Feb 252018
 
#F4TFriday
February Photofest

Until recently, I was the type that didn’t have regrets. I liked where I was at and didn’t wish for any different outcome because it brought me to the present.

I’m not that person anymore. It’s been a recent realization.

I would take back my marriage – I would change my life to where he didn’t penetrate my life and soul and drain me dry. I would do it, even though it would have meant seeing my sister less, traveling less, the blog, the love, the sex, the exploration and freedom with kink, my current life.

Before him, I was amazing in my career – well respected, well paid, loved going to work every day. I can’t go back to that career, to that place – they won’t take me because as a military spouse (which I became while working there) I had to leave them to follow my husband’s career. I haven’t found the right fit with any other jobs since – though I still may be well paid and respected.

It strained my children’s relationships with the constant moving. I have lost most of my belongings because of the way we separated (we never went back and got our things). I lost friends, community, stability.

Far more importantly, I lost something and feel the ache of that everyday. I read things about it’s better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all; I don’t share that viewpoint. I would rather be ignorant of this loss, rather not feel it so vividly. It’s been two years now since he asked for a divorce, a year and half since we gave up trying to reconcile. I thought I would be over this, but I’m not.

I also read things about trusting and making yourself vulnerable to another; I don’t share this viewpoint. I did that, trusted, vulnerable, heart spread on the table for him to devour, loved unconditionally, risked it all in the pursuit of my passion and love for him, and it’s left me barren.

That’s not to discount my current partners – I love them, and I believe that they love me. Somehow the human capacity to love is vast and limitless. They each bring something to the table that I appreciate, that I need, that nourishes my soul and sticks little bandaids over the wounds, their kisses cover my scars.

But the scars are still there, the wounds still bleed. I feel it everyday; I really thought I’d be over this but the problem is that I didn’t put up any walls or barriers and he seized every ounce of me. I don’t trust enough in the process to leave myself so vulnerable, so exposed. I don’t believe the risk is worth the price – it puts too much faith in another and dynamics between two people when I need to rely on myself and what I am singularly capable of…

Or at least he wasn’t worth it, or we were not worth the risk.

*Photo taken in bath two years ago, after my ex-husband and I tried cutting during one of our torturous reconciliation (at least that’s what that weekend was for me) attempts. I still bear the scars.

Feb 232018
 
February Photofest

496px-Gustav_Klimt_010

The original inspiration from Art Twist, it was mentioned that “Danaë was visited by Zeus, symbolized here as the golden rain flowing between her legs. It is apparent from the subject’s face that she is aroused by the golden stream,” –Wikipedia.

My own take of being overwhelmed, in this case the photo was taken as I was tied in a standing position, multiple orgasms by this point, and the rope was tied around my nipples and then attached to a wand. The vibrations felt like a force that couldn’t be contained and another orgasm ensued.

Feb 222018
 
February Photofest

Kink of the Week is on Scratching, and this is one of the tamest pictures I have for scratching. It was when I was baby stepping someone into kink – scratching with nails seems like a good transition with that, and I made sure not to go too deeply or cover too much skin. “I began scratching my nails into this skin, softly but then raked trails as my mouth alternated between hot and cold. I would only dig in when I was in a zone that he found pleasurable. “This pleasure with pain is completely new to me,” he muttered at one point, and I acknowledged that it was my intent to only hurt him when it also felt good.”Restraining Him 

I will also scratch a one night stand; it seems to be a fairly acceptable practice during sex: “He rotated and saw his back, the side of his chest where my raked nails raised red. “I didn’t promise I wouldn’t scratch you,” I laughed and he smiled, uncaring of those marks.”He Wanted a Fight

When it comes to scratching in BDSM contexts, I do think to ask permission, as this community is built upon negotiations and consent far more (though even in the vanilla engagements of my sex life I should practice this form of communication): “One of my hands went to his forearm, the fingers curled around his muscle, and before I dug in my nails I realized that he isn’t mine to scratch and mark – to claw into as I am sometimes wont to do when I am in pain. If we play again, I thought fleetingly, I should ask about that. It’s almost instinctual to press my fingertips into something when I am overwhelmed with sensations.” – When I Thought the Scene was Done

