Apr 072017
 

*Switch: A person who vacillates between dominant (I’ll also use topping) and submissive (bottoming) roles within relations.

So at the GRUE (conference/event), one of the most engaging things to me was a conversation about switching. It was looked down a lot, kind of the way bisexuality is at times: being too flighty to pick a side or not really knowing which side to choose rather than a valid choice and natural instinct.

In my new state, a lot of people identify as switch, by far the majority from what I’ve observed. Once in room full of people, the presenter asked how many identify as a switch and everyone but the presenter raised their hand. It’s a bit odd, but at the GRUE it made for an excellent conversation. Such topics were:

 How do you switch with another switch? My ex husband and I were both switches (to an extent, he was always a service top if he topped). Our dynamics were always very clear to us – there was no mistaking our role for whatever the occasion – a very strange and special knowledge of knowing each other so intimately. He would voice if he needed me to top him, otherwise the dynamic was he would top me. At times we would go for more of a primal, fight to be on top, role but that was even clearly telegraphed in an unspoken manner between us.

In speaking and listening to others at this conference, I realized just how rare and special that dynamic was as there was little conflict in just knowing what the other wanted and being so attuned as to grant it.

Mr. Texas and I are switches, and while we haven’t been together nearly as long and are no where near as attuned to each other, the agreement is for the most part he tops. We do have a few of these complications that others discussed of two switches being together; for example, sometimes it’s unclear who wants to bottom – I top far more than I ever did with my ex. We will also sometimes switch mid scene. The rule that is keeping us the most satisfied in this dynamic is regardless of who is on bottom at first, I cannot go from bottoming to topping. I just cannot get my head space right to submit and then dominate, whereas he can because he can only take so much pain, which brings me to my next topic that was discussed…

Many of them had triggers that would flip the switch. This shocked me to hear, as many of them discussed how mid-scene they would grab the implement they were being hit with and hit the person topping them. I have never felt this urge, it would not even occur to me. To me, that’s a consent violation unless it was agreed upon. I addressed perhaps a need to disclaim that in part of the negotiations to my fellow switches, as a collective group we were trying to come up to some solutions to some of the issues of being a switch.

Mr. Texas and I, prior to the GRUE, did not switch mid-scene. He would ask me to mid-scene after he topped me for awhile, but I always declined (again, can’t do the head space) until we came the agreement that the order could be reversed (I could go from top to bottom). What began as a negotiation and honest communication with what made us tick has worked to our benefit, as Mr. Texas doesn’t necessarily have a trigger that makes him flip roles – it’s more of a pain threshold that he can no longer tolerate but doesn’t want to call an end to. I am really having fun exploring my more sadistic side with Mr. Texas in a way that was unforeseen, but Mr. Texas is not a masochist (we both love each other’s reactions in this dynamic) so once he’s done but too stubborn to color, he simply grabs me and flips me under him, often with a hand around my throat – a simple and consistent action that always gets me in a submitting headspace.

What I have also discovered since the GRUE is that Mr. Texas does have a sensual trigger that makes me want to top me: when I am not obviously topping but being more playful, I will sometimes straddle him, tease him with my body, have the tip of his head right at my entrance and deny him, press my breasts against his chest, and nip at his neck. It’s really the nipping at his neck that triggers him, his moans turn into growls and he begins to grip and grab at me to position certain ways. This tends to turn into a fight for top but only briefly (nowhere near the savage intensity my ex and I played at, which I am fine with).

What’s the difference between switching and bratty. 

*Brat: Within the BDSM lifestyle, the term brat is usually applied to a person of a submissive nature who acts up or causes trouble in order to attract attention. This is generally frowned upon as it is classed as topping from the bottom and trying to control the situation.

I am not sure if the group ever could clearly define this question posed. Bratty also tends to have a negative connotation in the BDSM scene. I know that I am not bratty with Mr. Texas (except once when he asked for a picture while he was at work), but that I was occasionally bratty with my ex husband. Bratty is almost a challenge in my mind and Mr. Texas is new to this role so I try not to challenge him as he needs to gain confidence in it. I was a brat with my ex whenever I wanted his attention, most often when he would tie me and was more focused on the rope than me – a common occurrence. I have not been bratty to The Wanderer – again our dynamic has always been firm in roles, though I am playful at times to get him away from his serious nature, but never in a challenging way or to gain attention. I don’t know if I will be clearly defining the difference but switching is a role and bratty is a mood to me.

