Turning the Tables, part 2 [fiction]

"You left me such great things to play with," I said. Stepping in close, I let the velvety falls trail along his back, lightly, teasingly. I wondered if he could tell what was touching him. His back arched, seemingly trying to follow the leather as it left his skin. I prodded him with the end of the handle, sinking it firmly into the ropy muscle beside his spine until he straightened back up.

"But you're the best toy of all." I drew my arm back and let the flogger fly, and was pleased when it landed approximately where I had aimed. Aiden jumped, and I grinned.

Taking a step back to allow myself room, I swung again, then pulled into a backhand swing in the crosswise direction. The tails traveled in an arc behind my left shoulder and then my right as I settled into a figure-eight pattern. I focused on the X on his back, right shoulder to left hip and left shoulder to right hip, right to left, left to right, back and forth, top to bottom. My shoulder entered the swing and then my chest, and the skin of his back started to turn pink.

The room got dimmer, and I realized the air stream from the heavy falls had put out the candle behind me. I relit it from the one in my hand, set them both firmly in their holders, and moved them out of harm's way.

Keeping the tails in line with each other presented an interesting challenge, differing on the forehand and backhand strokes. They wanted to get away, to cause trouble I hadn't permitted. I focused hard and breathed slowly and deeply. They did what I wanted them to do, within reason.

Eventually my shoulder tired, and I switched sides, but realized once the handle was grasped in my off hand that I didn't trust myself to land on target. Making a mental note to practice that, I stroked the tails into a compliant river of red suede and wrapped them around his neck with my hands. I pulled him back against me, nuzzling my face into the top of his neck and taking his skin between my teeth. I bit down, gently at first and then harder, and was rewarded with a small squeak.

"You're being such a good boy," I told him. "Isn't it easier when you're not fighting me?"

He shook his head side to side.

"No? Well, that's all right." I sighed, feigning disappointment, wondering if he could hear my smile. "Nothing good comes easy." I released his neck from the tails and drew my free hand down his back. His skin glowed warmly under my fingertips. I caressed him softly for a moment, then dug my nails into him and raked a set of lines from shoulder to waistband. They flashed white, disappeared, and then reappeared in light red, accentuated nicely by his pink flush.

"You just need a little encouragement." I put the flogger on the floor and made both hands into claws, sinking into his skin on either side of his spine. Some of the purple wax trails caught under my nails and flaked off, fluttering to the floor at my feet. When my fingers reached his ass, they caught in the top of his shorts.

"Why didn't you take these off earlier?" I demanded, hooking a finger in the waistband and snapping the elastic against his side. He managed a shrug. "Because you were too busy fighting me," I answered, pulling them down to just under his cheeks and smacking first one and then the other with my open hand. I walked to the table, selected something that had apparently been borrowed from me without my permission, and walked back.

"Do you like these shorts?" I asked, and he nodded. "I hope you enjoyed them while you could," I said. "This is what happens when you're stubborn." I held out the waistband with one hand and sank my pocketknife into the knit fabric with the other. It took some work to get through the elastic and the seams, sawing carefully to avoid stabbing Aiden in the leg while I worked. When I had opened one leg, the shorts gave up and slid down his other leg, falling in a heap around his ankle.

I put a hand between his legs and stroked his balls. "Much better," I said. "Now I can get to all of you."

Correcting a Pathway

Starting to learn about this game from the other "side of the fence," as Bruce calls it, has restarted my learning in general. Some time ago, I looked for information about being a good sub, and there was a surprising dearth of it. It seems I was looking in the wrong places, as I'm now learning almost as much about bottoming as I am about topping.

I'm not sure exactly what went wrong or when; it was a process. But I let it take me to a negative headspace that I'm only now starting to see. I don't have the words to draw anyone else a picture of it yet. It's not that clear even to me. I will say that I let a lot of things happen that I shouldn't have.

I don't refer to boundary pushing, at least not in its usual sense. I'm not saying that Aiden has pushed me too hard. I enjoy testing the limits, and it has nothing to do with having gone "too far" in any given activity. It's a switch in my head, like the switch that puts the train on the left or right set of railroad tracks, that's sometimes just wrong.

When the switch is in the right place, I can be pushed hard and far and things will probably go well. When it's not, even the smallest thing will shove me off in the wrong emotional direction, and I don't stop and correct. I roll with it, waiting to see where it goes until it crashes into disaster, because that's the only place it has ever gone, the only place I know how to reach.

It feels strange, realizing I need to back way up and almost start over, but I think that's the necessary correction. I think I need to safeword out of that headspace the next time I feel it, to prove to myself that I don't have to go there and to start building a new pathway over the old one.

The question is, will I remember at that time that I decided this choice is important?

For the Sake of the Thing

Yesterday I took the opportunity to grab a mulligan of Thursday. I had more and better plans, and had acquired some better props in the interim. I also remixed my playlist, making it longer by two tracks and removing an irritating pop that had snuck into version one. I set up the iPod and speakers, put a nylon strap under the mattress, laid out my chosen toys, and dressed in a black rhinestoned bra, black lace thong, and black knee-high socks with a pink and purple heart motif.

Not all of the toys got used, which was the plan. Getting out more than I need gives me flexibility to choose the right one for the moment. A pair of wolverine claws alternating with a fuzzy boot cover worn over one forearm were good entertainment when used on his back. A large portion of the scene became an experiment in flogging with music. I'd listened to the songs I was using enough to know the high and low points, the bridges and bass drops. I made use of it, striking with the rhythm, pausing when the beat did, teasing with the breeze of whiffed tail tips on long suspended notes.

Aiden didn't react to most of it. His only communication was when a tail got away and struck him in the neck. My flogging skills are okay but not yet wonderful. I'll get there with practice.

I closed by rolling him onto his back and riding us both to orgasm, removing his blindfold before we got there but leaving the cuffs on. Even my approach and entry into orgasm patterned itself with the music; it really is part of me. It's easier to control and manipulate me with music than with anything else.

When we were done, I dropped hard, curling into a panting, teary-eyed mess on his chest. I got so far into my head in scene, thinking and watching and listening and planning and analyzing and moving, that I was amazed at the emotion that emerged afterward. The passionate side of me was watching the scene from the corner, I guess, waiting patiently for its turn at the end. I wrapped myself around Aiden and held him tightly, grateful that he seemed to be in no hurry to go anywhere.

I asked him for feedback, since I got pretty much nothing in scene.

"I have a great time any time you come that hard," was his response. That made me smile, but wasn't informational.

I tried asking about his boundaries and preferences, and he said he didn't know what they were after not thinking about them for fifteen-plus years. I pointed out that he gave very little feedback in the moment and he seemed slightly surprised, then said that perhaps the lack of reaction stemmed from watching BDSM porn, in which the bottom is expected to be as stoic as possible. (Not in my experience, but apparently in his.)

