Why have I not written a blog for almost exactly three months? How much fast food have I eaten in the meantime? Am I still with twentytwo? What happened?
The answers to these questions are of varying complexity. For starters I simply didn’t feel like blogging. There wasn’t actually that much going on that I found blog-worthy and what was happening I couldn’t put in words. Usually I blog when I’ve come to terms with something that has happened. When I’ve made my mind up and can let go of whatever I’ve been thinking about. The last months were very much a continuum. Work in progress.
Fast food has been crossed off my list of priorities. I just wasn’t as interested as I thought I was. Nobody really managed to intrigue me. I didn’t see a challenge that was worth my while. Instead I felt like embracing the familiarity of my relationship, taking a step back and enjoying what I’ve got. My mind was occupied with everything but fast food. And it still is. I’m starting to open up a bit more again, but I’ve enough time to wait for something that feels right. Something or rather someone who I really want.
All I want at the moment is twentywo. That says it all really, we’re still together. We have been for over a year now. We’ve had our usual ups and downs. Rather recently there was a pretty major down, but I feel like it has cleared the air. Taken away unnecessary expectations and shifted the focus from the future to the present.
The future will certainly be challenge – but then this relationship has always been exactly that. And I like challenges. I like it complicated. Yes, I'm a bit messed up.
I’m going to go to Rome next year. I will be gone for six months and I will miss twentytwo like nothing else. But it is something I’ve always planned on doing and an opportunity I wouldn’t want to miss. I know a good relationship can cope with temporary separation, I know it takes effort from both partners, but it is possible. I’m thankful for twentyone being supportive of my plans, even though he thinks I’m a travel-freak and should probably get my itchy feet checked by a doctor. But that’s me. I love seeing the world while it’s still an easy thing to do. While I get scholarships and only have to take small risks.
I’m more and more getting to the point where I think and worry less about the future. I still do it, but it’s so unpredictable, it’s pretty useless to make too many plans. I still like to make some because I fear missing opportunities (and I'm German after all), but I try to live in the present a bit more.
And talking about the present, I think twentyone ordered me a collar.
Nov 24, 2010
Aug 21, 2010
A balanced diet
I like healthy, down to earth, home-made food. It can be fancy once in a while, but generally I prefer great taste over pretentiousness. It’s the same with men.
But sometimes I have a craving for fast food. I know it’s bad for me, but I still want it. I want it really, really badly. It’s quick and tasty for the first few bites, but it generally leaves me feeling slightly sick. Initially it makes me happy, but doesn’t leave me completely satisfied. It’s something on the go, but nothing to take home. Same with men.
In theory it’s not difficult to have a balanced diet and to simply listen to one’s own body. But when talking about a male diet, things become much more complicated. First of all it seems to be a challenge for me to get my head around the fact than I can have casual play & sex without destroying my relationship. That my partner even encourages me to meet someone else. That he isn’t jealous, but wants to be involved, gives me advice and kicks my bum if I’m getting cold feet.
I’m wondering how Twentytwo can do it. I would be jealous. I know that I can separate sex from sex with feelings, but I’m also not particularly keen on fucking someone I don’t have any feelings for at all. Been there, done that.
A relationship including two people can be one hell of a challenge, not to talk about more than two people being involved. On the one hand the thought scares me and shows me once more what conventions are engraved in my mind. On the other hand I consider myself incredibly lucky to be able to try something new and different. I’m free to do as I please, involving only consenting adults that know what they are signing up for. In theory I also know what I'm signing up for, but in practice you never know what’s going to happen.
I very much believe that I only fall in love with someone else if I’ve already fallen out of love with my current partner (I might want to add that I don’t see myself as a polyamorous ). I’m in love with Twentytwo and therefore can’t see myself falling in love with a play partner. You never know, yes, but the chances are similar to falling in love with a housemate/friend/the local butcher/my professor. Nevertheless I’m feeling a bit guilty. It’s not something I do. Being single is one thing. Playing with someone with Twentytwo being present another, but actually meeting someone without him being here, just feels awkward. I’m sure it only takes a positive experience to get rid of my worries, but for know it’s something I’ve got mixed feelings about.