The need to address the things done incorrectly. How we know both sides of the coin and will invariably meet up with people that we’re more knowledgeable but will bottom for. It’s somewhat inevitable that the longer someone is in the lifestyle and educates themselves, that they will know more than the person topping them. It’s the case with Mr. Texas, as he knew nothing so I topped from the bottom as I taught him (which wasn’t the case with everything, some things he just instinctively knew), and I teach him what I do know. Sometimes it’s with demonstrating on him, sometimes it’s talking him through something, and sometimes it’s going to educational events with him. Regardless, it revolves around honest and authentic communication – something anyone with any amount of knowledge should do with the person they are engaging with.
*Terms defined by Urban Dictionary

Apr 062017
 

*Taken from notes I wrote on a phone, I am leaving this unedited. I believe this was when my ex husband and I were practicing rope with some of our closest friends, and he wanted to see if he could rig a predicament bondage with a suspension and Doxy wand, where I could put down my foot to take away some pain of the suspension but it would cost me. 

**I wrote this August 2015, half a year before we divorced. 

You’re really sexy babe he said as he tied my legs to the pole, knees bent on the floor, thighs parted.

It was a reassurance in the midst of my shyness, of my uncertainly in a room full of people watching, spread in such a manner in just my underwear, a thin sliver of pretended modesty. He whispered it before he bent me over, exposing me more, so vulnerable feeling except his words of praise, of proudness, of appreciation of the trust I placed in him, bent me over until my face hovered inches above the ground, the chest harness of rope wrapped tightly around my beating heart stopping my face from hiding, showing my body bent, never a flattering angle for a stomach and mine especially felt awkward hanging curled in such an angle. Yet his eyes never left my mother’s hips, my muscular thighs, my rear end invitingly titling up with such ease of access, the small of my back.

He saw beautiful and I felt the warm glow of approval.

Apr 052017
 

The conversations pieces were from notes (in bold) that I posted in this blog February 2nd, 2016 and I show I last modified this post in May of 2016. Some of them blurred as to exactly when they occurred as I truly was an emotional wreck on the drive and for a few weeks after he asked for the divorce. I believe the May edits were probably more of spelling edits and of course my introduction (before the bold) was just written).

My letter D for this year was almost my letter D for last year with the post Driving, but I wasn’t to that part of the story yet, so I modified it to be P for Pressure:

“I drove across the country, literally from one coast to the other, with my family and what belongings I could take. I only stopped to sleep, get gas, and food. I was exhausted but pushed on, rushing because I was finally going to moving in with my husband and I had job interviews to make.

Every time he talked to me, he mentioned how hard it was for him to know that soon he wouldn’t see his girlfriend all the time, how great his girlfriend was, how soon I would meet her, asking how soon I would allow them to see each other all the time again. He told me the night before I was to arrive that she sent me a message asking when I would meet her so that I would be fine with them.

Five hours before I arrived, 42 hours later on the road, he told me that some kink events I wanted to go to I couldn’t, because I was a bad person, because he went to those things with her and it just wasn’t right that we would be going instead of him with her.

I told him, exhausted and really tired of every mile closer to him getting more negative about my arrival because of what it meant to their relationship, that I didn’t want him to have a relationship with her anymore….”

I shouldn’t have pushed for him to end their relationship, perhaps I was beyond tired and emotional from the trip. What I didn’t share (but of course wrote down because I write down every damn thing it seems) is some of the conversations I was having with him (not her, she reached out too, a reason why I blocked her on Fetlife later).

“Shy timid virgin foreplay” were words he used to describe how she was so very different from me, some qualities that he really appreciated. He felt that he could mold her, teach her, something I knew he always found appealing and why he used to explain his surprise at liking “someone like me” when we first started dating – he used to look down upon and judge women who were very experiences sexually. He found the concept of virgins or inexperienced women appealing. I was trying to be happy for him at this point in the car drive still, and he only ever wanted to talk about her, kept diverted the conversation I was trying to steer of plans of seeing each other again and our future back to her. I had probably prompted the conversation to thing that he had experienced that perhaps I could do as well, and he dismissed my ability to do so with this type of talk.
“So tight,” a comparison I didn’t want to hear (if it was even a comparison or just a description) and one that pinged so many of my insecurities that I winced at even through the phone as if I’d been hit. I have no idea why he felt the urge to explain her in this towards the end a long day of my driving closer to him. It led to keeping me awake that night in a hotel room, trying to talk myself away from so many fears.

