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Realities

Today is a great day for me to write about fantasy versus reality.

It took me a very long time to figure out that there was a difference between the lifestyle I actually wanted and the lifestyle I created in my head, mostly when I was horny.

I've always thought that I wanted a life improved by rules and structure and enforced by a man with a good swing.

And I do...

...to a point.

Rules and structure and the enforcement of said constructs make me feel cared for and safe. They let me know that there is someone there to call me on my bullshit and it's not okay to allow myself to be slothful and slovenly.

But I used to believe that I wanted long, detailed lists of rules which would be enforced swiftly and to the letter. I wanted that freedom to fuck up taken away. I wanted to be compelled in all things.

It makes for really good masturbatory material, but not a very pleasant reality.

... Sir.

'Cause I'm a big girl, and I like my freedom. I need room to grow on my terms.

I need gentle reminders that it's bedtime, and I'm going to be very tired in the morning. I need to have permission denied to have that brownie, because it's contrary to my goals and it'll make me very unhappy when it's time to weigh in. I need to be tisked at because I'm being whiney and not remembering my place in a dynamic that is mutually fulfilling for two adults.

I need and want these things because they make me happy. They make me feel secure.

But I don't need a Daddy and I don't need constant discipline. It took me a really long time to figure out that I was looking for security that rules and the enforcement of said rules artificially produced.

But I don't want artficial security. I want real security that comes from a relationship built on love and trust and equality.

Yup. I want to be equal. Being a sub, and maybe even some day being a slave (yup, I'm leaving the possibility open, Captain No Fun), doesn't mean that I am the lesser partner in the relationship. Not in my reality. It's really just a division of labor, when ya come down to the nuts and bolts of it.

I'm not submissive to give my choices away. I'm submissive because I choose to give my trust away. To be influenced and shaped by a will that is stronger than mine, but doesn't make me weaker.

I have a Dominant in my life who believes in the power of positive reinforcement over punishment, and though at first, this caused a small bit of dispair in my masochistic heart, once reality set in, I realised how well I actually respond to it.

I don't need to be punished. Life does a pretty good job of handing out natural consequences on its own.

But, by God, bring on the funishment. That's where this lifestyle is really lived for me.

That sweet spot where reality meets fanatasy and makes me smile all over my face.

Just Sayin

I've not blogged in a bit, because, well, I've been really sick. I feel like my sickness has been a running theme of this blog so far, but not purposefully. I've just been really, really sick.

But I have managed to get myself to a doctor today, and I'll be getting anti-biotics tomorrow, and I'll be totally on the way to recovery, which is good for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that I have ideas in my head for at least four blog posts, but I want to wait until I am feeling better, so I can give the topics the thought and consideration they deserve.

That said, I haven't been so deathly ill that I could not sneak some kink in.

I managed to have my first experience with zip ties and a single tail. And sweet jesus, it was wonderful. The pain was exquisite, and though I am left with an array of pretty marks, the pain is not lasting and inconvenient in the way that deep bruising courtesy of a paddle or bath brush is.

The Talker does fine work with a whip, I tell ya. He's still getting used to swinging it, but I could tell that he was getting more comfortable with it, the longer it went on.

And it was a slice of masochistic heaven.

***

A stylistic note:

I wasn't going to use titles on this blog as pseudonyms, as I had on my old blog. I had thought it a little silly and kitschy, but Malignus (hereafter known as The One Who Grumps) had brought it up and opined that I should, and I'm prone to suggestion, and I do find it fun making up names for the people I know.

The Talker is so named because one of the things I really love about playing with him is the things that he says during scenes. They're a huge turn on and I never feel like they're contrived. They are forceful and wonderful and make my knees all weak with submissive joy.

I usually forget the specific phrases and remember general feelings, but a while back, we staged an abduction and rape, and at one point he said, "You're so tight, I bet I'm doing you a favor."

And I thought it was the most amazing line ever and I have never forgotten it. Hence the title.

Wanna play rape?

hack hack

If I were a sane girl, in possession of all her faculties, I would not be going to the gym today. I would be lying in my bed, reading, and sipping hot chocolate. (That doesn't really count as chocolate, does it?)

But, let's face it, I'm mad as a hatter.

And almost as sexy...

And, for all things good and holy, I'm fricken bored. I get sick at least 6 or 7 times each winter. I wish I were exaggerating, but with chronic bronchitis, it's mostly unavoidable. I'm hoping the change in diet and the strength training and the increased quality of sleep I'm getting will strengthen my immune system and make me all better, but in the meantime, I've got things to do.

