Sharing Sirship

So, Sister has been integrating more and more into our household the last couple of months, enough now that I've had to do some real thinking about where I want to fit into the hierarchy.

I mean, I've gotten past my previous issues. I'm feeling a lot more confident in my standing, but now that I'm getting more comfortable with Sister being around, and feeling more confident in being above her in the hierarchy, there's a new decision to me made - Am I just an adjunct to Daddy and Sis's relationship, or do I want to fully participate? In short, am I just Daddy's Boy, or am I also Sister's Master?

And let's be honest here, it's not a decision I can take lightly. I already worry about not meeting Daddy's expectations as a Boy, there's a lot of times where I feel inadequate, where I feel I'm not reaching his high expectations. But making the choice to take an active role in his Slave's development is an entirely new level, one that I'll admit I'm a little scared of taking on.

Part of that is just a fear of change, and I have a handle on that. But I'm also not all that confident in being a Sir, it's not something I've really considered for a lot of my relationship with Daddy. I like where our relationship stands at the moment, it really does feel like a brother/sister relationship.

Then again, I guess at some point this Boy has to take on grownup responsibilities, and frankly I think I'd be failing Daddy a lot more if I refused to grow as a person simply because I was afraid of a little extra responsibility. I need to accept that part of being a Leather boy is to embrace that feeling of responsibility, to give back and be willing to guide. This really feels like a path that I need to take, for my own development if for nothing else.

I'm going to continue this tomorrow, because I did promise Daddy I'd talk about what this responsibility all means, but I think tonight I needed to take the opportunity to really commit to this.

Jealousy

It can be surprising how easily you fall back on insecurity.

Recently, I've been noticing that I've been getting very... resentful of Sis. Not because anything she did annoyed me, or that she was being malicious or anything. Hell, Sis has been the very model of a good slave since Daddy had taken her in. She does all her chores without prompting, she picks up on Daddy's desires and remembers them, she's been entirely respectful...

In fact, that's kind of the problem. I compare her performance to mine on the service front and I tend to find myself lacking. I've never had another sub to directly compare performance against, and suddenly, all my childhood insecurities flared right back up again. What if I'm not good enough? What if Daddy decides that Sis is a better sub than me? WHAT IF SHE GETS PROMOTED OVER ME?!?!?!

I'd talked with Daddy a little about this, and he pointed out the obvious - that Sis has a completely different role to me, has a completely different life path to me, and more importantly, that we are skilled in completely different ways - Yes, she does a much better job on the housework, but the fact I've been around for almost 6 years now means I do have a much better handle on how to handle Daddy. As Daddy points out, "You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not!", so the insecurity is completely unfounded.

It also made me admit something that I've been loathe to admit to myself for quite some time - that I'm actually intensely competitive. I like being the best at things, even if I'm not exactly driven to improve myself in the normal sense. It's why I enjoy my job so much - I'm very good at what I do, everyone know it and asks me for advice. I feel safe and secure when I'm "Rocking my KPIs", as my psych called it. But all of a sudden, I'm being reminded that no, I'm actually not the best at chores and housework. I just have to remind myself that that's okay. And who knows, maybe channel that competitiveness to become a better person.

Being crochetty

My most recent discussion with my psych has helped me narrow down the reason for so much of my strange, avoidant behaviour, although the revelation is nothing particularly new - my biggest problem is a constant, all pervading fear, not all that uncommon for people who've experienced my history. I'm constantly checking out to avoid feeling that fear, because its better, in many cases, to feel nothing than it is to be afraid.

I say it's not surprising because I have often noted being afraid to do plenty of things, and when I am afraid, there's usually two ways I go - I either punch through the fear, or check out from it. I've written before about not being willing to participate in communities, I said then it was because I preferred to be an outsider, but to be honest I think a lot of it came down to not wanting to become vulnerable, because I was afraid that my me would be hurt.

Identifying the cause has meant that my psych has thrown a whole lot of activities at me to help clear out that fear. I'm working as hard as I can, but one of the more surprising acts he's ordered me to do is find a craft. The idea is that the constant monotonous action of most crafts helps to calm the mind down. I attempted knitting and failed, but a friend helped me learn crochet, and I have to say I'm getting well into it.

Of course, the whole attempt to find a craft is in and of itself another enlightening moment. I've mentioned before that I generally don't continue with things that I can't get in the first few attempts. I think it goes back to my days as a gifted kid - I only got kudos from people when I was good at stuff, so if I wasn't immediately good at it, I just wouldn't bother. This obviously means that I'm not actually so good at the process of going from sucking to getting better. Daddy doesn't really get this himself - he's internalised that drive to get good at things, to deal with the immediate frustrations of sucking at something and to persevere until he gets it. This is a skill I completely lack.

In this case, I couldn't get the basics of knitting down first time, even with instruction, so naturally I just gave up. Instead, I found that crochet was much easier for me to pick up, so I ended up going with the crochet instead. Another opportunity for growth wasted I guess, but then again, this is clearly a very well entrenched pattern. I cannot expect to just drop the pattern first time.

Running away

So, why do I keep checking out?

Dissociative behaviour typically occurs due to events that you don't want to experience. Now, it's true that I've had a lot of bad experiences, I'm a rape survivor, and before that my family life wasn't exactly all roses. But I'm not living a terrible life at the moment - My life with Daddy is frankly one of the best periods of my life, and I don't say this lightly. Why am I still so keen to leave reality?

My first response is that I've had a lot of practice dissociating. I'm pretty sure I've been doing it since age 4 at least. That makes 23 years of dissociating whenever bad stuff happens, so it's clearly a pretty heavyset habit. But that doesn't fix the question of why I keep thinking bad stuff happens all the time.

My psych tells me that I have an extremely heightened sense of threat - a lot of things that are not really threatening at all press my danger buttons, and have me running for cover. This probably explains at least a little why I tend to hide so vigorously when watching awkward moments on television - just watching someone being embarrassed, even when I know that person is fictional, is enough to press my danger buttons.

So... I spend a lot of time feeling threatened by life in general. This probably means that even mostly neutral interactions with people tend to set off alarm bells in general. It's worse when it looks like I'm agitating people or making them upset, because that really sets me off.

Perhaps the constant dissociating is me trying to get rid of that sense of threat? Easy way not to feel threatened - don't feel anything at all. But that's not a viable way of living - people are not going to have happy feelings all the time. It also probably explains why I tend to need time alone after very small amounts of time with other people - all that constant vigilance wears you out. The trick, clearly, is that I need to reduce the threat perception in my head, and theoretically that's something that I'm supposed to be working on (indeed, that's the whole point of "dropping the coin", ie unclenching. But I've discovered that I'm not doing it right - needs to be done for longer periods, not when stuff happens. We'll have to see how me unclenching while meditating helps. Either way, really need to tone down my danger signals.

Psych Propwash

My recent visit to the psych has stirred up a few feelings, today I'm writing them down for posterity, and to commit them to mind for next visit.

I talked about how I'm trying to become more present by cutting out activities that I use to dissociate, the current one I'm on is computer games. He brought up an interesting point that I've had this conversation with him plenty of times, and everytime it's been on a different activity. There's no use restricting a behaviour if I'm just going to find another one to dissociate.

What I need to do is identify the reasons behind the dissociation, but somewhat ironically, my constant search for Time Out keeps interfering with me delving deeper into my motivations. I check out so often and so constantly that I never give myself time to think at all.

I even suspect part of service to Daddy is me trying to keep myself busy, not giving myself a moment to just sit down and be alone with my thoughts. Even when I am sitting doing nothing, I often suppress thought - I try not to think at all, just stare into space.

