Secrets

I live a life of secrets. All of my friends know that I'm kinky, that I have a sex blog, that I do X, Y, and Z, and that I enjoy it immensely. They know this because I met them through either Jefferson or through the scene. Ulimately, many of us are keeping the same secrets, from our families, employers, school mates and teachers, the list could, potentially, go on and on.

For those of us keeping these secrets, it's a nessecity, we stand to lose our families, our jobs, and our standing in society. So we take on scene names, and write our smut under alias' to protect our identities. Kind of like bizarre super heros, someone should give us capes and we should start wearing our underwear on the outside of our clothes.

I was recently cleaning up in my bedroom, clearing out my closet (which looked like a bomb had gone off in it), and moving my summer clothes from my secondary dresser onto shelves in the closet. I threw out lots of shoes and old boxes. When I was digging through my dresser, I uncovered the box my Hitachi came in, and my first strap-on. I had relegated the one I have now to an antique minitature steamer trunk underneath my bed. I froze when I saw my strap-on, I had bargained for it in a Chelsea sex shop and got paid what I wanted to pay for it. It was ghetto fabulous while it lasted.

I sat there, staring at it, knowing it was time to throw it out, not quite sure how to accomplish it without getting caught. So I went downstairs and got a garbage bag, and came back upstairs. I threw out some old boxes and put my old strap on in the bottom of the bag. I went through my closet, clearing out old shoe boxes, breaking them down and putting them in the trash bag. I cursed loudly when the bag began to tear, so I ran downstairs and got two more, for the sake of covering all my bases, and placed the now shredding bag inside of the other two. It held. I filled another bag with shoes and old purses that I never wore before, and probably won't wear anytime in the future, no matter how much I try to convince myself I will.

I cleared my other sex toys with the exception of my Hitachi (which has a permanent home in my primary dresser) and my one pathetic porno into the small trunk with my strap-on. I hid it behind my much larger steamer trunk which holds my costumes for role playing and my fine bedding. I'm supposed to be getting a new computer that I'm going to stock full of my blog stories and scene pictures and plenty of other debaucherous things in addition to my less carnal daily files and programs, and then I'll proceed to password protect the hell out of it. Hence the cleaning, in preperation for the desk that will go in it's place.

I live a life of secrets, like so many of my friends. Sometimes secrets are nessecary, they allow us to keep our jobs, our families, sometimes they are the glue that holds our lives together. My mother discovered my blog a while back, I had gotten lazy and forgotten to clear the history, a mistake I can't afford to make again. I could very easily end up on the street, and I am in no position to handle a situation like that.

I have lived like this since I was 18 and went to my first TES meeting. I love my family, I don't want to hurt them. I made a stupid joke about SM once to my mother and she freaked out. That's when I knew for sure that no one in my family could ever know. Terra and I have a plan to get an apartment together with another friend of ours at the end of next year, I have one more year to live my life under lock and key. If our plan works out, then I'll have one more year of passwords and stories and secrets.

I will live my life of secrets because I have too, many of us do, it is a simple fact of life. But I do look forward to the day when my home life doesn't force me to lie and make up stories about what I'm doing and where I'm going and why I have bruises on my chest. Silence is golden for a reason, but damn, when the day comes, yelling is gonna be fun.

One More Sleep 'til Christmas!

(Muppet Christmas Carol)

Happy holidays to all'a'y'all from The Garden!!

Family ties

Terra and I met over a year ago at a TES tng meeting. I forget what the topic was, but I was telling someone about a series of books by Anne Bishop they might like when she stood up from the other end of the table, and proclaimed, loudly: "OH MY GOD! ANNE BISHOP'S BLACK JEWEL TRILOGY ARE THE BEST BOOKS EVER WRITTEN!!!" We've been best friends and leather sisters ever since.

She and I have seen each other through countless crisis and drama, we run to each other when we have a bad scene, or a bad day, taking comfort in one another's presence. We tell each other jokes and make fun of each other endlessly. We are almost always laughing when we are together. People often ask us if we're girlfriends, and we shake our heads no. If Terra and I ever had sex it would be beyond incest and would just destroy our friendship.