It also means confronting myself with a few issues. I prefer to be somewhat passive during sex, to let go and relax. I enjoy having something done to me. But there’s only one person I really want to do things to me and that is Twentytwo. If I involve other people I want to maintain a level of control. Which means being active. It means taking responsibility for my own behaviour and making decisions. Saying no. Or saying yes.
I get the feeling that it will benefit me to go out and explore. I also hope it will add to my relationship with Twentytwo in some rather unique way.
That’s why I’m meeting the French Guy tomorrow. Bring on the cute French accent, big cock and a good dose of sadism. :)
It's a bit of fast food on the go before a pleasant dinner with Twentytwo on Monday. Yes, it is possible to have it all. ;)
But sometimes I have a craving for fast food. I know it’s bad for me, but I still want it. I want it really, really badly. It’s quick and tasty for the first few bites, but it generally leaves me feeling slightly sick. Initially it makes me happy, but doesn’t leave me completely satisfied. It’s something on the go, but nothing to take home. Same with men.
In theory it’s not difficult to have a balanced diet and to simply listen to one’s own body. But when talking about a male diet, things become much more complicated. First of all it seems to be a challenge for me to get my head around the fact than I can have casual play & sex without destroying my relationship. That my partner even encourages me to meet someone else. That he isn’t jealous, but wants to be involved, gives me advice and kicks my bum if I’m getting cold feet.
I’m wondering how Twentytwo can do it. I would be jealous. I know that I can separate sex from sex with feelings, but I’m also not particularly keen on fucking someone I don’t have any feelings for at all. Been there, done that.
A relationship including two people can be one hell of a challenge, not to talk about more than two people being involved. On the one hand the thought scares me and shows me once more what conventions are engraved in my mind. On the other hand I consider myself incredibly lucky to be able to try something new and different. I’m free to do as I please, involving only consenting adults that know what they are signing up for. In theory I also know what I'm signing up for, but in practice you never know what’s going to happen.
I very much believe that I only fall in love with someone else if I’ve already fallen out of love with my current partner (I might want to add that I don’t see myself as a polyamorous ). I’m in love with Twentytwo and therefore can’t see myself falling in love with a play partner. You never know, yes, but the chances are similar to falling in love with a housemate/friend/the local butcher/my professor. Nevertheless I’m feeling a bit guilty. It’s not something I do. Being single is one thing. Playing with someone with Twentytwo being present another, but actually meeting someone without him being here, just feels awkward. I’m sure it only takes a positive experience to get rid of my worries, but for know it’s something I’ve got mixed feelings about.
It also means confronting myself with a few issues. I prefer to be somewhat passive during sex, to let go and relax. I enjoy having something done to me. But there’s only one person I really want to do things to me and that is Twentytwo. If I involve other people I want to maintain a level of control. Which means being active. It means taking responsibility for my own behaviour and making decisions. Saying no. Or saying yes.
I get the feeling that it will benefit me to go out and explore. I also hope it will add to my relationship with Twentytwo in some rather unique way.
That’s why I’m meeting the French Guy tomorrow. Bring on the cute French accent, big cock and a good dose of sadism. :)
It's a bit of fast food on the go before a pleasant dinner with Twentytwo on Monday. Yes, it is possible to have it all. ;)
Aug 20, 2010
YES
Sometimes a single word can make all the difference. Especially if the question “Are you seeing someone?” is asked by the ex-wife and he says YES.
After 10 months I finally exist. No name, no face. But she knows there is someone. It is an incredibly important step for me because I feel a lot less like his secret mistress. I’m still not as involved in his life as I’d like to be, but I understand it takes time. Twentytwo has taken a first step and despite the feeling that it was actually overdue, it makes me very happy.
Taking an action counts so much more than words. But if a word becomes an action, if change is possible, the future might be bright and happy. I'm an optimist.
After 10 months I finally exist. No name, no face. But she knows there is someone. It is an incredibly important step for me because I feel a lot less like his secret mistress. I’m still not as involved in his life as I’d like to be, but I understand it takes time. Twentytwo has taken a first step and despite the feeling that it was actually overdue, it makes me very happy.
