One Saturday night, a few weeks ago, I sent Mark a message over BlackBerry IM.

Delilah: I had this totally bizarre thought of getting my anger out by beating you up. But that’s too weird!
Mark: I thought of that too. Letting you beat me.
Mark: If you think it would help. . .I would totally do it.

We took the plunge and did it.

We decided to explore something new. I topped Mark.

Relationship problems had left both of us feeling angry, guilty, frustrated and upset. Mark lied to me about certain things. I hid my emotions from him and that made the problems escalate. The straw that broke the camel’s back was that Mark and I were apart a lot, due to his travel for work. We scrambled to figure out a way to reconnect to each other.

I thought of topping him. I suggested it, a sort of “haha, wouldn’t it be funny” idea. I never thought he would actually be behind it.

Why did I want to switch?

I wanted to experience something new. I wanted to please Mark. I was fucking curious.
I wanted to reconnect to Mark on a whole different level.

Mark is a “switch”. I use quotes because I know he has his own thoughts on how he defines his sexuality. He usually submits to men, but has submit to women before. Usually, when he submits, he looks for a male Dominant.

When he does submit to someone else, it doesn’t bother me. On FetLife, some women expressed real despair at the thought of their Masters submitting to someone else.

However, I think it’s fucking hot to watch Mark be in pain. Really, really hot.

I don’t doubt that I’m a submissive. This isn’t some sort of crisis where I sit around wonder whether I’m really submissive or not. I’m a submissive. Whether or not I have a healthy, sustaining interest in learning how to top, is another story. I don’t know if I could top anyone else but Mark right now.

I’ve never felt comfortable making a grand statement such as, “I have a submissive heart/soul/whatever”.  I don’t think I’m a 100 percent “I will ALWAYS BE A SUBMISSIVE” type of girl.

I’ve been presented opportunities to top before. I’ve been approached by men (while uncollared) who have asked if I would be willing to top them. I always sent them away, wailing to Mark on the phone that “I just don’t know WHAT TO DO with them!”

But with Mark, I feel safe. I feel secure. I know Mark. I know Mark’s body. I can communicate with him. I have more of a sense of what he wants, what he needs and what I should do.

Plus, now I have a year and a half of being a bottom under my belt.

That’s not to say that I didn’t hesitate a hell of a lot before I actually walked into the room and gave my first order. I think I paced around the bedroom for at least twenty minutes before I came out and got Mark.

Mark once told me that I would make a cute little top. That I have this slightly demented, cute thing going on. I dressed my part. Pink American Apparel socks, a black polo, pink and white panties with pink glitter polka dots and jeans.

I didn’t wear pigtails. (Though I’ll confess I’ve had more than one daydream about wearing a schoolgirl outfit and topping someone. Hahahaha.) I kept my socks on.

I was tentative at first. I didn’t trust my instincts as a top. I was not a service top, because I wasn’t taking orders from Mark on how to hurt him.

I think my favorite thing to do right now is tit torture. I love watching him squirm in pain. It’s just so BEAUTIFUL. Just the way he moves and the way he moans and whimpers and how his knuckles turn white yanking down on the chains. . .

I did it again last night. I used little wooden clothespins. I put them on his nipples and around his nipples. I cuffed his hands, but I was a teeny bit tipsy from a few drinks, so I erred on the side of safe and didn’t lock them. I slowly placed the clamps on his tits.

Then I took my finger, and flicked at the clothespin.

flick

He yelped in pain.

flick

He yelped and twisted again. His cock surged, raging and hard.

flick flick flick flick flick

“Fuck! Fuck!” He was whimpering and bucking his hips. “Fuck, it still hurts!”

flick flick flick

“Touch me, please touch me, please touch me!” He was begging.

I would touch him a little bit, or drag my tongue along his cock.  I kept playing with the clamps. Then I started stroking his cock faster and faster and pretty soon he was orgasming all over the place.

I’ve used the butterfly clamps on his nipples and yanked up on the chain while he was laying down. I just like the way he looks when I’m clamping his nipples, and it always makes me really wet.