When it came to light that she would be an orphan for thanksgiving this year, I invited her to thanksgiving dinner with my family. So we all piled into the station wagon and drove off to my cousins house in Conn.

We faced little traffic, and along the way, Terra told me about her family tree, after informing me that I would be attending her family reunion with her, and that by the way, I would have to learn the electric and the cha-cha slide before we went down south.

We got there about noon, and I was starving, I kept eye balling the stuffing and the turkey, and I was consistently shooed out of the kitchen by my various family members. Terra and I started talking about inconsequential things, waiting for dinner to be served. Finally we all got out plates and lined up at the buffet to serve ourselves. Terra and I laughed over the fact that we had been relegated to the 'kiddie table' where we ate in stone cold silence until my aunt, ever the instigator, asked the question that turned my dinner into a stone in my belly.

"So, how did you two meet?" She asked. My entire family went dead quiet, and I was aware of everyone staring at me. I looked at Terra, and Terra stared at her plate. I was tempted to kick her under the table. "We met at a dinner party through a friend of ours, we were reading the same book, and just started talking about it," I said, amazed that I had managed to keep the note of uncertainty out of my voice.

The conversation went right back to politics, as if the question had never been asked, and we breathed a silent sigh of relief.

After we had been released from the the table, we put on a movie, and started talking. "Great," I laughed. "My family thinks I'm a lesbian, it's partially true too, so no one will spaz if I ever get the girlfriend I've been trying to find and bring her to Christmas dinner or something." Terra laughed. "I want a video recording of that dinner when it happens."

We turned our attention to the movie, 'Dreamgirls', and talked intermittently about music stolen from black artists, relationships, dreams, and caught each other up on other things that we can't discuss in front of my family at dinner or in the car on the drive up.

When it was time to go, we all said goodbye to my family to begin the drive home. Only it was dark and we couldn't find our way back to the road. The thing about where my family is in Conn. is that its so isolated there are no street lamps to light the way, so you can't read the few street signs that there are when you need to get your bearings. We drove around the woods for about an hour before we finally got directions and made our way back to the main road that would ultimately take us to the high way.

On the drive home, Terra and I giggled and wrote notes to each other on our cell phones about the days events. When we got to the house, we just brushed our teeth and fell into bed, tomorrow, after all, was another day.

Lessons

I feel the need to give everything a disclaimer. But I'm thinking this will be my last one, with a few special exceptions. But this is all based on my experiences and on what other people have told me from their own experiences. Everyone is different, and I am but one voice in a chorus of many. That said; enjoy!

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Pain is significant and beautiful. It exists for a very good, honest reason. It exists to tell us that something is very wrong, and/or needs attention. We feel it when we stub our toes, when we get a finger caught in the door, when we have cramps, when our hearts get broken, and for women, child birth. So with all of the billions of nerve endings that cover our bodies, it is no surprise that we experience uncomfortable feelings now and again.

As a masochist I have developed an intimate relationship with pain that continues to grow as my experiences increase and broaden. In my book there are two kinds of pain; erotic pain and bad pain. Both are pretty self explanatory; one gets me off, and the other hurts like fuck. When I dislocated my shoulder last year someone asked me if I enjoyed it, told me it must have been heaven for me. To which I replied "No dumbass, my arm was out of the socket for almost three hours, it hurt like hell and sex was the last thing on my mind."

The erotic pain I experience is by and large controlled by people who I trust and who know what they're doing. They are my friends and I trust them to take care of me when I am in such a vulnerable position. Although I have been known to get whacked by something or walk into something by accident and I'll giggle and get a nice little endorphin rush and then go on my merry way.

There are different ways of handling pain, I can't begin to tell you all of them. Everyone is different, and people have different reactions to pain. Personally when I'm in a scene I'm either really quiet, really loud, laughing hysterically, or some combination of the three.