Taking an action counts so much more than words. But if a word becomes an action, if change is possible, the future might be bright and happy. I'm an optimist.
Jul 21, 2010
Vacation
I’m not sure what exactly to write about the last three weeks. There would be a huge gap in this blog if I would ignore what happened, but I also don’t want to repeat what I’ve written about before. I probably should – to emphasise just how important certain things are to me, but I assume that the person concerned is fully aware of my expectations.
After saying good-bye to twentytwo a little over three weeks ago I probably went through the toughest weeks since we’ve been together. I realised how disappointed I was. For so many reasons. I realised that I had come to a point where I simply couldn’t cope anymore, where I couldn’t go on like I did before. Sometimes it only takes a comparatively small thing to trigger a reaction like this, but after everything that had happened in the past, it was just this little step further, that I simply couldn’t accept.
I spend days and days being deeply sad. Disappointed. Lethargic. Barely able to cope with my normal life. The day I moved houses I was constantly on the edge of breaking into tears. I didn’t want to eat, sleep, work or do anything else for that matter. I forced myself to be social and to spend time with my friends, but for me there was no other topic than that of my relationship, my thoughts couldn’t focus on anything else.
At some point I decided that enough is enough. From that point things got better. I was still disappointed, but sadness became anger and I slowly got my energy back. It took me days to figure out what I want and in the end I still wasn’t sure. I only knew I couldn’t go on like I did before and I couldn’t allow myself to emotionally rely on a single person again to that extent. There’s only one person that stays with me forever and that is myself. Full stop.
When I met twentytwo on the day he came back, I felt strong. I had power. Over my own life if nothing else. I can decide who I want in it or not. And under what conditions.
Relationships don’t work without some form of compromise. But they also don’t work if I sacrifice my principles. If I have a relationship it is committed and loving, his and my family are aware of it, it is D/s-oriented, respectful… it is fulfilling and happy and …
I’m afraid that twentytwo won’t make use of the chance I gave him. I’d understand why but I can’t express how disappointed I would be. I wouldn’t be able to continue, if only for the sake of self-respect. However I’m willing to continue something that is complex and will never be easy, but he has to take one step first… and that soon.
I hope he does… because since I’ve got him back, I can’t stop giggling when he fucks me. It just makes me so incredibly happy that he’s there with me. That I can look into his eyes and smile… I feel like I'm a different person. Much more balanced and stable. And giggly and happy. Because I love him.
After saying good-bye to twentytwo a little over three weeks ago I probably went through the toughest weeks since we’ve been together. I realised how disappointed I was. For so many reasons. I realised that I had come to a point where I simply couldn’t cope anymore, where I couldn’t go on like I did before. Sometimes it only takes a comparatively small thing to trigger a reaction like this, but after everything that had happened in the past, it was just this little step further, that I simply couldn’t accept.
I spend days and days being deeply sad. Disappointed. Lethargic. Barely able to cope with my normal life. The day I moved houses I was constantly on the edge of breaking into tears. I didn’t want to eat, sleep, work or do anything else for that matter. I forced myself to be social and to spend time with my friends, but for me there was no other topic than that of my relationship, my thoughts couldn’t focus on anything else.
At some point I decided that enough is enough. From that point things got better. I was still disappointed, but sadness became anger and I slowly got my energy back. It took me days to figure out what I want and in the end I still wasn’t sure. I only knew I couldn’t go on like I did before and I couldn’t allow myself to emotionally rely on a single person again to that extent. There’s only one person that stays with me forever and that is myself. Full stop.
When I met twentytwo on the day he came back, I felt strong. I had power. Over my own life if nothing else. I can decide who I want in it or not. And under what conditions.
Relationships don’t work without some form of compromise. But they also don’t work if I sacrifice my principles. If I have a relationship it is committed and loving, his and my family are aware of it, it is D/s-oriented, respectful… it is fulfilling and happy and …
I’m afraid that twentytwo won’t make use of the chance I gave him. I’d understand why but I can’t express how disappointed I would be. I wouldn’t be able to continue, if only for the sake of self-respect. However I’m willing to continue something that is complex and will never be easy, but he has to take one step first… and that soon.