I’ve also used the cane on him. I left welts! I left welts on his ass! I cannot even tell you how ridiculously happy that made me. I actually GIGGLED when he text messaged me that he could feel the welts the next day.

I’m really excited by all of this. It’s another way to love Mark. It’s another way to connect to him.

Seeing him submit to me or seeing him take pain does not mess with our D/s dynamic at all. It doesn’t “ruin” him for me. It’s revealed to me this whole other side of him that’s absolutely gorgeous. A side I never would have seen if I hadn’t made that off-the-cuff suggestion.

I know that some submissives try topping their dominants and that it sometimes doesn’t end well. But this works for Mark and I. It works wonderfully.

I’m still his pet and his slut and his property. I don’t doubt that. Not one bit.

This is just something new to explore, together.

Blah blah, New Year, blah blah, changes, blah.

I know every blogger out there is writing these wrap up posts, looking back at the year and looking forward to 2009.

I have no huge regrets for 2008. None. I have a few small ones, embarrassing moments that I could have gone without, poor decisions. On a whole, I’m amazingly pleased with how much I’ve developed as a person and as a submissive.

Despite how uncertain our relationship seems at the moment, I love Mark very much and I would not take back anything that we did. “Your love woke me up. It healed me.” He said, during one of our text messaging conversations. His love did the same for me, woke me up out of the three year sleep I was in.

We had an incredible year together; San Francisco trips, two BDSM gatherings (Folsom Fringe and TESfest), two contracts, dozens of scenes and thousands of hugs, kisses, and text messages between us.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I have a few resolutions.

1. Have anal sex. My tiny Asian body tends to reject any sort of object going into my ass, silicone or otherwise. I have to be patient enough to let this happen.
2. Cook more.
3. RELAX! and manage my time better.

Below is the continuation and conclusion of my other post, Things I Don’t Want to Say, about a scene that Sir and I had when our contract ended.

Sir looked at me evenly. I was still naked and my hands were still bound.

We eased into the pain. It’s all a blur.

I was still chained to the radiator, my hands and my collar were chained up. He started off just pinching and slapping my breasts and pinching certain parts of my inner thigh very, very hard. (Which really does hurt!) He was a little tentative, going slow, making sure that I was okay with it. I think He could sense that I wanted the pain so I would stop thinking for a bit, get me out of my mind and back with Him.

After He started warming me up for the pain, He gently pushed the yellow, soft, stretchy ball gag into my mouth. “I need to see your eyes this time, pet. I want you to look at me.” I nodded.

He went through all of the canes. He started off with the dense, heavy, wooden cane that we received as a prize at Folsom Fringe. He pinched and bit down on my nipples, my skin, and I started moaning through the gag. I wasn’t thinking any more, just feeling; what I needed and exactly what I wanted. He lifted my legs up, revealing my ass and swatting me with the heavy cane. (I happen to really like that position.)

He pushed me up onto my hands and knees and brought out the two smaller canes, the thin rubber/metal one and the rattan cane. The metal one is the worst. It’s pretty much like being hit with a car antenna. He pushed my pain limits to the absolute maximum, switching between light rhythmic stinging swipes and hard strikes that brought me crashing onto the bed. “Get up! Get up or I’ll hit you harder. Pet, get up.” He said loudly, giving me time to compose myself.

I didn’t want it to stop. I started moving my body, back and forth, almost as if I was silently asking Him to hurt me more. Rocking my body back and forth, side to side, to deal with the pain. I never, ever do that.

“You are so beautiful like this.” He said, unzipping His pants. He stood back and watched me move before starting to strike my ass again. My arms were rigid straight and I clenched my eyes shut, just thinking about getting through the pain. I felt connected, I felt something, something real. I was in this moment again, not trapped in my past with a boyfriend who never thought I was good enough or pretty enough or sexy enough. I was in the present with a man who loved me and thought I was absolutely perfect the way I am.

He stood back and watched the welts come up on my skin. He was touching Himself, looking at my ass. “Fuck, you are so fucking beautiful.” I could hear footsteps as He took a few long strides over to the drawer where He kept protection. “I need you, I need to use you right now, just like this, stay like that. On your knees.”