Doing new things,” and all the sudden, the closer I got to him on the drive, the more he shared about wanting to experience new things with her, and what they had already done that was new to him; including “cutting with my knife,” and  “buying of toys.” I was incredibly upset over the knife that I viewed so symbolically as ours, as leading us towards kink, being used on another woman. He had other knives, but he used ours. I tried to convince myself that I had no right to get upset because I had never vocalized how I viewed the knife as just ours, never thought to. It wasn’t his fault – he probably just naturally gravitated towards that knife for use on another because that what he knew from us.

Day two on the road and his grumpy tone of: “When will I see her again”, how he would miss sleeping next to her, telling me to check her Fetlife “message to meet,” and respond, though I was driving, to give her reassurance – which I did and wanted to. Later in the day he described how they were both crying at the loss that my arrival would mean, “how she was already pushing for more,” though the details of what that meant were vague, though he stated that soon he would want her to live with us. He said that he didn’t want to go to events with me because what if she was there, and they had already, in the two weeks that he knew her, had already gone to several public events together and that was their thing. When I argued that, he compromised me on some events he would go to with me, but ensuring that she wouldn’t be there first.

When I mentioned that suddenly I felt like she was more important, he stated that she was “no more important than you,” and I felt done with the drive towards his, felt like I was no longer important at all, felt like a woman he knew for two weeks would always be a priority over me, the family and future, we had built together.

I felt like he no longer wanted any part of that. As I drove towards him, I made an ultimatum: I didn’t want him to see her while we settled in for a few weeks, and then when kept describing how wonderful she was and how awful I was, I further that threat and said that he had a choice of her or me.

42 hours on the road, when I could no longer turn around nor veer towards somewhere else for the night: was when he told me he wanted a divorce, no longer wanted to be with me. 5 more hours more I was in front of his door, having no where else to go, exhausted and hysterical, begging for him to forgive me and be with me.

So these were the conversations or notes in bold that occurred, that broke my heart little by little each mile I traversed.

Apr 042017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.

*This was written four months after my ex husband asked for the divorce.Wicked Wednesday

“That’s some pretty intense scrutiny for someone who wants to start with a clean slate. Plus we have to be able to trust that we will both be able to forgive and move on, and yet I feel that you are looking for more reasons to leave.

This isn’t healthy, and it’s not working towards the trust we want to re-establish.”

This is a text I sent my ex-husband. It echoes so many other texts and talks and emails. It’s hard untangling all the ways that kept you connected to another person, and we sorted and shifted and disengaged through so many modalities – the downfall of a long term relationship and often a long distance one from being in the military.

He stalked me online – there is just no other to state that. These scenarios were both while we were separated and the few days every so often that we “reconciled”. I sent the both text while we were reconciled and he wanted to forget everything and start anew, just a few weeks after he asked for the divorce.

Of course, he had easy ways to do it – the blog, twitter. I blocked his twitter account, he created another. Told me I couldn’t stop him as twitter is fairly anonymous. Confronted me on what he was reading, though he no longer had that right. Told me I was breaking his heart, using a guilt tactic (and I’m sure it was true, but still used it as a manipulation ploy), so I told him to stop reading me, to stop trying to find out what I was up to if it bothered him so much. I asked that he at least have the decency to not lash out at me verbally.

He used a lost phone app and would track where I was, even using the sound system if I blocked his phone calls, and one point locking my phone (it ended up locking an old phone not my current one) when I still refused to talk to him. The app was deleted off my phone from that point forward.

He would call me and question whose phone numbers I was calling, why did I talk to them so much, threatened to call them up as well. We disentangled the phone bills – I was removed from his plan.

photo credit: Tom Simpson Space: 1999 monster via photopin (license)

Why was I in (x.y,z) place, what did I spend the money on? Another slippery hold untangled of our bank accounts separated, another knot that bound us cut and severed.