I hope he does… because since I’ve got him back, I can’t stop giggling when he fucks me. It just makes me so incredibly happy that he’s there with me. That I can look into his eyes and smile… I feel like I'm a different person. Much more balanced and stable. And giggly and happy. Because I love him.
Jun 26, 2010
Birthday
I came back earlier from Germany especially for that day – or rather that night: Twentytwo’s birthday. I spent the day cooking, baking, decorating and making myself presentable. I was very much determined to make it a special night for us and I prepared myself to take a lot of pain. I put on his favourite maid’s uniform and tried to be well-behaved and attentive.
When I lay on the bed after dinner and he started tying me up the complaints started. Somehow it just didn’t feel right. The rope was too tight and my position too uncomfortable. I was hot and sweating underneath the PVC dress. For some reason I couldn’t get into the right headspace, even though twentytwo had sent me the beginning of a very interesting story/scenario that he wanted to act out. I always struggle a little bit with role plays as I most like to be dominated by the man I love, not by a random pimp, king, master, teacher or whatever people come up with. However I liked the story and the way he talked to me and touched my body certainly got my juices flowing.
Maybe I put myself under too much pressure, but when he actually started hitting me with various implements, I just wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t like it, it hurt and it wasn’t fun. I didn’t even feel like enduring it for the sake of his pleasure. The magic wand just brought more pain and 6 forced orgasms that I didn’t enjoy whatsoever – despite my general orgasm-addiction. I felt like the biggest failure in the world when he untied me fairly soon and told me to come into the living room after having calmed down. I curled up in the bed and gave myself some time to recover.
The moment I walked into the living room it was almost like entering a different world. I was suddenly feeling incredibly submissive and after taking a sip of water I could only kneel down with my eyes closed, not being able to speak or think. I doubt that I’ve ever given a blow-job during which my whole world only evolved around his cock before. I always love feeling his cock in my mouth, but this time it almost felt like a religious act, like something sacred. When he started fucking me I was already in some other place… Very intense sensations, no thoughts, lots of screaming, lots of orgasms.
When he was done with me I couldn’t do anything but lie on the bed and float around in my subspace, somehow wishing the feeling would never end. I didn’t mind that he left me alone after making sure I was alright, stroking my head and kissing me lightly. I drifted off into an amazingly content sleepy state until he woke me up over an hour later.
I don’t know if this evening was in any way satisfying for him, but despite the difficult start, the result was a very unusual surprise for me. Looking back I can’t tell if I really was as much of a wimp as I thought I was, or if he actually hit me quite hard. I don’t know if he intended me to cry and beg and plead and not enjoy myself at all. I can’t tell if I pleased him or not. The joys of our dynamic. I never know anything for sure and it fascinates me more than I want to admit.
Happy birthday.
When I lay on the bed after dinner and he started tying me up the complaints started. Somehow it just didn’t feel right. The rope was too tight and my position too uncomfortable. I was hot and sweating underneath the PVC dress. For some reason I couldn’t get into the right headspace, even though twentytwo had sent me the beginning of a very interesting story/scenario that he wanted to act out. I always struggle a little bit with role plays as I most like to be dominated by the man I love, not by a random pimp, king, master, teacher or whatever people come up with. However I liked the story and the way he talked to me and touched my body certainly got my juices flowing.
Maybe I put myself under too much pressure, but when he actually started hitting me with various implements, I just wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t like it, it hurt and it wasn’t fun. I didn’t even feel like enduring it for the sake of his pleasure. The magic wand just brought more pain and 6 forced orgasms that I didn’t enjoy whatsoever – despite my general orgasm-addiction. I felt like the biggest failure in the world when he untied me fairly soon and told me to come into the living room after having calmed down. I curled up in the bed and gave myself some time to recover.