Honestly, when I think scratching in terms of kink it’s most often with a knife, however. Curiosity got me searching my own blog for the term scratch and it most often came up with a knife. Knife play is something that I’ve found a lot of people don’t want to engage in regardless of how they see themselves, and I certainly don’t consider it an implement often used outside of people identifying as kinky. Knife play was something I engaged in from the beginning of my sexual life, and something that’s always ticked a box in my brain that is hot. So, regardless of whether I viewed myself as kinky or how vanilla my relationship was – knife play has almost always been there in my relationships (not one night stands).

I used a soothing voice to tell him to relax and did not ease up, only leaned down and thoroughly kissed the swell of a cheek and side of a hip as I whispered that I needed to love my blank canvas. Stretching the moments until he felt the tip of the blade, I scratched red letters into white skin, a love letter unfolded along the curve of his body. Mr. Texas thoroughly believed that I would scar him, protested but didn’t color, so I traversed back up his back after I was done expressing my words and explained that I would never violate his consent, that I would not intentionally ever cut him, scar him, but that his mind and his body were mine in those moments and that I was in control of what he thought and felt. – Knife Reflections

Recently, a curry comb reminds me of scratching – as that’s a fun (fairly new) toy Mr. Texas and I use. It’s so scratchy it can hurt, we bought one horse size so he sometimes puts the metal around my throat as he fucks me, and that’s so incredibly hot to me. ““It’s amazing how much you’ll hurt yourself for an orgasm,” he sounded amazed, but by this point Mr. Texas knows how I can get under the right circumstances. He continued to draw the curry comb against my nipples – or rather keep it pressed up against them as I scratched them back and forth painfully riding him. I would feel my nipples sore for a week, but the price was worth the pleasure.”Somewhat Out of Context Phrases

Feb 192018
 
February Photofest

Food for Thought Friday is about restraint and bondage. Let’s just take the above photo as an example: my friends and I go out to take photos, we have no real thoughts of bondage though we bring some rope with other implements, and one of the first things we do is tie each other up.

It’s an obvious love of mine (my background on the blog is rope, and the majority of my pictures are about rope). I have a rope page, and a rope category. My ex-husband and I began exploring the BDSM lifestyle through rope first. I’ve found kink partners through rope (Mimir and The Wanderer), and I introduced Mr. Texas into kink through rope first. Even in my hermit days since my sister died and my divorce, if I go to kink events they tend to be more rope centered. So I love bondage through rope. I once described it:

“There is nothing inanimate about rope – it reverberates through me. Rope cuts into skin, bites and pinches as your mouth did just moments before. There is tension that I relax into, movement that tests me and creates new found knowledge… Loops and wraps secure me, metal clinks and rope swishes tells a story, line by line. I am receptive to hear the twists and turns of the narrative” – I Soar

I also love restraint through other ways: I’ve used velcro cuffs when I top (I don’t use rope – I’m not a rigger or rope top in any way). I’ve also done mummifications especially with vet wrap – both as a top and as a bottom.

The appeal of bondage is it allows another to take control physically and frees up the person topping to do other things. I am a smaller person and I need the assistance with physically stopping someone from doing something. As a bottom it allowed me to finally quiet the over thinking and surrender into what was being done to me. It created silence and peace that I had been craving for so long and that seemed so elusive to me – that still does except in moments that BDSM creates. Mimir once described me as “very reactionary. A little ball of tied tiger who is by no means tame, more like hypnotized by the ropes. So I need to keep a pace to keep you hypnotized, to lure your calm, to keep your mind in only the present instead of the possibilities.”

While I have no problem with nudity, I am not an exhibitionist – rope freed me from this problem as suspensions are often done publicly (especially learning them):

“it makes me feel both vulnerable to be viewed, to have others watching me and quietly discussing, to be put on as a show, to be an object…then there is strength in the surrender of control, in the acceptance of the bite and the wrappings of the rope, of the defiance in the predicament…In my love for him, for the rope he binds me in, I find strength while leaving myself so vulnerable. It is freeing” – Watching Me