Recently I was at Jefferson's, and we were fooling around as we are wont to do, and I found myself on top. I'm about ten pounds lighter than he is, we even fit the same size clothes, so I can hold my own against him pretty well.

I was straddling his belly and had his arms locked against his sides. I talked to him while I ran my fingers through the hair on his belly and chest. I pressed my thumbs against his nipples, and then tweaked them a little bit and he jumped. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret," I began slowly. "When you are dealing with pain, breathing helps a great deal. Alot of people find that pain amplifies if they stop breathing while they are playing. But if you can remember to breath through the pain, it won't hurt as much. See?" I pinched his nipples between thumb and forefingers, rubbing his nipples gently between my fingertips. He nodded mutely, gazing up at me and breathing deeply.

I was surprised to find myself enjoying the tentative control that Jefferson gave me. I stopped when he asked me to, I have no desire to abuse the trust that he gives me. But never before was I interested in getting on top and being the one in control with anyone; I'm happy to just be along for the ride. But I found myself enjoying this strange foreign top space, however brief my experience.

I doubt I'll be climbing back on top anytime soon, being the one in control has always been a bit of a mental strain for me. But that delicate thrumming in my clit was the same one that I get when I top in a strap-on scene, and that gives me quite a bit to think about.

Simpley gorgeous

My drawing teacher, who we've called Sexy since our first class with him, looks like Dane Cook. Even more so now that he cut his hair and grew a beard. He's tall, and on the first day of class he wore tight jeans and a t-shirt with a rip in it. And I gaped when I saw him, my mouth literally hung open as I stared at him. Later all of the girls in that class would admit to doing more than their share of ogling at our teacher over the course of that long ago semester.

One morning we were drawing portraits of the person next to us. I was sketching my friend Lila when he came over to give me a few pointers. I don't recall a word he said, but I remember staring at him, and breathing in his smell of tobacco and coffee, smells that seem to have turned women on since forever.

The tension in my body was unbearable. I wanted this man, pure and simple. Before I realized what I was doing, I started to lean forward as if I was going to kiss him. I stopped myself, physically stopped myself and leaned back and gripped the table in front of me to ensure I wouldn't try to do anything stupid. I tried to listen to him until he moved on to another person. I started laughing, a little hysterically, and Lila looked at me suspiciously. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She demanded, a questioning look on her face.

"I almost kissed Sexy," I said in hushed tones. She stared at me for a moment and then shook her head. "Personally I'm gonna wait until after I finish this class before I try to stick my tongue down his throat. That man is so hot," she exclaimed quietly while I picked up my pencil and resume sketching her.

Leather

I woke up this morning and was surprised to find it snowing. I yawned and gathered my hair up onto my head before waddling into my office to turn on my computer. I went to the bathroom while it loaded, and in my waking state, I thought about how today would be the perfect day to play, and fantasized what about what that would entail. After I finished peeing and cleaned myself up, I went back to my computer and settled down to check my e-mail and various other sites that I like to keep up on.

Suddenly, out of no where, I was overcome by this intense desire to just smell leather. That had never happened to me out of the blue like that before. I mean, feet, totally, piss, sure, leather? Never happened like this. Now I love the smell and feel of leather, always have. It's always had a kind of subtle presence in my life, and apparently in it's absense, I found myself missing it.

I thought about this while I proceeded to tear the house apart, cursing myself for getting rid of my old leather jacket, nevermind that that coat was way past it's expiration date when I came into posession of it. I wore it for three seasons before passing it on into the cosmos.

Finally, after about 20 minutes of searching, I remembered my chaps. My beautiful black rawhide leather chaps from when I used to horseback ride. I dug into the endless piles of junk in my basement before unearthing them. I unwrapped them and buried my face into the folds of leather, breathing deeply. The smell was still there, faint, but present, and I felt a jolt between my legs that made my knees weak while I moaned, deep in my throat. An earthy gutteral sound that came from my soul.

I gave up drinking coffee about five years ago, I used to make it strong enough to make even the heaviest caffine addicts cringe. This was just as effective as those morning cups of coffee.