Sometimes it hurts.

Recently, I made the decision to break things off with someone I was walking a dangerous line with.
It was a mutual decision, because he couldn't give what I needed, and I wasn't willing to let myself grow gradually more and more resentful of not getting my needs met.
I wasn't willing to harm his current relationship, and he wasn't willing to harm mine.
So we walked away.

It was the right thing to do.
The grown-up thing to do.
The ethical thing to do.

And that doesn't make it hurt a damned bit less, any time I let myself think too hard about it.

Kink After Kids

A few random thoughts on kink post-kids:

• They're amazing at finding bruises with pointy little knees and elbows
• Gags are useful when your only set of eyebolts is 10' from the toddler's bedroom door
• Toddlers are terrifyingly handy with a short singletail. Mine has managed to catch me across the face with it twice... AFTER my attempts at hiding it in the closet failed miserably.
• Fetish parties don't happen anymore, unless you have a spare $60 for babysitting on top of the cost of going to the party
• It's amazing how much that can make me miss my community
• The 19mos old is the biggest sadist in the household
• On the previous note, kinkiness is clearly genetic. Ours has never seen us play, and yet takes canes, whips, or whatever else he can find (his current favorite is Mommy's dressage whip, which she can't seem to hide well enough) and beats the dog (surprisingly lightly, since I have seen him swing that sucker hard enough it'd have left welts), then set aside the whip and start petting her. 

I seriously wish I were kidding about all of these things. 

Not so much

The last week has been really, really unpleasant, so no pretties here to post.

Sorry, my loves, I'll try to have sexier week going forward, but given that there's a 15 year old crashing at my house.... yeah. Curbs the fun a bit.

Meanwhile, wanna see something totally unpleasant about rape?

Strangers don't commit rape- friends, dates, and lovers do- and many of them will admit it, as long as they don't have to use the R word.

Solitary Intimacy

All that Rush wanted for Father's Day was for us to ride together.
We just bought him a motorcycle, and we finally got my love running again. Finally.
Saturday was a clusterfuck of love and pain and joy and sorrow and deep, deep grief.
But in the end, late that night, after joy and companionship in the brightly lit garage with the scent of brake fluid and laughter, I rode her home.

Sunday morning, I slipped to my knees so that Rush could place the collar around my neck. On these days, we are in service to one another: one Mother's Day & my birthday, he to me. On Father's Day & his birthday, I to him. It settled around my throat, cool and slightly heavy and a joyful reminder of my promise to the man I love.

An hour or two later, we hit the road together for the first time.

I have never ridden with a partner, and only ridden with another person twice. A random friend in Florida, and my roommate in Alabama. That was nearly 7 years ago. I have always ridden alone, for the nearly 10 years Skya has been mine.
I have not even been on her in 2 years, and it took a little while to remember basic lane discipline, to return the muscle memory of throttle and clutch and front brake, rear brake, shifting with my feet, leaning and turning and bracing against the highway wind.
Rush rode behind me, his faster bike and more recent riding deferring to my cruiser and long time away from the road.

We had our fits and starts, a clog in the petcock and her determined slowing despite everything I had on the throttle and a desperate slap to the choke before it abruptly cleared and we shot forward into the sunshine with Rush fast behind us.

The highway is my least favorite riding: cars and hot asphalt and traffic inching too close to my fenders and wind shoving me along the lane and nothing worth looking at for hours on end. But at the north end of 400, off of exit 17, GA-9 opens into a beautiful, curving path to my favorite mining town of Dahlonega.

It was bliss to ride again, and a new type to ride with the man I love, my best friend.
Riding together is a solitary form of companionship. You are together in an incredibly intimate manner, depending on one another for direction, leadership, protection, and laying your life in your partner's hands. You follow them into curves and across bridges, trusting they know the route, trusting they will not lead you astray or into danger.... and yet it is also solitary. We do not have the fancy new helmet with the CB radios or bluetooth phone access. We ride solitary with only earbuds playing our separate music and the singular thoughts passing across our eyes. We check on one another in mirrors and with quick turns of our head, but every curve is taken alone and every dapple of sunlight hits only our eyes as we ride together.

Solitary intimacy as the wind passes around us, against us, as each curve leans ahead of us and we judge alone at what speed we can take it. Singular companionship as we choose the route together and ride alone along it, every one of the million split-second decisions required on these curvy mountain roads decided alone and yet weighing into the decision of the other.