The bed creaked and dipped as He lined up behind me and pushed me down so my ass was in the air. As He put His hands on my ass and hips, I groaned in pain. “This is going to hurt, pet, but you can take this, you’ll take this.” He sank into me and I moaned, the warm skin on His hips hitting the hot skin of my ass. He was using me hard, incensed by the beating I’d gotten. Hard crashing thrusts that made pain shoot up my spine. I couldn’t orgasm with all of that pain, but He came hard, panting into my hair.

“I love you.” He was kissing the side of my neck, my cheek. I would have said it back, had I not still been gagged.

“You need to come. You definitely need to have an orgasm.” He turned me over and the chains made delightful clinking noises as I settled onto my back, my hands up near my face. I was relaxed now.

He took out the Hitachi and turned it on low, curling up next to me. He was relaxed, too.

I am very particular about how I use vibrators. I prefer to have them be in that one perfect spot, as opposed to rubbing all over my pussy. Even tiny pocket rockets have that small sweet spot where they are in that absolute perfect place. Thus, it makes it very frustrating to be gagged, desperate to come, and have someone else holding your vibrator. Sir sensed that I really wanted an orgasm after the beating and after my little break down earlier in the evening. Finally, the gag was yanked out of my mouth. It hung around my neck, wet with spit. I told Him where to put, to stop moving it, to concentrate it on one place.

I was still flush with adrenaline and I couldn’t relax into the Hitachi, let my mind go. Sir pressed Himself against me and I concentrated on His skin against mine. My hands were still bound.

Then I could feel the licks of pleasure starting, all the way down at my toes. I moaned, losing myself in the feeling. It intensified, more, more, more and I was orgasming, I was crying out. I felt so much relief, relief down to my bones.

Then it stopped for a split second.

Then it started again.

I was moaning and bucking again, not believing that it was still going. (No, I don’t know if I squirted.) I caught Sir’s eye and He was watching this unfold, watching me unfurl in front of Him.

Suddenly, I was seized by the exquisite agony of another release and I suddenly felt like I was going to cry with relief, as if someone in me had been held inside so long, crying was the most natural way to express myself. I really don’t know how to adequately describe it. I wasn’t overcome with despair or in pain or anything. Something in my brain just said, “Oh, this new thing is happening! Fuck, what am I supposed to feel, what are we supposed to tell her to do?! Quick, maybe she should start crying. Tears, STAT!”

Before I could start crying, I started hysterically laughing. It was a really crazy moment, a total loss of control. My head was spinning, my heart was pumping and I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling and laughing again. Just orgasms that kept going in waves. Sir said, afterward, that I smiling so hard.

“It’s not stopping. It’s not stopping! Oh my god, it just keeps going!” I cried out, the wand still going, my body moving, moving, moving, my pussy clenching over and over.

I was just absolutely helpless, rocketed into euphoria, moving back and forth. He took the wand away and I was still shaking, glowing, full of energy and life. I kept saying over and over again that I had multiple orgasmed, and I was giddy at the prospect.

I was practically trembling afterwards as I was laying there. I was hyper and absolutely high on adrenaline.

After I calmed down, Sir and I talked about the communication breakdown that happened. I have my own thoughts about it, but this post is long enough.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember Sir holding me throughout the night.

Hi everybody. I’m back! I’m more or less whole, despite going through the WORST finals week I’ve ever gone through. I pulled multiple all nighters, I broke down into several crying fits and bouts of absolute despair. Ugh.

But now, I am home. I’m home, and I’m relaxed, and I’m also. . . uncollared.

Our contract expired. And I don’t know if we’re signing one again. And that absolutely fucking terrifies me.

Keeping to my promise, this is a post I wrote in November about the end of our contract, but never posted. I want to try to clean out as many old posts as I can. I’ve been taking care of myself, relaxing, eating, sleeping in and doing a lot of thinking.

I also got a MacBook for Christmas, and I’m thinking of doing some podcast posts.