He agreed when I suggested it that he has more fun as a top when I'm a reactive bottom, so at least there's that. I explained that I can just take his lack of reaction as boredom and an indication that I need to make him react with more stimulation, but that I didn't want to wave that assumption around without stating it first. I'm willing to find his boundaries by exploration, but I need him to know that's what I'm doing before I begin. Playing top is already scary for me, since it's new territory, and playing with a nonreactive bottom makes it even more nerve-wracking. I certainly don't expect wanton screaming if it's not obviously called for, but complete stillness and dead silence mess with me. It feels like dropping a rock into a pond and having it mysteriously disappear without a single surface ripple. Was that good? Bad? Indifferent? Now what do I do? More of that? Something else? Quit and walk away?

He told me that there's a wide range of things he can enjoy if I'm enjoying them, but that just leaves me feeling at loose ends. I'm not doing these things because I like going through the motions. I'm doing them because I like what they might do to him; I like his reaction to my actions. If I wanted to swing a flogger or draw with a knife for the sake of exercise, I could do it without my favorite sexy human being on the other end.

Misstep

I like newbie practice nights when Aiden can't get childcare...if I stay home, we get several hours of time together. Disadvantage: we have to keep the noise down to not wake up the kid. Advantage: it's not work hours, and it's dark outside.

I wanted to add music to our scening; I've wanted to do it for quite some time, but the last time I suggested it to Aiden, he said "That's a great idea!" and then ignored it like all of my other "great ideas." Now that I'm doing my own scene design, though, it's up to me. I spent a couple of weeks sifting for new music, building playlists of old and new, sorting it into categories and giving it ratings, rearranging my playlists, and finally, using Audacity to build one of them into a smoothly transitioned single track.

I took advantage of last Thursday, or I tried. It went fine, at least from Aiden's perspective, so that's something. But I learned a lesson about insufficient planning that I won't soon forget. My playlist was a tad too short, I couldn't find half the physical objects I wanted, I started to chicken out of the scene as soon as I got home, and then I forgot several of the things I did get together once in scene. He said it was an interesting experience to be on the receiving end of something that got labeled "incorrect" when it didn't seem that way from the bottom. I was glad he had a good time, but Disappointment took a solid chomp out of my ass and I gave myself a very bad evening.

Note: making your own vampire glove by sticking thumbtacks through the fingers of a glove sounds like a good idea, but the result is that the tacks turn themselves around when applied to a victim, and insert themselves in your fingertips instead of his back.

Suffering some post-scene drop and a lot of frustration, I went to bed early with my iPod. Aiden came to find me. He sat down and asked why I was in bed, and I couldn't bring up good words, but I knew I needed a hug. He started to get up, and I sank my fingernails into his arm; my first reaction was to turn away, but I made the effort to reach out and say I needed him in the only way I could muster at that moment. He walked away anyway.

Feeling like I'd taken a punch in the stomach, I got out of bed, put on slippers, and left the house. It was a chilly fall evening. I took a walk around the park across the street and finally settled under a tree, out of view of the street. Hiding in my hoodie, I listened to my playlist and wondered where it had let me down.

The problem, really, was exactly the opposite: I had let down my creation. I'd set out to bring Aiden into my musical world, to show him my experience, to invite him to a part of me he'd never experienced, and I did it badly. His introduction to my world should've been explosive and amazing, but a series of small screwups that would have been inconsequential alone or in a different circumstance instead combined to an experience that was not exactly as I imagined, and was therefore a complete failure. The scene itself was fine when taken by itself. The scene as it served a purpose in my head, the purpose of showing my private world to Aiden, failed.

I returned to the house and went to sleep.

The Presentation [fiction]

There is one problem with office dinners, and it's not the company or the food - it's the speeches. I stole a glance at Aiden, unable to tell for sure but guessing he was as bored as I was.

"...from the beginning we have been supported by our friends and neighbors..."

I'd lost track of how long Fred had been droning on from beside the projector. The dinner was gone, the lights were dim, and I was having trouble not falling asleep. I dug my fingernails into my palm, hoping the pain would make me feel more alert, but it didn't do much.

Aiden stifled a yawn, and I grabbed his hand and sunk my nails into his forearm. His eyes widened in surprise, and then the sleepy look was gone and the corners of his mouth were twitching. The sidelong stare and raised eyebrow only made me want to do it harder.

"...the communities in which we live and work..."

I tightened my grip, breathing into my fingers and wondering if I could draw blood. Aiden shifted slightly in his chair and his chest peaked as he took a deep breath. The room was silent except for Fred's voice and the occasional click of his mouse as he moved between slides.

Leaning forward slightly gave me better leverage. Aiden tried to pull his arm away, but I squeezed his wrist and pressed it to my thigh. The force required for him to get free would cause a noticeable commotion. He stopped moving.

"...but things were a little different back then." Scattered laughter arose from the tables.

Aiden was no longer watching the CEO, but had fixated instead on some point in the ceiling. Slowly, deliberately, I dragged my nails up his arm, watching with satisfaction as the white tracks I left turned pink and then red. He took another deep breath but stayed otherwise still.

We were at the back of the room, all the people in nice clothing with their sides or backs to us. Only Fred was looking my way, but I was willing to guess that the light from the projector had him pretty well blinded. I slid my chair back a few inches.

"As you can see here, there was a problem with the design..." He turned slightly so he could point at the image on the wall, and I grabbed my chance. As quickly and quietly as I could, I pushed my hips forward and slid off the chair onto the carpet. Ducking under the floor-length tablecloth removed the rest of the light, and I took a second for my eyes to adjust.

Putting my hands out to avoid attention-getting incidents such as cracking my skull on a table leg, I turned awkwardly on my knees in the cramped space and found Aiden's feet. My hands slid slowly over his knees, up his thighs, to his lap, where I unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. The belt made its distinctive clinking noise, and I grabbed it, hoping no one had noticed but unable to check through the tablecloth. Aiden's hand closed over mine, and I released the noisy buckle into his care.

I took took caution with the zipper on his pants, more than I needed to, knowing that the light brushing of my fingers over the fabric was a torturous tease. When I eventually freed him, he was hard as a rock, and I grinned hugely to no one as I wrapped my hand around his shaft and squeezed him tightly.

There wasn't much room between the table and his lap, but by putting my shoulders between his knees and my chin on the seat of his chair, I was able to get most of his cock in my mouth. I reached my arms around the sides of his chair and grabbed his ass, holding tight and pulling his hips toward me.

Unable to adjust my position, I came frighteningly close to choking, but swallowed hard and pulled it together. I teased him with my tongue, licking and sucking, brushing him with the just the very tips of my teeth. One of my hands just fit under the edge of the table, and I snuck it up his shirt. He tensed as I sank my claws deeply into his chest and raked them downward, and then he was shaking and I was swallowing frantically to avoid drowning.

I had sat back on my heels and was licking my lips when I heard applause. I panicked for one eternally long second, thinking somehow we had been caught, and then realized that Fred had finished his speech and everyone was expressing their gratefulness that he had stopped. The lights came up as I scooted out from under the tablecloth and returned to my chair. If you act like nothing out of the ordinary just happened, people will believe you remarkably often.

Grinding My Teeth

Been surfing the internet and reading opinion articles on BDSM, topping and bottoming, Domming and subbing, and switching. I've found some thoughtful, well-articulated pieces of writing. And they are fucking with my head.