I blocked him on Fetlife, he created a fake account, pretended to be a female and befriended the new rope people I was making, reached out to me through Fet on this fake account and stated was new and shy, and was hoping to make my acquaintance since we knew the same people, asked to be friends – which I fell for because she/he was friends with my new acquaintances. All so he could see my pictures on Fetlife and see if I was up to anything new. He confessed this sometime in the summer, one moment while we were happy in a post sex haze and in each other’s arms.

He didn’t get through on other social media sites like Facebook (but then again, I was hardly on).

And shortly after that confession, he again told me it could no longer work (probably due to being resistant to compromise on my end because by that point I felt like it was more of control).

So his girlfriend took up the reins. He had already confessed that his girlfriend was just as crazy and stalker-ish as he confessed to, that she would go through his phone and sometimes text me like it was him – just to see what I would say. She would also email me, pretending to be him – one time specifically to see if I would be desperate enough to drive to the halfway point to fuck him “one last time”. He knew this, but never said anything to me until that post-haze sex confessional.

But what he didn’t share was that he would also text and email me hurtful things to push me away to prove to his girlfriend that he wanted nothing to do with me, so that he could share that information with her and reassure that all was right in their relationship and he had moved on.

What he didn’t expect was that she would email me after he shared an email he sent me (and that then shared my email address with her) and harass me since I had blocked her on as many different modalities as I did. I was protecting him, still months later, on his cheating on her with me. Once she harassed me through email, and he had just broken it off with me (again), I had had enough. Readers may remember the painful post where I finally published a draft called Dialogue with brand new ex, in which I stated just a few of the things we did within weeks after he requested the divorce. He had asked me to keep it a secret, and I had respected that wish through all the heartbreak of being off and on with him – but he he betrayed my trust too far in allowing her to harass me to such an extent.

I was unsure why she even felt the need.

She left him shortly after the blog post, and her and I had a quick heart to heart, mostly sharing how he played us both with his cruelty and sharing of information (because he would do the same things to me for reassurance of their communication).

I would like to say that she and I both learned our lesson and no longer had anything to do with him, but we did not. Even know, I find myself thinking of excuses for him on why he behaved the way he did.

I guess the biggest excuse for us all is that love makes us do crazy things.

Apr 032017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.

** After we separated, I heard “he’s not that smart” repeatedly. From almost everyone. This was written three months after our separation.

Now, I did hear this a lot when when we were together, but I heard it constantly once we separated. Sometimes it was said as a comparison, for example, he wasn’t smart enough for you, or I don’t know how you tolerated someone so far below your own intelligence. Sometimes it was said as way of balancing out his better qualities to more neutral ground, for instance he was so nice but an idiot.

I am not discussing how he was an idiot for leaving me – though I heard that too. I am talking about his overall intelligence level.

What is it about talking about a person’s flaws and faults, or insulting them, after someone leaves them? To make them feel worthy of more? I felt worthy of him, and even at times didn’t feel that I deserved the happiness he gave me so would sometimes self sabotage the relationship. And by people critiquing him afterwards, they were still insulting my own intelligence by choosing him to begin with.

A far more productive comment I heard is that he would do (x, y, and z) which didn’t work with my personality, or which hurt me. Facts  and actions, not judgments or opinions on character defects.

And honestly, I didn’t find him stupid – a fact even our mutual friends can’t believe (and didn’t believe even when we were together). So telling me that he is not intelligent doesn’t make me feel any better about separating from him- it actually takes away the validation of my sharing my life and future with him.

I may be guilty of this destructive soothing verbiage towards loved ones as well, but I hope I learn from being the recipient. It isn’t soothing, it’s insulting, and it makes me feel the need to defend him rather than make me feel better.

Apr 012017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.
** The following was written two weeks after he requested the divorce.

He’s rewriting history.

“I didn’t choose her over you, I chose the area, my career, being close to my family”

I guess he’s conveniently forgotten when I showed up to his doorstep with high-paying job interviews lined up ready to move in with his family for a couple of months until we could get our own place in the area.

Good thing I wrote down things (which granted is going to be bias), because he’s completely rewriting history.

