I could go into all of the deep emotional stuff that I’ve been through for the past few months. But I won’t. Not yet, anyway.

This is a major milestone in the life of a college coed.

I turn 21 next week.

Yes, your coed will finally be able to legally drink. And now I can get into all of those mysterious BDSM/swinger parties that are 21 and over! I won’t have to worry about being carded because I will be LEGAL!

I turned 20 in Mark’s apartment. I celebrated 20 by chugging orange juice and rum in a dirty, sticky frat boy penthouse later that night.

A lot happened during my 20th year. I discovered my sexuality and re-discovered my voice. Not only my writing voice, but my own inner voice. I learned what real love is, I learned what real intimacy is, and what it is to be fearless and honest.

I learned about protocol and collars and plastic wrap bondage. I learned about TES and sex blogging and college BDSM groups. I learned about topping men. I experienced my first suspension bondage session, first session topping, first whipping, first punching scene, first long-term bondage, first session of orgasm torture and my first BDSM conferences. I signed BDSM contracts. I read lots of BDSM blog posts.

I laughed and cried and sobbed and screamed and yelled. I had freak-outs and break downs and experienced incredible joy. I forged the deepest, truest, most genuine connection I’ve ever had with someone that I probably would never have met had it not been the combination of BDSM and summer angst that led me to put up that craigslist ad in the first place.

I had the honor of being collared by the smartest, funniest, sexiest, most handsome and caring man that I’ve ever met. Ever. And even though he’s twice my age, and even though he can be a real meanie to me, I love Mark with everything I have. We’ve probably exchanged almost a thousand text messages over BlackBerry Messenger, hundreds of e-mails and lots of kisses.

And in between all of that, I went to lots of classes, drank lots of Starbucks, crammed for exams, played World of Warcraft, got drunk, fled to California three times and just generally lived a very fulfilling 20th year.

And even though things have been shitty lately, even though I have to go through the process of resurrecting this blog because I haven’t posted anything of note in so  long, I’m pretty satisfied with how 20 went.

Mark and I have been going through some intense emotional stuff. But I can talk about that later.

For now, I’m just trying to savor my last couple days of being 20. People keep telling me, “It’s all downhill from here!” but I kind of doubt that.

Here’s the real problem; do I go out and do the college thing and get absolutely smashed on my birthday? Or do I go out and go to a BDSM party with Mark and hope he doesn’t give me my birthday spanking in public?

Choices.

Hmmmm. . .

The legend goes that one day, someone asked an Ivy League kid how they were getting to finals week; running to the finish line or limping with a broken leg?

Their answer? “Running with a broken leg.”

Finals week is descending upon my university. I have papers, presentations and tests. I’m cramming in reading whenever I can. And what am I doing?

Looking for a female partner to mess around with. And not necessarily in a BDSM sense, either. Just some playtime with a woman. I’ve been looking at craigslist and alt. Gasp.

For my first time, I don’t know if I want Mark to be there. He’s off on a solo vacation, and I’ve been looking at some potential female partners. I’m not looking for a female top, exactly. I just want to experience having sex with a woman. I do want to have scenes one day where Mark is involved, but for my first time? I don’t know. Part of me wants it to just be about me and her, part of me wants to take that for myself. I need to think about this more.

I don’t know how to talk to girls. I’m serious. I have a hard time forging friendships with women, how am I supposed to seduce them? Argh!

I would write more, but Mark would kill me if he knew that I was blogging when I should be studying or sleeping.

I do have something planned for the end of the year:

clearing out all 21 of the drafts that are in my wordpress.

YES! I have posts in there about all sorts of shit. I never did talk about Folsom. Or Halloween. Or my complete breakdown in front of Mark.

You know, all of that.

Back to work. . .

I hate fucking in cars.

There. I said it.

Maybe it’s the disappearance of those secret places where you can park a car in peace, or maybe with the advent of more compact cars, I just cannot get into any kind of messing around in a small car. If someone were to suggest car sex, I would look at them askance.

Vans are different. Vans have seats that go back, and are spacious enough that you’re not sitting on a gearshift while you’re blowing someone.

Sir and I, during the drive back from our first visit together to a BDSM club, stopped at a rest stop and crawled into the backseat. (“You’ve ruined the term ‘service station’ for me, pet.” He says, now.) He drove a minivan. He pulled over spontaneously. THAT was fun, that was deliciously naughty; clothes unbuttoned and unbuckled, Sir taking His cock out of leather pants, leaning back, bare chested. He looked so delicious. Even now, I love when He’s shirtless but wearing leather pants. Fuck. Even shirtless and wearing the utilikilt is hot.

I wore eye glitter to the club, and His hands were in my hair, tugging at it. I was smearing glitter everywhere, there was even glitter in the zipper of his pants. We were sweaty and the windows were fogging up against the 2:30am cold outside. “I should fuck you right here,” He whispered, tugging my mouth down onto His cock, “I almost don’t care who sees us. Almost.” The rest stop was a little too populated for our tastes, even though it was so late. The feel of His exquisite, uncircumcised cock in my mouth, moving in and out, made me melt. That’s the kind of car sex I like. When it’s spontaneous, a secret shared between two people, and a search for immediate gratification.