What the hell am I doing, and more importantly, why the fuck am I doing it? I don't just mean this most recent fascination with topping. I mean all of it. I've been unable to articulate what I'm looking for, but unhappy with a lot of what I've found.

Reading about others' reasons for subbing, in particular, makes me realize that I don't seem to have a reason. I don't do it for my dom's pleasure. Apparently I don't do it for mine, either, since it feels like a stretch to say I enjoy it. It's become a battle, with neither of us giving or receiving the responses we want, and it sucks.

Someone mentioned a possibility for disagreements if one party wants to see submission given and the other wants to see it taken. Yeah, we've got that problem.

Someone posted the Plato quote, "He who is not a good servant will not be a good master." Sooo, I'm just going to suck at everything, then. Cuz I'm a shitty sub.

I posted a while back about having discovered the "real thing," the power play dynamic, and that was great while it lasted. But it's gone now. The only energy I seem to have these days is "Fucking fight me!" For any reason and no reason. I don't want a polite exchange and I don't want a game, I want a goddamn war.

I used to battle because I wanted to lose. It was a way of handing over the power. But I don't lose anymore, because I won't stop when a reasonable person should. I will sacrifice anything, including my health and my sanity, to win. And what the fuck do I win? Frustration that I couldn't lose.

If I could read one thing into all of this, it's that I'm harboring a lot of anger. My frustration became bitterness and then resentment, and now I just want to scream and cry and rant and beat things. I can't submit to Aiden because it makes me feel like less of a person. I know in theory that's not what it's about, and I know that's not what he's trying to get out of me, but I've been blinded and I've forgotten all the rest except this ball of rage I've become.

Learning New Things

Turning the Tables [reality]

Aiden read Scraps and commented to me that I would look good on a cross. I decided he'd missed the point, and that it was fine, because it would be better as a surprise anyway. I teased him with the knowledge that I was writing a story but wouldn't tell him what it was about. When given the choice to be told first or just have me pull a surprise on him, he voted for a surprise.

I hadn't decided when to brandish my new idea - I felt unprepared, but we had several hours to ourselves on Thursday night, and he was so excited about being surprised. He was clearly expecting me to bring the surprise home that night, and I realized that "now or never" would be the most likely outlook to get it done without my completely freaking out.

I came home full of grins and nervous energy, and while he was in the shower, I ran around the house retrieving things and hiding them around the bedroom for easy access. He came downstairs and made drinks, while I got stuck in my own head and couldn't decide how to begin. When he suggested dinner, I replied that dinner could wait, and he led me upstairs.

We reached the bedroom, and I had him sit on the bed and close his eyes. I grabbed the candles, stuck in cider bottles because I couldn't find the candle holders, from their hiding place in the closet, took off my pants and shirt, and put on a pair of heels. I dropped the shoe enough times to make both of us laugh at my clumsiness. Then I lit the candles, set them on the floor, and turned off the lights.

I realized when I tried to pick them up and they made loud clinking noises that handcuffs are not sneaky. Wrapping them carefully in a bandanna, I tried to sneak them over to the bed, but I'm not sure I succeeded.

Aiden was perfectly still and obedient, and I knew I'd given the game up at some earlier time. Acknowledging it would've broken my frame, though, so I just ignored it and continued with my plan. Soon he was handcuffed, blindfolded, and face-down on the bed while I drew patterns on his back with my fingernails, then followed with hot wax.

When I was sufficiently amused with that game, I walked him to the bookshelf and belted the cuffs to a shelf over his head. I'd been expecting some fighting or some backtalk, but he was so quiet and so well-behaved that I started wondering if something was wrong. We have an established safe-word system, though, so I put my faith in it and kept going.

I snuck the flogger out of its hiding place, stroked his back with it for a moment, then holstered it in my thong and took a knee by the bookshelf. After sucking him hard, I got up again and used the flogger for its intended purpose. The second strike wrapped, but I corrected and didn't wrap any more. I did put out one of the candles, and had to take a moment to relight it before returning to my knees and his cock again.

Maybe it was the excitement, or the nerves, or just practice, but I deep-throated him more thoroughly than I'd ever done before. When he turned and pushed his hips into me excitedly, I stood again and swung the flogger. I was getting a good pattern in spite of having placed myself under a lintel that caught the tails on every backswing. I didn't realize how loud it was until the kid asked what we were doing. I sent him to bed and put the flogger away, already looking forward to doing it better.

I unbelted Aiden from the bookshelf, sat him on the bed, and told him to remove my thong before shoving him flat on his back and having my way with him. My headspace was unfamiliar and my steps on the road to orgasm were wobbly, but I did get there. I couldn't tell whether Aiden had accompanied me or not, so I continued to ride him for a few minutes, and he kept reacting like he was on the verge of coming. Finally I pulled up the blindfold, and he gave me a big grin.

"How are you doing?" I asked. "Should I continue?"

His eyes closed as his grin got wider, and he said, "I think you blew my mind."

I laughed, more proud of myself than I wanted to admit.

He looks so god-damned good in cuffs and a blindfold.

Among other things I learned: why the dom doesn't blog.

Turning the Tables [fiction], part 1

The windows were covered by heavy blackout drapes that blocked the orange glow of the street lamp outside. The only light came from a pair of tall purple candles set in waist-high iron vines. The corners of the room were cloaked in shadow, disguising all the things that were there when it was in use during the day. A splash of flickering light showed off the only thing that needed to be seen now - a dark X, standing alone on the floor, a cross made from deeply stained wood.

I ran my hand over its surface, smiling as I felt its silky-smooth perfection gliding underneath my skin. Simultaneously soft and hard, cool but not cold, the sensation made my heart beat faster. I stepped closer and rested my cheek against the wood. My eyes closed.

"You like that?" came a voice from beside me. Aiden stood a few feet away, just close enough to the light that I could pick him out now that I knew where to look.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"I knew you'd appreciate it." He stepped closer, and now I could see that he was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of olive-green tac pants and a black leather belt. His dark hair was tied back in a ponytail.

The small propane heater had done a good job, and the air was pleasantly warm despite the late-fall chill outside. I stepped back as he came toward me, away from the cross, wanting to enjoy a few more moments in my own space before he asserted his will on me.

"Come here," he said, pointing at the floor in front of the cross. I looked at the spot, at the worn grey concrete, recently swept but still dirty. I could still feel the last time, the cold stone on my chest, the grit biting into my cheek, the hours of confinement. I took a slow, deep breath and flexed my hands, looked around, stalling.

"Here, pet." His voice came more sternly now, not angry yet, but not willing to be patient with my games. I rolled my wrists, knowing they would be stiff and hurting soon. The cross waited without judgment, shining in the candlelight, shackles open and ready. They would be cold, and hard, and I was still aching...I didn't want it.

I barely stopped myself from shaking my head, knowing that kind of sass would only bring trouble. My eyes found Aiden, standing with arms crossed over his chest, and my feet stepped forward without my explicit permission. I didn't want the torture, but I wanted him. His warm skin, his touch, his low hypnotic whisper in my ear.