He told me, as I traveled back to our home to gather our things and questioned how I was to packed everything, that I should spread my legs to get moving help. Then he criticized my slutfest and said I was disgusting.

And then he was upset that I won’t sleep with him this weekend and telling me that he’ll help if I have sex with him. It is our stuff that he is talking about, while mostly mine, I packed up anything that had meaning to him, that was sentimental, things he didn’t even ask for (because the only thing he asked for was rope making materials).

“Throw it away, I don’t want it,” he told me when I requested about pictures.

He’s throwing out the truth to deflect his own actions. I hope that I do not the same just to make myself feel better –  how easy it is to rewrite history.

***He told me that first quote repeatedly the 7 months we were on and off in reconciliation attempts. A few of those attempts I was willing to even move back up to his area and walk away from the safety (and small support) of my hometown again.  

Mar 272017
 

“Aren’t you afraid it will happen all over again?” Mr. Texas asked me as we drove back from a BDSM speed dating event. I thought it would be good for him to get out and talk to other people, perhaps find a play partner or two besides me. “Your husband got into another relationship and then left you.”

I winced, though I hoped it wasn’t obvious in the darkness of the car. “No,” I stated, though that was only slightly true. I was concerned Mr. Texas might leave me, but not because he found someone else. He might leave me because I want an open relationship and he doesn’t, or because we’re incompatible, or because I can’t be who I was when he met me, or because I tell him to get the fuck out of my life.  He may find someone else and leave me because she is more perfect for him than I am; that could happen even if we were monogamous. It could happen, and she’d be lucky to have him.

I could tie him to the bed when I’m gone and release him when I’m at home to keep an eye on him, could have sex all day long every day, could be the most fantastic lover, provide the most stimulating conversations and entertainment, drop weight or gain weight to be his ideal body, dye my hair blonde (his favorite), and still he could leave me.

But it wouldn’t happen because he met someone else more… it would happen because we aren’t that compatible in the long term scheme of things.

…Unless he goes through a midlife crisis, like my ex husband did. He’s also transitioning out of the military, like my ex husband did before he left me.

But still, it wouldn’t happen because he met someone.

So yes, I’m concerned it could happen all over again.
Wicked Wednesday

Feb 122017
 

Happy Valentine's DaySo I looked up on my own blog “Valentine” to see how I’ve reflected on this over the years. It’s been a mix: happy with photo prompts (pictured here) but my writing shows how I overall view the holiday. In one piece of fiction, I write about how the character breaks up with their partners the day before – which is something I used to do in my youth. In another piece of fiction I wrote about how a character was done being second when they should have been first – sadly something that echoed why I didn’t write anything related to Valentine’s Day last year.

Last year, my husband turned me (and family) away hours before we were to be reunited after months of choosing separation to help with transitions and failed attempts at polyamory. I just recently tweeted about how I haven’t felt the same since, and it’s very true. But even when we were married, I didn’t see him much for Valentine’s Day – the all-too demanding price of being a military spouse.

This year, I was given an idea by a coworker of how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Mr. Texas would rather have the romantic couple’s night, but he’s on board and supporting me as he does best.

My table is set and beautiful and Texas is going to make a nice dinner. We are raising some teenagers, and two of them are special needs and may not have a relationship for some time. I don’t want anyone to feel alone when there are people around who do love them – and I would not have survived last year if I didn’t have the support of friends and family. So, we embracing Valentine’s Day message of love but directing it at people who matter most – family and those that support you best. I even invited some single relatives.

I’ve already warned the kids that we are going to go around the table and say nice things about each other so they better be prepared (a challenge for one or two, it seems). It’s a day to show appreciation, a day to sit down with each other (though family dinners are rather important to me) and express the positives.Wicked Wednesday
Febraury Photofest

Jan 262017
 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/martekristineo/5502801613

I agree with those that feel that a safe word is not needed, that no and stop should be exactly that.

I also agree with those that feel that a safe word is needed, that they don’t want their no and stop to always mean that.

I also realized that I need to be clear where I stand. I used to be the second option – I wanted the struggle, my instinct when something hurts is to say no and stop, but I can continue and I want my partner to push me.

I learned a very hard lesson in the complications of this negotiated use of safe words when I felt like I was forced anally, but he expected me to use my safe word.

