The Curse & Blessing of Technology

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Last night, I received an email from my uncle informing me that my grandmother had a massive stroke. She is in ICU and at the time they weren’t sure if they were going to remove her breathing tube. The news in itself was bad, but it brought back some not so great memories.
I know my mom doesn’t check her email on a regular basis, so I knew I had to call her & tell her that her mom was dying. It felt like a Deja vu moment to me; my dad died in September, which I discovered in a bad way. Don’t get me wrong, I love technology. But, I think that finding out that someone you love is dying/died via technology SUCKS ASS!!!
When my father died, I found out through a Facebook post. Yep, I said a Facebook post. A friend of mine is a firefighter/EMT, he heard the call go out about my dad while he was on another run. He & I have a relationship where we tease each other mercilessly; I actually posted a YouTube parody for a KKK dating site on his wall once, and recently when I had an allergic reaction to medicine he posted a picture from the Nutty Professor.
So, it was reasonable for me to think that his post: I know things were strained, I hope you have some good memories….was a joke. After all, I had just posted a check-in that said I was in bed playing with my new iPad2. I wrote back, thanks smartass….then I thought about his post & his job, then I wrote:is my dad dead? He sent me an inbox MSG to call him.
Sometimes, I feel like I experience emotions to deeply or maybe I let them eat away at me. A Dom I know will tell me from time-to-time, that I need to remember not to create drama when things don’t go the way I would like for them to go. Apparently, it’s a common thing for people who grew up in an abusive environment.
I sent this Dom a message last night telling him, I know I’m not supposed to have drama but I have to say this little thing. When I told him what was going on, he told me that wasn’t drama. He was there for me to lean on, at the time I found out, throughout the night & even throughout the day. This type of interaction is still new to me; I’m not used to someone getting on to me for the way I behaved, but still being supportive & caring towards me.
W/we generally communicate through computer and phone. So last night when I wanted to curse technology for always making me the bearer of bad news, I had to remind myself that my interaction with this Dom occurs through technology.

This Bdsm, Ménage book looks pretty hot!

Black Hippie Chick's Take On Books & The World

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Thank you so much for letting me gatecrash your blog Ms Chick!

What makes you ‘you’?

It’s strange but when I’m writing I have an absolute intimate knowledge of my characters but when I’m asked to describe them – perhaps to inform the cover artist, blog or potential reader, I have no idea what they look like. Not really – is that odd? I know them, I feel them, I feel for them, I know what they’re thinking and how they interact and experience their world, but I couldn’t tell you if they have brown eyes or green eyes, long hair or short, I don’t even know how tall they are. I find this odd because my imagination is extremely visual – when I write a chapter I am writing it from an actual scene playing out in my head like a film which I have to translate into words…

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Every Sub Is Allowed A Temper Tantrum, Right?

English: Bent forward strappado

English: Bent forward strappado (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Okay, if you are a Dom reading this you are probably thinking HELL NO…..actually, the funniest thing that happened after my  outburst & fit of self-doubt is that the Doms all said to breathe.  So maybe it’s not all that unsubmissive to question the depth of one’s submissiveness , lol.

But seriously, after I was able to get past that huge period of self-doubt I was able to think about things more clearly. I was very productive, mapping out a beginning the writing process for an Interracial BDSM story ;). Started the day out on the right foot, worked through a really crappy event with a Dom & able to see it from an outsider’s perspective. Then said Dom was kind enough to use orgasm control in a manner that left me with a high/bliss like feeling….Thank You ;).

Self Doubt

I’m filled with self doubt; I swear it would be less painful to bang my head against a fucking wall….it doesn’t matter what I do, it’s going to be wrong….and frankly, what’s the point in continuing to try if you know ahead of time that what you do isn’t going to be good enough…is this some kind of huge mind fuck….if say how I feel it’s thrown in my face, and used against me….but for some fucked up reason , I care what you think…that’s my real weakness, why care about someone who just doesn’t give a fuck….I’m really starting to think that perhaps I should become a Domme….I can’t be any worse than some of the assholes I’ve run across