The plan is to try and dedicate 10 minutes a day to sitting down, meditating, and actually engaging with my thoughts. I'm also going to try and use blogging to think through some of these issues, mostly because I think I'm much better at thinking when there's a springboard, and I suspect reading my own words might be springboard enough, and I'm terrible at talking to Daddy about these sorts of things. For what reason? Still not sure. Perhaps something to talk about tomorrow?

Learning to boot.

Today, we had a boot blacker named Alex come over to our house to teach me and Sis about boot blacking. I gotta admit, it's a beautiful thing watching Alex black boots, and watching just how much effort and love he puts into his boots.

I was quite glad to get instructed because while my father taught me basic boot blacking, and I knew the basic principles behind making shoes look pretty, my skills were, sadly, not really all that up to scratch.

For those who might be reading, the basic steps:

1) Using a toothbrush or a finger, rub the boot polish over the shoe, making sure to get into every little crevice.
2) Let the polish sit for a few minutes.
3) Use a boot brush and spit to buff the polish to a reasonable shine.
4) Use a fine cloth (or some nylon pantyhose), lightly but vigorously rub the shoe all over to get a truly decent shine.

While I knew enough about the first 3 steps, I hadn't really realised the benefits of step 4 until I saw the results Alex got. Also, I've always been a bit weird about using spit as polish (I usually tried to use water instead), but I gotta admit, it gives superior results. I feel like I know a whole lot more about how to take proper care of boots

Although I do think I'm going to need to replace my boots shortly - They've served me well, but sadly I haven't been so good with giving them the love back, and it shows. But at least I know I can make Daddy's shoes last as long as possible, and I plan to make sure those skills are put into action.

All in all, a very productive lesson, and I'm very grateful for Alex's tutelage.

Tonight's Revelations

Tonight, I proved that I have the inner power to convince someone that if they kill themselves, there would be consequences, and those consequences would be me.

I told them they were not going to kill themselves, that this was not up for debate, and if I came down tomorrow and she wasn't there, then I would come after her.

I ripped the play off of Daddy, but I think I just proved that Daddy is teaching me something at least.

I hope you're proud Daddy. You have given me the strength and the means to take charge of this situation, and I did awesomely.

Meditation

My Psych has been telling me to get more into meditation, and to start getting into activities that don't involve me zoning out in front of a computer. Blogging, I suspect, is not 100% what my psych ordered, but I have at least made a step on the meditation front. One of the biggest difficulties I have with meditation is doing it consistently - my preferred meditation style is to sort beads - something nice and repetitive that lets me pay attention to my brain, but it's something that can't be done just anywhere.

So, my psych has got me onto an app called Headspace. The idea is that I do a ten minute guided meditation each day, and since it's on my phone, it's with me anywhere I go, so I can get my meditation on, say, on the bus to work.

My psych has been encouraging me to start on a craft - again, the whole repetitive action thing is supposed to make my brain slow down, as opposed to video games, which I use a lot to dissociate, but don't really do much to help slow my brain down at night. There's more than a few crafts I could get involved in (knitting was the one he recommended), the difficult bit is (a) getting the equipment and (b) getting the enthusiasm to start. But I gotta agree with him, I need a hobby outside of computers - I don't tend to do much outside of work other than hang around with Daddy and play games. Some... versatility in activities would probably do me some good.

Maybe I should start looking on the web for good knitting tutorials. I mean, wool and knitting needles can't be too expensive, right?

Inklings: Moments of Weakness

Daddy has high standards. While he didn't have a Master in the leather scene, he did find his own Master in martial arts, and that master has made an incredible impression on him. He knows exactly what he wants from his followers, and it's an exacting specification.

Which would be nice, if I was capable of doing so. The last few months or so have been bringing into sharp relief how badly I fail Daddy's expectations of being a submissive. Since Sis has joined our family, she's been reminding me of exactly how much I fail the kind of expectations that Daddy expects of me. Sis? She's taken to her role like a duck to water. She puts her heart and soul into her submission and service, she picks things up incredibly quickly, certainly quicker than I've done, she's actually able to pay attention and focus far better than I do...

I'll admit, I'm not a great Boy, not really. When it comes to Service, I'm easily distracted, I often miss instructions, and if I do get instructions, I often forget them. As much as I want to be a good Submissive, to be able to at least not require total micromanaging in order to get things done, I seem to fail dismally.

It's not, exactly, that I'm jealous of her, not really. It's a bit more internal than that. I'm... upset that I'm not at the level that Daddy expects. That I seem to be the weakest link in this family. That I seem to be part of Daddy's family only because I've been here so long already.

Inklings: Sensation

Check back later for the Spoken version!

I am totally, completely an absolutely a sensation slut.

I am constantly searching for novel sensations across my skin. When I look at a toy, or a kitchen tool, or even in a hardware store, what I want to know is how that's going to feel when it touches me. Is it a soft, fluffy feel, is it scratchy, is it sharp, is it cold or warm, wet or dry?

Everything has it's own sensation. Floggers, for example, have the most wonderful feeling when they're softly led over the skin. Different leathers have different feels. Steel feels different whether it's a big surface or a little point (and points feel different depending on what material they are - toothpicks feel different to metal skewers, for example).

It's really easy to become a connoisseur of touch, but the worst thing is how difficult it is to describe it. I'm a person who likes to break things down, to be able to classify and categorise things. For touch, it's maddeningly difficult. How exactly do you describe the feeling of a TENS unit to someone who's never experienced it? How do you describe the difference between a lettuce knife and a wartenburg wheel?

Even science is no real help. While there are classifications for sight, sound and even taste, touch seems to be deemed "too hard" for scientists. There are so many senses involved in the one we call "touch", learning how touch sensations differ is something that just hasn't had much work done on it, and it's frustrating to say the least, and I don't seem to have the imagination to come up with a decent way of categorising touch.

 It means that no matter how hard you try, the only way to really communicate touch is to be there with someone to let them feel it. The Internet, sadly, does not assist with the communcation of touch, and it means that really novel sensations, sadly, don't get to travel very much. There's no way of posting sensations on Fetlife, alas.

Inklings: Trollin' 2

There's another side to our Trolling, one that serves a very important purpose in our relationship: Honesty. Daddy has no use for sycophantic cronies who treat everything he says as absolute gospel - he wants someone who's able to face up to him, able to tell him when his thinking is causing him problems.

See, Daddy has one hell of an imposter syndrome. He's not very good at accepting that he's a good performer. This has come up more as he starts to become more and more requested, as he's a really good spoken word performer. So, being able to Sass his mental processes is an important part of my duty to make sure that he's as connected to reality as I can get him.

And of course the duty is mutual. I perhaps get it more than Daddy is comfortable, since I have this tendency of learning things really fast - once. After that, it takes an enormous amount of effort to rebuild my processes. This means, sadly, that I'm a really insufferable subby, and it's incredibly hard for me to take an instruction and do it, the way Daddy intends me to do it. So, of course, Daddy sasses me out a lot for doing things inefficiently, or doing something but missing the entire point of it. I'm trying to get better on this, but Daddy often confesses to me that he often feels like he's nagging me to do things, rather than ordering me.

And I'll admit, I'm having to learn to take the sass in the spirit in which it's given. It seems unfair that Daddy is willing to take my criticism, but I have so much issue in taking it. And when the whole point is to communicate honestly, it's a poor showing to be so bad at taking criticism, especially when, you know, part of my job is to do what my Daddy asks me to do.

Inklings: Trollin'

There's this common perception of dom/sub relationships. That the sub is this meek, little person, who is overshadowed and cowed by the very presence of their dom, that the sub would never say a bad word about the dom ever, lest they be taken right down the dungeon and beaten to within an inch of their life for insubordination. That the dom is this serious, intense person, never taking guff from noone, perfectly in control of their entire life, including the very thoughts of their sub.