I realized as I approached just how short my high heels made him, and stifled a giggle. That flicker of inversion made my breath catch, and suddenly I had a wonderful, terrible idea. I grinned, and Aiden smiled in return.

"Good girl," he said. I stepped into my designated spot on the floor, rolled my shoulders for effect, and reached slowly upward into the edges of the darkness. He wasn't particularly on his guard, but he had the advantage in both strength and positioning. I'd have to be fast.

His chest pressed against my back, squeezing me into the hard wood of the cross, and his hand slid up my right arm and closed around my wrist. I arched my back and moaned. It was calculated, a distraction, and it worked. He grabbed my left hip with his other hand, pulling me into him. I twisted my right hand, freeing myself and grabbing onto his forearm in one motion. Lunging upward, I pushed his arm into the cuff with my right hand and snapped it shut with my left.

His weight came away from my body as he stumbled sideways, startled and off balance. I turned and put my hands on his hips to steady him, and he pinned me down with a glare and a raised eyebrow.

"Really." It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.

"Oh yes. Really." My hands took a stroll up his sides, to his chest and then his neck. He stepped forward and pinned my back to the cross with his body, nuzzling his face into my shoulder and then taking a bite of the side of my neck. His free hand grabbed my hair and pulled my head sideways, exposing more flesh, and I cried out as his biting got deeper. My breath grew short as his teeth pierced my skin, and I could already picture the mark it was going to leave.

"That was very clever," he whispered in my ear, and I took a moment to breathe. "But you're going to pay for your little trick."

"Trick?" I said, shoving myself forward and ducking out of his reach. "You make it sound like I'm kidding." I approached him again, hugging him from behind, then grabbed the body of the cross and pulled us both forward, squeezing him between it and myself. Holding on tight with one hand, I grabbed his free arm with my left and pushed upward. For a moment I thought I saw success, but he was stronger than I, and he pulled his arm in tight to his side.

"You will ask nicely," he said, and I laughed abruptly, surprised.

"Excuse me?" I demanded.

"Ask," he repeated. My first reaction was to balk, but I knew I wasn't going to win the strength contest, and I didn't have a backup plan. I paused for a long moment, then decided I had nothing to lose.

"Aiden," I said, "Please lift your arm."

On the list of reactions I was expecting, obedience was near the bottom. When he lifted his arm and rested it against the arm of the cross, my mouth dropped open. I quickly closed the shackle, unnerved but not willing to show it.

"Thank you," I said calmly, biting back the question.

"I'm willing to let you make your own mistakes," he said, by way of explanation. "You'll remember this lesson so much better when you learn it the hard way."

Wiping the vestiges of surprise from my face, I walked around the cross and touched my nose to his ear. "You just wait and see what gets learned the hard way," I whispered.

He smirked, and it might have been one of the candle flames popping, but I could have sworn I heard a snort behind the smile. I raised my eyebrows.

"I do not appreciate your insolence," I told him. "Your faith in me is absolutely underwhelming."

"You're playing with fire," he said, and I glanced over his shoulder.

"Yes," I agreed, walking behind him. "I suppose I am at that." Stepping on the base of one of the black iron vines, I held onto the top with one hand and gently wrested one of the purple tapers free with the other. It hissed and spit and sent a shower of lavender wax cascading over my knuckles. I turned and stood for a moment, admiring the scene in front of me, the beautiful half-naked boy ready and waiting. The dim light cut deep shadows into his skin, outlining his spine and his muscles. I swept his ponytail over his shoulder so I wouldn't get wax in it, wishing I could admire this sight indefinitely.

I lifted the candle, then paused as a thought occurred to me. Indefinitely was impractical, but this moment would last as long as I chose. He wasn't going anywhere. The time was all mine.

Glad that he couldn't see the silly grin on my face, I shifted my weight to one side and stood still, looking him up and down, reveling in the sensation of choosing my own time, drawing out the moment until I found myself looking forward to the next one.

At last I approached him again, resting the tips of my fingers lightly on his back and drawing them up his spine, over his shoulder blade, up the side of his neck, to his face. I wrapped my fingers gently underneath his jaw and tilted his head up, bringing the edge of his ear between my lips. I teased with the tip of my tongue until I felt his breath quicken, then took his ear in my teeth and bit down lightly.

"Playing with fire is fun," I whispered, then stepped back. I held the candle high and tipped it sideways. The wax fell through the air, splashed against Aiden's shoulder, and skittered downward before freezing into a perfect purple rivulet. It was pretty, but he had barely reacted. I lowered the candle a few inches and tried again.

This time he twitched slightly as I dripped another line next to the first one. I ran one finger over the cooled wax, extending an imaginary line down to his belt, stroking his skin while I watched the flame dance in my other hand. Still sneaking my free hand slowly and teasingly under the waistband of his pants, I brought the candle close to the shoulder I hadn't decorated yet and tipped it over.

His jump was clearer this time, and I heard his breath catch.

"You know, technically," he said, "This is playing with wax, not playing with fire."

I glanced into the dark corner where I knew the fire bucket was sitting, thought for a moment, then reached up and put the candle in Aiden's hand.

"Hold this," I said, as if he had any choice in the matter, then walked out of the light. It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for, even feeling around in the dark. I went around to the darker side of the cross, put a finger under his chin, and lifted his face into a long, slow, deep kiss. He couldn't see my hands, ready and waiting, as I pulled away and said, "Now tell me something."

"What's that?" he answered, but the last consonant was muffled by cloth as I stuffed a bandanna in his open mouth. Reaching over his shoulders, I tied it snugly behind his head.

"I don't care about your technicalities," I said, placing the tip of my nose against his. My lips brushed his as I spoke, but he couldn't kiss me with his mouth full of paisley. "If I want to play with wax, I will. If I want to play with fire, I will. And if I want to call the whole damn thing a swim in the river, I will do that too."

His eyes were grinning.

"You talk too much," I said. "Your body tells me everything I need to know."

I pulled the burning candle from his hand and resumed my place at his back.

"Such a beautiful blank canvas," I said, considering my next move. "Such a beautiful, quiet, blank canvas."

"Mmf," came the reply, and I giggled and tipped the candle low over his back. He jumped as the wax ran down his skin, flowing onto his belt before hardening into decoration.

"Oh dear," I said. "These are a problem." Then, "Hold this." I set the candle back in his hand before wrapping my arms around him and slowly unbuckling the belt. I tugged on it teasingly, pulled the prong from the hole and let it loosen, then slid my hands under his waistband without undoing his pants. Kneeling down behind him, I ran my tongue slowly up his spine, bringing myself upright as I went; between his shoulder blades, to the nape of his neck. Then I pulled the belt out of the belt loops, let it fall to the floor, and stood up, running my hands up his stomach. My cheek rested on his back for a moment while I played with his nipple ring, and then I raked my fingernails down his chest.

"Hmm!" he said.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Hmm."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, grinning. I reached around him again and unbuttoned his pants. "Spread your legs." He did, and I pulled the pants to the floor. He lifted one leg, stepped out of the pants, and as I leaned forward to pull them away, snapped his legs together and trapped my head between his calves.

I stifled a god damn it and sat still. Fighting would give him too much satisfaction, especially when I lost.