This is part one of that night. I’m writing another post to finish it; it was a very eventful night.

- – -

I grew up in a very stoic household. I’m Asian. Culturally, we do not seek help for our problems because we are ashamed. Shame drives us to hide things, to hide our emotions, to uphold the honor of the family and ourselves.

I was very precocious as a child, and my parents demanded nothing less than perfection, even though I was already very high functioning. I was identified gifted in second grade. All of my spelling tests that came back as A- would be questioned as to why I only got an A-, not an A. My parents are emotionally distant towards each other and it bled over to me. My mother said that being overweight was shameful. They also refused to take me to counseling because they were ashamed that I needed counseling in the first place. They laughed off my very real anxiety problems and ignored the fact that I really needed help.

Shame is a very powerful and debilitating emotion for me.

This still haunts me now, as an adult and a submissive. I am very quick to feel ashamed of myself, and as Sir puts it, it paralyzes me. I emotionally shut down. Sir can see it on my face. I judge myself over every little thing wrong. Every thing I do wrong is another reason for someone to judge me, hate me, leave me.

My parents made me feel ashamed because they thought I would work harder, be better, make them prouder if I felt ashamed.

C made me feel ashamed because it made himself feel better. He made me feel ashamed of my body, my sexual desires, everything about me. He felt stronger, I felt weaker and I faded away.

At the end of the contract, I felt very, very ashamed.

I was ashamed of how much I had failed Sir, how many times I had slipped up. All the slave tasks gone undone, emails unsent, food eaten. I felt horrible.

After cleaning His bedroom and operating under speech restriction (no speaking), He forced me onto my knees and chained my collar to the radiator. Then He threw a pad of paper and a pen on the floor and told me to write about all the ways I had failed Him. I was balancing on my knees, on a small white pillow.

I was floored. I was absolutely devastated. I didn’t know why this was happening. I felt my heart close up, I felt myself shutting down. I started staring at the floor. I wouldn’t look Him in the eye. I tipped my head over so my hair fell into my fave. Even when He grabbed my head or my hair to force me to look at Him, I would look away.

Then I started crying. I started crying, sobbing, begging to not have to do this. I fell from on my knees to a sitting position on the floor. I told Him all the ways I felt I had failed Him. I wouldn’t stop crying.

Then He pulled me up onto the bed and I kept crying. I started screaming. I started screaming at Him. I started screaming about how I didn’t want to do this, how I wanted to be unchained. I was too tired to fight, too emotionally distant. I felt like I was on the outside looking in.

“I hate myself so much right now!” I was screaming. “I HATE YOU!”

“You -hate- me?” Sir said, with deliberate emphasis.

“I HATE YOU AND I HATE THE WAY YOU’RE MAKING ME FEEL! I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH RIGHT NOW! I WISH I COULD DIE!” I was hysterical.

He held onto me and I fought Him. He started whispering to me. Trying to console me. “You want to know what would be on my list? Nothing. You’re the one who is torturing yourself, pet. You never failed me. You could have done everything wrong all the time and I would still love you. I love you more for being imperfect.”

But I had already pulled away. I was already gone. I had already dissociated out of the moment. I felt numb.

Even now, I’m emotionally distant just writing this. Sir hadn’t meant to push me that far, didn’t expect that I would react the way I did.

I felt absolutely blank. No anger, no emotions at all. I pulled away from Him and started shivering. I felt cold.

Sir could see the blank look in my eyes, across my face. We talked about what had happened, how I had felt. Tears would drip down my face, big fat tears.

I really, honestly, felt absolutely devastated on the floor of His bedroom. I felt like I was being forced to admit that I was a horrible person to His face.

It was just a total breakdown of communication at the wrong time. He thought it would go much simpler than that; He thought I would write out a list of things, He would look at them, and THEN tell me that I never did anything wrong. We never got to that last part, because I started breaking down. He didn’t expect my reaction.

I felt totally disconnected to everything, including Him. I stared at the ceiling. For a long time, I didn’t know what I needed.

I needed to reconnect. I needed to feel safe. I needed to feel loved.

