else to keep the pain at bay. Someone else to understand the agony of functioning when the body’s pain is too deep, and every step is like a knife. Someone else to be the safe one, the shelter. Someone else to keep the phone on, nearby, every moment. Someone else to be the rational one, the reasonable one. Someone else to sort the emotional tangles in my head.

Where is safety when it is you, and you are weak? Where is comfort, when it is you, and you are frightened? Where is understanding, when it is you and you are confused?

It is in the arms of the lover, but where is that, when the lover isn’t there?

26 March 2009

New shoes HNT

25 March 2009


Today I want to bring you pleasure. To let this bubbling joy, this feeling of wellness trickle up through me and out into you. 
I want to wrap my arms around you while I fuck you, giving you the depth of my pleasure. 
I want to press my body to yours, offering you the taste of my arousal, the shivers of my joy at your presence. 
I want to kiss you, hungrily, and feed you my love. 

23 March 2009

Hurt me

'Hurt me?' he whispers, and his voice is high, breathy and soft in that tone which means that he wants it. 
I am glad to oblige. I have felt insecure with him, recently. More so than usual, that is. There is something about this boy that affects me, makes me fear the power he has over me. Something about him that makes me misstep, misinterpret, mistake.
Something about him that makes me hesitate. 

But not now. 
Not with that tone to his voice, not with that softness to his eyes.
That's what I look for in a horse, you know. A certain softness to the eye, that shows a willingness, a desire to please. 
I see that now in his eyes, and just as it attracts me to a mount, it makes me ache for him. 

I bring my hand down on his bottom, sharply, and he makes a small sound of pleasure-pain. His little ass is perfectly shaped, perfectly formed for my hand. A perfect heart shape, a perfect texture for spanking, biting. 
That beautiful little ass wriggles across my lap, and I can only laugh at his shameless antics... even as my hand comes down again, again, again. Directly across each cheek, just under, a little to each side, finding one spot over and over... varying my blows, stopping to rub and massage, leaning down to bite. 

But my hands are soft now, uncalloused, and grow red and sore quickly, so I switch to toys. The rubber loop paddle, the evil stick. My teeth in his back, his shoulder. He is so beautiful when he writhes for me, groans, yells.

The redness growing along his ass, his thighs.
Light, stinging blows. Hard, heavy ones. 

Holding my hand still. 'Relax for me,' the warning before the evil stick applied to his inner thighs. 
He'll get me back... he always does the next time we switch... but right now I don't care. I just want to hurt him. Want to give him what we both want, what we both need. 

His blood is close to the surface now: his pretty little hips, and long, graceful thighs are red with blood flow and blows, and I want to take my knife to him, want to cut his soft skin open and lay my mouth to the wound, drink his life into me. 

Soon, I will. Soon. But not tonight. Not yet. 
When the crimson droplets bead up along his skin, run in slow waves across skin and the scent rises up coppery, sharp, and sweet, it will be done right. Done with the time to savor his skin, the edges of the cut, the flavor of his blood like fine wine. Done with care, rolling the flavor around my mouth and across my lips. Kissing him with the taste of his blood on my mouth. 
Not tonight, not yet. 

Instead, I drag his mouth to my cock before fucking his beautiful little ass.  

Overdue: an anniversary

Friday was the Spring Equinox. 
I spent the day staunching the hemorrhage that was Jack's sister's wedding, and had neither time nor energy to stop and think of anything save the next disaster to stave off. 
So it was this morning before I woke to soft sheets and sunlight on my face, and I remembered:

it was on the Equinox, 6 months ago Friday, that Lucivar and I first bared our souls to one another... rather by accident, I think. 
It was on the Equinox half a year ago that I held my knife to his throat for the first time, and told him the tale of wolves in packs. That I named him my wolf-pup.
It was on the Equinox half a year ago that he fisted his hand in my hair and brought me back into balance. 
It was on the Equinox half a year ago that I first began to love him. 

Happy anniversary, Lucivar. 
I'm sorry that I missed it.