"You really want to play it that way," I said. My voice squeezed awkwardly through the pressure on my neck. It didn't sound intimidating at all. He smirked audibly through his gag while the ankle shackles mocked me from too far away.

I looked around and spotted the belt on the floor beside me. Flinging one end like a whip, I was able to loop it around the left leg of the cross and grab it by both ends. Scooting my knees forward while pulling on the belt moved us across the floor, and I managed fasten it around Aiden's left leg and cinch it against the cross. That gave me the extra hold I needed to pry his right leg away and remove my head from its embarrassing position between his shins.

I took a moment to fix my hair, hoping he could feel my glare digging into his back.

"Any more moves like that," I said, glad to hear my voice working properly again, "And I'm going to go find something else to do. You will stay here to think about what you've done."

"Mm."

"I'm going to assume, for your sake, that you agreed." I leaned down, more cautiously this time, and grabbed his right ankle. "Over here." He moved his leg out against the leg of the cross, and I shackled him to it.

"Good boy." His other leg was secure enough with the belt, so I left it as it was. "But you're not going to just get away with that. Humiliating me and messing up my hair is very bad behavior, and bad boys must be punished."

I hadn't been the one to set up the dungeon, but I had an idea of where the things I wanted might be. I grabbed the candle from his hand and left him to wonder what I was looking for while I searched. A shiver of reflected candlelight brought my attention to a small table, where I found a wonderful selection of toys. A smile slid over my face as I ran my fingers through the pile of things - some shiny, some fuzzy, some cold, some sharp. So many to choose from.

Uncertain where to begin, my attention floated from here to there until a deep red color caught my eye. I picked up the flogger, handmade for me at Christmas by the boy now bound and gagged in front of me. I wondered for a moment if it was a desecration to turn it back on its usual handler, then decided that was exactly the point, and any other wouldn't be nearly as special.

Candle in one hand, flogger in the other, I caressed the red suede with my thumb. My heels clicked loudly on the floor and echoed around the quiet room as I returned to my waiting victim.

[to be continued]

Scraps

We've been conversing about all this nonsense. Haltingly, in bits and pieces, getting repeatedly interrupted by life. But it feels like progress.

During a conversation on Monday night about kink and what we want from it, Aiden identified himself as a masochist. Somehow I had no idea. He told me that in times past, he had spent hours tied to a St. Andrew's cross being flogged, because it felt like a massage. I briefly inspected that piece of information and then set it aside, unsure what to do with it.

I awoke the next morning to a vivid image of his description, and I decided I liked it an awful lot. Something about it really turned me on.

And I'm still not sure what to do with that information.

Don't Sit On Me

Things have not been good since I got back. The conveniences of home are nice, but the deeper and more important things have been distinctly skewed. I can live without a shower every day, or three square meals. But when every attempt at sex ends somewhere on the spectrum between awkwardness and disaster, something is deeply wrong.

I recoiled emotionally after Aiden told me what he wanted to change. I'm not sure he realized that had happened. I couldn't really explain it.

So he pushed forward, and I pulled back, and he kept pushing forward, and I shut down. The last few times we've had sex, it's turned into me staring at the ceiling trying to pretend it isn't happening, and ended with me stomping off to take a scorching-hot shower, wishing I could apply the soapy loofah to my brain.

I'm smoldering with anger and bitterness, and he just pushes forward and pushes me around and pushes himself onto and into me like somehow that's going to help. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. Perhaps he feels insane. I definitely do.

I also feel violated and ignored.

Whenever things get bad in a sexual relationship, I default to shutting down and letting my partner walk on me, and then I get angry because they're not respecting my space. Then my partner blames me for not telling them there was a problem, and I wonder how the fuck it took them so long to notice that I was Not There and hadn't been for a while.

This is not a new pattern. I don't know why the hell I can't seem to get out of it. It obviously doesn't help anyone, and it does me pretty grievous emotional damage even while I'm pretending not to give a fuck.

Yesterday, I pulled myself away from work that needed to be done and tried to spend some quality time with Aiden. I took him and my coffee to bed, aiming for snuggling and laziness, hoping it would turn into that slow, blissful, irresistible sex that takes up hours of your day and can't be fought off until it has thoroughly had its way with you. But then he ripped off my pants and shoved his cock into me, and I gave up and pretended it wasn't happening until I could escape to the shower.

I told him today that we need to start over. I'm not on board with this d/s relationship he thinks we have. He's been pulling out props and games, clearly thinking that I'll be excited to finally have what I've been asking for all this time, but I'm not there anymore. I don't care about your knives and your rope and your crap. I gave you all the time in the world, and you squandered it. It took me leaving for a month, and Shelby telling you that she thought it was a good idea, to attempt to be what you told me six years ago that you were. A real Dom does not need permission. A real Dom does what he wants and apologizes to no one. You are not better than I, and I will not kneel to you.

I will not call you sir.

Crossed Streams

Ninja tells a story about the time that her boyfriend was deployed, and what happened when he came home. He'd been gone for a long time, and after those many months, they were unsure about the status of their relationship. He took a short vacation to think it over, and when he came home, they had come to their conclusions. She was devoted and wanted to make it work. He wanted out.

That's what floated through my mind while Aiden and I were reconnecting after my trip. I'd finally accepted that the things I really wanted out of our relationship were not going to happen, and was planning my move to Tennessee. He told me that after some thinking about the last couple of years, he realized he'd been a poor steward of our relationship and wants to change that going forward.

I had absolutely nothing to say. I can't describe the feeling that comes from giving my all despite being told it was a pointless effort, being repeatedly disappointed, giving up, moving on - and suddenly being promised what I'd been after in the first place.

It's too late, was all I could think to tell him, but that hardly seemed fair.

It's about god damned time. I bit it back, knowing that when I'm angry, my sarcasm can do more damage than I intend.

"I gave up," I finally told him.

"I hope you know I'll never give up on you," he said.

That was a hell of a guilt trip, but I know he doesn't do those deliberately, so I said nothing. I supposed I deserved it. Giving up on someone certainly isn't kind, but holding out hope forever in the face of contrary evidence is stupid.

I don't know whether I can turn around and go back.

The Road Trip

I've been away. Physically for a month. Emotionally, maybe since I last posted.

Alan is gone. I knew it would happen, and I knew I wouldn't be officially informed. After a month with no email, I suspected, and after two months, I was certain. I didn't want to log in for a while. Do you send a message to someone who will never get it?

As for my most recent rants, I gave up. After telling Aiden so many times what I wanted and being verbally acknowledged and then functionally ignored, that little voice in the back of my head reminding me that "men never change" got louder and louder. I'll never tell Shelby she's right about any of her judgments, because then there will never be any hope. I feel like I've been the symbol of hope for a while, and I take that seriously. I know the power I've been given. I'm trying to be more responsible than I've been in the past.

Looking for answers, I went on a road trip. I rode across the country on my motorcycle, alone, alternately visiting friends and relatives and camping out. Separated from both of my jobs, my derby league, and all of my financial gaming hobbies, I had nothing to do but explore and think.

