An (only somewhat edited) Day in the Life - Part One

"What??"

"Unbutton your pants."

She shifts in his lap, looking through the screen of hedges to the sunny street. This little stairway was shady; she doubted anyone could see in. Still...

"No!"

The hand under her shirt continues to pinch and pluck at her hardening nipple. The other slides slowly back and forth between her legs, the pressure making her squirm. "Why not?"

She doesn't meet his eyes. "...we should get back. My lunch is definitely over."

"Alright." He lifts her off of him (rather brusquely, she thought) and dusts himself off. She tries to make small talk as they walk back to the office, but can't stay focused. Rather than easing off, the tingling sensation in her groin is increasing. The feeling as her clit hardens and rubs against her pants makes her blush. How is she going to work like this?

At his cubicle he gives her a knowing smile and a wink. "Have a good day!" She doesn't descend to his level by glaring at him but moves to her own desk and sits down. For several minutes she sits staring at the blank computer screen, replaying their walk and what happened in the hidden alcove. Shaking her head, she gets back up. "I can't work like this, what am I going to do?"

A part of their conversation rises in her mind, unbidden.

"Have you ever masturbated at work Artemis?"
"A few times. My Master used to make me do it. If he was feeling vindictive he'd have a number of times I had to cum."
"In the office??"
"No, silly! In the bathroom. I had to email him the details after."

Of course, that was in the old building with the private lockable bathroom. The new offices just had a bay of stalls. They were usually pretty empty though...

The growing dampness of her underwear finalizes her decision.

As she enters she's relieved to find the bathroom empty, and makes her way to the last stall. She pulls her pants to her knees and extricates her panties. As she sits she reaches between her legs and begins to stroke her clit, then reaches further and feels her pussy. Her finger comes back already covered in fluid. She sighs and leans against the wall, her fingers flicking along her hood and sliding between her swollen labia. As she raises her shirt and slips her other hand inside her bra, rubbing and pulling at her nipple, she lets her mind drift. In her head last night's masturbation fantasy merges with the events of the afternoon...

Well, that was... Interesting.

Warning: Possible TMI post ahead.

As may have been stated in my first post, I started out with some fairly firm "No"s on my Yes/No/Maybe list. Also as stated, I keep passing those limits. I think I just saw another exit sign whiz by...

I was enjoying some "sexual alone time" last night, but although I was plenty turned on I was having real trouble getting off. The usual fantasies weren't working, and I was totally uninterested in porn or erotica for once.

Now I'd like to point out that I was in a really interesting head-space that evening. Sexually, that little voice in my head that is always soooo paranoid (maybe you know that voice - "Is my leg in the right place? Should I be moving my hips differently? Do I look FAT?? Or maybe that's just me) was completely absent. No fear, no worry that the other person wasn't enjoying themselves (I'd had someone over earlier,) nothing but the act itself and the person I was enjoying it with. Joy!!

So here I was, after, and having no luck finding that orgasm. But being unafraid, my mind took a trip into a part of my sexual map labeled simply "Here There Be Dragons." Lo and behold, I proceeded to experience one of the most intense masturbatory orgasms I've ever had.

Where had it been hiding, you ask?

Apparently... at Daddy's house.

NOT, mind you, my actual father. Nor was I in any way, shape, or form a child.

This is the BDSM "Daddy" (and even so, I feel pretty damned weird writing about it in connection with myself.) Do I know exactly, or even vaguely, what that means? NO. In fact, for all of the lovely books on BDSM I have, I can't seem to find anything that addresses it. Again, this ain't age regression play folks. Eeep, I guess that means I have to think about what it means to me. Here goes...

So, if "Daddy" wasn't my Dad, and I wasn't a child, what was going on? Can I remember the fantasy? I have had some experience with Master/slave play. How was this different? I think it was a safer feeling. Definitely a more familial one (although not incestuous... hmmm, methinks the lady is protesting too much. Eschew fear!) It did feel like home. But not being in that fear-free state right now, what I'm experiencing is low-grade terror - "what's wrong with me? was I abused when I was young? what kind of depraved shit is this??" and you know, that wasn't the experience I had at all.

Perhaps I'm over analyzing this. Lots of people in D/s have daddies. I think for the moment I'll file it under "interesting occurrences in the desert" and keep my eyes peeled for any more sightings. Who knows, maybe there's a "Daddy" in my future. Seems more likely than a Master.

Or maybe not. With me, it's always a bit of a gamble. ;)

Oh, and Sarge? If you're reading this? While our relationship might have been a germinating factor, this isn't why I chose to date you.

*Edit* Found an extremely appropriate quote at this site:
"Most women who have Daddy fantasies say they are not envisioning their actual fathers, but rather the gestalt of Daddy: An authority figure, not necessarily male, who doles out punishment but also protects and nurtures. Likewise, we don't necessarily see ourselves as children in the scene, but rather powerless sex objects wholly at the mercy of someone stronger than ourselves—just as in any scene involving dominance and submission. In the Daddy fantasy, chronological age is irrelevant: a mentality comes into play that is ageless."