Pulling up beside one another at stoplights, stop signs. A nod, a grin, hand signals our only communication and yet we are as in sync in this moment as in the throes of sex.
It is almost a disappointment to arrive in Dahlonega and park our bikes side by side in the space, despite my aching back and vibrating ass. It is almost a loss to regain speech and lose the solitary intimacy of riding together.

Fortunately, we have another 4 hours of riding ahead of us...

(Stopped for a picnic on the way up)

Wise words

Sorry for being late on the HNT- I'll post it later today.

Meanwhile, Guy Baldwin's words are, as usual, incredibly powerful in most contexts than simply BDSM:

"Let me remind you that the words integrity and integrate are related.
In psychology, we speak of an “integrated personality,” and by that we mean that all the parts of one’s self fit together and mesh smoothly with all the other parts.
We mean that no part of the self is exiled.
We mean that all parts of the self welcome all the other parts.
We mean that none of the parts of the self is at war with any other part... As I said last week in Los Angeles, 'The brave may not live forever, but the ashamed do not live at all.'”

(This is from his Keynote at the Houston NLA )

Live. Live as who you are. 

Laugh. Loud and long and without fear. 

Love. Not only others and the world around you, but yourself... all of it. 

Numb

I feel smothered and encumbered and defeated and drawn
Disappointed, over-extended and frustrated and shaken
This over-giving , over-loving, this care taking goes on
With no chance of intermission.
I'll be checked out, I'll be gone

Have to remove myself from sensation

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

I feel anxious, I am nervous, I am bored
I'm overwhelmed, rather be out of my gourd

Have to remove myself from sensation

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

I am lonely, I feel hungry and unloved
I feel angry, I am livid, need a hug

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

Farmers Market Thursdays

Warm sun on my skin, cool breeze caressing my hair.
Good company, conversations about food, sex, and other sensual pleasures.

I can smell fresh bread, cheese, peaches, and the earthy tone of vegetables on the back of my tongue, and the lingering aroma of honey in my mouth.

I returned to work reluctantly, but with joy in my steps.

Real Life Stuff

That was taken last Saturday. The silver car is my Norah. She is totalled. It's been a hell of a week. Rush and I spent all of last weekend car-shopping with limited results. I miss my girl a lot, but am deeply grateful for her service, and her protection of my family.
We are all okay- Rush's elbow seems to have been re-injured a bit, Bonkers is a little clingier than usual (but we mostly managed to convince him that it was all a very exciting game), and I am banged up bot all right. It was entirely the other driver's fault (she turned in front of us to get into the parking lot the pictures was taken from), so we aren't being penalized for it or anything.

Anyway... that's where the real life junk is right now.

Beyond that...

We separated from Akasha a couple of months ago, and things betwen Rush and I improved significantly almost immediately. I am semi-dating a couple of people, but have a distinct tendency to fall for people who are unsuitable in some way.
I'm leaning far more heavily toward submissive than dominant these days, and consequently have been looking along those lines... even harder than looking for a submissive, which I never would have believed, but given that I don't want a submissive D/s relationship so much as I want someone I can play with in a submissive headspace... well, therein lies the dilemna.

Work is still pretty wonderful- I love working in an office full of people almost as weird as me, in various ways.
Bonkers is growing like a damned weed, and climbing absolutely everything he can get within 10' of. If I know you personally, drop me a line and I'll send you some pictures.

Overdue update

Hmmm so much for that 'writing here more' project.

Short version of the last few months:

Jack and I have broken up. We are still best friends, but it was past time.

Airen and I have also broken up. We're also still friends, although we're taking the time to let a little distance heal things.

Boywonder and I are still together. Our dynamic is evolving, but mostly we're vanilla partners who switch a lot in play. (Although come to think of it, I owe him a good beating for his birthday earlier this week...)

Yeah. And now to my next post for the rant I came here to write about subspace and consent.

A new-old change in direction

This blog used to be the place where I wrote about everything kink-related. My experiences in the community, my lovers, my thoughts on relationships- everything.

But somewhere along the way it turned into my sex blog. Where I write my fantasies, my sexiest thoughts and kinkiest desires, but nothing else.

That is not what I choose for this space to be anymore.

So.

Here's where I am right now.

I live in a beautiful little 1940's house with 2 of my partners, Jack and Airen. My house was built as officer housing for a nearby Army base, and while the neighborhood is now quite diverse, I prefer it that way. My home is filled with antiques I've inherited, but I hope it doesn't feel too much like a house filled with antiques to visitors. I love my furniture, my china and silver, but in the end it is 'wood and metal, wrought in pleasing form,' to paraphrase Jacqueline Carey, and what it means to me is replaceable.