Before I left, I thought maybe I'd write a book. My daily mileage goals were low, and I pictured hours spent at picnic tables and in my tent, scribbling down every poignant moment of our weird relationship, sifting out the meaning and preparing to share it anonymously with the world.

Then I got out in the world. I slept from dusk to dawn, and spent the rest of my time riding, or cooking, or setting up or breaking down camp, or exploring and taking photos. I met people. I saw concerts. I toured sites. I had adventures. I laughed at myself for thinking I'd ever have time to write a book when I was so busy living.

On the third day, I called home crying, thinking the trip was a mistake. By the fourth morning, I had regained the solo equilibrium that I had when I was single and lived alone. I was productive, adventurous, unemotional. I keep good company with myself. I don't get upset about things. I just do what needs to be done, and sometimes it's less enjoyable than others, but I never get caught up in spirals that make me want to cry and yell and act in ugly ways. I'm very in balance on my own.

I realized that without the hours of soul-searching, I wasn't going to find the answers I was looking for, but I noticed smaller daily lessons, and I was content with those.

Somewhere along the Natchez Trace Parkway, which is more peaceful and contains fewer distractions than any other road I've ever seen, the issues I'd left at home bubbled up again. I imagined scenarios, turned things over in my mind, and found a point. Then I remembered another element I'd left out, decided it overshadowed the point, and came to a conclusion.

I felt better, like I'd found what I set out to find, and I considered riding straight home and ending the trip early. But I still had a few days, and it would've been silly to ignore all of the sites left to see between here and there.

And so I visited Nashville.

As soon as I rode in, I felt like I'd come home. By the next morning, all previous points were irrelevant. It was all I could do to pull myself away. Expectation drew me home, and passion drew the tears down my face as I rode north in the pouring rain.

I cried for hours. I saw only enough of my surroundings to ride the bike safely. I cried at stoplights, and at lunch. I texted a friend that I knew would understand, and he gave me exactly what I wanted, which was surprised support. Aiden and Shelby, Ninja, Eben, my mother, and my team will be told in person.

I come to life milestones late, but I arrive at them with a vengeance that tends to make up for my tardiness.

Brain Sorting

My posts sometimes wander from topic to topic as I'm writing them, in a way that I don't intend. I set out to make one point, and then I make another one that's also true but has little or nothing to do with the original.

Last post I started out talking about fantasies and ended up making a point about how our home life works. Yeah, they're connected, but it wasn't structured the way it is in my head.

I should've stopped after "What the fuck happened?" and begun a new post, but oh well, it's out there now.

On second thought, it's actually that I made a partial point, and not that I made a wrong point. Watching Aiden put up with being insulted, and my being disappointed that he doesn't seem to give a crap about most of our fantasies, are both subelements of the respect thing. They both lead to a sense of disrespect in me for him.

Organizing my head takes a lot of effort sometimes.

Dear Aiden

Aiden, do you remember the stories you used to write for me?

I do. They were great. No one had ever written about me, or for me, before. No one had the creative ideas for using me that you had. No one else ever knew what I wanted like you did.

There was one in particular that was my favorite. Aiden took Skylar on an adventure, brought her to a place that she was afraid of, introduced her to something new, used her and cared for her.

God, that was exciting. You were exciting. When we got back together after much time apart, I was excited all over again to finally get to live out our fantasies together.

What the fuck happened?

Shelby says awful things both to and about you. I spent a long time trying to get around those things, to tune them out, to defend you, to somehow make them stop. I still don't approve of her method of communication, but now I understand how it occurred.

You came to me the other day, troubled by Shelby's words that you are "a bad parent" and wanting to know if I thought the same. I can't possibly answer that question. I don't think anyone in the world can; it has no black-or-white answer. But I want to explain what I think is the more important part of that statement - the way she phrased it.

It's begging for a reaction. A lot of the things that she says do that. I've slipped a couple of times myself and made statements to you that I wish I could take back. I do it because I'm looking for your reaction. I want you to stand up for yourself. I want you to have an opinion, to show me a boundary, to push back.

Some months ago, Shelby told me in passing that you're a shitty dom. I was offended, both on your behalf and my own. But she was right. I hate having to admit that, not because I don't want to be wrong, but because I don't want to be wrong about you.

I really thought all the things she said about you were wrong. I still think some of them are. She's unfair sometimes. But when she told me (on a different occasion) that you're submissive, she was right.

You do whatever we tell you. You let us treat you like shit. You never stand up for yourself. You have to be told when to be dominant.

I'm a submissive, and I wouldn't put up with the shit you do. You deserve as much as you're willing to take.

I don't respect you anymore.

Blooming

I've had many people tell me that I'm creative. For a long time, I believed them. I used to write stories, draw characters, and invent things. I never wondered how to come up with an idea - I wondered how to choose just one to work with at any given moment.

Then I got on anti-depressants. Then I got a day job. Then that job became full-time. I bought a car. I moved out on my own. I started paying lots of bills. I became a grown-up in the worst sense of the phrase. And I forgot how to be creative.

For the first couple of years, I was nursing along a sequential art project. It started off well, but somewhere along the road I slowed down, and I found myself asking people around me, "Hey, what do you see happening next here? Because I'm just lost." My ideas dried up, and eventually my give-a-damn followed. Despite lots of support from readers, I let the project die alone in a ditch. Occasionally I glanced at it, felt a wave of guilt, and then went back to my hectic daily schedule.

Last year I decided I was going to resurrect it and actually make it my career. I wanted out of my day job, and that was the best way to do it. The only problem was, I still didn't have a story to tell.

In August, Aiden, Shelby and I went on vacation. While chilling on a patio in the middle of nowhere, sipping wine and enjoying our view of a lazy river, we started discussing a new project, a graphic novel that we would all write and I would draw.

I listened with interest and fascination while the two of them spewed ideas almost faster than Shelby could write them down. I had almost nothing to add myself except for technical data. I found myself wondering, How do they come up with these ideas? I was impressed, and mystified.

Over the last few months, I've paid off my debts, restarted the old project, transitioned from full- to part-time work, and moved...and it's coming back. After years on a shelf, my muse is starting to work again. I'm remembering how it works to actually have ideas on my own. I'm tapping back into the creative in me who actually imagines and runs with ideas, instead of cutting them off and returning to busywork.

It's a little intimidating some days. But god, it feels good.

Are We All "That Guy?"

I was talking to Eben a while back about the drug debate, and as usual, he had something to say that stuck in my head. I'll paraphrase as best as memory will allow.

"Changing your worldview can be awkward and painful. It's like if you were a bigot, and I told you that gay marriage is perfectly reasonable and I'm all for it. You like me and respect my opinion, so you're willing to hear me out, but your beliefs are deeply held and aren't just going to change overnight."

Please note that Eben is even more anti-drug than I am. In the course of that same conversation, he told me that he would absolutely not do even the small amount of experimenting that I've done. But he knew exactly what I was looking for, and it wasn't "Here's my opinion on drugs." It was "Here's an explanation for the depth of emotion this subject triggers in you."

I grew up with the largely unconscious idea that people belong to one of two categories: functional, drug-free human, or addicted loser. Each of those categories comes with a host of other descriptors, now with 40% more judgment free!

