Archive for the ‘Angus’ Category
I’ve never pretended that I was perfect, that would fool no-one, but mostly, I make smart and considered decisions, I am thoughtful, I think about consequences for me and mine, and I try to handle myself and situations ‘for the best’ for all concerned.
I generally have good judgement and exercise it well.
Recently, I failed miserably at this and caused a lot of unnecessary pain and anger for a boy I care for very much.
I looked at a situation and went against my better judgement to make an utterly selfish and thoughtless decision for no reason other than ‘because I wanted it’.
We like, in the fantasy worlds, to pretend that Dommes get what they want. Now you and I know that’s not true, that’s the fantasy and doesn’t reflect what happens in the real world.
In the real world, if I am trusted with making decisions, if I know he will follow me, I have to make good ones… even if those decisions don’t get me what I want.
Sometimes making the right decision makes me feel like a petulant child not getting the lollipop that I want and that I can see just *there*, that I can reach out and touch, that I can get if I just pretend that there are no consequences, just this once, surely, just this once, I can just grab it and and…
The worst of it in this case was that I *knew* it was a bad decision and I did it anyway. What is that?! Who does that?! I just wanted it, that’s all… *insert petulant pouting and sulky defiance here*
The fallout is my fault. Completely and utterly my fault.
Sometimes, I get it wrong, we all do, we make mistakes, we do dumb stuff. But I rarely get it wrong on purpose, I hardly ever make a decision that I know, really, is the wrong one, deliberately ignore the completely predictable consequences, because that’s kind of stupid and hugely selfish, and mostly, I am not stupid and not that selfish.
I am normally better than that, but yeah, sometimes, I just suck.
I have, in the last 7 months, formed a close and very sweet and affectionate bond with a submissive remote from me.
I joined Second Life to explore what it was about. I had time on my hands, I was emotionally wrung out, I was curious, I was skeptical.
I talked to a lot of people there, it is like a series of chat rooms, with pictures… I didn’t ‘get’ SL D/s, but I was curious enough to see if I could make something of it.
With full disclosure that I was using him as an experiment, that there was nowhere for it to go, that I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, that it would head, inevitably, towards a car crash of an ending, I brought a lovely, thoughtful, sensitive boy in close to see what we could make of it.
His name is Angus.
He got a pretty piss poor deal with me as an ‘SL Domme’… I was not really able to make much of SL D/s… I moved him pretty quickly out of SL to IM, to email, to phone which gave me more of him, but didn’t change the fact that it was what it was… limited by the medium and with nowhere to go. I did not do cyber sex, I did not do SL BDSM play… I discovered that I don’t have the kind of immersion capability that you need for that to work. For all that most SL D/s relationships are built around remote wanking, he pretty much got ripped off. Regardless, we built something meaningful… sweet and lovely.
He got as much of me as I could offer over the many months that we talked daily, and he gave me as much control as I wanted to take, with a beautiful trust and an open heart. We had little rituals and structure, we spent hours chatting every day about anything that came up, we supported each other through some difficult things, he had rules to follow, I had expectations of his behaviour and he complied, we sent each other sweet gifts, we built something real and worthwhile with a subtle, gentle but strong and very affectionate D/s flavour.
And now, with me in the driver’s seat and him sitting patiently and trustingly beside me, I aimed the car at a tree, deliberately hit the accelerator and I crashed it… the car flipping over and over, flames, explosions, screaming and the smell of burning hair. It was inevitable, we both knew that, because there is nowhere for this thing to go, but it still hurts like a bitch.
As I look at the wreck of the ruined car, plucking broken glass out of my hair, a little shaky and off balance, I see him sitting there in the passenger seat, kind of broken and blank and unmoving. I move towards him and he shakes his head, doesn’t look at me.
I nod and leave a little note on the smashed up windshield, stupid, pointless, but I leave it anyway. It says sweet things, “I adore you”, “I am sorry”… words and some more words. I hope, in the end, he will think it was worth it.
I watch him hurting and I can’t fix it.
Sometimes I make it worse with a thoughtless comment or a passing throwaway that cuts him, I don’t even realise I have pierced his skin until I see the blood seeping quietly from the wound, until I see him backing slowly away from me. He retires to a corner to lick it, silently curled up into himself, I imagine an accusatory look being thrown my way from his periphery. There is nothing I can do to help, which is a different kind of hurt, a selfish kind maybe, I don’t know.
It will be fine, I know that. I just wish it was fine now, is all.
He worries about me from over there, across the ocean… I eat badly and don’t sleep… He expresses it gently, quietly, persistently… *worry worry*… It is sweet, this concerned caring.
I tell him, then, to order me a salad online for my lunch, something that allows him to contribute to looking after me, to extend that concern in a practical way. The salad bar is downstairs from my work… the choices are endless and relentlessly healthy: fresh greens, spinach, snow peas, carrots, artichokes, baby corns, green beans, tomatoes, olives, jalapenos, chicken, tuna, different dressings… I tell him he can add whatever he wants to the salad (no anchovies!). He puts a lot of thought into it, I can see his mind ticking over…
“What will she like?”
“Is this a good combination?”
“Which dressing?”
He has a level of fretting and concern that it will not taste good, that I will not like it, that he will get it wrong. He orders, tells me it is done, and waits for me to come back to him… approval, or no.
I go downstairs at noon like a good girl to pick up the healthy lunch he has put together for me. It makes me laugh softly to myself, it is hot and sweet and a mashup of the dynamic, which I love.
And it is a treat, a tasty surprise (oh, chilli… and egg!), he has done well. I feel holy and healthy and sweetly cared for as I crunch through the vegetables that I know I should eat more of. I think to myself, ‘This will make him happy’, as if I am some submissive girl, pleasing her master. That thought, too, makes me laugh as I make a mental note to tell him ‘No jalapenos next time’.
I look forward to making him do that again.
Whispered in my ear
Tom Allen on Check my workouts!
And here's another one: http://www.myfitnesspal.com/ Phone apps, plus fairly standard calorie tracking tools. Forums, friends list, etc. It's mainly a diet/ weight loss...Ferns on Check my workouts!
Thanks for that, Harlequin. I did look up a bunch of sites (including that one) before I decided on Jefit,...Ferns on Domme: Online training
Ugh, shame that the change in routine interrupted your plans. I know what you mean. Congrats on the new job,...Harlequin on Check my workouts!
You should check out http://www.fitocracy.com It's a site for tracking your exercise and earning points and levelling up. It's a really...Tom "Work It" Allen on Domme: Online training
Actually, if you allow youself one (!) tiny little ice cream sandwich after a workout, it's good recovery fuel.