I'll tell you all about them in my next post. The same post I've been meaning to write for almost a week.

That is, if I don't die at the gym!

Inertia

I have a fatal flaw that applies to both blogging and fitness:


I have a hard time keeping going on a consistent basis.

And the thing is, it's not completely my fault. It's not that I'm lazy. I'm just sick.

I don't say this as an excuse or a reason to hide behind a label. Blogging is a hell of a lot cheaper than cognitive therapy and once it's said, I usually feel better.

One of the symptoms of this disease which I deal with at least on a weekly basis is suicidal ideations.

They're not as scary as they sound. It's not even that I'm unhappy.

See? This is me.

I'm a pretty happy girl. Behind this veneer of snark lies a pretty contented person. I've got goals and friends and lots of things that keep me looking forward to tomorrow.

There's just this disconnect in my brain that likes to spend its free time making up really interesting (and sometimes mundane!) ways for me to off myself. I usually just shake it off and keep going, but stuff like this really puts a damper on a girl's inertia, especially at times when I have valid reasons for feeling sad.

I'm not really sure why I felt compelled to write this post. I guess I just want to be understood.

Because sometimes, when I insist that I'm working hard, despite the slow, slow progress, I feel like maybe no one believes me. And that feeds into the false sadness/real sadness cycle. And that shit is dangerous for someone like me.

I see a lot of statuses on Fetlife about girls who need motivation to get things done, but most of the time, I have plenty of motivation. I don't need a Daddy. I have a Dom, and our dynamic itself is motivating enough. I want to please him, and DEAR GOD, I want to lose all of this weight I've been carrying around.

But all I really need to make it to the end is time and patience.

So, stick around, won't you?

Dead-ication

I chose a pretty odd time to start a blog about getting fit, given that today was the first day this week that I actually made it to the gym.

You see, life is complicated.

True story.

October began as a really awesome fitness month for me. I was hitting my goals with ease and I was beyond excited for the new challenge that Simon threw my way.

You may not know this about me, but I live and breathe and eat and dream spankings. I love spankings more than I love my mommy and chocolate combined, and while chocolate does most of the heavy lifting in that equation, trust me when I say that it represents a LOT of love.

Ya know that old saw about the sadist and the masochist and doing nothing?

 Well, you don't motivate a hardwired, masochistic spanko with threats of spanking; you motivate her by making her earn her beatings, and that is just what Simon elected to do, by way of goal sets.
 
The first goal set took me over two months to finish, and to be perfectly honest (and what is the point of this blog if not to be completely transparent?), I did kind of phone it in. At one point, the Vanilla BFF remarked that he thought the point of all of this was for me to actually lose weight with some kind of consistency, and he was correct.

So, when I did finish the first set and it was time to begin the second, the game changed. The goals got harder to complete, and a time limit was imposed. If I did not finish in 30 days, everything got reset to zero and I would have to start earning my beating all over again.

So, I was motivated.

And then life threw a right hook and hit me square in the jaw.

At the end of last week, someone I loved dearly died and I didn't see it coming. I don't deal well with death. I was really sad for a few days and managed to go through the motions rather well, but just as I was beginning to feel like myself again, I got a nasty flu bug and spent three days introducing the contents of my stomach back into the outside world.

So, I did not even attempt to do any kind of exercise until today.

And the results were rather pitiful. Apparently, it takes time for one's body to regain strength after sickness.

My trainer asked me when I had finally started feeling better, and when I told her today, she gave me a horrified look and sent me home.

So, here I am, sitting at my desk instead of making the eliptical my bitch.

But I will return soon, with all the force of a great typhoon... or something.

Oh, blogging, how I have missed thee...

All the cool kids are doing it, so I figured why the hell not?

It's not like I haven't done it before.

Every writer needs a motivation, and believe me, I have motivation. He may not, strictly speaking, be my muse, but he sure does make this journey a whole lot more amusing. (And amazing!)

But I am getting a bit ahead of myself! I haven't even mentioned what the journey is yet.

Here's a hint:

I'm fat.

That's right. I might have a small problem involving a really big ass.

Oh, and I like the beatings.

Yup, I'm trying to lose weight, and gain muscle, and maybe somewhere along the way, find out what it is I really want, without all of these old expectations about who I thought I should have been holding me back.

Oh, and I aim to get some beatings along the way. I'll tell you all about that soon enough, in entirely more detail than you want (or maybe not enough detail, 'cause I'm a teasing bitch sometimes).

So, here's to happy growing and shrinking, and all those other size related things...