Basically, either you're addicted, broke, and living in a crackhouse on death's door, or you're straight-edge. (For this unusual definition of "straight-edge," alcohol doesn't count. Marijuana is an in-between, as in, "You're clearly not too bright, but maybe you won't actually keel over dead in the next 24 hours.") I'd heard tales of high-functioning addicts, namely lawyers who are secretly addicted to heroin, but I assumed those tales had all-or-nothing endings (they cleaned up or they died).

Then there's the designer category - the college kids and their club drugs. Some of them have fun and are lucky that the finger of fate doesn't bestow consequences. The others die horrible deaths. The rest of us are not that stupid in the first place. I actually wrote an entire novel based around an ecstasy-induced accidental death.

It was a new concept to me that people can do hard drugs "sometimes." What, isn't it all or nothing? You use, you lose? No, actually - some people are normal, responsible, functioning adults, with jobs and kids and mortgages and reasonably good health, who occasionally use highly illegal substances.

What? No.

The evidence is right in front of me and I'm still struggling with the concept. The idea that all drug use constitutes a druggie, a useless, dysfunctional drain on society, is deeply ingrained. The space in between has been labeled "limbo" to me - the place where you choose, where you shape up or ship out to the next life. You are either on your way up or down; you don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

Now they're telling me you can stay here.

I don't actually believe it, but now I'm paranoid that I'm the bigot.

Recreating Blog

The old blog refuses to show itself to anyone but me, no matter how many settings I tweak, and the Google people can't fix it. I've exported the old blog into this one. Unfortunately I cannot move the comments, but at least now the blog is back. Ish.

[Edit] Never mind, the comments actually got reproduced! Wow! I'm quite thrilled.

Let's Go Fishing

I just reread the "Speechless" post, and it fished up the bucket of things I want to try.

Augh, I'm not actually patient...I just get distracted sometimes. And then when I realize that that thing I wanted to try so long ago hasn't happened yet, it's intensely annoying, and I feel like I'm slogging through mud.

What does it take to try something new? I'm so easily bored. There are so many things in the bucket that can quench that problem before it really becomes a problem, and yet it always has to become one before we can go fishing.

I'm working on the patience. Really, I am. But when enough time has gone by, it's not patience - it's giving up.

Defining Boundaries

The moving part is finished, and the adjusting part is now in full swing. I'm operating in my new part-time schedule, doing two ten-hour days a week at my old job and three days a week at my own business (which was supposed to be just art, but has ended up including a lot of time devoted to league business, as well).

The first week in my new home, I had a lot of little moments where I would pause suddenly at the start of a task execution, imagining a spinning progress bar over my head and the word "Recalibrating..." That has mostly subsided, and now I'm dealing with another set of change impacts, those of seeing the people I know in very different allotments of time, and not having nearly as much control over my own surroundings.

I came home last week from practice expecting to find Aiden and Shelby playing games with a pair of their friends, but the friends had gone home early. The change was unexpected, and though I recognized it as neither my problem nor a big deal, I still felt disgruntled at not having found what I had expected to find in my own home. Last night, a similar thing happened, in which I came home from a class expecting to find Aiden preparing dinner for Shelby, her friend Posie, and his and Posie's kids. When I got there, everyone was pretty much done with dinner, and Posie's husband was also hanging out.

Again, I recognized it consciously as not being a problem, but couldn't help feeling put out. I did realize eventually that making the kids wait until 8:30 for dinner was maybe not the best plan and managed not to take it personally. After the guests went home, Aiden still hadn't so much as touched me, and I pointed it out. He said he had tried to hug me when I walked in the door, but I had seemed grumpy and not wanting to be touched, so he just handed me food and sat back down. I didn't remember that interaction.

This conversation continued for a few more minutes, and then there was silence. In which Aiden still had not actually touched me. My primary love language is physical touch, so avoiding touching me is something I tend to read as very insulting.

"This is your opportunity to fix this," I finally said, smacking him lightly on the side of the head a few times, "And you're missing it."

"Don't hit me in the head," he said, turning to look me full in the face. I paused. There was an intensity to his voice that surprised me.

"Really," I finally said. "What are you going to do?" Some part of me wanted to know, but the part controlling my hands decided it was a bad idea.

"Just. Don't," he said. He wasn't yelling, and he wasn't quite angry, but I honestly didn't know what might happen if I pushed. I desperately wanted to find out, but for just a moment, I was afraid.

We stared each other down for several breaths, until Shelby said, "You know what that makes me want to do?" and I started laughing.

He caught me alone a few minutes later and gave me a long kiss.

"I apologize for hitting you in the head," I said. "I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry if I didn't make it clear that I wanted to hug you," he replied. I appreciated the apology, but I was excited about something else.

"Thank you for showing me a boundary," I said. "It's good to know where those are."

"Usually you approach them but back away," he said. "And I don't see a point in snapping at someone for just 'tap-tapping' on the wall."

"But sometimes that's what I'm looking for," I said. "I want to know in no uncertain terms that that's where I am."

Thinking about it again later, the more succinct explanation is that if I back away from a boundary before he's shown me where it is, it feels like he's willing to take more disrespect than I'm willing to dish. And that leads to further disrespect. But it would be pretty easy for him to push the balance back.

Have I mentioned he's hot when he's angry with me...?

Moving Day Approaches

I move this weekend.

Two more days to go. It's really happening. Tomorrow night, Aiden and Shelby are coming up after work. We're going to do dinner, pack his car full of my things, and then spend one last night in my apartment.

Saturday morning, Aiden will drive south to pick up his kid and take the first carload of my things home, Eben will come over to my place, and Shelby, Eben, my roommate, and I, and possibly Bruce, will pack up the rest of my life and empty out the place I've been for the last two years.

It almost doesn't feel like it's been that long. But it has. Twenty-five months, to be exact. I moved in on February 1st, 2013, and I'll be out on February 28th, 2015. I'm not sorry to see the back of the stupid freezing-pipes problem, but otherwise, I'll miss it here.

This is not a cold-feet thing. I want to be in my new home slightly more than I want to stay in this one, but that doesn't mean I'm excited to leave here. This town is wonderful. Lots of my friends are here. My apartment is great (aside from the pipes).

But it's time. Sometimes, it is just time.

On Depression and Redirected Anger

I've been known to use the phrase "getting over" when I refer to my depression, and how it's now in my past. But it's kind of a misnomer. To be over something means that it's in the past, it's done with, and that's that. Depression doesn't really work like that, though.

It's more like a wild animal that I've mostly tamed. Occasionally it bares its fangs, and I have to remind it what happened last time, and it backs away. Most of that is automatic now, requiring little in the way of focus or effort, which is what leads me to use the word "over" to describe it.

Then there are the times - and they are few and far between these days, thankfully - that it sneaks up behind me and body-checks me off a cliff.

I can feel it coming. It doesn't sneak in unnoticed. I can smell it.

Sometimes that weird feeling doesn't actually amount to much. I'll eat a meal, see a friend, go for a drive, distract myself...and it fades away. For that reason, I don't always pay it a lot of attention. I just focus on changing my surroundings and that's usually sufficient to head off disaster.