“What do you need, pet?” He whispered, softly, tenderly. He was kissing my neck.

I looked Him in the eye. “I need you to hurt me.”

The truth is, both Mark and I are kind of scattered and all over the place. Mark has had a lot of work, and I’ve been pummeled with work at school and  at Obnoxious Public Relations Firm. I register for classes next Wednesday. Our contract ends next Monday.

We’re having some contemplation time before we sign another contract. I’m trying to get my head on straight. Sometimes, college feels like one crisis after another. Mark and I love and support each other, but I feel like in this next contract, there are some things I would like to reconsider and some places where I want to grow.

I’d like more protocol, for one. I loved the protocol training weekend that we had over the summer. I would like to do more protocol. It wouldn’t have to be as formal. I know that for both of us, it can be hard to switch between mindsets. That is ultimately what stops us short of having protocol; the mind blocks. I have desires for those periods of protocol and restriction, but we don’t do them very often.

Particularly, I’m fascinated when I’m on speaking restriction. The silence that surrounds us is nice to experience.

If I’m being REALLY honest with myself, I LIKE Him knowing where I am all the time. Even though this strict protocol that I’m living under right now is only supposed to be temporary. . .maybe elements of it can sneak into the next contract.

I want to live joyfully in my submission. That probably sounds so cheesy, but I want to exist happily in it, instead of worrying about my submission or worrying about whether I’m submissive enough or not. I tend to worry so much about my submission, even when I’m under strict protocol. I want to worry less.

I can’t really think of anything else at the moment. I’m post very quickly because a) I have to be at work soon and b) this satisfies my requirement for the day. Yay! However, it has also given me something to think about, so that’s good.

BUT, now I can ask permission to play World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King later! YES!

I am the WoW player out of the two of us, I tried to get Him into it, but He just was not having it. Heh.

Sir makes jokes about being afraid He’s ruined me, exposing me to all of this, you know. BDSM. Heh. While I don’t think He’s ruined me, I do think I’ve reached this point in my life where I can say, I can’t go back to a vanilla relationship. I like this too much.

“This” does not signify only the activities, the sex, the munches, TESfest, meetings or the clubs. It also means the intimacy, honesty, emotional and sexual fulfillment and sense of completion it gives me. I feel, at the point I am right now, if I were to give all of this up and go into a vanilla relationship, I would be devastated. If I had to go into some sweet, boring, blah relationship, I would be so FUCKING BORED. I would feel so stifled. I feel like being a BDSM relationship allows both people to be more honest, with themselves and with their partners.

I feel like I would have to hide so much of myself, those things that I bare so openly right now. The things that Sir wants to hear, urges me to tell him; my needs, my desires, the thoughts that scare me and all of the things I’m curious about. I’m tired of hiding. I spent my high school years behind masks.

I mean, I feel safe enough to be able to say, “Yes, I liked when you were choking me while you were fucking me” or “I like it when you slap my face” or “I think about crawling on the floor in front of you.” I really don’t think I would feel anywhere near open enough with a vanilla partner to say those things.

Spending my formative sexual development years with a boy who was bloody awful in bed made me realize something. Every relationship I have after that, will need to have amazing sexual chemistry.

It’s awful to spend four months lying beneath some boy you don’t give a shit about; you might as well be a knothole in a tree. I felt no sexual attraction to my exboyfriend, C, after a while. I felt no need to initiate sex, I felt distant and I began to hate myself after having sex with him. I don’t orgasm from oral sex, because my previous long term partner didn’t care enough to make me orgasm and made me feel guilty about wanting oral sex.

Read that last sentence over.

No woman should ever feel GUILTY for wanting consensual sex. I almost can’t believe that I let that happen to me for so long.

And now I can’t orgasm from oral sex, and it makes me cry with frustration. I obsess. I feel guilty with Sir’s mouth between my legs. I feel like He’s annoyed with having to do it. I feel like I just can’t orgasm from it, so I try to close my legs and push him away. I always had to beg C to go down on me, so I didn’t believe it when Sir said that He LIKES to go down on women.