*Secondary Edit* Gestalt - good word!

Mmmm...

It is 10:30 Sunday night, and I feel yummy.

Mmmmm...

Out of my Past

My friend DJ has been raving about a certain TV show recently. He's turned me on to some great movies, so when he asked if I wanted to borrow it I said sure. Just started watching it today. The title is

Trailer Park Boys

The synopsis of season one: "After 18 months in jail, Trailer Park Boys Julian...and Ricky...head back to Sunnyvale Trailer Park. They're aiming to get their lives together but wherever they go, trouble is not far behind."

This show was shot "reality TV" style. There are three main characters - stupid doper and "smart" doper are attempting to grow weed to sell to prison guards. The third character is the obligatory sitcom weirdo: lives in a shed, talks to cats, wears glasses like the bottom of coke bottles. Wackiness ensues, and I admit, I found the first episode amusing. But by the end of the third I was distinctly uncomfortable and couldn't stop thinking.... I know these guys.

It's been long enough now that I tend to forget, but as a child these were the people I grew up with. We never lived in a trailer park (although I have lived in several trailers, and yes, even a shed) but our friends did. My parents didn't grow drugs, or go to prison, or get violent, or have the cops called to our house... but they were pretty common things for us to experience third hand.

Now I was lucky. Even though she filled her life with these people my mother didn't walk their path. As well, my father's parents were solidly middle class and as much as they disliked my mother they adored me. I spent a significant portion of my childhood with them. But that sort of behavior was what I considered, if not exactly normal, not that strange either.

It's only now as I'm moving forward with my life, and taking a good look at my deeper motivations and programming, that I realize how strongly that shaped me. How a part of me never really left the trailer park. I am proud of how much I've grown out of that and am still growing. I know that in a few minutes or hours my newfound sense of assurance will kick in. I realize that that is just what happened in my past and I don't have to re-enact it ever again if I choose not to.

But in the meantime I can't help feeling sad. Not for myself exactly, but the people who live that way their whole lives and never, ever, understand that they don't have to. That out of all of the things about their lives that seem to hold them down, what they really need to be saved from is themselves.

Accountability

I wrote this post in response to a thread started by my good friend, here. I liked it enough to post it to my own. Check out the link to see the whole conversation.

"I don't think our views are incompatible. You don't have intent in an accidental situation. It's sort of the definition. If someone went into it with forethought/knowledge (the girl in your example) than it was something done with intent. The example of the four year old is an accident, in which there was no intent so doesn't speak to my point at all.

As for the result of your actions being more important than the intent... Humans are intelligent learning creatures. Part of our "survival package" is the ability to analyze results and apply them to future situations. If you learn that doing something hurts someone, and choose to do it again in the future, your intent is what causes that damage - where do you draw the line between the two? Is creating that distinction between the choice that caused the harm and the harm itself helpful somehow? They exist in symbiosis (assuming a vacuum state, excluding outside influence.) You could not have one without the other, so how are they separate?

Learning aside, most of the time when people are making harmful choices on some level they understand what they're doing. A huge part of the function of the mind and/or ego is throwing up dust so that we can continue to act in these (usually habitual) ways without having to consciously acknowledge it. There is a deeper self that knows better. The trick is learning to listen to it. On some level, no matter how slight, there is always a choice to be made. Each step taken towards light makes the next step in that direction easier; the same with darkness.

How are we helping people by not holding them accountable for their actions? Not blame mind you; accountability. Harm done to another is in some way also harm done to oneself. Should we just keep letting people damage themselves and others because they didn't mean to? Isn't the negative result from bad choices how we recognize it as a bad choice? In that case how is removing the negative result of social/societal disapproval helpful? We're pack creatures; if we only get to keep the detrimental aspects of pack behavior and not the beneficial ones it's no wonder we're such a mess."

Leaving my Mark

Well, that was quite the sabbatical. I am back, at least until the tornado that is my life flings me back out into the atmosphere.

I realized today that there is something that I've been missing in my more recent relationships. Namely, marking my lover. I've always been something of a biter, but it never really came out until I got into BDSM. I used to have a lover who wore a necklace of bruises around his collarbone, a constantly changing ring of color as the older bites faded. Another never let me forget to leave a clear impression of my teeth on his left pectoral muscle. He used to say that if he was to get a tattoo that symbolized me he'd just get one of the bite marks inked in.

I used to treat these as something I did more for them than for myself. I realize now that I miss it. I miss the goofy smile that would appear on their faces when they touched the bruises, the visceral memory of our encounter. I miss the affirmation of our relationship, our shared sexuality, knowing that this was a part of our lives and not something to be hidden.

*Edit* I decided to add a title to this post. The irony is unintended but eerily appropriate.