Beautiful fantasy. Not even close to me and Daddy's relationship. Our relationship is a much sassier one than that. We're constantly calling each other out, trolling each other wherever we can, waiting for that wonderful moment when we break the other's composure.

An example. I have this... thing about moustaches. It's based around my Father, as he's worn a moustache for most of his life, and Daddy wearing a moustache would take me uncomfortably close to dating my Father. So, of course, Daddy treats this as the perfect way to inflict mental anguish on me. When he puts on his cosplay outfit (with fake facial hair), the first thing he does is put the mo on, just so he can kiss me with it. He's taken to leaving fake moustaches on my pillow. And, according to him, he's hidden a magnetic one somewhere in my room. So it can watch me, at night.

It can be a little harder to get to Daddy, seeing as he's played this game a lot longer than I have. But I have my ways. My favourite way to get at him is Puns. He hates them, entirely. So, when I come up with a good one, I have to bring it out. And I make him show me any puns he sees. Alas, Puns take a lot of creative effort, and I rarely have good ones, but an even better one is food. I have strange tastes in food. Apparently I do crumpets all wrong, smothering them with peanut butter, or vegemite and cheese. So, whenever I'm eating something I know he objects to, I make sure to tell him, the whole time I'm eating it. Gold.

Inklings: Adaptation

It's pretty much impossible to find a partner that completely matches all your kinks, and even if you could, you may not have particularly strong feelings for them. It's one of those universal truths of kink that the partner you really gel will tend to share only a few of your kinks.

Me and Daddy are no exception to this rule. As an example, Daddy doesn't like feeling electrical play. At all. The feeling is actually close to triggering for him. So, things like Touch TENS play, which I really enjoy, is not something I can do with Daddy. And on the other side, I'm not a big fan of needles, for as much the fear factor as anything else. 

But one of the wonderful things about any long relationship is that we can make compromises. We can be happy to try things for one another. So that Daddy could zap me without zapping himself, I set up a pair of forks that could be connected to the TENS, with insulated handles, and now it's one of his favourite things to do to me. I decided that I could overcome my fear of needles and let Daddy put some needles into me, and I surprised myself by finding out that actually, I didn't mind the needles so much.

And of course, since we're polyamorous, we can always get our needs met elsewhere. For example, I'm not a big fan of pain, never have, and it's unlikely that I ever will be. Sis, on the other hand, is a painslut almost before everything else. Daddy can channel his urges to hurt at Sis, and can then play with me in nicer ways.

I actually enjoy this adaptation. The thing is, noone's urges are set in stone, and we can often find that those things that once repulsed us or terrified us may eventually start appealing to us. To learn to adapt to a partner's tastes is part and parcel of a good relationship, vanilla or kinky.

Inkling: Me, The Little Pony

In the next couple of weeks or so, I'm planning to get my hair cut. It's going to be a big event, because I've worn my hair long for almost 5 years, and I'm finally deciding to move to a shorter style.

I've decided that I want to keep the ponytail, though, for a very specific purpose - I'm going to turn it into a pony tail plug.

It's been a while since me and Daddy have done any sort of pony play, but the thought is still really sexy to me. The idea of being tacked up and made to carry people around... It's a very fun fantasy.

Of course, I'll have to make some compromises. One of the sad things about pony play is how incredibly expensive it is to get kitted up. But then, I do have a Rope Wizard for a Daddy, and truth be told that idea strikes me even harder. The chance to combine kinks with my Daddy is something I'm always happy to take, and hell, I love me some rope too!

Fine, it's not actually a compromise - it's actually something better!

Letting my Dom out

Last night I went to Kinky with Daddy, Sis and a friend, and had a grand old time.

The friend who came with us is as into electrical play as I was, so while Daddy was waling on Sis, me and her decided to do some experimenting with my TENS unit. One of my favourite things to do with a TENS unit is what I call touch play - where the two people take an electrode each, and then touch each other. It's much more fun than moving electrodes around, mostly because there's a much wider range of feelings.

It's one of my favourite topping activities, but I suspect the main reason for that is because it blurs the line between top and bottom. Everything the bottom feels, you're going to feel, because both your nerves are in the circuit.

And my partner's great because she has about as much tolerance as I do, so I have to push myself to the limits to push her to hers. We had the dial up to 15, and I was stroking her skin everywhere. Some new things I discovered:

• The harder you push, the more sensation. Which culminates in the "thumbprint", where I stick my thumb hard into her skin, which makes a sudden shock, but which I can't keep up for more than a second or two.
• Usually on skin, the less contact the more intense the sensation, but apparently this is completely different on the soles of feet - with feet, the best sensation apparently happens when my hands are all over the soles. Very interesting!

Today I've noticed that being top for a night has reignited my Dominant side a little. As much as I'm a boy, I have always identified as a switch, and apparently all I needed was a nice play session with someone with my favourite kink to bring it back up. Poor Sis has been bearing the brunt of it today, I've been being very lordly around her, while Daddy's been in bed recovering.

It's almost making me interested in finding a sub for my own. Perhaps I should start looking again. Maybe. Possibly...

Testicular Tug-of-war

I had a brilliant thought that totally needs turning into real life.

So, Tug of war is a game of strength, right? Well, Testicular Tug-of-war is a game of pain. You take two penised people, put parachute stretchers on each one, then have them play tug of war against each other. Simple!

It's not exactly a game of strength, because no person could really pull someone's entire weight on their testicles. It's more a question of who can withstand the most pain without letting up. Perfect competition to find out who really has Balls of Steel.

I need to find a way to set this up right away. It combines two great things - CBT and pride! What could possibly go wrong?

Inklings: Playing Cute

If there's one thing that anyone who's met me will say about me, it's that I'm cute. Not cute as in good-looking, although I like to think I am too! But that every part of my interaction, from my posture to how I speak, is cute. I make cute noises, I play cute, I have cute thoughts and I say cute things.

I'll admit, it's all real. I am that cute. But at the same time, I'll admit, it's a ploy. It's a calculated play on your emotions. All my cute behaviour is used for a single, overarching goal: To let you know that I'm no threat to you. My past has been full of people who have hurt me or attacked me in a myriad of ways, and to stay safe, I spend a huge amount of energy projecting as non-threatening an image as I possibly can.

But of course, spending so much time being cute has it's downsides. Because sometimes it's important to be able to register as a threat. It's important to be able to break the happy façade and express your anger if someone has wronged you, and real anger is not particularly cute. And it also means that people can mistake you for a doormat, and I've already talked about that.

But then, well apart from the people not hurting me, there's plenty of other advantages too. Like people being able to talk to me without apprehension. Like being complimented by my Daddy all the time.

So in short, being Cute is innocent, cynical, frustrating and liberating. The paradox that is cute, I suppose.

Inklings: Me and My Cock II

When I first started going out with Daddy, The two of us went to a sex party together. Erin was one of the guests, and I was part of the entertainment. While the night with Erin went swimmingly, My actual performances were... terrible. Despite so many incredibly good looking ladies around me, I couldn't get myself hard at all. I was so anxious around so many people, I just couldn't get into it. After me and Daddy went to bed I kind of broke down in Daddy's arms. I was so angry at my cock that I wanted to rip it off, just get rid of it forever.

Since then, my relationship with my cock has, thankfully, improved significantly. But the relationship is always a little rocky. There's always a part of me that thinks it will look better circumcised. When I masturbate, I tend to put on cock rings or ball stretchers so I feel some pain. And let's not even get into my fetish for CBT. Anything that causes pain around my genitals seems to be A-okay by me.

Part of me always wonders if it's all connected - whether I really do harbour ill-will towards my cock. Whether I'm constantly putting it in the line of danger because I don't really want it. And then there's the question of whether it even matters. Does it matter if I inflict pain on myself so long as I don't do any damage?

