A Beginning

Pretty much since May, when I finally gave in and kissed my Lion, he’s been the one dominant over me. I made it fairly clear I was interested in a D/s relationship with him–something he, too, seemed enthusiastic about. So, very slowly, we have been working on building that. A contract is in production, I have tasks, and we are both picking the other’s brain and delving deep, learning what makes us tick, and what strengthens our bond.

I’ve had a D/s relationship as a submissive before. Rigger, my Sir, was a great teacher, and a compassionate, though sadistic Dominant, but our relationship remained fairly mechanical. I was in it for the experience. My relationship with Lion is very different. We have a familiarity of each other, feelings, attachment beyond just a title and a leash. I feel honor in my submission to him. I want to make him happy not just because of a collar or duty, but because I love him, and his happiness is my joy.

I attended a workshop at Dark Odyssey’s Winter Fire some years ago that was ostensibly a panel on service submission. The woman who headed the panel used the title Princess. I learned a lot from her about submission, and not just about service. She gave us a list of questions to ask your submissive. I stumbled across my notes as I was going through my old service notebook, and I thought they would be a great way to get both of us thinking. So, I altered Princess’s questions, changing them so they could be asked to a Dominant, and posed them to him first. Once he’d answered them all, I asked him to modify and add to the questions as he saw fit for me to answer.

I’m slowly working on them now. A few of them have been more challenging than I expected. My Lion has been patient with me, including giving me feedback on the answers as I post them (which I love). And I think both of us are already seeing results from our answers and discussions.

One thing I continue to find amusing as we keep learning about one another, is how hesitant Lion is to share his kinks and fetishes with me. Particularly if they’re dark, something even he was surprised to like, or maybe feels a little strange or uneasy for liking it. It’s funny to me because I have gotten off to some of the weirdest stuff. Stuff that, I guess, people don’t imagine me enjoying. I know he’s worried my image of him will be altered, or I’ll be offended–or maybe there is an element of shame there still, for being so turned on by things that are wrong or dirty in the real world. So far, I haven’t been shocked or surprised… or disgusted. Mostly just excited. We keep finding these ways we’re compatible that had been hidden all those years. And it’s good.

I have a good feeling about this.

(Mostly the kind of feeling that results in bruises.)



Why can’t I ask for what I need?

I don’t ask for much. It should be simple enough. But my mind is telling me no. It says I’m too needy. It says they don’t need me or want me. It finds excuses, evidence, and digs its claws into my chest, refusing to let go.

Be alone. You deserve this.

I think to myself, I can’t do it anymore. That scares me. I need to shut myself in. No one should see me this way. It takes so much energy to smile. Better to sit and be forgotten. Welcome oblivion.

I want to be held. I need you. I needed you but I couldn’t ask for it. My brain wouldn’t let me. I feel fragile. My throat was tight. I was frustrated. Why was I about to cry? I have so much to be happy for but all I can think about is how lonely and pointless I feel.


Patience. I need patience. Though, I don’t wanna wait. I need closure, though I don’t want an end. Maybe, a dogeared page. Put a bookmark at this point, stop me from pining, stop this ache, this pain, this need. Press pause on my feelings, with intent to unpause. Because I want to do it again. And I would do it again, drag my heart through brambles and thorns for you, just to have you, just for one night, one more night.

I’m still so lucky to have touched you. To have held you, and had your hand in mine. I thought it could never happen, but it did. And perhaps I touched you too much, perhaps I was not as distant as I should have been, but it was worth it, and I know that’s an easy thing for me to say. I have nothing to lose.

Still, I feel like something inside me is cracked and leaking. I feel an ebbing. Is it my heart, to you? What does it mean to you? Is this feeling one-sided, am I foolish, will you tell me it’s not worth it for you? Will you chase me away, not for the first time, but the last?

Rewind, while these memories are fresh. Go back to the page where you kissed me. How my heart stuttered. How there was barely an awkward moment. Everything leading up to this, to holding you so close, to the taste of you on my lips. I was so hungry for you, I wasn’t ready for it to end when you pulled back. But, patience. If I’m patient, maybe I’ll kiss you again.

I hope so.


If I Only Had A Heart

I’m in love. It’s kind of a big deal. And I’m excited to share it with you, the whole world. Because love kind of bubbles out of me. And I’m not talking about that new, flaky, feel-good hormonal rush of a new relationship we call the cupcake phase or NRE. This is that bone-deep, kind of scary, fist squeezing your heart kind of love. I want to share all the good things in life with him. I’m comfortable with him. And I used to be worried–I’ve never seen him relationship before, beyond those already established when I met him. He was a serial dater. A prolific fucker. Friend with benefits to many. And he was my friend.