22 March 2009

A Memory

Hugging Kaye last night, I was suspended in the golden haze of memory:

They are straddling the spanking bench, their wrists tied to the spreader bar above their heads. 
Beautiful, stretched high and tight and thin, all trembling muscles and golden skin. 
It's been half a year and still I can see the moment when Kaye relaxes into Lucivar's shoulder, neck corded with tension and the pain Terry and I are inflicting on both of them. 

Terry's toybag is spread open on the bench nearby, my own (much smaller!) bag lies beside it, and we circle our boys, randomly choosing objects to hurt them with.
I've become partial to the little cane and Lucivar's bare, vulnerable feet.
Terry is wielding a heavy, painful flogger on Kaye's back. 

We switch boys, switch implements, exchange smiles, evil comments. 
The boys groan and whimper, yelp and scream. 

Golden skin shining with sweat, nearly matching sandy brown hair and lovely, muscled bodies pressed together.
Lucivar stroking Kaye's hair, comforting, even as his teeth grit at each new blow. 
Kaye's bound hands stroking Lucivar's neck, a brotherhood, a bonding in their suffering. 

They are both so beautiful, so delicious in their agony. 

It has been six months since the night we tied them together and made them whimper for us. 
It could have been yesterday for the power that memory holds to make me wet. 

15 March 2009


Her hands are fisted in his hair. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck what you want today, boy,’ she tells him in a low snarl.
There is real anger there, backed by a pain that gnaws relentlessly at her heart, at her pride, at her faith in herself. A pain he put there.   
A pain she will make him pay for.   

Her hands are fast, cruel, relentless, driving into his skin, finding every painful, tender spot until he writhes beneath her. 
He is not bound: she warned him at the beginning that she wasn’t going to bother. ‘Just fucking stay still. You can do that, can’t you boy?’  

She knows better, knows he will move, knows he will flail and strike out. She wants him to fail. Wants him to understand the pain of failure as she punishes every movement with something like glee.   

The sharp end of an evil stick on every twitching piece of skin. The rubber loop paddle on every limb that spasms. Her fingernails in every sensitive spot he exposes.   

This is not love. This is not friendship, or meeting one another’s needs. This is retribution, and she wants him to feel every jagged piece of it sticking in his craw as his words stick in hers. She wants to hurt him, to leave scars on his skin as he has on her heart.   

There is the snick of the knife now, and he goes still. This has always been something loving between them, this knife. It has always been something intimate, but she wants to destroy something tonight and if it can’t be him then it will be a piece of them, together.   

It’s at his throat now, and he’s gone still. She laughs, a jagged sound nothing like her usual throaty chuckle, feeling the tension in him. Feeling the knowledge that he’s finally getting it, finally understanding that the love for him that’s always held her sociopathy back will not do so today. Feeling his throat working against the blade, her rationale, her love, they’re all subsumed by the single desire, the single need to cut. The carotid, with it’s beautiful, spurting blood that feeds the brain. The jugular, which takes it back, recycling it in the heart. They are bare under her blade now, and her hand is trembling with the need to plunge it in.   

Slow, deep breaths now. Collecting herself. Gently drawing herself back from the edge… a little. Following the path of the subclavian with the tip of the blade, teasing herself with the knowledge that a single good wound there would bleed him out within 6 minutes- probably less time, given the subclavian’s proximity to the heart. 
As though the very thought had drawn her attention to that organ, pressing the tip of the knife just under his sternum, angling a little up.
‘What’s the fastest way to man’s heart, boy?’ she asks him, and lets him see the insanity in her eyes. His own are a little wild, and she laughs. The sound of it is still jagged and raw, more like a sob than a chuckle, and he begins to understand. Seeing the dawning comprehension in his eyes, she leans into him, smiling. 
‘It’s under the breastbone and up,’ she whispers, shoving the knife home. 

(The slightly saner ending)
It’s been reversed at the last moment, and with more than a little reluctance, but she knows it will leave a bruise he won’t soon forget. 
Any more than she will. 
And she draws him up to her, pressing his face tightly into her shoulder so that he won’t see her silent tears. 
‘I love you, puppy.’  