For the time-being, I'll just accept that my cock is a target. Frankly, it feels so good I'm not sure I would stop even if I did resolve these issues. And maybe that's an answer in and of itself.

I guess, at least, it will do for now.

Inklings: Me and My Cock

I suspect that most men have a complicated relationship with their cock. There's so much out there encouraging us to be ashamed of our cocks. Certainly, Porn does not help. It's probably the only time most men really see another man's cock, and let's be honest here, there may be a bit of selection bias in that talent.

But my problem is a little different. My cock is larger than average. I'm sure most men would be bragging to everyone about it, but to be honest, I try my hardest to keep it under wraps, so to speak. Because, the thing is, every time my cock comes up in conversation, all of a sudden people's views of me start changing. Often they start becoming more interested in me, and that's worse. To me, it seems obvious that the only reason they're considering me now is because of my cock.

See, thing is, I don't want to just be that thing on the end of my cock. I want people to want me, not what I have in my pants. I spent a lot of time as a teenager being a sex object for men, and in the end, it left me feeling, well, objectified. I'm not into sex on it's own, I need to know that I'm having sex with a person who sees me as a person. Not someone who's jumping me because they want to try out my big fancy cock.

Inklings: Sub-dividing life

Personally, one of the biggest challenges I face in my life is turning the Sub off. I mean, it'd be fine if I was one of those Twue Subs who spend their entire time living around their Dominant, cut off from the rest of the world. But since my Daddy is actually a realist, I have to actually engage with the rest of the world.

And it's so easy to just fall into Sub mode around other people. It's easy to just hunker down, stop caring about your needs and just let yourself get taken in for whatever anyone else has in store. Certainly, I've had years of practice. Schoolyard bullies, parents, brothers, friends, relationships... Just go with the flow, let everyone else have their turn.

But in the outside world, it's a terrible idea. The whole reason why I give myself to my Daddy is because I trust him with my me. I can't make that assumption for anyone else in the world. Everyone else is more likely to take advantage, rather than treat me with respect, if I defer to them.

It's hard to turn the sub off. However, it's important that I keep trying. Because, when you think about it, If you just lie down for everyone, it rather kills the significance of doing it for Daddy. And that is not something I'm okay with.

Inklings: That Certain Spark

I don't know why I'm such a sucker for electricity.

There's a kind of artifice to the sensation of electricity, I guess. You can feel the pulses and cycle, the steady rise. No natural sensation can feel as mechanical as that controlled by a chip. It's utterly dependable, completely controllable.

That, and it feels fantastic. It's like all the best bits of a tickle, but without you screaming for it to stop. When you're zapped with a violet wand, your nerves really do feel the exact spot it hits. In a way, it's kind of like a blunt needle, touching you like a feather a hundred times a second.

And then, there's the TENS.

There's nothing quite like feeling your muscles move of their own volition. Of feeling an electric pulse through the nerves in your skin, and then feeling the muscles twitch. Watching as your thumb jerks around. Of feeling like a puppet on a wire, waiting for the next instruction.

Okay, so maybe I do know why I'm such a sucker for electricity...

Inklings: Smelling Pretty

I have decided, as a project, to start writing little posts throughout the week, to help improve my writing. For the moment, I call them inklings.



I get out of the shower, having cleaned myself thoroughly, and I look to my bathroom counter. There's a small bottle of perfume, Daddy's gift to me. His most visceral sense, smell. So much of his life is based on smell, the smell of leather, the smell of rain, the smell of sex.

This is completely opposite to me, of course. My life is lived through sight, it dominates every aspect of my life. I see my Daddy, see his brilliant blue hair, see the tattoo on his neck, and I know I'm in safe company. It's lived through touch, through my Daddy's embrace, through running my fingers through his hair, through feeling his warmth, his heartbeat.

But this moment? This moment is where I live for him. I am dry, naked, looking at myself in the mirror. I take  the bottle, close my eyes, and push the button, just once, aiming at my chest. I open them again, take in a deep breath, and savour that first moment, embracing the scent I am marked with.

It doesn't matter, really, that for most of today my Daddy will not be in my presence, that I know I he won't be the one to take in that scent. It only matters that when I come home, and he comes to the door to embrace me, we'll both be in our element. His in smell, me in touch and vision, together we fill our senses with each other.

Blue

Anyone who has seen me in real life has probably noticed that I'm constantly wearing blue, and anyone who has met me at a club has probably been introduced to my toybag full of blue toys. It's almost my calling card in the scene, and I have quite a few people who keep me abreast of new developments in blue bondage equipment and the like. Even my Daddy's hair is blue, although contrary to popular opinion, I had nothing to do with that one!

There's a reason I dress so heavily in blue, and why it's such a major part of my life - It's because I chose it.

Back when I was starting at University, I wanted to find a way of standing out, of having a motif that was definitively me. A colour seemed simple enough, and at the time my favourite colour was blue. So, I started to insist that my wardrobe move further and further to the blue spectrum. As years went on and on, I kept reinforcing this choice with everything I bought, until eventually my choice became an obsession, almost a fetish.

Nowadays, the colour blue almost literally compels me. When I'm looking around shops, anything in bright blues immediately gets my attention. It's so well known among my friends and acquaintances that any time they see a blue item they tell me about it next time they see me! It's become a major part of my life, enough that I'd probably have trouble changing it even if I wanted to.

And to be honest, I don't really want to. It's actually quite comforting, to have blue in my life all the time. It helps to know that pretty much everything in my wardrobe matches, even if it can be hard and a little expensive to find Leather in blue. But it's nice to have something I'm known for in the scene, even if it is a blue fetish. Also, it makes things a little easier for my friends when they try to buy things for me - they know I'll be happy with something if it's blue!

An Inspiration.

Last night, my Daddy performed at the Quippings event.

I don't think Daddy realises how powerful he is on stage. When he's performing, up on stage, at the centre of attention, he gets this focus which is incredibly attractive. Even when I know he hasn't rehearsed, he sounds practiced, calm, in control. I know this isn't how he feels about it - he's always anxious about performing. But somehow, when the show starts, it's all locked away, and us on the outside see nothing but his greatness.

And despite how much he worries about it, he's a great writer. He has that amazing ability to express his feelings and emotions with the simplest words, and still make it sound deep and passionate. He writes like he speaks, which is always great for Spoken Word performances, and makes his performance that much more easy to follow.

To be honest, I don't think I'm ever as proud of my Daddy as when he's on stage, aura ablaze, wowing the crowd with his words. And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone, considering how many other people keep wanting him to perform for them.

And I'm really more than proud, to be honest - It's genuinely inspiring. Words are my creative fount - Speaking and Writing are where I make my money, and it's something that I know I've always been good at. More recently, I've had the hardest time trying to bring fingers to keyboard and start being creative again, not just with this blog but with fiction in general, just trying to stretch my creative muscles again. However, after last night? The words are flowing, as you can see here. I'm writing enough that I'm actually queueing posts so they don't all come through in one fell swoop. I think I might actually have the passion right now to really start writing and not looking back.

I guess we'll see how many days in a row I can keep typing...

I'm starting to notice a pattern...

It seems that every year, around this time, I stop updating this blog for like, a couple of months at least.

So, yes, I've not been updating for a while. Time to get back on the horse, I think. More posts to follow shortly...

Boys Getting Older

It's funny, you know.

I identify as a Boy, but not, perhaps, the way a lot of people think. To a lot of people, Boy implies being young, implies being little. Being a kid, both physically and mentally a little.

But here I am, slowly approaching the big 30. One could be forgiven for thinking, considering how I identify, that I'd be pining for my glory days, desperately trying to get back my youth, trying to be all hip and with it. Of course, that ignores the fact that I was never hip and with it, even when I was young, but it is true - During most of my 20s, I've very much missed my teens. I always kept thinking that I was running out of time, always trying to find ways of keeping myself in the same space I was when I was a teen.

