I have boxes that I move from one place to the next, leaving them unpacked and unused. They contain my journals from the days when my triumphs and failures were written down painstakingly by hand. Endless pads and notebooks lie untouched in there. They also contain photo albums of yore, from the days when you had to take film into the camera shop and have them developed, and photos were expensive and precious.
I was looking for a couple of old photos the other day, unsealed the boxes, the musty smell of disuse wafting out. I flicked quickly through some of the journals that sat on top, but no more than that. They are hard to read. I was often full of angst then, or perhaps more accurately, I mostly wrote when I was full of angst. So the journals are, for the most part, difficult and angry and sad.
I had a quick shock of surprise at the snippets that I read, at how much I had rewritten history in my head. Perhaps, and probably, it is normal to rewrite our history because after all, it’s the searing pain and the blissful joy that we remember, and not all the details that went on in between. And goodness knows that in the moment we don’t see many of the things that become perfectly clear in hindsight, and we always colour our history through the filter of hindsight.
Photos, though, show only happiness. I’ve always thought that’s how it worked for me back then: Writing was to document badness, photos were to capture joy.
I found a photo of the first man I ever fell in love with, the first man I dubbed a ‘vanilla submissive’, the first man who showed me what it was I wanted in a relationship.
It was taken when we were on holiday, diving off the coast of Africa. He is beautiful in a way I’m not sure I ever saw when we were together. He’s not smiling, though he looks amused, his mouth slightly open as if he’s going to say something to me. His lean face is in high relief, the light catches the hard angles of it in a way that makes him look both younger and older. His cheekbones high and angular, there are creases in his face that would later become the wrinkles of maturity. His lips are full and soft and he is looking at me behind the camera with a gentle tenderness that I remember well. The day is bright, glaring, the background of the photo faded over time into a stark dry landscape.
My first thought was to send a copy to him, “Oh look how beautiful you are!”, but we had a difficult time on that holiday. My fault. It was the beginning of the end, and I fear that what he will see in the photo is not a beautiful young man looking at the woman he loved, but a man who knew, deep down, that his heart would soon be broken. Because hindsight can be cruel like that.
This is an experiment in podcasting *smile*.
The Domme Chronicles podcast is available on iTunes and while some of my old audio clips have made it into the podcast, this is the first brand new one. There will be at least one more and then I will see how I feel about it.
The questions I answered include:
- How can I make receiving anal sex more domly?
- Have you ever fed a man with your feet?
I laughed a lot in here: you’ll have to listen to see why…
- Shy about being ‘a Domme’ around others, is this normal?
- How can I make my submissive boyfriend into a painslut?
- How do you feel about body hair on male subs?
- Have you ever done a ‘forced bi’ scene?
- Do you want your sub men to cry?
- Can you recommend a good resource for beginner rope play?
As promised, the bondage books I own and quite like are (for what it’s worth, I find youtube videos much more useful than books):
Two Knotty Boys, Showing You the Ropes
Lee Harrington, Shibari You Can Use: Japanese Rope Bondage and Erotic Macrame
I can’t really be sure that everything podcasty works until I publish it, so let’s see…!
Edited to add: Um… it’s been about 20 minutes since I hit publish and the audio is not up on iTunes yet. So I’m hoping it just takes a while vs not working at all… Patience is not one of my virtues… :P.
Edited to add more: Okay it took about 2 hours, but it’s up on iTunes like a proper podcast now!
…or ma première critique du livre français…
I had to show off my first 5 star review on amazon.fr here because it’s hidden away from amazon.com users. Also it’s in French *swoon*.
The author kindly translated it for me (Google translate doesn’t QUITE get it right) and it’s wonderful:
“A very good book of short stories where the female dominates!!!
I loved it! This book deserves to be better known.
Since its publication, critics from this book were amazing. It puzzled me and led me to Her website (same name as the book). Her texts hooked me, so I bought it from Amazon. And I was not disappointed at all.
Her book is full of more than 150 small stories. On average each story is 3 pages. Once one is finished, we only have one desire : read the next one. This is a damn addictive book! Some texts have been written in the third person, others are dialogs.
When we read it, we feel it’s not fake ; but true stories!
It’s really interesting to know feelings of a lifestyle Dominatrix in this or that situation, Her desires, expectations or dreams.
Whether you are sub or Dom or simply curious about BDSM, this book is for you.
Good books focusing on Femdom and written in French are few, if Shakespeare’s language is not a barrier for you; do not miss this one ;)”
I’m so very delighted!
