Life Beyond

A few discussions with some close friends have dragged up some stuff that I thought I had addressed from the upheaval that dominated my life at the end of April. I hadn’t even noticed it, but there were a few gems festering in my psyche, just waiting for the chance to break free from their bonds and run amok in my brain, making me appear to suffer from a case of emotional Tourrette’s.

The biggest one was another run at being abandoned. And it’s sadly hilarious that this would even be an issue for me, because I was so fucking good at denial that for ten years (at least!) I had myself convinced that despite all the indicators for abandonment fears, I was most certainly NOT a member of that large and infamous group of sufferers. Nope, not me. Baggage, yeah, but none about abandonment.

I should have been a politician, because those were some whoppers of lies I told myself all that time.

I am terrified of being replaced in N’s life. When I am confronted with a situation where my typical “job” or duty for Him is done by someone else on a regular basis I feel expendable and aimless, ripe for discarding.

Part of it is a section of self-esteem that hasn’t rose quite as quickly as the rest of it.

Part of it is the esteem I tend to hold Him in.

Part of it is the fatalistic pessimism that runs my life.

And a huge fucking part of it is the self-loathing and self-shame I still carry with me like a can tied to my tail from way back when I was seven.

Despite His assertion that He needs me just as much as I need Him, I can’t help but think someone as wonderful as Him does not deserve to be saddled with me. He’s hot, He’s smart, He’s funny, kind and one of the best people I have ever met. It is hard for me to accept the idea that He considers our relationship together to be on equal par as far as worth and deserving of each other. He deserves so much…and I don’t know if I will ever be enough.

He says I am.

God I just so desperately want to believe, to have the peace of mind a person has when they are secure in the knowledge that they are loved deeply and are worthy of that love…

And the worst thing is having to be on guard, knowing that if I don’t watch myself, I will destroy the very thing I cherish above nearly anything else. It will become a self-fulfilling prophecy because I will break everything apart so I don’t feel the anguish and terror of being left behind again.

Better leaving than being left. At least, in crazy land.

I know it takes time to change such deeply held beliefs. At some point in my life, I will declare myself worthy of love and affection from Him. I will stand up and be able to fully bask in the relationship we have nourished. I will be able to really hear Him when He says forever.

I won’t have hope anymore. I will have sincere conviction.

But it is so hard to have it there just beyond…so close. Like the forty year wait at the edge of Canaan, I can smell the milk and honey. But there are hardships and hard lessons to be learned before I can cross into the promised land of supreme happiness.

And there is a darkly humorous part of me that just has to laugh at the idea of me having to be right that I push the love of my life away, just so I can prove that He was going to leave anyways. See? Sick, dark morbid humor. At least I can still laugh at my stupidity. 😀

Helter Skelter


  • Cracks found in the foundation mortar.
  • Some pieces of foundation mortar missing.
  • Load-bearing structures not properly supported.
  • Poor communication of maintenance crew led to some disrepair.


  • Fill in cracks with stronger adhesive.
  • Re-patch the missing mortar with stronger type made for higher pressures.
  • Revamp the support structures to accept the load more safely.
  • Streamline the communication process and engage more in “active maintenance” than “later repair”.

Outlook: Highly favorable, nearly guaranteed to succeed. Foundation will be completely sound once again after the repairs are finished.

Effort Required: Heavy. Unfavorable conditions, harsh requirements to ensure a good repair. Will require consistent worker support and assistance.

Poly As I Know It

So I had a long post written about the intricacies of poly as N and I want, and just deleted it all for this more concise point:

If three or more people agree to live if in an arrangement they all consent to, what business is it of anyone else to question, disparage or mock?

Whatzit Tooya?

In a thread I was on FL, we had this exact thing going on. Some troll feels that because the poly community (according to him) is 90% mentally damaged people, poly is basically a man having his cake and eating someone else’s too. He’s claimed that the men who say their s-types are required to stay monogamous to them are dickless wonders, unable to keep it in their pants nor tolerate the possible slight to their ego if their partner wanted another man.