And to be fair, I had a lot of "positive" reinforcement at the time. 17-18 was the time I developed my tragic twink backstory, going to gay sex lounges, meeting people from the internet, etc. I was a pretty boy, I got plenty of attention from older men, and I was absolutely fine at the time with that. When I broke up with my girlfriend when I was 22 or so, I was suddenly stunned at how much positive attention I got from men and women around me, (it was what made me realise that yeah, okay, perhaps I was attractive). It was a great boost to an ego that sorely needed it. But when I went online again, I realised that I was getting far, far less offers than I used to.

And that was when I first started to question the whole being young thing.

Oh, it still took a few years. I still had my freakouts, and I did spend a long time trying to recapture my youth. I had a savings account for saving up for Laser hair removal, I used to get regular waxings, I would insist that Daddy take me out to playgrounds so I could play. And there were milestones. When I sprained both my arm and my leg in as many months, My psych quite bluntly pointed out to me that it was a clear sign that I was not an actual kid - I had an adult body, and I had to respect that. I actually realised this a few months later, on a visit to a playground with Daddy, watching kids play and realising that I simply didn't have the ability to play like they did. As much as I might like to, I will never be a kid, even if I'm a Boy at mind.

And in the last few months, I've realised that I've stopped responding to the usual rises about me getting older. I've been noticing grey hairs (or, at least Daddy has), and it's really not fazing me. The idea of me getting older no longer fills me with dread. Hell, it doesn't really cause mild discomfort anymore.

I think I'm finally accepting that I'm getting older. I've stopped wishing I was younger, but then I guess a lot of that is because I've started to realise that my youth was not neither wasted nor particularly great. I've had a lot of life up to this point, but I wouldn't want to go back and live it again, even knowing what I know right now. I'm also much happier now than I once was, I'm much more comfortable where I am right now. Even if I fee like I don't have a lot of money, I'm typing this on my own laptop on my glorious couch in my beautiful home. I have a Daddy I love, truly and deeply, who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and who wants to spend the rest of his life with me, as well as a Boyfriend who's great to hang out with, who's hot and a nice guy, a job I enjoy, etc.

In short, I think I'm starting to understand that my life is getting better. I don't have to be young to enjoy it, and I'm really looking forward to what life throws at me next.

Talking about it

So, it happens.

Me and Sister have been interacting more and more, and while we've been getting along famously, there have been some... miscommunications. Most recently, I'd been starting to get a little uncomfortable with the way Sister had been touching and acting towards me. I was pretty sure it was just an intimacy mismatch - she was acting a little more intimate towards me than I felt comfortable with, but it had been going on for a while before I realised why I was feeling uncomfortable.

So, yesterday I decided to talk to her about it. I let her know that I wasn't comfortable with the level of intimacy. I was hoping that it would be a nice, easy discussion. But the conversation clearly triggered something with her, and she started crying.

And that's when things got a little awkward. I was trying to figure out what had gone wrong, why she'd suddenly broken down, but I think I was making a few mistakes along the way, and I couldn't help her calm down enough, in fact, I think I may have exacerbated the situation. It took Daddy intervening to resolve the situation to any degree, but to be honest I'm kicking myself a bit that I couldn't handle it myself.

But at least I got my point across. It shows I have a little way to go too - I really need to learn to identify behaviour that makes me uncomfortable much earlier, because confronting people after the fact is clearly not the best way to deal with this sort of thing. So, hey, a learning experience for us all, I guess...

Finding Service

Recently, me and Daddy have been talking about the services I give to him.

With Sister now being around our house more often, she's started to take over the cleaning of the house. This is leading to a few awkward issues, because part of my service to Daddy is taking care of the basic chores, such as putting the dishes in the dishwasher, and doing the laundry.

But, as has been a constant issue, I'm not good at doing these things unprompted. I'm so often not present, away in my head playing video games, or in one of my other hobbies, that I don't tend to get around to doing these chores until I'm asked. Sister is not the same - she's engaged in service for most of her attention, so she  sees something that needs to be done and does it straight away. Whereas in my case, service tends to happen when Daddy breaks me out of my attention, and points out those chores to me.

This often means that my chores are done long before I'd normally do them at the end of the night. Not an ideal situation.

But this is something that we've been dealing with for years. It's always been the case that I don't do things unless prompted (sometimes prompted several times), and I can't compete in service against someone who has the presence of mind to do things without asking.

Daddy has been talking about perhaps moving my chores to Sister instead, and to be honest that makes me a little anxious. When he mentioned it to me previously I reacted almost violently to it. The reason, really, is that I also want service in my life. Those little chores I do, even though they're not much, are as much about me serving Daddy.

And yes, there's plenty of other services I do. The fact that I work, in a job that earns a lot of money, is just one of those services, but it doesn't feel like service to me. I'd be doing it regardless of whether it benefited Daddy. And as a result of that feeling, I don't tend to feel like I'm in service to Daddy unless it's something I do for him at home.

Now that I've had some time to think about it, though, there are other things that I can do that help Daddy, perhaps even more than chores. Things like going out and doing food shopping, things like chauffeuring Daddy to events, like cleaning his car... The big things that I do for him that aren't exactly regular, but are there when Daddy needs them. The things that me being an able-bodied person means I'm able to do for him, saving him the energy to do things that he wants and needs to do more.

I think it's clear that I have to play to my strengths here. I'm just not going to be the sort of service sub that can be set up and left to their own devices. I think instead, I need to focus on being the sort of service sub that is able to get up and do things when instructed. I can do that, I've done that before. It means that I'm the go-to person when things need to be done now, rather than the person in the background that gets things done without thinking. The concierge, rather than the dogsbody, if that makes sense.

Perhaps that's a better way of distributing the service duties in a fair manner. As long as there's things that do need doing right now, and they happen frequently enough, I think I could be satisfied with that sort of arrangement. What I want is the feeling that I'm serving Daddy, and I want to do things often enough that I don't feel like I'm abandoning Daddy. I think I can go back to Daddy on this.

Screams are Not for Me

So, I've got something of a confession to make. I can't deal with screaming.

It's something I've struggled with for quite a number of years. For most people, of course, feeling uncomfortable around people screaming is a perfectly ordinary and desired reaction - when people scream, that usually means they're in trouble.

But that's not so much the case when you're a kinkster.

Because screams happen a lot at our gatherings, and in our homes, and they're not typically signs of distress. Indeed, for a lot of kinksters, they're a sign of getting exactly what they want. Screams of pain, of delight, they're all a part of our lifestyle.

But I don't deal with them very well.

It's reached it's biggest point now that Sister has started hanging around the house more, and Daddy has started playing with her more often. Sister has a much bigger appetite for pain than I ever did, and it means that Daddy can push harder than he'd normally do with myself or other partners. And she's not the kind of painslut that goes all stoic. No, she cries out, she screams, she yells.

And that makes it really difficult to stay present when the two are playing. It takes me back to bad times with my parents. It takes me back to times where I've been smacked or belted because I've done something wrong, and that is not a place where I want to go. Even writing this, I'm having to write around the emotions, because I don't really want to accidentally slip into those memories. It's a bad place. Worse, as I start getting closer to those memories, I start getting anxious about other sound, like impact noises, I start desperately needing to get away, because my calm's been broken, and I need to go somewhere where there's no kinky noises to put the shield back up.

So, if you see me in a quiet corner at an event, or at a kink party, or you see me being really uncomfortable, this is probably why. I do want to be part of events, and this reaction makes things hard for me. Feel free to distract me, or take me away from the scene, take me to another part of the party where I can talk with others and not be around the violent sounds. I'll be grateful, and you might just have saved my sanity for another night.