Tainted Love: A Memoir

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Learning How to Love
My therapist has asked me several times recently where I learned how to be such a loving and caring woman and mother, because I didn’t have an example of how to be that way. But that’s not true, I always come back to you, Dad. I don’t know what changed on May 26,1986, but I know that before that day you loved me. You taught me how to love and care about other’s.
I can remember the first time that you took me fishing just like it was yesterday. I was so excited, you took me outside to the backyard and you taught me how to look for night crawlers. You gave me a little spade and you carried a white plastic container with a clear lid on it. Then you told me to look underneath our deck because it was cool and dark there, and my best chance of finding any night crawler would be there. I remember the smile you had on your face, I could see all of your sparkling white teeth and I was so proud of myself.
I can still hear your voice as you told me that I did a good job. You let me play with that first night crawler for awhile. I was amazed by how long it was; I investigated every last ridge it had on it, and the way part of it was a purplish gray color. Then you started laughing when I started screaming after finding out that the brown stuff coming out of the end was poop; I started laughing too, but I held onto that night crawler. I watched with excitement as you put it into the white container on top of the dirt that you’d added, when I wasn’t looking.
I don’t remember how many night crawlers I collected that night , but I remember thinking how gross it was that we had to put the container in the downstairs refrigerator. Even though we only used that fridge for drinks and the built in keg tap, I was still grossed out. Then you told me to go to the upstairs bathroom that was across the hall from my bedroom and take a bath. We both knew how mad Mom would be if I got any dirt in the house. So I ran up the stairs,and immediately to a bath.
I could hardly sleep that night, and I had to go to bed before my normal bedtime because we would be leaving early the next morning. Mom came to check on me, but I heard her coming and made sure to pretend like I was asleep. I was scared that if she caught me awake, she wouldn’t let me go fishing with you the next day.
You had told me that an older man named Frank Tribble would be going fishing with us. I spent part of the time I was awake,trying to imagine what Mr. Tribble would be like. I figured he would nice because you said that you’d known him since you were my age. At the time, it seemed like that was forever; it’s funny how a six year old views time. I finally fell asleep.
The next morning you came to wake me up at the crack of dawn. I didn’t understand what that expression really meant until that morning; at five in the morning, there had barely been a streak of light in the dark purple sky. I didn’t care though, I was just happy to help you collect all of our fishing gear. I remember telling mom good bye as I ran after you to your old red and white Ford truck.
We put all of the gear into the bed of the truck, and then you opened the passenger side door and helped me climb into the cab. I sat down in the middle and you double checked my seat belt to make sure it was fastened correctly. Then you walked around to the driver’s side door and hopped into the truck; the engine started to purr once you turned the key, and then we set out on adventure.
When we got to Mr. Tribble’s house, he was sitting on his porch waiting for us to arrive. Once he got situated in the passenger’s seat, you introduced us to one another. I remember being amazed at how small and skinny he was. Mr. Tribble lived off of Sixth street, right around the corner from the Benjamin Banneker community center. As we passed Banneker, you told me that when you were little it used to be the black school.
I was confused and asked what a “black school” was, then you told me that when you were little all of the black kids in Bloomington went to that school. I asked you how come you all went to the same school, because I was the only black kid in my class. I couldn’t believe it when you told me that when you were little, black kids and white kids didn’t go to school together. You told me that when you went to Bloomington High school, the black and white kids went to school together.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about that conversation. All that my little brain could focus on was catching fish; I was convinced that I would catch a ton of fish in no time at all. I knew what to do, my dad had already shown me how to cast & I’d practiced reeling in several imaginary fish over the last twenty-four hours.