12 March 2009

Copper necklace HNT

Today's Jack's birthday (and it's been another crazy week- calming soon, I hope!) so this is all you get!

As always, Mom and Mouse's amazing work is available at their Etsy store

08 March 2009

The Knight-errant

I need someone to hurt me. 
I need someone to beat the ever-loving shit out of me. 
Unfortunately, there's no one whom I can ask.  

Yes, Jack would be happy to oblige. 
Yes, Lucivar loves to hurt me. 
Yes, the Cunning Linguist would thoroughly enjoy beating the crap out of me. 
Yes, Ahela has been hinting at wanting to play again, and breaking me would be an excellent return in his eyes. 

But there's no one I can ask. 

Jack is part of my stress. Our relationship is doing extremely well, and so is he, but the last few weeks have been very hard on us both and he has a role in my stress. That is not to say that its his fault, or that he's in any way to blame. That would be like blaming the clouds for being part of the hurricane. 

Lucivar is my responsibility. I'm still in Knight-Errant mode, and can't get out of it. The Knight in my head considers him Mine, and therefore someone I care for and protect, not someone I ask for help. 
Normally, I'm perfectly happy to ask him to hurt me- we both enjoy it thoroughly, but I've pushed myself far deeper into this mindset than usual (it's been necessary the last week), and I can't get out of it.
Part of why I need to have the shit beaten out of me is to force me out of it. See the paradox?

The Cunning Linguist would love to, and will be happy to... in 2 weeks when he's next in town. He lives three hours away, and works days. 

As for Ahela, well... let it suffice to say that I am not sure that repeating old choices is wise in this case. I don't trust him to be there for me in the long-term (or even the medium), and besides... it's not as though he's available in-person for a real beating. 

So yeah. I'm stuck in Knight-errant mode, drowning under the weight of the world on my shoulders and knowing in my logical mind that my responsibilities have been discharged and I can relax and let go... but unable to. 

Unable to believe for real that I can let down my guard, set aside my shield. 

I need to be forced to helplessness, made to fight until I am panting, bleeding, and, finally, forced to surrender. 
But I know that in this mindset, I won't be capable of surrendering to those to whom I perceive myself as having a repsonsibility to be strong for.


06 March 2009

I'm doing a rather remarkable impression of Atlas this week, and consequently won't be doing an HNT. I'll try to get one up tomorrow. 

Sorry :(

03 March 2009


I'm feeling tired and lonely tonight. 
I haven't managed to talk to Lucivar today at all... and while I spent the day with Jack, he's currently glued to the hocky game. 

I know that this loneliness isn't real- that there are many, many people out there who love me and would walk through fire just to bring a smile to my face. 
Truly, I am blessed with an abundance of wonderful people in my life. I never doubt that.

But I'm depressed, and that makes me feel very alone. 
(Ironic, isn't it, when one in 20 Americans will be diagnosed with depression at some point in their lives... and that's only those who go in and get diagonosed!)

I have... a lot on my plate. 
I know, I know... so what else is new? Since you started reading this blog, have I ever not had a lot on my plate?
I'm not handling it very well, and I know that. I'm taking steps, though. I start physical therapy tomorrow, and have an appointment with a new GP on Thursday (the one today was kind of an ass).

Meanwhile, I'm left longing....
longing for your firm, tender hands on my skin, longing to feel your body wrapped around mine, protecting it. Longing to hear the whisper of your voice as you tell me that I'm safe, that just for a little while there's nothing to worry about. Longing, just for a few minutes, to put all of the burdens down and trust you to take care of things. Longing to feel your breath on my face as you lean in to kiss me, to savor the taste of you on my skin. Longing to sink into the blissful state of trust that I find so rarely, but so securely in your arms.  

ETA: Talking about wedding stuff with Jack (no, neither of us has proposed, we've just been talking about it today for some wonderful, fun reason) and then getting a sleepy phone call from Lucivar to let me know he missed me today makes everything SOSOSOSOSO much better :-D I'm so loved, and so blessed by the amazing people in my life. I love you!!!) 

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I am just your ordinary average every day sane psycho supergoddess