Steel

So, I think it's official - I think I'm into steel.

I've gone through a fair share of sex toys, most of them rubber, due to cost constraints. While I've enjoyed rubber toys, I've noticed recently that, no matter how much lube I use, I tend to find them really uncomfortable. And that's a shame, because I love being penetrated, but none of the toys I had were at all fun to use anymore.

Then, a few years ago, I went to Sexpo, and got an acrylic wand, just a simple insertable, clear and acrylic. I tried it once and oh my god, it was brilliant. That was when I started to realise that squishy was not the thing I wanted in a sex toy. I wanted my toys to be smooth, silky and hard.

This year for my birthday, Daddy offered to get me a toy, so I decided to get a steel toy, a Curve, specifically, from Metalworx:

And I have to admit I've fallen a bit in love with it. It's perfect for what I want in penetration - a good length, but not with too much girth, it feels great coming in, and sensational coming out.

Since getting it, I've suddenly been starting to look at other metal toys. I've been a fan of ball stretchers for a really long time, and while I've just been using a cheap leather one, I've been salivating over these steel weight/stretchers:

And now it's getting worse, because I look at things like steel manacles, and thick steel collars, and I gotta admit that it's starting to really turn me on.

It's a bit odd, that I've suddenly gone the entire way with this. I remember Daddy, many years back, saying how as well as rope, he often had a thing for chains as well, and at the time I said I wasn't interested (mostly because I was not into the idea of cold things all over me - rope was nice and warm, I like that!). These days though... I could totally go for being chained up in manacles. The thought genuinely appeals.

It's really odd how these kind of preferences can change so dramatically during your life.

Shoulders to cry on

Of course, there's more to being a big brother than playing games with your little sister.

Daddy has been dealing with some traumas from his past life, and things came to the boil last night. It's a horrible place to be in, having experienced this particular trauma myself. At times like these, you become really vulnerable, so Daddy wanted to hide with me in his room, but didn't want to hide what was happening from Sis, so asked me to let her know.

So, I went out to Sis, and told her that Daddy was having some big issues, and that she doesn't need to worry about it, but Daddy didn't want to hide it from her. This caused her some serious distress, as far as I can tell because she felt a desperate need to do something about what Daddy was experiencing, but felt like Daddy was holding her at arm's length.

Sis has been struggling with this concept, and I understand the difficulties. One of the hardest things to accept  is that there isn't always a way to take pain away from the people you love. It's a hard lesson, and one that took me a very long time to learn. And it still hurts sometimes, to see Daddy in such pain, to see all the struggles that he goes through everyday.


But that's not my job, and it won't be Sis's, either. I can't take away Daddy's pain, and Daddy neither wants that nor accepts that. Our job is to help Daddy through the pain, to be there when he needs us, to be the hug he needs, to be a shoulder to cry on if he needs it, and, occasionally, to remind him that it's okay to be in pain, and that we're here for him.

I spent some time being her shoulder to cry on, and helped her through her own crisis. It's a hard place to be in, but I know what it's like, and I wanted her to understand that the fact that I get to be Daddy's shoulder right now is just a matter of seniority, not anything wrong with her, and that she needs to realise that she's not going to be able to magically fix Daddy's issues with the world, and she just has to be able to support him, instead. Hopefully she'll realise that with time. And then, I went back to Daddy's room, and made sure that support was there for him right there and then.

Family

It's very common in the Leather scene to refer to your group of relationships as a "Family". I suspect, though, that most families don't quite take it that literally.

Me and Daddy's Girl have been slowly working out our own relationship between each other, and it's turning out to be a bit more... childlike than I expect Daddy has considered. I've been feeling very much in an Elder Sibling space with her, while she's been reciprocating a good deal. There's been a lot of tongue-poking, and a lot of childish ribbing between each other.

I say this because I'm not sure Daddy knew what he was in for when the two of us starting testing our bounds. There's been more than a bit of face-palming around our behaviour. It's worse because a lot of the time we do it while we're eating out in public. And I can't tell a lie - it's really fun to bounce off each other. It's almost a game-within-the-game - who's reaction is the one that brings up the face-palm.

I am a bit concerned that Daddy will eventually stop the fun, and tell us to grow up, at least a little. I mean, yeah, we're really childish a lot of the time. We could probably stand to be a little bit more adult. 

But then, there would be no face-palm. And that would be tragic.

Putting my Boots on

I wrote a while back about Daddy taking my Leathers away, for me to earn them back. I've now past the first step. Last week, Daddy gave me my Boots back.

It was a simple ceremony, in front of me and His Girl. He went into his room, after I'd put on his boots, and grabbed my boots out. He told me that he now felt that I had honestly begun walking the walk, instead of just talking the talk. He then gave me my boots, and told me to put them on.

To be fair, I'd been a little worried previously. I'd committed to earning my leathers, but I hadn't quite grokked what I needed to earn each piece. I know that Leather is not a set of unlockable achievements that earn you new clothing items, it's not like there's this set set of hoops that I jump through, and there's my reward at the end. There are certain elements of Leather that aren't exactly definable, that you only realise that you're following once you're well and truly on the path.

But with that said, I have sometimes felt like there hasn't been a great deal of guidance on the way. I've gone to Leather events, read book, talked to Leather people, but what my path is, and what my milestones are? It's been something of a mystery.

Now that I have my first item, I feel like I have a bit more direction now. I have some clue as to what I'm expecting, and that's a good thing to me.

A Gooooood Suspension

Suspension is the big thing that my Daddy is known for in the scene, but bizarrely I don't get suspended all that often. Some of it is the fact that "I can get suspended at any time", so anytime we go out to an event other people tend to take priority over me. The second reason is that I'm just not that great a Suspension bottom - I'm not particularly flexible, so I can't do a lot of the prettier poses, and I tend to "fight" the suspension somewhat - as much as I enjoy being up, and playing with my Daddy, I have a really hard time relaxing into the suspension.

Tonight, however, I got the chance to be taken up by Daddy.

He first looked me in the eye, told me that I needed to relax. He kept looking at me, willing me to relax, as I tried as best as I could. He tells me "You need to trust me", then he took his grey handkerchief and put it over my eyes, like a blindfold. He tied my arms to either side of the suspension frame. And then began all the ties, the harnesses, the lines that are needed to hoist anyone up.

I worked so hard on keeping myself relaxed through the whole process. Daddy had told me I needed to be relaxed, and so relaxed I would be. I would make him proud, I would be a good bottom tonight.

I kept myself still, while blindfolded, and finally, I felt him starting to hoist me up, body first then legs. I felt myself spinning around, as Daddy turned me around for all to see. I felt his face in front of me, his body touching my face. I tell him I love him, so much, and we kissed, in front of everyone watching.

Alas, the ropes began to bite into my chest, and I knew that, as much as I want to, my body cannot stay up much longer, and I told Daddy that I needed to come down. I wasn't up long, not more than a couple of minutes, all up. But as I get hoisted down, and as Daddy unties me and takes off my blindfold, the bright lights in my eyes, I ask Daddy "Did I do it? Did I make you proud?"

Daddy looked at me, and I could see the answer in his eyes before he spoke. "Yes, you made me proud". For the first time, I felt light-headed and floaty. This isn't my usual reaction to suspensions, but honestly, I don't mind. I like this feeling.

I help Daddy pack up his rope, and then go with him to a couch in the club. I hug him, hold onto him, I don't want to let him go. He looks at me. "Oh! I can see it there, you're having a feeling!". He's right, I am having a feeling. I've not felt this close to my Daddy in ages, maybe ever. When I think back on the feeling, I have to ask myself, is this what Daddy was wanting all this time? Is this the fabled "spiritual connection" that I could never seem to muster during our previous play?