As we got closer to my dad’s special spot, I began to notice sounds that I’d never heard before; the closer we got to the private pound, the foggier it became outside the truck. I never would’ve admitted it at the time, but I had started getting scared. I’m going to go out on a limb and say the fear must have been evident on my face, because both my dad and Mr. Tribble started laughing.
Then my dad told me that the low gurgle like sounds that I was hearing was only two frogs trying to find one another. He said it was like when my sister and I would yell for one another when we were in different rooms, those frogs just wanted to know what one another were doing. By the time my dad parked the truck, all of my fear was gone and I was ready to catch some fish.
At the time, I had no idea that that fishing trip would be one of my fondest memories of him. I guess I loved that day, because he didn’t have to be the cop who took care of everyone or the coach who taught teens how to play football. That day he was just my dad, sharing your history with me and showing me what a parent’s love was supposed to be like.
DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
One of my earliest memories took place at this church; I was walking with my mother when a woman stopped us and said that I looked like my mother. I looked at her and said with the simplicity of a child: No I don’t, I’m my daddy’s girl! As young girl I was my dad’s shadow; to me, the sun rose and set with my father. If my dad went somewhere, I was always right there by his side. I was there when we got into his truck when it was still dark outside, and we stopped to pick Frank Tribble up, so we could set off on one of our 5a.m. fishing trips. My dad had a secret spot on the northern end of the county. On my first trip I of course caught the most & largest fish. I can remember the excitement that I had when I described the “big mouth” bass that I caught. My dad just smiled and didn’t even tell me that it was really called a large mouth bass. Then there were all the football practices that he took me to, where I would yell at the players to get their legs up higher as they ran through the tire drills. Or the fact that he used to call me little bird, because he painted the wood trim around our rock garden white and I got into the wet paint. He told me that it looked like a little bird had gotten into it & thus my nickname was born.
When I was little, I would get scared every-time he went to work because I didn’t know if he would return home safely. Well, I paid attention to all of the lessons that I had at daycare on calling 911 to call the police. In fact, you could say that I learned the lesson too well. I would always call 911 & ask if I could speak to my father. However, that all changed the day the 911 dispatcher called my house and spoke to my mother. She asked my mom if she could teach me the non emergency number for the police department, apparently they didn’t feel that my wanting to speak to my dad was an emergency….ooooooppps!
If you knew my father in a professional way or if he was ever your football or wrestling coach, then you know that my father could be tough. He wanted you to give him 110% of your effort, because that’s what he always gave. I’ll be the first to admit that at times it could be frustrating. But to this day, I can still feel the pride he had when he told me that he’d heard my name on the radio, after I won the 300 meter hurdles at my first high school competition.
However, my father wasn’t always tough. I can still see the tears that ran down his face on the day of my prom. You’re probably thinking that his tears had something to do with me growing up, but you’d be wrong. He was really crying because the thing he wanted the most for his birthday in 1992, was for his little bird to get better from my paralysis. So for his birthday, I was able to walk to him unassisted and I saw my father cry. He also cried when he held each of my daughters’ for the first time. I may not be my Daddy’s little girl anymore, but I will always cherish the memories of when I was.