This is why I cannot be in a relationship right now where I would have to hide my sexuality. I’m already making up for lost time. I refuse to be in a relationship where my sexual needs are not being met. I can’t do that again. I can’t let it happen.

I love how BDSM is helping me grow as a person.

“Do you trust me, pet?” Sir asks while He holds the gag loosely in His hand. I barely squeak out a “yes” before He’s shoving it into my mouth.

And I instantly feel relaxed. I can’t speak. I can’t see. And I don’t have any choices.

- – -

I’m on a restrictive remote protocol until this contract expires. We’re renewing it again, that’s not a concern for either of us.

• back to telling him everything I eat and drink.
• morning tasklists for the day with times and addresses of where I am.
• no sweets. no junk food.
• emailing Him every time I exit and leave a building. Basically, enough information for Him to know where I am all the time.
• back to slave tasks to reinforce my status as pet and property.

Last night we had a quick and dirty scene. I just needed pain, and lots of it.

He tied my hands up above my head and blindfolded and gagged me. He clamped my nipples and caned me with the huge, thick wooden cane and the thin metal one. Just repeated swats. Over and over and over. Last night, I just didn’t think. My mind went completely blank. It was so freeing.

Sir used me very hard last night. I was sopping wet from the caning and the clamping. He loved taking the clamps off while He was using me, so I would thrash around in pain. He kept saying over and over how I have no choices, how I can’t fight or resist, how I’m property and a slut. Fuck. It was so good. I couldn’t come while being fucked, so He used the hitachi on me. Mmm.

I crave pain much more lately. I also crave breathplay. Sir was pinching my nose shut while I had the gag in and it was so fucking hot. Probably mildly unsafe, but so fucking arousing.

I think I’m growing as a bottom, if that makes sense. My pain tolerance is increasing and are my desires for breathplay and restrictive bondage. I don’t know if I would have wanted these things so much a few months ago. Hmm.

I really have not been doing my slave tasks or my email reports or my daily picture.

I need to remember what all of this comes down to. I’m property.

I’m still property and a slave even if I’m crampy, stressed from school, stressed from work or tired. I’m wearing a slave collar.

I signed a contract at Sir’s feet because I need this. It was my choice and my choice alone. I signed it again even after Sir broke my heart in June because I forgave Him and I trust Him enough not to break it again. I did not sign it without a lot of soul searching, deep conversation and makeup sex.

I crave this feeling of being property. I need this. I feel better with a collar around my throat. The collar Sir yanks on when He’s fucking my throat. The collar He holds onto when He slaps me. Being a slave, having no choice, gives me somewhere to just be, as Sir puts it. And that’s perfect.

If I’m really honest with myself, my collar also makes me feel safer. Safe enough to handle being slapped, punched, caned until I’m crying, cry in front of someone else in general… I had a really intense orgasm on Sunday and almost started crying from the release. I feel beautifully present and whole during a scene.

I’ve never felt so close to someone else. I’ve never been so in tune and so connected with another human being. Sir treats me very well, and even when He is hurting me… still great at it. Ha.

We had a conversation last week about where our relationship is going to go, which always scares the shit out of me. It was good to have a frank, honest conversation. I don’t want to fuck up the time we have together now, by worrying about what will happen later. Everything will work out in the end. If it’s meant to be… let’s just say everything will be okay.

I want to enjoy everything right now. Present. Present.

I’m a slave.

I’m property.

I chose this.

I will choose this again.

I slept fitfully on the plane to California. I had rushed around all day; packing, buying food (that I ended up leaving in my dorm, oops), commuting to the airport and rushing through security. I was stuck in economy next to a man with awful breath. I was mesmerized by the movie that was playing in flight, “Speed Racer” and I listened to the in flight radio. After that was over, I was very restless. I was also starving, but I was being stubborn and didn’t like any of the airline snack boxes.

I was so, so glad to touch down in SFO. I ran to the bathroom after we were let off the plane, then I ran down to baggage claim where Sir was waiting. I wanted to jump in his arms.