We were friends for, like, six years before we started dating. Can I call it dating? We were sitting on his couch, watching a terrible B-horror movie, and I was wondering to myself if we were the kind of friends who cuddled, when he asked if I’d like to cuddle. I leapt (literally) at the idea, and stretched out on the couch, my head practically in his lap. We stroked and pet each other, the way ya do when you’re idly cuddling and watching a movie. Only it definitely was not idle, and I was so distracted by how turned on I was from his nearness, his scent, his touch, that I could barely pay attention to Antibirth. Then, the weird movie was over. I sat up, we stretched, I nonchalantly sipped my soda and tried to calm my body down. He checked the time and remarked that it was early enough, did I want to watch another movie?

Heck yeah, I wanted to “watch another movie.”

With Clown playing, we sidled up next to each other in the center of the couch. I put my arm around his shoulders, so we could still snuggle and be close, but I totally wanted to watch the movie. It was an Eli Roth movie, and I kinda like that guy. But our heads were so close together. Keep it together, I told myself. But I nuzzled against him anyway, our faces slowly getting closer.

Our lips grazed. Then, I was kissing him. And he was kissing back, matching every ounce of need I’d been restraining. We threw ourselves into each other, both marveling, neither expecting this sudden change of course in our previously steady friendship. He went down on me forever, pushed his fingers into me, and kissed me deeply, the way you kiss someone when you’re not certain you’ll get to kiss them again. I clung to him, sighing and moaning, but I knew I would kiss him again. I never wanted to stop kissing him. Another film played. I don’t remember it. I remember clutching him to me as his fingers curled deep inside my cunt; I remember his hands on my thighs as he knelt on the floor, groaning as he ate me.

When I got home, the night felt surreal. For several days, I teetered between Did we really do that? and When can we do that again? He was just as incredulous, but we both confessed to wanting the other for years. All that time, so many opportunities, and neither of us were brave enough to cross the line, until that night. His hands had already been on my body. His visage already a visitor my mind as I touched myself. But it had seemed hopeless. Hint: It wasn’t.

But now that I had him, I feared the inevitable moment he lost interest and pranced away to the next shiny object. At the same time, I rebelled against the growing feelings I had for him, certain that loving this man would only end in heartbreak. And yet, on a night after a long, hot week at camp, tasked with taking care of him in a sudden bout of sickness, and a metamour on a bad trip, I looked down at him, and I knew I was doomed. As he dozed between us, my chest ached. I had to accept it. My love simply was.

I was frank with him. I told him of my fears, and they were not discounted as frivolous. He knew his own nature, and wasn’t about to make promises to break. When eventually I told him I loved him, he panicked, though quickly I made it clear I didn’t expect reciprocation. He didn’t know what to say. I suggested that a thank you would do. “I just wanted to tell you, because it’s how I feel, and I want to say it.” I explained that I didn’t feel like it was moving too fast, because I had known him and been friends with him for so long. It was more like I was just now allowing myself to feel it. And it was okay. Even though I knew I was setting myself up for heartbreak, I had decided to just let it be, and enjoy what we had, whatever it was, for however long it would last.

I don’t know at what point he realized it, or how he felt, but it was some time after that he confessed his own feelings for me. Secretly. Using Sarahah. So, I literally didn’t realize it was a message from him, until much later, when he asked if I could guess.

I’ll admit, I was hoping he would one day reciprocate my feelings. I was surprised and overjoyed when he did. I still wondered what it meant. Where were we headed? What did he want, what did I want? What did it mean to him when he said, “I love you,” and what did it mean to me? Where are we? What are we doing?

Love is floundering. Love is madness.

We’ve come farther, now. I’m secure. And I believe he is more secure, if not as strongly as I. I don’t just love him, I am in love, and that’s a big deal, like I told you. This is a somewhat recent revelation. I can only claim to be currently in love with two other people, and they’re the people I live with. So to feel this connected is significant. My heart is at home in his arms.

I am My Lion’s, and My Lion is Mine.


Letter to Summerland; circa 2010

Dear Mom,

I felt like I should have said something. Anything. Sometimes I look back on it and think about what I might have said, and many things come to mind, but I don’t think I could have said them. Usually I am so full of words, bursting to come out, but your complete absence left me speechless.