 

Copyright Bisublivinginvanillaworld 6/18/12

All Rights Reserved.  This cannot be copied in whole

or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

Undeserved Sorrow

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It’s funny, my dad is dead but I’ve thought about him all day long; last yr on Father’s Day I felt so much anger towards him, I posted a facebook status that wished all fathers a happy day except for my own. Last night, a very wise Dom told me that I wasn’t really sad because my dad’s not here, but that I was sad because my dad wasn’t the father that he should’ve been.
It’s true, all these months that I’ve been mourning my father, but I’ve not been mourning the man who died on September 21, 2012. Lately, the song Somebody that I Used to Know/em>; has been the one that comes to mind, and slips through my lips when I’m experiencing my deepest moments of anguish.
I guess it’s kind of fitting that this song represents the two most important men in my life, my father and my husband. In the beginning they were both the forces that could make the sun shine in my life, now they’re the forces that bring the storms and clouds. Perhaps, I put them both on pedestals that would’ve been difficult for any man to remain on; in actuality, I think the tainted love that my father created in my life found a way to seep into other relationships.
After all, my dad was one of the biggest influences on my deciding to pursue my husband. I wanted to be with someone who was as different from my dad as possible, my pale redheaded husband is about as different as I could get from my brown skinned dad. Growing up in in my father’s house I learned one thing for sure, I wouldn’t marry a man who would beat me or my children. My father taught me how to fight, no it may not have been during a scheduled lesson, but I learned how to kick some ass from him. Hey, a girl only lets a bat get broken on her back once. At the time I took it as a compliment when my mom was driving my 17 yr old self back to the place where I was staying, and she said, “Girl, you really know how to fight. You didn’t just scratch and claw, you were punching him!”
Today as I think about that afternoon, I realize how entirely fucked up it was for my mom to compliment me on my fighting skills. It’s those situations that led to all the tests that my husband had to pass. To be completely honest, I would’ve left my ass; there’s no way in hell I would’ve tolerated someone throwing raw chicken at my ass. It would’ve been on, like Donkey Kong. The first time someone would’ve thrown something at me or used their hands to strike my body, that would’ve been the end.
But, somehow he was able to see beneath all the hurt and anger; he knew I was a diamond in the rough. I guess that’s part of why it’s been so painful to go throw all of the shit we’re going through right now. He loved me at a point when I didn’t truly love myself; he helped me grow into the woman that I am today. Unfortunately, now that I’m stronger I am able to see things more clearly; I am able to see through all the manipulative bullshit that he tries. My dad was the king of manipulative behavior, I’m just surprised it took me so long to see what was right in front of me.
I guess since it’s father’s day I should thank my dad for all of the wonderful things that he taught me, I’ve got a feeling my list is going to be a little different from my friends lists’. Here we go. THINGS THAT MY DAD TAUGHT ME:
1. No man better ever hit me, and if he does there’s no need to apologize because I’ll be gone
2. Be careful what you say, because you never know how the other person is going to throw it back in your face
3. Just because someone seems nice and loving in public that doesn’t mean that’s their true self
4. Size up your opponent, look for their weakness, give them a strong right hook & then kick them in the nuts if you have to
5. No matter what I do, it’s never going to be good enough for you
6. The people you love are the one’s who can hurt you the most
7. That I should be ashamed of my body
8. I’m going to grow up to be a worthless whore, that no one will ever love
9. If someone is choking you, hold your breath and the might actually believe they’ve killed you…in my case it did make him quit choking me
10.it’s possible for the person that you love the most in the entire world, to tell you they’re thinking about killing you and then themselves
11. Any time that I experience sexual pleasure, I should also feel shame & guilt…although, I’m not entirely sure if you wanted me to experience shame & guilt or just not have sexual pleasure

That wise Dom is correct, I am NOT sad because you are gone. I am sad because the father I loved died the first time that he beat me. I guess I spent the rest of my life hoping that somehow, someway, that amazing man would resurface; and to be completely fair, he did show up from time to time.
I remember when I was going to graduate from college (it was my first graduation, the quadriplegia kind of fucked up that whole high school thing for me), I didn’t have enough money to buy my cap and gown. He sent me the money, even though he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to attend.
I also have fond memories of things that he did with his grandchildren, taking them fishing, buying them clothes, taking them to the zoo. He even barbecued for one of his grandchildren’s birthdays; on a hot and sweaty July day, he didn’t complain when he had to cook on two grills, using separate tools so that our Muslim friends would be able to celebrate with us.
I’m mourning these brief glimpses of time, when he was that AMAZING man. I’m sad that that man died when I was in fifth grade, but I’m also sad that it took me until today to realize it. Since my father’s no longer here, I will never know why he changed. There are times that I wish he were still here so I could ask him, what the fuck happened?
I want to know how a person can go from being the most amazing father one day, and become a horrific monster the next. I’ve tried to examine everything that occurred and see if there were any common factors, besides me of course. I’m pretty sure his problem was me & anyone with a cock. Maybe, he thought I’d remain a virgin for the rest of my life….his beatings had the opposite effect, they sent me into the arms of anyone who showed me love.

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Somebody That I Used To Know