But back in the moment, I'm not thinking about the feeling. I just want to feel it. I also never want to let my Daddy go. But alas, the feeling, the moment, it passes. Daddy and his girl start preparing for their play, and the connection passes.

Passion

Daddy and I were talking last night, and he asked me an interesting question: What do I think about all day? I had to admit that I don't exactly think of him all day, and this wasn't the answer he was looking for, because he thinks about me most of his day. It really highlighted a difference between the two of us, specifically that I'm not a particularly passionate person, and Daddy definitely is. Daddy is passionate about his goals and desires, and works so very hard to make them a reality, whereas I'm much more sanguine about my desires and goals. It's something that Daddy has had a lot of issue with, specifically that he's always concerned that my goals have changed significantly since we've been together, mostly because I've started planning my life around him. Now, to me, this isn't a big issue - I have goals and desires in life, but I don't hold onto them with any real force. If things in my life change, I'm much more likely to change my goals, rather than change my life to meet those goals. This has meant, of course, that goals in my life such as raising kids, having pets, going back to uni, etcetera, have all changed when things in my life have made these incompatible goals. I simply don't have a big connection to my goals. I like to have goals in my life, to know where I'm going, but what those goals actually are aren't a big concern to me. This is apparently different to how Daddy works - he couldn't imagine dropping his life goals for people in his life, to just give up on one goal and move on to another. He's kind of the opposite, more likely to change his life to meet his goals and desires. And so when he applies this thinking to me, he's thinking that he's forcing his life onto me, whereas I on the other hand am simply adapting my road to happiness with the world I find myself in. So, some readjustment later, and I think Daddy is slowly understanding that I'm happy to change my goals if necessary, even if he isn't. And to be honest, it's kinda good that it's this way around, the be perfectly honest!

Starting from scratch

This week, me and Daddy have officially decided that I'm to start from scratch again as a Leather Boy. I've written before that I've not really been much a part of the Leather community, and I often feel like I've kinda ridden on my Daddy's coattails, so now I get the chance to earn my leathers, for real this time.

So, that means giving up the leathers I have for the time being. My pants, my harness, my boots, leather collar and my belt, everything, and I won't be getting them back until I've earnt them again.

I have to admit, I'm actually terrified as hell to be starting this. I've stated previously that I have a serious issue with actually getting involved in stuff, this is really a first foray into actually committing to Leather. I had a cry to Daddy about how scared I am that I'm going to mess up everything and that I'm a terrible Leather boy, and I'm not sure I can live up to HILT, etc etc.

But, scared as I am, I am doing this. The tenets of Leather are something that I genuinely want for myself. I want to be more open, trusting, honest with the world. Leather might actually help me get these things. Daddy is sometimes worried I'm just doing this for him, that I don't actually want to do Leather for myself. But I'm doing this because I want to be a better boy, and I think Leather can do that for me.

Sometimes you just need a white knight

Daddies are as much for protection as they are about serving.

Yesterday I was out with my family, and I had decided that, instead of them driving me home, I would just take the train home. After I had decided this, of course, I started getting brainshocks, and I realised that I had forgotten to take my medication the previous night. I texted Daddy this, Daddy offered to pick me up from the nearest station.

Then I got into the city, and the trains were in all manner of mess and confusion. After half an hour, I gave up and asked Daddy to pick me up from the city instead, which he happily said he'd do. Alas, there was all manner of construction works and tramworks outside the station (that I'd been unaware of), which meant that he couldn't quite get to the station to pick me up! And seeing as a driver has limited means of communication, there was the inevitable stress of not knowing what's happening where.

But we finally managed, and Daddy picked me up. But the stress of seeing my family, as well as my emotions going haywire after missing my dose, meant that I was a total mess. Daddy decided to treat me to chicken, and he was there as I just broke down.

Sometimes, you forget that the Daddy/boy relationship isn't just one-way. A boy job, yes, is to serve his Daddy, and make his life easier, but a Daddy's job is to take care of his Boy, to be there if he is in trouble, and needs help. Yesterday was a very real reminder that yes, my Daddy does do that job for me, that when I need him, when I can't deal with the world, he's there with a shoulder to cry on, and chicken to form a safe space (it's a long story), because that's what Daddies do.

A New Member of the Family

So, over the last couple of weeks, Daddy has been talking to a new girl, with a view to her becoming a slave. It's been interesting for me, but not for the reasons you'd think - it's been interesting mostly because of how uninteresting my reaction has been so far.

Last post I talked about I tended to expect emotions to be hard and complex, especially about my Daddy's breakup, but it turned out that they're not that complex at all, and I think that the New Girl's arrival has caused similarly simple emotions as well. I feel, in no real order, happy that my Daddy may finally be getting the slave that he has been craving, excited that a new person is entering our lives, happy when I see the two together (Compersion, I has it!). There's not a lot of other feelings swooshing about, frankly.

One would think that there'd be a certain degree of jealousy, but regular readers would be aware that I really don't work that way. When Daddy is playing with other people, I know that it's not because our relationship is terrible, and that he's about to break up with me - I've been with my Daddy for a while, and frankly, the likelihood of him breaking up with me over someone else? Remote to non-existent.

I mean, sure, there's always that crazy voice in the back of your head, wondering if Daddy's time is going to be taken up by his new slave, but considering how slowly he's taking this, I don't see that happening, and if it does, I know how to communicate about that sort of thing.

So really, I've just been sitting back and enjoying the journey here. I'm here to support my Daddy no matter what direction this goes, because I've got my place on my Daddy's side.

Romanticising Suffering

Todays Psych session was oddly relevant today, to my BDSM stuff.

We were talking about my Daddy's breakup, and while I thought I'd have some serious conflicts about it, it turns out that my emotions are actually nice and straightforward - I'm sad that my Daddy is sad, and I'm sad that I likely won't be seeing a person I liked very often from this point. But that's about it, really - I have no real conflicts about the whole kibosh.

But it brought up a more interesting question - why I thought there would be more complex emotions involved. He pointed out to me an odd phenomenon which comes up a lot in my mind - the fact that I almost strive for suffering, like it's a good thing.

Now, don't get me wrong - to suffer at the hands of your dominant is not necessarily a bad thing. But I have this view in my head that I must suffer - that I always take the hard road, always do things by the least efficient method, that I don't feel I've accomplished anything if I didn't suffer through it. Really, I've put this romantic spin on suffering, and I think part of that is that the suffering that I've been through in life has lead me to the person I am now, with all it's kindness, compassion, and willingness to listen.

But the fact is, I don't need suffering to learn things. I don't need to suffer through everyday life to learn things in life, I can just, you know, learn stuff by looking around. There's no need to complicate things by pushing myself to inflict pain and woe upon me just because it builds character.

Rocking on

A couple of days ago, Daddy's girlfriend broke up with him.

There are times where Daddy takes care of me, and there are times, like this, when I need to take care of him. It's part of the D/s relationship that not a lot of people get to see, but the fact is, part of my role as my Daddy's boy is to take care of him.

No, actually, I take that back. It's not part of my role as a boy, but part of my role as a partner. Even if we weren't in the relationship we were in, I'd still consider it vital to take care of Daddy doing times of sadness and trauma. But people forget that, sometimes, in a D/s relationship. That sometimes, the greatest service you can give is just to be there, with hugs and pats, to be willing to sit there and help your partner talk through the mess of emotions, and make sense of what the hell just happened.

And it's a service I willingly, and happily, give.

My Daddy, when talking to me last night, said how grateful he was at how stable and secure I was. That he'd never felt secure before, and that I was the one who kept him that way. I was his rock, something he could hold on to when the rest of the world changed and shifted.

It was one of the greatest compliments I've ever received. So I'll keep rocking on for my Daddy. I like being a rock.