Jack and I have been together for 5 years now, and Airen and I are approaching one this April. Jack has his own bedroom, his own little cave to retreat to, and Airen and I share the master bedroom. This is not a comment on any hierarchy, but merely on my darling Jack's antisocialness.

I was asked to join the Board of Directors for the local TNG group which was the first to welcome me home to my kink community.

I was awarded the title of Ms Southeast Olympus Leather 2011, and in August I'll compete for International Ms Olympus.

This is my graduating semester of undergrad, with my BA in Psychology. (I dropped my Sociology double-major down to a minor in the interests of graduating and getting on the job market).

I broke my collarbone in January, and have been in a sling since then, and will be in one until June.

I recently started a new relationship, which I have absolutely no idea how to label, except that it's so much like what I had with Lucivar that it terrifies me.

So yeah. Busy, much?

I'm currently in Ft Lauderdale, FL at Beyond Leather, and badly need to wrap up this rambling entry on nothing terribly important so that I can go downstairs and actually be sociable and not make my producer and judges regret giving me this title.

*squeeeeeeeeeeal*

Well, there's a very busy few months coming up for me.

This was my last free weekend until I graduate in May with my BA in Psychology, and this week, spring break for me, will be spent busily writing term papers so I don't have to write them in my complete if spare time.

Upcoming are:

March 5: Passing the Torch: An Intergenerational Dialogue in Dallas, NC

March 25-27: Atlanta Poly Weekend in Atlanta, GA

April 1-3: Atlanta Leather Pride in Atlanta, GA

and quite a few others, but those are the soonest.

I'm extremely excited about Atlanta Poly weekend, where I'm teaching "Poly and D/s," "Interpersonal Communication," and "Real Life Polyamory".

What's even more exciting?

One of my favorite writers and activists, maymay of Male Submission Art, and Maybe Maimed, will also be there. Not only is he teaching a cool class on censorship, but he's looking forward to my class on Poly and D/s!

...........a writer I really admire is excited about one of my classes?!??!?!

*squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal*

Loss

We're in the car, and driving home.

My home,not yours anymore and that is its own special kind of pain.

You're talking about the woman you loved, the woman you still crave despite the pain she caused you and the scars you still stroke on nights when the loneliness is too much.

I am sympathizing with you because I have my own scars, my own secret could-have-beens in the middle of the night.

"...it's the most intense things I've ever felt," you tell me, and I shudder in response.

"I've felt it three times," I tell you. "Once for Wolf," whose strong-safe arms are no longer- can never again be- in my life. "And two other times."

I know the intensity you mean. The obsession- and yes, it is obsession. Your brain releases the same chemicals during the early stages of a relationship that are released during an obsessive episode for an OCD person. The craving for them, for their bodies, the meeting with their minds, the brush of their soul against yours.

The fierce craving for their touch, the need to touch them, to mark them and show the world that they belong to you, that they love you and they are yours and you are theirs and yes!

"You're lucky to have felt it so many times," he tells me.

I glance at him, pretty and dark and hurting. I know what he means- that I am lucky that having felt it more than once, I know I can feel it again. Know that the loss of it once is not the loss of it forever. But the words won't come past the lump in my throat.

"You get past it," I tell him. "You go to bed hurting and you wake up hurting and you go through the motions hurting- eating and drinking and working and playing- and you know it won't ever go all the way away but you hold on to the little things, the little pleasures."

"It's different for you," he says. "You have someone."

"It's not like that," I respond. "It doesn't make the pain less. But you cling to the little things. The taste of tea in the morning, the rush of caffeine in your body. The taste of chocolate on your lips. The accomplishment of learning a new skill. It doesn't take away the pain, but it makes it bearable.

"And when you think you can't stand it anymore, when you think you're going to call them in the middle of the night, you remind yourself why they're not there anymore. Why they're gone, whether they chose it or you did. In the middle of the night, you hold on to anger or hurt or fear or whatever it takes to remind you because sometimes they're the only things that are stronger than the craving for them."

After all, foolish boi, how do you think I keep from calling you?

An apology and a memory

Beloved one,

I woke up yesterday with tears hot on my cheeks, fear clawing at my chest like a beast trying to rip its way out through my ribs.

I knew that you would leave, knew that you would walk away as surely as I knew the taste of bile in the back of my throat.

There was no doubt in my mind that before day's end, I would lost you.