All of these hybrid cars don’t make for hot making out in the backseat. Those cars are tiny! I’m all for gas conservation and hybrid cars, but I am a little sad that eventually, people won’t fuck in cars anymore. Suburban sprawl has killed Lover’s Lanes, and cops are more aggressive and on the prowl to bust kids for drinking or drugs.

This happened to my exboyfriend C and I. We were in his mom’s minivan, after the winter concert at school (I was in the orchestra, haha.) and it was nearly midnight. The lights were off, the engine was on, the seats were back, and we were going at it.

For once, I was completely into the act. Too often, I was often wheedled and begged into being fucked in that same van, and would just stare blank eyed at the sky as he had his way with me. It makes me sad, all the sex between the ages of 15 and 19 that I just sat through. But I guess that’s for another post.

But this night, this windy cold night, I kissed back just as hard as I could. I was wearing all black, a black blouse and a black skirt with pink underwear. My panties were off and my shirt was unbuttoned. We didn’t notice the lights. The two of us caught up in that world of teenage lust and hormones. We didn’t notice the cops until the flashlights were shining inside.

There was a problem. I was only sixteen. I was technically underaged, while C was not. C was visibly nervous, as was I, and he told me to say that he had only performed oral sex on me, no more. They tapped on the glass and then opened the door. I was still undressed. They were staring as I put myself together.

I didn’t have ID. I didn’t have anything that said how old I was. All I had was a stupid high school ID. That was a problem.

The police hauled me away from C, as they inspected his ID and questioned him to why we were out there so late.

“Are you here on your own free will, Miss?” The officer asked, quietly. I said yes, of course. C was terrified that he would be arrested.

Eventually, they let us go, telling us, “Just go home, guys. It’s too cold out here and we got calls from the nearby houses.” It was terrifying. We got out of there as quick as we could.

So I can count the positive experiences I’ve had with car sex on one hand. Since I live in the big city, I don’t drive much anymore. Sir’s van is full of trash. Cars are getting smaller and smaller. I don’t see myself having sex in a car any time soon. I don’t really miss it. Pfft.

So there’s this girl in my writing class.

And she’s fucking gorgeous.

And I don’t want to fuck her.

She’s a freshman, which kind of freaks me out. I mean, I worked with freshman during Orientation.

She looks like an honest to god porcelain doll. She had beautiful pale skin, cheeks that are pink and the softest looking, most kissable lips I have ever seen on a woman. Wide blue eyes. Long light brown hair. And her breasts are gorgeous. She wears these low cut, square neck, innocent looking lacy tops that just accentuate her breasts SO nicely. She looks so pure and innocent and it’s kind of eerie.

And I’ve no desire to fuck her. I can’t imagine her in any sexual context. Sir says, “It’s just because you’re not a GUY.” I don’t think so.

I want to protect her. She’s a FRESHMAN. College is going to change her and I want her to know she’s beautiful the way she is. I want to tell her things that she should know about the next few years. I want to hug her, not take her clothes off and fondle her.

I notice all these beautiful girls on campus and I can definitely imagine doing dirty, dirty things to them… but not to her.

It’s strange.

Since we’re on a school theme…

I am a College Democrat. I am an insane supporter of Obama. So is Sir. Both of us were obsessive checking our respective preferred politics websites ALL Folsom weekend. (fivethirtyeight.com for Sir and OhNoTheyDidn’t Political, pollster.com and politico for me.)

Sir also took it upon himself to force me to watch the debate naked, tied up and cringing the whole time. We were in our room at Folsom Fringe last friday. He had a few rules.

When one candidate said the other’s name, He would hurt me.

When someone said SARAH PALIN, He would hurt me A LOT. He would also hurt me on Biden, but not AS much.

He would pinch my inner thighs so hard I would be screaming and wailing behind the gag, flailing on the bed. He started cheating and would do it even when nothing was happening, just because He LOVED my reaction. He would spank me. Slap me. Pinch my nipples.

I’m cringing as to what would have happened if we were together for the vice presidental debate.

“I get to hurt you whenever Palin says ‘maverick’…” I would have probably ended up a sobbing heap on the mattress, considering Palin used “maverick” one hundred and four times…

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.

So, I’m a college girl.

Obviously, I am VERY VERY concerned with Facebook etiquette. I’m also fascinated from a communications major point of view, but I won’t get into that now.

I mean, on Facebook, I can add people for the most arbitrary reason!

I met you at a drunken party? Accept friend request.

I had a class with you? Accept.

I worked on a group project with you? Accept.

I kind of sort of only hung out with you once? And it was in high school? Who cares, accept.

BUT NOW!

Enter fetlife.

Now it’s SO MUCH MORE STRESSFUL.

I mean, can I add people that I’ve only met at tesfest? Is it weird to add other bloggers? Or people who just have pretty pictures and witty message board responses?

Then there’s the matter of my own profile. What do I put in About Me? Of course I’m going to say I’m in a relationship with Sir, but then He says on His profile that it’s complicated. Wait, what? Why does it say that! Oh no! Should I not put that I’m in a relationship?