And the women in this scenario are damaged broads with an inability to say no, who would do anything including feigning bisexuality and asking for emotional masochism to keep their “man”.

I don’t dispute that scenario. What I do dispute is that this behavior is relegated to the kink community. I’ve seen numerous vanilla couples doing the same, and I don’t my new troll-friend calling out the vanilla community for not recognizing how stupid they are.

Hasn't he ever watched an episode of "I fell in love with your sister!" ?

He also wouldn’t accept that there are women who can commit to being monogamous to a poly partner while being mentally stable and happy. These people don’t exist in his world, I guess.

Triangle relationships like the one N and I desire don’t fit into the troll’s equation, so he writes them off as minimal and conveniently bypasses them.

Unless we start requiring competency tests to allow people to engage in any kink, I think it is disingenuous to claim that poly shouldn’t be practiced because only mentally damaged people are doing it to fill a blighted hole in their pysche. If we start claiming that, we might as well bar people from doing S&M of any sort, because lots of people do so for less than stellar mental health reasons. Also, let’s get rid of religion, because many people use it to fill their voids and twist it to fuel and justify their irrational behavior. Fuck, get rid of politics too.

Poster child for mental illness being an allowable platform to run from.

Or we can just accept that people have a right to consent to whatever they want (barring a certifiable grave mental illness) and your objection that everyone in said group of consenting adults doesn’t have the right to do said actions because they aren’t doing it for the right reasons amounts to as much as piss in the wind.

Why is it that the smug monogamous people are the ones that ended up killing most poly threads, anyhow?

A Stainless Steel Writer’s Block

Comes in size medium, costs about 75 dollars. Well used.


Since having the Njoy consistently shoved into my ass since the day after it came here, I’ve had some mental fall out to deal with. Nothing life-shattering, but its uncomfy and hard to talk about.

The Njoy knocked a huge breach into one of my last surviving walls. I felt raw and wounded from having this last scrap of illusion ripped from me. N was just as surprised as I was to my venomous reaction to having to wear the Njoy all day.

N has me wear the Njoy during the day at all times, only allowed to come out for exercise and toilet use. Any other time has to be asked for via voice. He has called for this be a constant reminder of my place. To reinforce that I am subject to His whims, that nothing sacred is really mine. Not even my body, nor the functions it performs. It isn’t all negative, though. He cared enough about my underlying fear of abandonment of the relationship that He spent 75 dollars and an obscene amount of patience and time to come up with a reminder of His commitment to me, and I to Him.

The first day I had to wear it most of the day really was a hard day. He was trying so hard to check in with me, to find out my thought process, my physical comfort. Unfortunately, earlier in this relationship He had spent most of the days after a “scene” fake-solicitously asking how I felt, was I sore, while mangling the sore bits. So when He was being sincere and looking for solid input, I became hostile and defensive from feeling like He was constantly mocking my new-found awkwardness.

Than night, as I knelt before Him, waiting to say my devotion, it all came out.

The worst thing I said, the hardest thing to say, was “I don’t trust you to not make fun of me.”

I didn’t. For so long He had teased me and mocked me after doing something humiliating or painful to me, that I was unable to see when He was being serious and genuine. It isn’t that I don’t like the teasing…it is all fun when in the original context. But when something as emotionally explosive as long-term butt plug wearing is on the table, it isn’t funny anymore. I feel violated, raw, debased and angry.

It took Him aback when I said I couldn’t trust Him to not mock me. We both weren’t real sure what the hell we were saying anymore. He patiently explained to me that He had seen a consistent fear in me of Him abandoning the O/p relationship basis. He felt that a constant reminder of my status would help allay those fears a bit. He chose the plug because it was something that would keep me slightly off-beat, something discreet and something that pleased Him. He does not normally spend money on me for the sheer fuck of it, so I know that He really put thought into this. He related to me how He had read voraciously, weighing the pros and cons from people in the Njoy group, reading the comments made by my FL friends about their Njoy joys and trials.