But when I talked to you in the morning, I pasted the smile to my face, letting myself take honest joy in what I knew would be my last conversation with you as Mine. I reveled in your sleepy voice, high and soft and rough with sleep. I bathed in the soft sounds of joy you made when I told you that I loved you, wrapping them like spun glass in the recesses of my mind, a tightly held balm against the pain I knew would come. I listened to your rustling movements in bed, seeing you in my mind's eye sprawled in your soft sheets, and I smiled even as tears burnt the backs of my eyes.

And then I went about my day, I wandered alone in a city 3,000 miles from my home, idly watching the people around me. I noted their movements, smiled reflexively at those who greeted me, and all the time my mind was full of you, full of all that I knew I would lose. Your face, soft and open when I'm inside of you, your smile wise and kinder than you'll admit when I am small and frightened. Your hands small and quick and nervous when you clean. Your tremulous smile when I kiss you as a man, and your slow, wicked grin as you ride me. Your face lighting with passion as we chat for hours about the things we love, your narrowed eyes and manic smile when you hurt me, your shy eyes when you curl up tight against me. A hundred thousand images flashed before my eyes and broke my heart a hundred times over: you folding clothes, obsessively neat. You at work, focused and proud. You curled close to me, watching a movie. You hurting me, mad eyes and tender hands. You spread out before me, a feast for my senses. You shopping, movements graceful and restrained. You at my dining room table, laughing and talking. You grinning sideways, that delicious, wicked expression. You on your couch, primal and barely restrained. Every image a glass shard in my heart, ripping me slowly, inexorably open. Over and over I saw you, everywhere that I looked. Architecure I wanted to point out to you, dresses I wanted to laugh with you over, pretty boys with their hipster hair I wanted to laugh with you about. Sad murals I wanted to share with you, good food, all of it wrapped around my heart like barbed wire and I bled inside.

Finally, with heavy steps I came home to talk to you, dreading every step, afraid of every word I'd have to write. When you greeted me, I was both afraid and joyful. I leapt into the conversation because I knew that if I didn't, I'd never have it. I'd give in to the temptation to conceal it from you, the nagging hopee that maybe I wouldn't lose what has become so precious to me.

Every keystroke punctuated by a tear, by a stabbing sensation in my chest, by the certainty of loss.

...and then you didn't.

Then you were quiet as you conferred, and you simply accepted in me what I cannot accept myself.

And then you told me that you love me, and the tears spilled out, spilled open in me and my heart was still bleeding but it was marked by joy now and the disbelief that this was really happening.

Were you truly still here? Would I still really be able to hold you, be able to taste your lips and hear your precious voice? It was too much, too deep, too sudden,and I couldn't believe it, couldn't process it, could only curl into myself a release the shaking sobs that had hidden inside of me all day.

I still have trouble believing it, still have to reach sometimes for the twine you had me tie around my wrist, my tangible reminder of your love and your presence.

I still keep waiting for you to change your mind, to look at me with horror and disgust, and just as you told me so long ago in the darkened car... you prove me wrong. Every time.

I've never been so grateful to be wrong before.

I love you.

The last few weeks

Phone rings baby cries TV diet guru lies
Good morning honey
Go to work make up try to keep the balance up
Between love and money
She used to tie her hair up in ribbons and bows
Sign her letters with X's and O's
Got a picture of her mama in heels and pearls
She's tryin' to make it in her daddy's world
She's an American girl
An American girl

Slow dance second chance mama needs romance
And an live-in maid
Fix the sink mow the yard really isn't all that hard
If you get paid
he used to tie her hair up in ribbons and bows
Sign her letters with X's and O's
Got a picture of her mama in heels and pearls
She's tryin' to make it in her daddy's world
She's an American girl
An American girl

Well she's got her God and she's got good wine
Aretha Franklin and Patsy Cline

She used to tie her hair up in ribbons and bows
Sign her letters with X's and O's
Got a picture of her mama in heels and pearls
She's tryin' to make it in her daddy's world
She's an American girl
An American girl
She's an American girl

Empathy

Aching inside, struggling with the need to run to one I’ve loved deeply, fighting the urge to hold them even knowing that it isn’t what he needs.

Angry for their pain and sympathetic to the cause of it, a whirlwind of emotions, own fears mixing with his pain and the mixture caustic in my throat, in my chest. I want to make it better!

….and I can’t.

No one can. Time, they say, heals all wounds, but Time is a harsh Master who forces suffering until he dispenses healing at his whim... and even then the scar remains.