“First and foremost, while my safeword did not occur to me, I did have one. My ex truly expected me to use it… I believe that he expected me to safeword if I felt that strongly about “no” after talking to him months later. And I truly did not even think about using a safeword, felt like my “no” and “stop” were enough; after all – just the day prior we discussed needing the safeword before a scene. I didn’t use a safeword with him just having sex with him – never felt that was needed.

Perhaps this is a horrible complication with using safewords, when stop and no don’t always mean stop and no.” – Consent with Anal

My ex and I did discuss safe words before every scene that we felt it was needed – and only the scenes that included impact (or our one time doing consensual non consent). Even in rope I didn’t use a safe word but gave a time that I needed out (even if it was immediately). So I understand why I did not think to safe word, we were just having sex, after all. I also understand why he felt that I would safe word – I do have and use my safe word and he trusted me in that.

So now I’m on the fence with safe words. I still use them, and I’ve been trying to get Mr. Texas to use them. I really like the “yellow” for change up or no further, and the “red” for can’t take anymore. I also, especially when I top him, realize that I am dealing with a man not used to coloring at all, so I listen to his body language,  his words, his noises, and his actions and proceed cautiously, stopping far before he colors. If I force him to color, I warn him ahead of time that is my intent and do only one action (like bite down) until he remembers to use it.

Again, though, I don’t believe that I should only stop when he uses his safe word. If I am playing to the edge it is with someone I trust and who trusts me, someone that I have played with many times before, someone that will know my tells and listen to my body language the same way that I do theirs.

My ex husband should have known mine, should have listened. But we are equally to blame for that scenario.

I still want my no and stop to not mean no and stop when I feel like struggling or fighting back, it is so hot to me that I will be held down or my cries will be ignored. It is also reassuring to me that my safe word will be respected, that I have a safe word.

But I need to start being more consistent with using my safe word, even if I am just having sex, because just having sex is very easily turned into something else once we’re naked and having fun. I need to not view sex as an activity isolated from BDSM, because it is not, and it rarely ever is just sex with me.

I can easily view how I am inconsistent: The Wanderer would never have to worry about me not coloring and using my safe word – we have a clear boundary of no intercourse and a partnership that’s foundation is BDSM. Neither would anyone that I played with in a dungeon or other kink event. Mr. Texas, however, may have to worry if he pushed for something I didn’t want to do – and that’s incredibly unfair to him; but I view us as having a sexual relationship first, exploring each other in BDSM second – and BDSM being new to him especially he needs to read other cues and listen to words (to an extent – he already has figured out my no rarely means no but I like the protest).

I am confusing as hell about using my own safe word and that isn’t fair to my sexual partner. I have learned that I cannot rely, either, on my partner and I consistently using a safe word only in certain scenes (like impact or consensual non consent).

It is up to me to clearly define and use my safe word to my partners, and to be consistent.

Jan 222017
 

I am like Pavlov’s dog with music selections.

Pavlov came across classical conditioning unintentionally…Whilst measuring the salivation rates of dogs, he found that they would produce saliva when they heard or smelt food in anticipation of feeding. This is a normal reflex response which we would expect to happen…

However, the dogs also began to salivate when events occurred which would otherwise be unrelated to feeding. By playing sounds to the dogs prior to feeding them, Pavlov showed that they could be conditioned to unconsciously associate neutral, unrelated events with being fed. – Psychologistworld.com

Certain songs will often remind people of a memory or a person. I find myself reacting to certain songs with physical reactions as well. It’s not that I’ve necessarily played with all these people often (though all but one I have), it’s just that music seemed to be prominent with us or in association with them.

Give me R&B or sexy pop beats, and I think of sex with my ex husbandOccasionally, my nipples will perk up or I will begin to tighten in anticipation. It’s strange to still have this reaction considering that it’s been so long, but it has been far longer still that this music trained me to respond with thoughts and aching for sex. With masturbation, I will still often play our radio station, so strong is my reaction that it helps my own self orgasm.