If you’ve read my book, I’d really appreciate it if you wrote a review, just a few lines would be great. I’m rubbish at marketing and reviews are one of the primary reasons that people take a chance on my book (you can easily change your display name if you want to remain anonymous).
I found this photo while cleaning up my files. I’ve posted photos of a different, more beautifully intricate corset before, but I don’t think I’ve shared this photo of my classic black one.
With jeans, for that ‘oh this old thing?’ casual look...
He said he’d fight back when he was being hurt: Not ‘ha ha’ kidding around play-fighting, but a kind of involuntary ‘fight or flight’ reaction that would kick in hard.
His body would involuntarily flail and punch and try to get away.
He wasn’t bratting or intentionally being difficult, and he wasn’t wanting to stop, but he knew himself and he knew how he reacted to pain. He had enough experience to know that he had to warn play partners that this was what he was like. He was genuinely worried about accidentally hurting his partner. And rightly so. He was 6’2 of big strong strapping man.
The choice as his dominant was either to hold back when we played and not go so far that he lost control, or to be aware that it was coming and prepare accordingly.
“I probably need to be restrained,” he said, almost sheepish about admitting his lack of control.
He was right, he did.
He would rage against it, the pain, eyes blazing, every muscle straining, his entire body tense and fighting. Even tied down by his wrists and ankles, he had enough range of movement that he could throw me off the bed when I was sitting on him.
His power was intoxicating to experience. Like riding some raging bull.
I’d regroup, get back on top of him, and hurt him some more.
Until I was bucked off again.
I’m away from home at the moment, on another continent, a vacation, a scoping out. No, not meeting a potential (come on, like I’d be able to keep that to myself!), more’s the pity.
Random things floating around in my head.
I have some internet connectivity, but I am uninterested in it. It seems so far away. This is a good thing. I am so used to being plugged in, that a break must be healthy for me. To be sure I can survive it, should the apocalypse start with a sharp slide into disconnectedness.
Today I feel a little lonely. Like I want to reach out to somebody. But all the somebodies to whom I could reach out are not the right somebody, despite their respective awesomenesses. You know how that is. It’s a different thing from being alone, this being lonely thing. It makes me feel a little melancholy. I’m surprised I don’t feel lonely more often, but apparently I don’t need much human contact, but when I do, I wonder: who will I tell my secrets to?
Not going to the gym is making sleeping difficult. At least, I assume that’s a big part of it. My body is all ‘You want to sleep NOW?! Come on, we haven’t even started!’ even if my brain is done. Like really done. They disagree often, my body and my brain. Also my heart. It pretty much always disagrees with all of us, but it doesn’t pipe up all that often, so I’m not sure it matters much.
I sound maudlin, and I want to reassure you, dear readers, that it will pass, is no big deal. I don’t want to worry you. I would rather save up your worry for when I really need it. Now’s not the time.
The idea of writing a Femdom ‘How To’ series is on my mind: Bite size palatable, practical pieces. Because I seem to answer the same questions from new dominants over and over.
First in the series would be ‘How to Plan and Execute Your First Scene’.
Given the way clickbait works, I will probably subtitle it ‘Ten Incredible Things You Need To Know About Doing Your First Scene Or It Will Be A Complete Failure And So Will You!!!’ Catchy right?
Wait, what’s that? I’m already supposed to be working on something else. Heh. Yeah I know. I’m getting there… *smile*
As I write this my site is being hit hard by hackers. Mostly from Russia: Literally thousands of log in attempts over the last 24 hours or so. I don’t know why. Very strange.
COME AT ME RUSSIAN HACKERS!! I’M NOT SCARED!
I’m loving this song by Florence and the Machine at the moment (I love pretty much all of their music, but this is particularly resonating for me, it’s wonderful).
“And with one kiss
You inspired a fire of devotion that lasts for twenty years
What kind of man loves like this?”
I have produced a podcast in a fit of creativity and experimentation. I have a new audio Q&A to throw up there, but at the moment it is a consolidation of a lot of my old audio clips from the blog into a single source, you know, if you’re into that sort of accentless Australian Domme thing (my goodness, I am awesome at marketing aren’t I?!).
If you are interested you can find it here on itunes.
I promise nothing in terms of regular podcasts: I am not to be trusted for ongoing interest in random things.
Have you joined my mailing list? Only the very early signer-upperers have received anything from me there so far. But I see you there, lovely fellow listers, and thank you for following along with me over there *smile*.
Come join us. I’d tell you there are cookies, but that would be a lie. Though there might be cookies*.