It’s cold and dark outside and I don’t care, I want to walk through it to hold him but I know that in his own pain he would turn away because pain so enveloping can’t be shared, can’t be halved.

...it doesn’t make the desire any less strong.

Bad Poetry

Climbing desperately, trying to find a higher ground

but drowning

Pulled endlessly into the mire

Help me, voices call

And I can't!

But my heart is breaking for them

But my legs trudge back to them

Even as the path takes me under water

and drowning

CinErotic Film Fest in Atlanta!

CinErotic Film Fest brings a kinky, poly Valentines to Atlanta!

Erotic filmmakers from as far away as Singapore, Barcelona and Brazil entered films for the brand new CinErotic Film Fest, alongside homegrown filmmakers from Atlanta and Athens. All will be represented in CinErotic's three nights of screenings at Eyedrum Gallery next weekend, February 12-14.

Kink-O-Matic - Sunday, Feb 14, 6pm - $8

On Valentines' Day, the Fest will screen "sexy, smart, artful erotic short films with a twist — or a kink, if you will," says founder Kiki Carr. "These are films about sexuality that colors outside the lines, and celebrates all that is kinky, bdsm, leather or otherwise polymorphously perverse!"

Among the films featured are director Julie Simmon's "Dolls Fit," the refrain of the odd abusive mother in the film, as well as acclaimed Barcelona director Erika Lusts' view into the suave S&M that keeps sex fresh in "Married with Children." From San Francisco, director Anthony Viti's gives us the raunchy "Asspig" and his Gus Van Sant-esque motion pictures from behind-the-scenes at web pornhouse Kink.com in "Mission & 14th." Narcissister gets a spanky workout in "Self-Gratifier," and "Strap-on Owl Beak" chronicles an actor's descent into an underground of perversity. Select videos by virtuoso filmmaker Tom Chomont artfully depict the world of leather, BDSM, and erotic shaving with an intensity akin to spirituality.

Then there's no other film quite like Curt McDowell's "Pornografollies." This rare 16mm film from 1970 San Francisco features a succession of performers doing sexual/genital vaudeville acts. Described by the New York Times as "slapdash surrealism...a musical of sorts, a bisexual scatological revue full of bad jokes, good humor, and and a general content that I could not begin to describe here," Pornografollies transmutes sexual variety into celebratory comedy.

Valentines' Play Party hosted by WhipperSnappers at Spring4th Center

After the films, kinksters are invited to a special Valentine's Day play party at the Spring4th Center. The party starts at 8:30pm, and entry is only $5 -- and FREE! for CEFF ticket holders (from any screening). The play party is hosted by festival sponsor WhipperSnappers, an under-40 bdsm group, but isopen to anyone over 18. Spring4th Center is located at 728 Spring St. NW

Queer as F*ck - Friday, Feb 12, 8:30pm - $8

The "Queer" show Friday night treats viewers to erotic short films that appeal to boys, girls, transfolk and gender queers. The main attraction is "Tour de Pants," a new film by Luke Woodward of San Francisco featuring hot fags, transfolk and lesbian gangsters — in bicycle-related erotic scenes all over the sexual map.

Other shorts include "The Ginger," in which a sexy redhead seductively eats a turkey drumstick; "The Erotic Couch" by Athens artist Andrew Shearer shows what happens when a reluctant lesbian gets a magical velvet couch-cover; things aren't what they seem for a gay male couple in "Hitchcocked;" "Want" proves that differently abled queers can get what they desire; a handsome butch ranchhand takes home the cute femme lamb, in "The Sheep and The Ranchhand," and Narcissister dares you to put him/her in a gender box in "Man/Woman."

If (when) the films leave you hot, bothered, and panting for more, head over to Mary's in East Atlanta for a free CEFF-sponsored make-out party for everyone.

Passion & Pleasures - Saturday, Feb 13, 8pm - $10 General Admission / $20 VIP

Make it a passionate Valentines to remember on Saturday night with a luxurious date special: for $20/person (surely one of the most recession-friendly Valentines' events!), you and your sweetie(s) get reserved seating up front on romantic couches, with sweet treats, and complimentary champagne (21+). VIP tickets are sold "per-person," rather than "per couple," making this a great Valentines' date night for singles, polyamorous partners, or couples!