I was mortified that I had accused Him of mocking me and not taking my emotional strain seriously. He was unhappy to realize that He had (unwittingly) trained me to not take Him seriously.

So we cautiously came around. I apologized for being such a defensive, ungrateful hag and He vowed to make it more clear when He wants tangible feedback and isn’t just yanking my chains.

I’ll discuss the actual effect the Njoy has on my mental state in a later post.

Restless Insecurity

Things have been going okay here. No sudden meltdowns on my end, no baffling withdrawals on His. i’m still trying to feel around in my head, trying to sort out all the mixed signals i’m getting from my own brain. Emotional eating has resurfaced, but i haven’t been able to identify why. This is hugely frustrating to me. If i can’t even identify any anxiety or resentment, i can’t neutralize it and end the emotional eating.

i know something in my head is off. Everything seems slightly off-kilter now. i used to have a grand ol’ time pointing out cute chicks for Him to ogle. Now, i see Him appraise one and i squelch a sudden urge to drag her by her hair to the parking lot and rearrange her face, then come in and claw my name on His forehead so He can’t forget who He is with.  i’m not generally one for jealously and violent insecurity. Hell, i’ve shared partners in the past without much in the way of issues. So what is it now, that makes me getting all tetchy and anxious when He appreciates other girls? Why can’t i appreciate what i have with Him? Part of me thinks it’s territorial. i’ve struggled long and hard to find comfort and peace at His feet, and i don’t want to have to give it up or even share it with some new plaything. Which is darkly hilarious, given my penchant for threesomes and the fading hope of finding a sister for me. Another part of my rage regarding Him seeing other girls is the fact that i often don’t feel fully nourished or cared for at the moment, a hazard of the job of living with Him. It would infuriate me to be left at home, hungry for Him and lonely beyond belief, thinking of Him charming another girl, touching her like He used to touch me… but even more than the infuriating, i would be crushed. Possibly beyond much repair.

Why can’t i take Him at His word?

Part of me wonders if it isn’t residue from the complete uncunting i had a while ago. He did minimal repairs, and i appear to be up and running fine, but there is a little part of me that doesn’t wholly want to submit to Him again. This niggling part of my brain that finds glee in running amok, whispering sweet nothings in my ear like “What happens when you are too old to serve Him?” or “How’s He going to want you once the kids are grown?” or my ever favorite “Just wait until He finds a lil hawt thing with perky tits and a defined waist that *likes* being facefucked…won’t you feel stupid for handing yourself on a silver platter?!”

i didn’t have trust issues a year ago. i didn’t come uncunted like this a year ago. i didn’t want to hit Him over the head with a Corel serving platter a year ago. So what changed? Was it being isolated by neccessity, with only a complete airhead as my only r/l friend? Having had to squash my desires and some of my wants for so long that i’m disillusioned? Having had my life vanilla-fied to the point of whitewash?

i find myself avoiding talking to Him about these things lately. For once, i’m not doing it out of some fear of exposure on my part. i’m avoiding it because He’s stressed, He’s tired, and feels more than a bit like a failure. i don’t want to be a part of His worries. i don’t want to make Him feel like more of a failure, which is certainly how He’d interpret it if i went to Him tonight and blurted my fears out.

What’s more, i hate myself on many levels for limiting Him with my stupid emotional bullshit. Of course He should be able to ogle any woman He wants. He should also be able to do it without having to slip xanax in my soda afterward. i hate that i sound like an ungrateful whiny bitch. i hate myself for not being able to live with what i have.

i hate myself for having so many flaws and not enough stamina to fix them.

i have a two track mind right now…something i perfected in elementary school. On the surface, i’m fairly at ease, i’m coping well, i smile and laugh, i love and appreciate life.  Go any deeper and you’ll find a deep and murky river, full of fear and resentment, pain and aching love, confusion and longing and an absurd need to protect Him from myself.

It’s draining the river and putting up dams and baffles that is the exhausting work.