It’s easy enough to put down that I’m owned and collared. No problem.

Then I need to have pictures, but they can’t show my face, and there’s a picture that I want to add, but I don’t have my collar on in it…

phew.

I want to go back to Facebook. Facebook is so much simpler.

Really, it is.

I went back to my college coed roots Saturday night with Sir.

I got throughly, sloppily, totally shitfaced in Sir’s apartment.

Six shots of Grey Goose (the good stuff!) in a concoction of diet Sprite and cranberry concentrate. I pretty much binge drank, because I drank all six shots in an hour. It wasn’t long until I was doing my trademark “deliberate talking thing” (where I over-enunciate all my words so I don’t slur) and Sir was leading me back to the bedroom. Of course, Sir, being so ever helpful, had undressed me as I got progressively drunker.

Then He poured the remnants of His drink all over my bare chest.  Making me into a very, very dirty little pet.

He pushed me down onto the bed… and here’s where things get fucked up.

In my drunken state, I accidentally revealed the fact that I masturbated (in secret) nearly every day last week.

Which is in TOTAL violation of my contract and protocol.

I don’t know why I did it, to be honest. I did miss Sir a lot, and I was very horny, but I usually ASK for permission first!

I still feel kind of bad about breaking so many rules. BUT NO MORE.

I will be a very good pet for Sir.

HOWEVER. I still haven’t received a punishment spanking for breaking all those rules, and by default, still feel guilty for what I did.

I was so so so so wasted that night. I feel kind of bad about being that drunk.

I was too drunk.

We had a wonderfully lovely weekend to make up for the weirdness of Saturday.

Lots of winding conversation, brunch together, laying around in bed cuddling. One day at His apartment somehow turned into ALL WEEKEND at the apartment.

He wrapped me up in plastic again. Mmm. More on that later, because…

first day of classes today!

It’s a bit of a tense time for your lovable coed. I’m moved back into the ECU dormitory. I have to say, that I’m honestly very uncomfortable in my suite right now. I have three other roommates. One is good old A, the silly, happy, perky, fabulous girl from last semester. Two of the other ones are very traditional Asians, with one being intensely religious. They are very focused and driven, but the vibe I have right now is that they’re a little boring.

I feel a little threatened to be wearing my collar around the suite. I’m worried that there might be some confrontation that I don’t want. Last semester, my roommates, as aloof as they were, were at least open and social and fun. My new roommates… not so much.

Let’s not forget, I’m not even ‘out’ as a submissive to A.

I wish I didn’t feel so nervous when I’m in my own fucking home. But I want to wear my collar, I want, I want, I want. It’s this longing I have inside to wear it proudly. I love Sir, I want to wear it. I’m so uneasy here at home.

On the other end of the spectrum, I’m officially out to my best friend in the entire world, T. (Hi, T.) He’s probably reading, I gave him the link.

T and I have been best friends since we were kids at gifted camp. We went to the same Talent Search program, both of us scoring over 550 on the verbal SAT when we were 12. We had one of those instantaneous connections that just happen, like magic. Just pure, unadulterated… belonging. Acceptance. Love, on some level. We understand and sense each other. We just clicked.

As we got older, both of us changing a lot, we still tried to stay friends. He discovered his bisexuality as I was getting into a serious relationship with C. T and I parted ways for a while, over a silly misunderstanding. We didn’t speak. I was left alone to face C, and all the emotional abuse that followed.

Cut to a few years later, when T and I reunited, and we forgave each other everything. We were happy to be together again.

Now, I just came out to him a few hours ago. I was worrying and fretting over how T would react, and he was SO supportive and accepting. I shouldn’t have doubted, but I did. T came through and told me it was okay, and that he actually wanted to meet Sir one day. T was actually intrigued at some of the things I’ve done, like the suspension bondage and trampling at the BDSM club. We sat in a dingy bus terminal discussing my relationship with Sir.

“He makes you happy. All I want is for you to be happy. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” T said as I fiddled with my iced tea cap.

I hugged T before he got on the bus. Hugged him really tightly, and kissed him on the cheek. I wanted to take him back to my dorm room, just to have some comfort in a place where I don’t feel comfortable. I don’t spend enough time with T, I really don’t. Letting T in, showing him my relationship with Sir, makes me feel even closer to T.

I’m very lonely right now. I don’t feel comfortable here in my dorm, I don’t feel comfortable at home. I want to be with Sir, or with T. I want to be with people who love me for who I am, all of me.

I’m lonely.

So, I’ve pretty much just been brainwashed the last few days. I’m working for my school’s freshman week. I’ve been brainwashed to be perky, helpful, appropriate, happy, politically correct, etc.

But now that I’m done with it, all I want is to be bound up, fucked up, orgasm tortured, my nipples clamped until I feel like I’m going to freak out from the pain and to be flogged repeatedly. It’s not a bad craving.

Maybe it’s some adverse reaction to all that “be happy!” stuff I’ve been indoctrinated with.

Ha.

Of course, Sir is going away for a lovely vacation with His children tomorrow. Damn.

(P.S: I officially wore my collar at school for the first time since May, today. It’s been a good day.)