“I panted, by this time hours of pleasure not allowing me any sense of realism, and unable to help himself from toying with my quivering self, his fingers grazed my clit. I sucked in my breath, already feeling dizzy from the slight contact, my legs parting without thought. Suddenly two of his fingers danced upon my pearl, and I was so taken with pleasure I had no idea how I ended up laying with my back on his chest, one solid arm across my shoulder and neck so fingers could tugged at a nipple, the other hand quickly alternating between slipping into my sex and rubbing up into my clit.” – Incapable of Thinking

Always and Forever – Luther Vandross[jwplayer mediaid=”6952″]

Ride It – Jay Sean[jwplayer mediaid=”6954″]

Signs of Love Makin’ – Tyrese[jwplayer mediaid=”6955″]

Making Love (Into the Night) – Usher[jwplayer mediaid=”6956″]

Alternative music and I think of Mimir’s beautifully crafted scenes. Mimir had so much going on in his scenes that truly it’s a bit hard to pin down what specifically gets me physically reacting. It’s more like a whispered memory across my skin of sensations, an intake of breath of wondering what would have occurred, and a slight feeling of homesickness for rope and scenes crafted in a space that always felt safe and uniquely tailored to me. It’s an utter feeling of longing but incredibly sexy to me as well.

“He moved between my legs, and so softly – the merest gossamer of touches, slid a finger against the delicate lace of my underwear. If I had not been so fixated on his every move, if I had breathed too deeply, I might have missed the touch. It was a sharp contrast to the earlier dominance, this soft caress at my lips.

My body cried out for his touch. My mouth remained silent, not wanting to break the spell with demands that would go unheeded simply because they were uttered. He is not a man to be rushed.” – Take Down

Beautiful – 10 Years[jwplayer mediaid=”6957″]

Evil Angel – Breaking Benjamin[jwplayer mediaid=”6959″]

Bloody Creature Poster Girl – In This Moment[jwplayer mediaid=”6960″]

Industrial German and I think of painful rope with Master MondayRope with him was not unheard of, but we didn’t do it very often. Though I did see his look of planning often to this music, and occasionally was treated to some of his expertise. The music makes me me miss rope in general, but very specifically how badly it can cut into muscles, or the tension creating little doubt of being bound together, or the excitement of something new or creative. It’s a slight adrenaline rush.

“Did I mention the music was awesome? It’s amazing how music can create a scene, and in this case I feel it did. Next thing I knew I was being strung up and fully suspended with legs adjusted from time to time to a more painful position than the last. I was blindfolded and it was then used to pull my head back, in which he arched my back to tie the blindfold into an ankle. That was a tight tie, it didn’t allow any forgiveness or releasing of tension. It was very uncomfortable but sustainable, and I wished that I had been in it longer. He spun me around in that position, his hand brushing over my blindfold, my upturned chin, my tensely pulled back neck, my chest.” – Hurty Rope

Blutengel – Sing[jwplayer mediaid=”6961″]

Centhron – Lichtsucher[jwplayer mediaid=”6962″]

French pop songs and I think of being beat by Mr. Texas. – it’s a reaction I unconsciously created as country music just wasn’t doing it for me and he doesn’t care for most modern songs – so I picked Stromae and have tailored the songs specifically for our scenes. It is hearing these songs that inspired me to write some of my physical reactions to hearing certain music. Especially Love Story, and I think of having a cane taken to me, of the ebbs and flows to create a great scene where he is able to keep my pain threshold with a stinging strike just right and then use another song to build me up to perhaps punching on the back of my bottom or thighs, perhaps flogging (our newest exploration), or some other type of pain that while I handle it better, it certainly brings up the level of pain. Or he just may grip my hair and pull my head back forcefully as he slams his body deep inside of me, a hand around my throat and his deep throaty “mine” that imprints me as thoroughly as the marks. My body gets tense in anticipation of either an orgasm or bracing for impact when hearing this music now.

Love Story – Indila[jwplayer mediaid=”6963″]

Mes Aures – Frero Delavega[jwplayer mediaid=”6964″]

House’llelujah – Stromae[jwplayer mediaid=”6965″]

*I’m not including a post selection for Mr. Texas – for one I haven’t written much about our moments yet, for another, he is my future and we are beginning to strengthen my reactions to him and the music even further – I can’t wait!

**I had twelve songs picked out already as this sat in drafts, and when I saw the prompt for Wicked Wednesday, I thought it was perfect.

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