The moment I walked into the living room it was almost like entering a different world. I was suddenly feeling incredibly submissive and after taking a sip of water I could only kneel down with my eyes closed, not being able to speak or think. I doubt that I’ve ever given a blow-job during which my whole world only evolved around his cock before. I always love feeling his cock in my mouth, but this time it almost felt like a religious act, like something sacred. When he started fucking me I was already in some other place… Very intense sensations, no thoughts, lots of screaming, lots of orgasms.
When he was done with me I couldn’t do anything but lie on the bed and float around in my subspace, somehow wishing the feeling would never end. I didn’t mind that he left me alone after making sure I was alright, stroking my head and kissing me lightly. I drifted off into an amazingly content sleepy state until he woke me up over an hour later.
I don’t know if this evening was in any way satisfying for him, but despite the difficult start, the result was a very unusual surprise for me. Looking back I can’t tell if I really was as much of a wimp as I thought I was, or if he actually hit me quite hard. I don’t know if he intended me to cry and beg and plead and not enjoy myself at all. I can’t tell if I pleased him or not. The joys of our dynamic. I never know anything for sure and it fascinates me more than I want to admit.
Happy birthday.
Jun 25, 2010
Thoughts
Submission for me goes hand in hand with dependence and vulnerability. In theory it is exceptionally fulfilling to completely open myself, to allow myself to be emotionally dependent and to be vulnerable and easily hurt. I cannot submit while guarding my feelings.
On the other hand it isn’t easy to be strong despite being vulnerable. To put myself before anything or anyone else once in a while.
Now where twentytwo is on vacation, I’m realising once more how much my happiness depends on my relationship. It is a big part of my life, but it isn’t everything. Still my thoughts are mainly revolving around my partner, around twentytwo. My thoughts revolve around how much I hate this situation and how much I long for being acknowledged by The First Family. I keep thinking about how bad the timing of this vacation was and how better planning on his side could have prevented this from happening. I can’t stop wondering about how many times he will be in touch with me in the next weeks and how many times I’ll get to hear his voice. I understand that he doesn’t want to make promises he might not be able to keep. On the other hand keeping a promise might have a lot to do with the ‘right’ priorities. Not being his first priority is a reality I’m willing to accept. In theory.
My problems are my expectations. I want to get certain things out of a relationship. Love. Security. Reassurance. Sex. Fun. Happiness as the common denominator. I know that my partner isn’t there to supply me with this happiness I’m looking for. A healthy relationship and a loving partner will certainly contribute to it, but if that happiness isn’t within me, I won’t get it, simply because I’m in a relationship with someone. Especially if that someone is a dominant sadist.
Being submissive sometimes makes it impossible for me to step back, to take a look at my life from the outside. My life is absolutely fantastic, I love what I’m doing, where I’m living and with whom. I enjoy what I’m studying and I’m looking forward to a hopefully exciting future. I know all of that and I still let myself be consumed by my own emotions. I get caught up in negative thinking and I focus on everything that’s going wrong.
Submission doesn’t work without being vulnerable and relationships don’t work without being hurt. It is a challenge to be strong at the same time and to be happy despite some sort of complications. It is a challenge to accept that twentytwo isn’t as openly emotional as I am and that he deals with problems in an entirely different way. I like my love life to be a challenge, but right now it is a lot to cope with. I’m asking myself a lot of questions without finding sufficient answers.
I feel like I’ve been at this point before. A point where I wonder if my relationship brings me more tears than happiness. It is an option to walk away, but I can never walk away from myself. My emotional dependence will stay with me and anything else that is causing me issues.
And then there is love and the feeling that I’ve arrived somewhere I’d like to stay. I love twentytwo and even though love isn't always enough, I know that there is a lot that we have in common despite the obvious differences. Everything else I hope will sort itself out over time. Me being stronger and more accepting of a situation that is new and complex. Me truly coming to terms with my submission and what it does to me and my feelings, accepting it for what it is and simply dealing with it. Dealing with it in a way that doesn’t compromise my happiness in the way it does now. Him being honest with the most important people in his life, standing up for his love and doing what truly makes him happy. And maybe that is what makes US happy. Whatever that is: Happiness.