I tend to get the sneaking weirdness on chemo days, which isn't all that weird; the whole situation is super stressful, and Mom is really good at pushing my buttons, as moms are. There's a limit to just how much of her I can deal with at a time. Small doses, as they say. I hold it together until I get in the car, and then I take a deep breath and listen to some loud music and go back to everyday life.

Tonight I just had some extra bad energy, I guess. It was chemo day, and I started to list a whole bunch of things that were maybe a little bit sub-par about the day, and then realized it was all irrelevant. I got the sneaking weirdness, I left before dinner, and I jumped off the fucking cliff.

The drive home was a battle with myself. Interestingly, the internal battle no longer seems to affect my driving; there was a time when all my aggression came out through the gas pedal, but not anymore. I drove like a sane human being while the inside of my mind melted into a puddle of anger and loathing.

I reached out to a couple of friends to make evening plans, hoping someone had the time to save me from myself, but no one responded. Left to my own devices, I tried to plan some structure into the looming void of the evening.

I talked myself out of cutting. It's been nearly six years. I can't ruin a streak that long.

I talked myself out of driving to another state to set my ex's truck on fire with a gallon of gasoline. Doing things like that in a bad state of mind leads to getting caught.

I have several friends who would demand that I call them if they knew I was in this state right now. My friends are good like that. But I won't do it. This is the only place I'll reach out, and only because I know no one will hear the call until the crisis is over. Tomorrow I can shrug it off as a "bad night." (What a stupid, generic, meaningless phrase that is.)

Dinner is in the oven, I paid the rent on my way home, and I'm holed up with sweat pants and my second margarita. Is this what getting "over" depression means? That I just get more responsible about what I do when my brain is melting?

There were so many things that I wanted to say, and now most of them seem to be gone. When I'm driving and pondering something I'll have strings of little revelations that are really enlightening, and then I don't write them down (because I'm fucking driving) and then they disappear.

There is one that stuck with me.

I'm super angry at Kevin. I don't waste much energy on it, because there are better uses for my time and my thoughts, and dwelling on anger only makes it worse. But when the occasion comes up that I think about it, I actually harbor a lot of rage toward him.

I was mucking around in the anger a bit tonight, and started thinking, was it really him that I should be angry at, or myself? He did a lot of awful things to me, but I let him do those things. And then I wondered, if it's my fault, why would I be angry at him? I directed the anger at myself for a moment and found the answer: accepting all of that coming my own way is destructive. Directing it toward him means that I can learn the lesson and not have to hate myself.

Pattern recognition spotted a parallel. All those years I spent being angry at Aiden, only to realize I'd never hated him at all...same thing. As long as I viewed our relationship as a mistake that only a horrible person could make, I directed that anger away from myself to avoid complete self-destruction.

I was able to re-accept the blame for what I'd always known that I did wrong after I no longer cared about Kevin, because then I could see the bigger reasons for why I'd cheated, and they went beyond just me being an unfaithful slut.

Forty Reflections on 2014

1.What one event, big or small, are you going to tell your grandchildren about?
Playing my first tournament with my amazing team

2.If you had to describe your 2014 in 3 words, what would they be?
Exciting, loving, impatient

3.What new things did you discover about yourself?
Not only a skill at, but actually an enjoyment of helping to solve interpersonal problems

4.What single achievement are you most proud of?
My first Most Valuable Jammer award

5.What was the best news you received?
Nothing sticks out in my mind.

6.What was your favourite place that you visited in 2014?
Maine

7.Which of your personal qualities turned out to be the most helpful this year?
Diplomacy

8.Who was your number one go-to person that you could always rely on?
A combination of Eben and Aiden

9.Which new skills did you learn?
Dealing with other people's anger and my own emotions - thanks to Shelby

10.What, or who, are you most thankful for?
I couldn't pick just one. My family, my friends, my teammates...

11.If someone wrote a book about your life in 2014, what kind of genre would it be? A comedy, love story, drama, film noir or something else?
An uplifting love story/drama with comedic moments

12.What was the most important lesson you learnt in 2014?
That being honest and straightforward, even to the point of being blunt, is the most effective way forward.

13.Which mental block(s) did you overcome?
Speaking my mind - I'm still working on it, but I've made a lot of progress.

14.What 5 people did you most enjoy spending time with?
Aiden, Eben, Mom, Ninja, Alejandra

15.What was your biggest break-through moment career-wise?
Deciding to quit my job and move on to greener pastures

16.How did your relationship to your family evolve?
I've become much closer to my mom, through learning she had cancer and seeing her through chemo. I'm unsure where my relations with my sisters stand, since they agreed to pay the legal bills they caused me to incur but our only communications have been through lawyers.

17.What book or movie affected your life in a profound way?
Year of No Sugar

18.What was your favourite compliment that you received this year?
Possibly one from the tournament, when my coach told me I had really come together as a blocker.

19.What little things did you most enjoy during your day-to-day life?
The outdoors, long pun trains, tubing on the river, trying new foods, the swing set in the park

20.What cool things did you create this year?
Logo art for fire camp

21.What was your most common mental state this year (e.g. excited, curious, stressed)?
Probably excitement. I get excited about a lot of things.

22.Was there anything you did for the very first time in your life this year?
I climbed a radio tower to 160 feet and didn't have to change my pants afterward.

23.What was your favourite moment spent with your friends?
Any of the multiple parties thrown by myself and my roommate, or any of the crazy bout/tournament days.

24.What major goal did you lay the foundations for?
Changing my career to become a self-employed artist

25.Which worries turned out to be completely unnecessary?
I'm not yet convinced that they are unnecessary.

26.What experience would you love to do all over again?
The tournament. Either of the trips to Maine. Aiden and Shelby's first derby bout, where I got my first MVJ

27.What was the best gift you received?
A beautiful leather flogger that Aiden made himself

28.How did your overall outlook on life evolve?
I've become more decisive. I'm not the only one who looks for a leader, and sometimes it's best that I be that for others.

29.What was the biggest problem you solved?
Getting away from a league that wasn't fulfilling for its skaters. Realizing that some relationship problems that I used to live with should not be overlooked, through the process of finding a relationship that is so much better.

30.What was the funniest moment of your year, one that still makes it hard not to burst out laughing when you think about it?
Sinking Aiden in the river by mistake while trying to re-inflate his inner tube. He called me the Deflating Cat.

31.What purchase turned out to be the best decision ever?
My new skate boots, which actually fit

32.What one thing would you do differently and why?
If I did something differently, I wouldn't learn the lesson, so I don't think I would change anything.

33.What do you deserve a pat on the back for?
Conquering my fear of heights

34.What activities made you lose track of time?
Drawing. Tubing the river. Sex. Swinging in the park. Playing bouts.

35.What did you think about more than anything else?
Relationships

36.What topics did you most enjoy learning about?
Exercise, food

37.What new habits did you cultivate?
Drinking coffee and tea without sweetener

38.What advice would you give your early-2014 self if you could?
Relax.

39.Did any parts of your self or your life do a complete 180 this year?
No

40.What or who had the biggest positive impact on your life this year?
Aiden