We drove to San Jose and prowled around for food. Sir dragged me to a casino that happened to have a diner in it, and we had to sneak in because I’m not 21. Basically, I didn’t go to bed until 2am PACIFIC TIME. Which was 5am to my poor body.

Here’s the thing I’m discovering, about myself and BDSM events. I think they’re fantastic and ridiculously fun, but I just get so… how can I put this… fatigued, after a while. I get tired of the overwhelming pervasive male dominance/female submission. I KNOW THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE, WAIT FOR IT. I just get so overwhelmed. I’m not used to these big events yet. I get freaked out hearing other women screaming, crying, begging all at once. It’s too intense for me. I have a hard time blocking out other people in dungeons.

(Maybe I need a set of earplugs. No, I’m serious. I just thought of this now. Maybe if I had headphones and a blindfold, or even just earplugs and a blindfold, or just earplugs, I would be able to play in public easier. Maybe it would help me get to subspace. I really struggle with it in public. Maybe the next time Sir does sensory deprivation, I could ask for headphones, too… that would be so intense.)

I kind of felt like a tool during Folsom Fringe because Sir put my website URL on my NAMETAG. Heh.

Classes we went to…

LEW RUBENS’ bondage classes, which were FANTASTIC. We bought the DVDs! Sir learned how to do a bunch of new ties, mmmm…

I went to a faceplay class and Sir went to a Dungeon for Beginners class. I liked the faceplay class (slapping, kicking, caning, pressure points, flogging) a lot. Ooh.

Hmm. We also went to a journaling class, which was okay, but Sir and I already communicate very well. We talk in instant messenger, emails, this blog, and if something is REALLY wrong, I write long emails to Sir. So, it was enlightening but I didn’t learn as much as I did in other classes. Lady Balara was a great instructor, though.

Thennnn…. I went to a ponyplay class and Sir went to a single tail class. Whipmaster Bob helped to teach the single tail class, and he was letting people experience being whipped, if they wanted, after the class.

And so I was whipped for the first time! It was so intense but I LOVED it even though I was so scared. I was terrified. Sir practically had to drag me over to Bob, and even he was looking at me closely, “Is this something you REALLY want?” I nodded.

Whipmaster Bob whipped me, and he had one of his slaves hold onto my shoulders. “Breathe, honey. You need to breathe.” I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. It was a mindfuck looking at the whip head on. Just sharp pricks of pain on my chest that I really liked, and I wanted more and more…

Sir and I also went to the steak restaurant in the hotel and probably unnerved the waiter a bit with my knee high Converse sneakers, collar and black and white dress. SO delicious but probably ridiculously fattening. We ate huge steaks, mashed potatoes, salads and this delicious strawberry shortcake dessert.

We wandered over to the dungeon and watched a few sceens, but we were too full and I was too nervous to really play much.

The play would happen the next night in the SF Citadel…

i kissed a girl and i liked it

the taste of her cherry chapstick

i kissed a girl just to try it

i hope my boyfriend don’t mind it

it felt so wrong, it felt so right

don’t mean i’m in love tonight

i don’t even know your name, it doesn’t matter

you’re just my experimental game

just human nature

[katy perry, "i kissed a girl"]

I have pretty juvenile taste in music. I like any sort of alternative/emo/rock sounding stuff, and usually most Top 40 hits. Most of the music I listen to isn’t to Sir’s liking, (“Have you HEARD some of the stuff you listen to? GOD!” He says with a smirk.) so most of the time I just reserve it for when I’m in my car or on my iPod.

This song is just insanely catchy. It’s upbeat and provocative and pretty fun to turn up loud when you’re driving around. At least for me, it is.

I also think it captures the, well, fun of kissing a girl when it doesn’t really mean anything. I wrote earlier in the blog about the fact that I pretty much had my first kiss with a girl ‘auctioned’ off at a New Year’s Eve slave auction in a BDSM club. Even though I hesitated like hell when the time came to actually fill the slip out, I was actually excited.

I secretly liked being the object of so much spectacle, too. I liked the crowd at the door that appeared when the submissive woman was going to kiss me. I liked how intently both Sirs were watching us when we kissed. It was hot.