But even regular ticket holders will swoon to the romantic short films in the line-up. "Vocolotion" by Atlanta's beloved artist R. Land ("Loss Cat") is his unique take on sex ed videos from years past. Some of his more famous images make cameos in this film and wind up in, literally, sticky situations. "The Flesh is Willing" is pure noir-infused erotica. "The Good Girl," by award-winning filmmaker Erika Lust, revisits the classic "pizza guy" porn cliche from the female point of view. Her newest short, "Handcuffs" is a brief glimpse into a sleek nightclub where sideways glances reveal a sexy secret.

"Headshot" and "Cocksucker," by two separate female directors, show the same act from opposite sides, in a breathless yet politically challenging take on, yes, the blowjob. Meanwhile, "Allen Ginsberg Gives Great Head" dissects Singaporean identity through the vaselined lens of an Adonis-like, self-pleasuring young hipster, and the Narcissister engages a "Hot Dog" in unseemly acts.

The 1963 short film "Christmas on Earth" is directed by famed filmmaker Barbara Rubin (who introduced Andy Warhol to the Velvet Underground). Curated by Andy Ditzler (Film Love), the film is set in a New York apartment where a group of men and women engage in an orgy, and is one of the earliest sexually explicit works of the American avant-garde, or by a female director.

All-Fest Passes!

Film buffs can purchase passes good for all three shows for a mere $25 -- or $35 for a VIP Fest Pass, including the VIP luxury experience on Saturday night — and organizers expect sell outs. All films will be shown at Eyedrum Gallery, 290 MLK Jr. Dr. SE, 30312.

CEFF is produced in part by Andy Ditzler's award-winning Film Love series, and PinkEye indie queer film salon. The Fest is generously funded by the Lloyd E. Russell Foundation, and supported by sponsors Dr. Bombay's, Spring4th Center, WhipperSnappers, Frolicon, and SouthEast Leather Fest. SPARK Reproductive Justice Now is the designated community partner.

For more information and to purchase tickets, visit www.cineroticfest.com

Multitasking HNT

Dyeing hair, arguing with Microsoft, and studying.

Welcome to my life LOL

The stuff you don't care about but I'm gonna post anyway :-p

Most of you lovely readers don't know me in the real world, and only visit when I've something new and naughty to say, but you're going to get a dose of my real life anyway, because it's my blog and I can whine if I want to!

This past week has been... hard. After the lovely NYE party hosted by some of my favorite people, I spent Saturday getting a few things done, and ended up treating myself to Chinese.

Bad idea.

Perhaps the fact that it was dead on a Saturday evening should have told me something, but alas and alack, dear readers, your writer is a bit dense.

Then the poor service should have been a tip-off, but by this time I was hungry, and ordered anyway.

Truly, a mistake of epic proportions.

Now, it would have been bad enough had it been good Chinese food, but to get severe food poisoning and a bacterial infection from bad Chinese is just insult on top of injury!

So, my dears, I have been out of commission for 4 days now, the first 3 of which were spent- ahem- purging my digestive system, and the last 1-2 of which I have spent on a careful BRAT diet (Bananas Rice Applesauce & Toast) to rebuild my abused digestive system.

That said, I must commend my amazing doctor: he saw me Monday morning within 30 minutes of my initial phone call, immediately prescribed me antibiotics and an anti-emetic with a detailed explanation of each one (and a warning about the price on the antibiotic), and gave me a hug as we left. I adore my doctor!

So now, dear readers, your favorite blogger is still laid up in bed at her partner's orders and is reading porn rather than creating it. Le sigh. Ah well, soon enough, my friends :)

Actaeon

Actaeon and I are no more.

We are still very close friends, but he is no longer my boi.

We're okay. I'm okay, so please don't worry.

Actaeon is 23. He will be awarded his Master's degree in his chosen field this upcoming May. The entire world is open to him, and he deserves the freedom to explore it- without the emotional fetters of a relationship as committed as I seek.

I love him. He loves me.

That is not in doubt, nor has it ever been- this is a mutual decision, and we respect one another's needs.

Gods, that sounds like counseling psycho-babble! But it's true. Yes, I'm hurting and grieving a bit, and so is he. But it's a clean wound, and beginning to heal already as we help one another through it.

What this means for the future is that we will still hang out (he's coming over this weekend again), we will still play some and attend events together, but the commitment of a relationship is no longer there.

In 'formal' D/s terms, we've gone from a Master/slave relationship to being a Top and bottom who are also very close friends.

I'll start hunting again for a boy soon, but not until after the Holidays. It's too stressful, and I won't put Jack through that over the Holidays.

Meanwhile, I'm planning a Winter Solstice Party and possibly an Orphan's Christmas Dinner.

I love you all :)