There’s a lot I’d say to you now.

I don’t know why it took me so long to realize you were leaving. And then, once you were gone, how completely and utterly gone you would be. How unreachable. How blank and empty and dark that whole part of me could be. It was as if I had played at being blue my entire life, my sad little tragedies that prefaced this cataclysm were just pretend, a little kid playing dress-up. I was in no way prepared for your sudden absence, though there is no reason why I should not have been.

I remember the very instant I realized you were dying. It was quiet and it was night and we were alone. I think I really saw you then, not just as you lived in my mind and in my heart, but you as the body before me, plugged into dripping bags and beeping machines and hissing mask. How many times had I come to you, broken, and you with just a few words and a knowing touch made all my pain and sorrow fade? Here you were, slipping away, and I never even said good-bye.

I held your hand and whispered to you. I told you we would be okay and that we were strong enough. I gave you morphine as soon as the machine let me. I panicked when the seizures took you. I fought with you to keep the mask on. As if it would help, as if it would make it better. You always spoke of quality of life. I wish you had even that, at the end. You were such an amazing and strong person, someone I always looked up to. You were the person I wanted to grow up to be. I know that a part of you lives on in me and Amanda. That part is just a shadow of the greatness of you that could have been if you were still here, still the rock in our lives you were intended to be.

I miss you so much every day that when it overcomes me I wonder how it is that I can still get up in the morning, still pull myself together and go on with my life. For so long you were all that I had. Everything came and went and nothing else mattered but you. There is this hole inside of me that is filled with the absence of you. Sometimes it threatens to yawn open and take me in. What do we do to keep on going? I have seen the bravest, toughest person in my life reduced to yellow skin and jutting bones. You who never asked for anything, begged me to make the pain stop. And I couldn’t.

There are so many things I didn’t do, and it’s hardest to not regret. I could have been a better daughter, I could have realized sooner that I had so little time. Why couldn’t you watch me blossom into the woman I am today? Why couldn’t you see me graduate high school, go to prom? Why did I have to wear my white dress without you? Why is everything beautiful and grand and special so empty without you in my life?

I’m sorry. I wanted to write this letter to show you what a strong woman I’ve become. That even without you, I remember you, and I try to live every day to make you proud. I remember how you used to wait for me to call you when I got home from school, and that when I didn’t call, you missed me. I remember playing Neopets with you on dueling computers. I remember how the little things were so special to you. I remember the way you laughed. I remember how perfect you were and, bitterly, how damaged the world is now without you.

You were so beautiful. I don’t want my strongest memories of you to be the ones at the end. I want to remember your smile, I want to remember the way you always smelled like coffee and cigarettes and the sun. I remember how soft your skin was and how we were always going to be your babies, even when we were thirty. I’m almost thirty now, Mom.

It’s been eight years since you died, but sometimes I feel like I’m just waiting for you to come home. I can’t look at that hole inside me for long, because I just might fall in and I don’t think I’ll ever come out. I want you to know how much I love you, I still love you, I love you I love you I love you. And I miss you so goddam much.

With my entire heart,
your daughter, Jen



Touch isn’t intimate enough.

There isn’t a proper way to describe how I’d like to slide my nails beneath your skin, prize open your ribs, squeeze your heart. I want to leave my fingerprints on your bones. I want the taste of me to linger at the back of your throat when you haven’t seen me for days. I want you to crave me the way I crave you, the way I want to wear memories of you bitten and bruised and scarred. I want to give you something of mine that’s sacred, that’s only mine to give and only yours to have. You have all of me, but on borrowed time. And that time is rarely enough. I need to be full of you.

Words aren’t sacred enough.

Everyone can cup these letters and fondle the syllables with their tongues, sloppy, inarticulate. I want to hear your loquacious whisper against my cheek. These words are a gift every stranger can see, every lover can plagiarize. I want the joy of your company to bubble over and fill me with effervescent, pink feelings that leak from my lips and pop–You’d think it would be easy enough to say, but it still feels like I’m pulling stringy muscle from my heart to tie around your wrist. Easier, still, to just put my fingers in the spaces between yours, and look up at the night sky, and see each and every star; I Love You.


Get Gay Married Today

Today SCOTUS made history by legalizing marriage for same-sex couples across the US.

Congratulations to all the people who can now marry the people they love.

art by chudilydoo@FurAffinity