This is probably not going to be a normal post. It may be more raw and guttural than you were expecting. So if you need something smutty, click on the writing tab at the top. If you need something funny or lighter then look for the life is good tag on the right side and click there. Otherwise buckle in while this rambles on for a bit without a clear plan.
I am or have been struggling a bit as of late. I have felt fractured. When I have to focus on work and concentrate on grown up life I am capable and competent and it’s great until I’m tired and needy and horny and just need to be centered. I used to be able to center myself quite easily. I was blessed with a packed Rolodex (for you young folks think of the address book on your telephone) of willing partners that would be happy to engage in a mutual exploitation fest with me for a few hours or few days until we were both sated and could head back to our respective lives. I’ve discussed before why I can’t do that now. But in case you’ve missed that discussion the thing that I got from my earlier fuckfests was endorphin rush on steroids and a little bit of a psychological hit that I had somehow been used or denigrated. The fact that I did it to myself mostly by selecting people that would make me feel as such was not lost on me and is why it never had the same kind of impact as being submissive does. Even if I could be happy with just the rush, and I can’t to be clear, my playmates are no longer 15 minutes away from my front door and I can’t fuck them until six am and still be functional the rest of the day even if they were. Plus and this is the bigger issue, I need to submit. I can have sex without being your submissive but without some breath play or some pain of some sort it’s only going to curb the physical need not the psychological one. Add in a dash of being the guardian of my mother and I’ve got lots of energy pent up that can’t be relieved or directed in the right way most of the time.
You haven’t heard me talk much about Mr. Wolf or the Dutchman here. That has been deliberate. I am pretty sure I did the same thing when I was struggling to figure out what to do with Good Nyte as well. When I’m confused I keep it close to the vest. That doesn’t help with the confusion but I don’t want to cause anyone any undue distress while I engage in a bit of verbal diarrhea. I can say this without being confused, I care about both of them in totally different ways and for totally different reasons. Both are important to me and I am grateful that they are in my life. I’m not sure I’m adding anything of value to their experience but without them both I would have likely let the site go dark last summer when it was time to renew this domain name yet again. I am a submissive. It is the core and central part of my being. But I seem to suck massive monkey balls at being a submissive in a relationship. I thought previously maybe it was because I was trying to have the white picket fence thing with my Dom and maybe that just wasn’t realistic. I get stir crazy, irritable and hunger for someone that challenges me in a way that the life in the burbs cannot. Since we don’t have a Stepford Dom machine and I can’t do some gene splicing my brain is now hinting strongly that maybe single is my mission with play partners or protectors of some sort. I don’t know but I don’t seem to be crystal clear about my role or fit anymore.
And that is because I feel inherently broken in ways I can’t fully explain. I am not one of those girls that ever said bring me a great guy and I’ll be excited. I need a great guy with a dark side who might do something so humiliating to me that I never want to venture out in public again. I want the power differential to be clear and ever present and the warm fuzzy moments are then icing on the cake. I’ve known I was twisted for a long time but now I’m feeling it even more as there is literally no reason for me to be confused about what to do but there is because in my brain things are not quite right. I’m not sure if I as red is ever comfortable being adored. red the submissive, the slut, the follower of orders, the receptacle of pain and bodily fluids loves being cherished but when I’m not in that space it’s uncomfortable. I took a quiz on FB the other day about what kind of man I needed. I was pretty sure sadistic teddy bear wouldn’t be on the list but I figured I needed a laugh. I got one but not for the right reasons. It came up that I needed an artist, someone with a romantic heart who frequently performed grand gestures and told me often how much he loved me. If you could see my face now and then I’m sure you’d bust up laughing cause just no. Sappy doesn’t make me happy. I don’t enjoy constant reaffirmations that you love or adore me. If we’re fully clothed make an inappropriate joke, smack me on the ass, say something only I will catch as being pervy and tell me I’m cute. I will light up and be a happy girl. Tell me how much you want to be with me and how you see our future and it’s not that I’m looking for the closest exit but I don’t trust you.You must want something because you are putting on a hard sell and I don’t like it. If we’re unclothed and you’re inside of me on any level tell me whatever you want. Naked I lap up the adulation. It feeds my desire to serve you. I want to be the best everything you’ve ever experienced and that stroking makes me enthralled and enraptured and is the closest thing to me believing you mean that when I have to armor up and put on the grown up clothes again.
I know that makes no sense. I am fully aware of it. I’ve mentioned it before but I trust your lust. Your love, I’ve seen that be fleeting and misdirected as soon as someone else needs you more, adores you more, or makes you think you’re 10 feet tall comes along. I used to think I’d always be a stepmother because I wasn’t sure I’d trust a man enough to breed with him but I had no issues taking care of children he already had. I’m starting to believe I’ll always be a mistress or a third or a backup wife. Which honestly I’m okay with because I don’t know if I can handle the energy of being up front. Mistress isn’t the favorite spot in the rotation for me lol but it’s amazing with the right person and when I’m aware I’m playing the role—don’t hide shit damn it. The lifestyle is pretty flexible in what we explore but I know mistress isn’t always appreciated. She’s helping him hide something from his wife. That’s true, it is, I can’t deny that. I also can’t deny him if it’s the right him so forgive me if I go exploring. Again with the brokenness. What woman wants to be a mistress but doesn’t want it for shiny things or to get him away from his wife? I just want to be happy and if he can make me happy then I’ll probably be there until he can’t make me happy. I’m sorry but at the same time I’m not. I should feel worse about being in that position. My father cheated on my mother, my older brother’s mother, as well as his third and fourth wives as best I can tell. Save the third one it didn’t work out so well for those relationships. But I don’t want to keep the husband at least not at my house or in my life forever. Nor do I want him at my place for holidays, birthdays and the like. I want to enjoy his desire for the moments I can get them. Yeah the more that I think about it I’m good and fucked up. Marry a man that adores me or be another man’s mistress? My ring finger is not itchy or desperate for adornment.
I’ve thought about going to therapy but my job and my area would make that awkward. Don’t really want to drive an hour away to be seen and that still may not prevent blow back. Besides I’m not sure what it would do beyond make it plain that I have issues that I’m okay with on one level. Actually on all levels. I like to be hurt in ways that are deeply painful and all at once beautiful. I never feel more beautiful then when I’m being fucked hard while feeling my breath being cut off and hearing some variation of praise being punctuated with the word cunt. I used to despise that word so much but now it’s like good girl when it enters my ear canals. I want to be kept guessing in some ways but always secure that my service is both wanted and appreciated. I want to desire him more than I desire anything else in the world. Just as I trust your lust know that mine is always directly connected to the depth of my service. Fucked up girl parade on aisle three ladies and gentlemen. Poor aisle three–does anything good ever happen there?
2 thoughts on “Exposure: On Coming to Terms with My Broken Bits”
I'd love to hear about The Man. The thing is I'm not sure I want to fix it. It can be frustrating to be sure. And I'm quite positive I drive people around me crazy a they try to get to know me and how to deal with me. But the place I get to in my submission with the right spark is so blissful. I'm both saddened and glad there's room on the broken gal ship but I have no clue what to do with this energy or state of being now.
All of this makes sense to me. All of it. You aren't alone except the funny thing is knowing you aren't alone doesn't do shit to "fix" your broken.
Remind me on day to tell you stories about The Man. It won't help but it will make sense.
Comments are closed.