Why I Love Rope

I was asked today at my psych why I enjoyed rope, why I enjoy being confined. For once, I actually came up with an answer, so I'm writing it here for posterity.

Sensorily, I love the feeling of rope. I love feeling it's constriction around me, I love the feel of rope, I love testing the boundaries of rope around me.

But it's not just the sensation. I could get that feeling just from tight clothes.

I love rope because being tied up feels safe. It takes me back to games with my brothers, where we would wrap each other in blankets and rugs, like big burritos. We'd inch around like worms, laugh, sometimes we'd even put two of us in the same rug. Being confined with rope takes me back to that place in my mind. When I'm wrapped in rope, I feel like the little rugworm again, unable to anything but inch around. I guess unlike a lot of people, being tied up never had bad connotations for me. When I was teased as a kid, I was never held, never forced down. The attacks on me were always social and psychological, never physical, so physical restraint just doesn't have a negative colour to me. So, being physically restrained always brings me in mind of childhood games, and all the positive feelings of play.

I get the same feeling when I'm caged. When I was little, my favourite places to hide from the world were always little "caves". Either the cave made from the beds in me and my brother's bedrooms, or a little hole in the hedge where my mum played netball, or the hidden little walkway at the basketball stadium, or the boot of a car, I've always had positive associations with small, hidden spaces, and cages bring that feeling into mind, because my cave is the place where the rest of the world isn't. It's where I can be, and I don't have to deal with the world while I'm there.

And then, there's Daddy. My Daddy is possibly the world's most responsible Dom. If he ties me up, or puts me in a cage, he doesn't just leave me there, and walk away. When I'm wrapped up, or in the cage, I know that Daddy is always somewhere giving me attention, keeping me supervised, making sure that I am safe, that nothing will go wrong. I know that when I'm confined, I have my Daddy's attention, and while I know he'll give me attention if I ask it of him, it's just one other thing that makes me feel good inside, to know that when I'm confined, Daddy's always there.

Not gonna be a bro

A few months ago, Daddy had a rant to me about how much people raised as women are dealt a whole lot more restrictions about interaction, and "being on best behaviour". I'd just come back from the family Christmas lunch, with my very, very straight and non-queer family.

As my Daddy pointed out to me, at family gatherings, men aren't expected, really, to do any of the cleaning, or hosting, etc. Now, I used to buck that rule a lot, and you'd often find me in the kitchen with the women helping to prepare the meals, or working to help clean up the house. But the last few months have seen me stop that, and become a lot more slack at gatherings.

And as we talked about this, I realised more and more that this was not the kind of person I wanted to be. I don't want to be on the couch while the wimmin do everything. That's not who I am, and not really who I was raised to be.

It lead to a new little slogan, which I am now trying to incorporate into my life: "I don't wanna be a bro". The term "Bro" is often used with all the man-child connotations, with all the lack of responsibility that men are given because they just don't know any better. Well screw that. I am not a bro, I refuse to be a bro, I will not be a bro. Not the least because it goes against everything the Leather culture teaches, but it also goes against the submission that I strive for. I am there to serve, and while only me Daddy gets the right to be served, my service is a gift that I wish to bless the world with. I will not be a man who just lets the world serve him, I will not be a boy who lets his parents clean up for him.

I will not be a bro. I will be a Boy.

Songs of Aspirations

Sometimes we hear songs that don't exactly describe who we are, but do describe what we want to be. Songs which call to the higher parts of our soul, and focus our mind back to what we could be, what we desire most in our lives. A lot of times songs make us feel by connecting with our flaws, sometimes, despite themselves, a song will connect with the dreams we wish we were embodying.

The song that made me write this post is a song by Tim Minchin, called "Not Perfect". It's a song about the world around and within us. Most importantly, it's a song about accepting ownership of your world, accepting that, despite it's flaws, it's where you live, and even if you work to improve it, to love it, warts and all.



It's a beautiful (if long) song, but it's been haunting me this morning, and I wanted to spread it to everyone out there.

Touch

I am a beast of touch.

Touch rules my life in a lot of different ways. I have noted several times that I'm a big sensation slut, but it goes further than that, I think.

I'm generally an anxious person, and many of the ways that I deal with my anxiety is by engaging my sense of touch. Either by poking a bruise, by biting the inside of my cheek, by licking my teeth, by feeling underneath my fingernails, by hugging myself, etc. When I'm really anxious, all it takes is a hug from my Daddy to start calming me down. When I see someone in emotional distress, my first instinct is to hug them, to place a hand on their shoulder, etc. The language of my intimacy is in my sense of touch, much to my Daddy's displeasure, as it often means that I talk far less than he'd like.

I like massage, but massage to me is an intensely intimate experience. I have discovered that I can't go to shopping centre masseurs, because I feel extremely odd getting a massage from them. It seems that only my partners can use massage to help me relax.

When I see animals and pets, one of the first impulses is always to pat and touch them, and this is probably why I tend to get along with dogs and cats so often, because we both enjoy touch a lot.

Simply, my skin is my preferred method of contact with the world, especially doing so intimately. Hugs, pats, sensual touch, are all definitely my favourite things!

On This Day

Five Years Ago, me and Daddy decided to become a couple.

Around Two and a Half Years ago, Me and Daddy realised that we were a Daddy/boy couple, and chose to Embrace it.

Two Years, Two months ago, I was collared by my Daddy.

Today, I feel nothing but gratitude for my Daddy, and all that he has done for me, and all he has allowed me to do for him. Without him... I don't know what I'd do without him.

Happy Anniversary, Daddy!

Why can't I just be automatically good?

In the last week or so, Daddy has decided that I'm going to be taught proper dinner table manners, as he feels that mine are somewhat inadequate. He's given me an etiquette book to read (which I have been, dutifully), but this week he's decided to actually make me practice my table manners. Of course, he's been doing this slowly, and he decided that this week he's focusing on a single thing - how I hold my fork.

Of course, the way I hold a fork is very similar to how you would hold a spoon, as I'm very much a shoveller. As a result, I'm entirely unfamiliar with how to hold a fork properly. For the last couple of times I've been eating I've been railing against it, almost angrily against this stupid "proper" way of holding a fork that seems entirely in appropriate for a how a fork is designed, and designed to entirely prevent you from actually eating anything that's even slightly squidgey. Last night it pretty much came to a head, when I was pretty much throwing my hands up in frustration at how stupid the whole thing seemed.

Daddy was looking at my slightly dumbfounded at exactly how badly I was taking this whole etiquette thing, and being slightly hurt at how vigorously I was attacking it. And even I had to admit, my reaction seemed wholly out of proportion to the entire thing.

And then, I realised why I was railing against it so much - I sucked at it.

Like so many gifted kids in school, the kind of praise that I was given was based on how well I did at things. So, in a perfectly obvious turn of events, if I didn't do well at something, I would stop doing it. After all, you don't get praise at something if you don't do well, so why bother doing it? In many ways, this has been part of a lot of my behaviours throughout my life - I don't get the idea of training yourself until you're good at it. It frustrates me to fail, and the idea of sucking a whole lot to get good at something is a horrible idea to me.

And the thing about the etiquette thing was that the discomfort of using the fork a different way, and Daddy constantly correcting me, were constant reminders of how bad I was at the task. I didn't have the option of giving up, since Daddy wouldn't let me, so obviously I started lashing out at the task. Venting my frustration became hating the task, thinking it was stupid, etc.

And this was just one little task! I can only imagine what my reaction would have been if Daddy (or someone else) had been deciding to train me in a big skillset entirely that I had no experience and no natural skill at. I could very well have exploded, and done a lot of damage.

I will need to start paying attention to this, methinks. If I'm to be a good boy, I need to start learning how not to be frustrated at my own shortcomings, and learn how to be a good student when I'm not already good at something.