Tangled Tora (06-15-2010)

There’s been quite the flurry of communication in this house as we further explore some of the outside stressors that are taking their toll on our sanity. One of the topics that came up was His continuing interest in swapping with another friendly couple or with a female, preferably bisexual, but not necessarily required.

That topic, of swapping, always leads to interesting reactions on my part, because it is absolutely loaded with implications, fears, insecurities and nightmares for me. It makes even the most mundane comments from Him make me tremble with suppressed rage or sob quietly in the bathroom.  It’s quite the fucking mental minefield, for sure.

The more direct consequences of the swapping I’ll discuss later on in a different set of posts. This post will be a multi-post series on how an open-bedroom policy has an affect on how I serve Him in the O/p relationship.

Being His slave is my life. It sounds awful, and even now a part of me involuntarily grimaced at typing that, but it is. This house, the kids, Him – it’s all I know how to do. It’s all I have done for the past 5 years. Consequently, much, if not all, of my perception of self-worth is directly related to my being His slave, and doing it well. This is fine for 90% of the time, when there isn’t much that challenges my perception. It’s that 10% of the time where I start to examine things, I start to panic, I start to get uppity in fear and self-preservation.

Part of the 10% is when He expresses His desire to bang other women. On the surface, I’m all good about it. Theoretically, I can understand the drive, the hunger to know another body in a purely sexual way. Emotionally, a part of me starts to shut down. Because in the scenarios He’s described, the girl would be sleeping in the bed with Him, getting up in the morning and eating breakfast with Him, looking at my house, my stuff, touching my things…

(I realize how absurd it is for a slave to be bitching about someone else touching her stuff. I am fully aware that in the basest sense, I own nothing, nothing is mine. I am referring to “mine” as thing normally allotted to me, that I have forged important connections with, like the house, which I have spent a great deal of time trying to make not only livable but lovable; the bed, which is my refuge from the world; and most of all, my service to Him.)

and I imagine myself laying next to the other half of the swapping couple, wondering if she’s spooning with Him the way I often ask to, if she’s falling asleep listening to Him breath His dream breaths like I do, if she’s making Him breakfast with the love I try to…

Can’t imagine why I am not jumping at the chance to swap.

I fear being replaced. I’ve had nightmares about it. Imagining the girl doing everything that I use to define my worth to Him is enough to make my hands shake. I fear being abandoned after narrowing the focus of my life down to pinpoint accuracy of life with Him.

This inner turmoil brings on large amounts of self-doubt and self-hatred. I hate that I am not able to take my Owner’s word as gospel when He says I am not replaceable and that He’ll never leave me. I hate that I place limits, even if unwillingly, on His future actions because I am not strong enough to get over myself.  I hate myself for not being able to place His desire, His wants, over my inability to get a grip on life as a slave.

I just want to move on to acceptance. I don’t want to have to push through all the pain and fears, the old hurts and new terrors, to make it to the fabled El Dorado of kinkdom: gracious and calm slavery. Especially since this is something I have to do without much assistance from Him. He can’t kick my ass through it. I have to force myself every inch of the way, snuffling and sobbing, until I can finally look in the mirror and be absolutely sure that I am the one He will keep, I am the one He truly knows and desires, that I am the one that has earned the title of His slave.

Only then will I not stand in the way of His wants and desires. Because even though now I wouldn’t stop Him from sleeping out, wouldn’t begrudge Him from finding some sweet thing to enjoy, a part of my soul would commence bathing in acid. I’d kill myself inside to serve Him, all the doubts and fears and insecurites eating me from the inside out until I was nothing but a shell of the woman He loved.  I know all the poly sayings and theories and truisms. I know why my thought processes are false. That is what is so frustrating about it.

A good example would be this song by Tracy Lawrence called Time Marches On.

And most of all, even as I’m beating my breasts and gnashing my teeth about how it kills me to be an impediment to Him, I’m so very very thankful that He restricts Himself to guard the safety of my sanity until I am strong enough to know that Him sleeping around doesn’t mean I am not valuable to Him.