Decisions, Decisions

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It’s been an interesting week to say the least; the truth is out and now it’s decision making time, except I’m not really sure what choice I should make. My husband asked me what kind of marriage did I want, I said open. I love my husband but I’m not “in love” with him right now; we’ve both changed over the last 18 yrs, in someways I think we changed roles.
When we met I was 18, and had discovered I was pregnant a few weeks earlier. We actually became friends in the first place because I would talk to him while I would wait for my fiancé at his dorm. The more we talked the more I found him attractive, but nothing happened until after I broke up with my daughter’s father. In someways he was my knight in shining armor; when my mom went to the other side of the country in order to leave my dad, I was left with no family and a two month
old. He was my rock. When I was totally freaked out and stressed, his family watched my daughter so I could have a few days to try and wrap my head around things.
He saw me at my worst, but he still loved me. God knows I tested him more than any person should ever be tested; I had to know that he wouldn’t beat me or my child, I wasn’t going to repeat my childhood. I can say with complete honesty that he has never physical hurt me, or any of the children.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the way my needs changed and I discovered I would actually like someone to hurt me in a BDSM way. I can’t say if this is just a phase and next week I’ll want something different. Although, it’s been my desire for over a year & a half….way before the Fifty Shades of Grey craze. It is also all but impossible for me to respond to him as a Dom; I’ve tried and it just doesn’t work.
One of the reasons I love him, is because he truly knows my (which also makes it easier for him to hurt me). While we were laying on the bed talking about things, and he was trying to get me to stop crying he said something that I’ve thought from time to time.
You know, you were jerked out of high school before your class even graduated. Then you were thrust into college & you got pregnant. If you think about it there are a lot of things you never got to experience. Then he said that maybe I needed some space so that I could experience those things.
I’ve been living under the cloud of all types of abuse until last year, when I decided it was time for me to heal. Maybe, all of these changes have occurred within me because I’m finally strong enough to shovel through the crap. In my everyday lives I’m am strong and always fighting to keep moving towards the goal. However when it comes to things of a sexual nature, I find it more gratifying and freeing when I am being submissive.
I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to understand and learn about my true submissive nature; hell, to be honest I’m not even sure what all turns me on or what all is out there. Through my “mentoring”, I’ve discovered that I apparently like a little shame, humiliation & guilt. I’m also learning that you can like things in varying degrees. I also have a Domme side, but generally is only arousing to me in terms of being with another woman. I already knew I loved orgasm control and have been exploring this aspect as well.
I’ve also learned some things about my sexual preferences that I am not altogether comfortable with, and have had ideas, vids or discussions that have triggered negative reactions. These negative reactions correlate to things that I’ve recently identified in therapy.
It’s nice to have someone who will push me when I try and change the subject because I’m uncomfortable. It’s not such a great feeling when I upset the person that I’m working with,I’ve always hated disappointing people so maybe thats the submissive in me.
This journey is nowhere near complete, and I know that it’s going to have some really rough parts (like trying to figure out what type of marriage I’m going to be in), but I’m also going to learn who I really am, what I do and don’t like, and hopefully get to a point where I’m comfortable with the fact that I really like, love sex.

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Some Truth Comes To Light

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This weekend an awkward and somewhat painful conversation took place. My husband said he missed having sex with me. Then he asked me if I missed it; not wanting to be an evil bitch, I said yes & no. When he asked why, I gave him several examples of hurtful things that he’s done or said in the last few months. He said that I was taking what he said about my oldest daughter’s situation the wrong way, but he said it so clearly even my deaf grandparents would’ve gotten it.
In someways, I’ve been very fortunate over the last month; due to the surgery I had at the beginning of May, I’ve had to sleep on the futon in the living room. When you aren’t sleeping in the same room, or your bruises look like you took on a tsunami and lost it is easy to avoid any sort of sexual contact. In all honesty, our sex life took a hit in April when he was continuously too busy; also, not acknowledging when your spouse is saying good-bye and then blaming your dyslexia is a good way to insure many masturbation filled nights in your future.
My sexuality has always been something hard for me to deal with, so having my husband walk in while I was masturbating was pretty horrifying. It wasn’t even like he walked in and found me with my hands in the honey pot, I had a “body massager” involved. I immediately jumped up & tried to do the crack head toss, you know when they there the drugs and try and play dumb. He asked me where I got it from & I said it was a MOTHER’S Day present. I really didn’t expect the next question; Who got that for you?
Hello Dumb ass, you got me an Amazon gift card…you can buy anything on Amazon, including some awesome sex toys ;)! Which brings me back to our conversation this weekend. He asked me who I was in a relationship with because it didn’t feel like I was in one with him. Did I tell him what I really wanted to say: Remember when you told me that you wouldn’t even have time to listen to how my day was for the next year? I believe you said that it was the sacrifice I was going to have to make for the next year. GUESS YOU FOUND OUT WHAT YOU’LL BE SACRIFICING. No, I wasn’t a bitch and did not want to be deliberately hurtful. I also didn’t say,” Did you already forget about the bountiful sex toys I purchased for Mother’s Day with the gift card you got me?”
I simply said no one.

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