I identify myself as straight, but I don’t know if I consider myself bicurious. I’ve always felt bicurious implied that you are curious about a relationship with a woman as well as all the sex. For me, I just want all the kissing and sex without all the pressure of having to deal with a relationship. I’d want to keep it fun and light. The problem for me comes with how I’m actually supposed to go about this. That old college cliche of girls getting drunk at parties and hooking up with each other doesn’t happen at the college parties that I usually end up in despite the fact that it’s the loose ‘plot’ of the song.

On Fetlife, it says I’m “heteroflexible” which fits, I guess.

Some people might think it’s easier to do something like this in a BDSM context. I don’t know if it is for sure. A lot of variables come in to play. For one thing, most of the women I encounter on the scene are older than I am; the woman I kissed was much older than me. I feel like I wouldn’t be able to get away with just kissing a girl for fun, for no reason, just to kiss her.

Although I did randomly make out with a woman a few days before TESfest, I haven’t seen her or the man she was with at the BDSM club I go to with Sir. And that situation was kind of freaky in the fact that it escalated very, very, very quickly. After we started kissing, she kept trying to put her hand up my skirt. Which I was not ready for at all. Actually, I sort of freaked out when Sir and I left the club, and I begged Sir to take me back to His apartment afterward. I felt really clingy.

I would like to make out with a girl in a non-BDSM context. Just to compare. I feel like it would be less pressure.

I just want some girl who’s young and pretty and soft, to kiss me. The song is right, damn it, women are gorgeous, fabulous and kissable. I want to kiss and touch and mess around with a girl and not have it MEAN anything. Fuck!

(I’m obsessed with referring to this mysterious person as a girl. It seems less… emotionally threatening? If I refer to them as a girl instead of a woman. Though a woman would be politically correct.

I don’t know how to go about this. Obviously, my relationship with Sir comes first. I don’t know if I would be comfortable with a threesome. Ironic, right? I just feel like having a threesome would make it mean something to me, on some level, no matter how much I say that it doesn’t mean a thing. A threesome begets all those pesky things such as concerns and conversations about making sure Sir and I are *okay* with the situation.

Is this horrible of me? Wanting some girl to make out with, only to have it not mean anything and never ever calling her again? I suppose boys have been doing it for ages. Ha.

Maybe I could kiss a girl at Folsom. Hmm…

Sir and I are doing it! He’s already booked my flight and our hotel rooms for FOLSOM STREET FAIR this September 28th. We’re actually driving to San Jose for FolsomFringe the few days before.

Heading down to Folsom? Want to say hi to Delilah and Mark? Shoot me an email at collaredcoed@gmail.com. I THINK we’re volunteering at FolsomFringe. We are also, for the time being, planning on going to the Citadel party Saturday night.

And yes, I’m having my scene name written on my name tag. At TESfest we had to improvise and cover up my real name with scrap paper.

It’s going to be an intense weekend. If I was overwhelmed with TESfest, Folsom is going to be nuts. I’m flying out Thursday night and sleeping in San Jose Thursday night. Then I’m spending the whole weekend with Sir, and then we’re both boarding the red eye back home Sunday night. Just in time for class on Monday .

I’m sooo excited for Folsom, though. I really am. I’m already learning new things.

Such as what a hook pull is.

FolsomFringe, up until today, was planning a hook pull. I didn’t know what it was. I had to Google it. OMG! OMG! Sir had bought us tickets to view it, but I think I would have had to cover my eyes for most of it. Eep. Hooks. Hooks through flesh. Eek.

I’m ALSO excited about going shopping for fun toys and a skirt during Leather Week. Sir got a majority of the toys we use regularly, at Folsom last year.

It’s also a little cyclical. The one year anniversary of our first scene was a few days ago. It’s also strange that a year ago, I was a very different girl, in a different university, sitting in my car and smoking Marlboro after Marlboro while Sir bought His leather boots in Folsom. A year later, I am collared, in a new university, a non-smoker, and actually GOING to Folsom. With the same man I met over a year ago.

It’s funny where life takes you.