Cha-Cha-Cha-Changes

As you can tell if you’ve been reading my posts, I am in the middle of combining several blogs that I started. I will now be posting erotic book and toy reviews on my blog. I’m excited about becoming a sex toy reviewer ;). I will also be posting pieces that I’ve written or am currently working on. Most Importantly: I will be blogging about BDSM, Daddy/babygirl Relationships, Polyamory, and Getting Your Kink On When You Have a Disability.

I will also be starting a question and answer segment, so if there any questions about BDSM that you’ve been dying to ask since you read 50 Shades, then I’m your girl. I will caution you though, and say that bdsm in the real world isn’t “really” like 50 Shades. There are a ton of different relationships that fall under the BDSM umbrella, and then there are people who just like to get freaky every once in a blue moon.

I have Multiple Sclerosis, and seeing as how this is MS Awareness month I decided to checkout the resources available to us kinky disabled folks. Sadly, there wasn’t as many as I’d hoped & some that looked promising had simply died out. So, I feel like I need to take one for the team and be the “Official Disabled Sexy Toy Testing Goddess”. I will do my duty & serve my community proudly; I will face the day, one toy at a time ;).

I will also be discussing polyamory, because I have recently begun a poly relationship. If someone had asked me about being poly five years ago, I would have looked at them like they were crazy. I’ve changed a lot in that time. I’ve learned that it’s important to be loved unconditionally & be happy, for me that happens to be as a member of a triad…and Daddy’s babygirl. Image

Wave of the Tail

I will be writing much more either later today, or tomorrow. I will see that some pretty big changes have occurred in my life recently. I am still with my Daddy Dom, but I’ve also met someone (or more) that is playing an important role in my life. I can’t wait to tell you ALL about it, but I definitely need to get a little sleep first.

One stp forward & two steps back

Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women'...

Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Sexual Fantasies (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This past week has been a roller coaster ride of confusion & turmoil. Oddly enough, last Sunday ended with my husband & I have a huge argument. He told me have gave me permission to have the open marriage that I wanted…but guess what??? My ass was shocked, shocked that he’d actually told me that I could see other people & I was shocked because I wasn’t overcome with joy.

The weird thing about being a relationship with someone for half of your lifetime & ALL of your adult life, is that your entire life seems to revolve around your memories with this person. Well, at least that’s how it is in my case. I love this man, he as seen me at my worst & instead of running as fast as he could in the other direction, on one occasion he actually hitchhiked over 70 miles to be with me at the hospital. When I had the chance to study in Japan, this is the person who took care of my three year old so I could go.

I feel indebted to him, but to what degree do I owe him? For the past four years, we have essentially switched roles. I have become the backbone & tried to provide him with the same type of support. When he didn’t listen to me & chose to move by my abusive parent, I tried to go with the flow. He’d started a new job and seemed unhappy; I ignored the hurtful stories that he passed along from my dad. When I saw us drifting apart, I even made arrangements for a friend to watch our kids so we could have some alone time.

He switched jobs and hated it even more than the other job; I tried my damnedest to be supportive, I didn’t even complain about having to load the kids into the car at 5:30 in the morning to drop him off at work. Hell. I didn’t even bitch when he worked EVERY fucking holiday. But, by this time we’d started to really grow apart…no matter how many times I told him I wanted to study writing, he insisted I enroll in a program at our local college.

Fast forward to last week and we’ve grown so far apart that I didn’t even want him to touch me. On Monday, we had a more civil conversation about our relationship status & he’d agreed to an open relationship. He’d also agreed to go to therapy, he starts in a few hours. But, I’m still in pain because of things he’s done & said; I don’t know how to get past them, and he’s excuse tht it’s not his normal character just doesn’t cut it. There’s been no real apology & I don’t think I can move past these things until I feel he’s sincerely sorry.

Surprise. Surprise..he’s not REALLY willing to allow me to have an open relationship. He’s just willing to say that it’s okay. I’ve discovered its okay, as long as I don’t actually talk to someone else….

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

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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