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.