On the other hand it isn’t easy to be strong despite being vulnerable. To put myself before anything or anyone else once in a while.
Now where twentytwo is on vacation, I’m realising once more how much my happiness depends on my relationship. It is a big part of my life, but it isn’t everything. Still my thoughts are mainly revolving around my partner, around twentytwo. My thoughts revolve around how much I hate this situation and how much I long for being acknowledged by The First Family. I keep thinking about how bad the timing of this vacation was and how better planning on his side could have prevented this from happening. I can’t stop wondering about how many times he will be in touch with me in the next weeks and how many times I’ll get to hear his voice. I understand that he doesn’t want to make promises he might not be able to keep. On the other hand keeping a promise might have a lot to do with the ‘right’ priorities. Not being his first priority is a reality I’m willing to accept. In theory.
My problems are my expectations. I want to get certain things out of a relationship. Love. Security. Reassurance. Sex. Fun. Happiness as the common denominator. I know that my partner isn’t there to supply me with this happiness I’m looking for. A healthy relationship and a loving partner will certainly contribute to it, but if that happiness isn’t within me, I won’t get it, simply because I’m in a relationship with someone. Especially if that someone is a dominant sadist.
Being submissive sometimes makes it impossible for me to step back, to take a look at my life from the outside. My life is absolutely fantastic, I love what I’m doing, where I’m living and with whom. I enjoy what I’m studying and I’m looking forward to a hopefully exciting future. I know all of that and I still let myself be consumed by my own emotions. I get caught up in negative thinking and I focus on everything that’s going wrong.
Submission doesn’t work without being vulnerable and relationships don’t work without being hurt. It is a challenge to be strong at the same time and to be happy despite some sort of complications. It is a challenge to accept that twentytwo isn’t as openly emotional as I am and that he deals with problems in an entirely different way. I like my love life to be a challenge, but right now it is a lot to cope with. I’m asking myself a lot of questions without finding sufficient answers.
I feel like I’ve been at this point before. A point where I wonder if my relationship brings me more tears than happiness. It is an option to walk away, but I can never walk away from myself. My emotional dependence will stay with me and anything else that is causing me issues.
And then there is love and the feeling that I’ve arrived somewhere I’d like to stay. I love twentytwo and even though love isn't always enough, I know that there is a lot that we have in common despite the obvious differences. Everything else I hope will sort itself out over time. Me being stronger and more accepting of a situation that is new and complex. Me truly coming to terms with my submission and what it does to me and my feelings, accepting it for what it is and simply dealing with it. Dealing with it in a way that doesn’t compromise my happiness in the way it does now. Him being honest with the most important people in his life, standing up for his love and doing what truly makes him happy. And maybe that is what makes US happy. Whatever that is: Happiness.
Jun 11, 2010
He beats our daughter!
Something on those lines must have been part of my parent’s thoughts when they met twentytwo. To my surprise they neither started a conversation about kink, nor did they make embarrassing remarks about their own sexual preferences. If this was simply due to a lack of vocabulary in that area or general politeness I can’t tell. I only know that I’m proud of them for so many reasons.
They met twentytwo without making a lot of fuss about it. Yes, initially my dad had refused to meet him, but he quickly changed his mind. (Thanks, mum)
They were absolutely lovely and cute and concerned about making a good impression. My dad even asked me in advance for some words in English that he thought would be useful for having a conversation.
They made me feel incredibly loved and accepted. It must have been a big step for them to meet ‘the boyfriend’ who is only marginally younger than they are. Who has a past they know about and that has caused me some distress in the past. They know (roughly) what we are into and I’m sure it took some effort not to imagine their daughter being beaten and abused by the relatively sane looking man sitting next to her.
This man made me really happy when he agreed to meet my parents and I think he did a great job trying to understand my parent’s school English, looking at my mum’s (nice but rather boring) pictures and letting her try his Béarnaise sauce.
I was surprised that the whole situation wasn’t as weird as I expected it to be. I thought it would be more than strange to see my dad and twentytwo in the same room. To see my ‘Papa’ and my Daddy chatting to each other. To look at my mum and twentytwo and to think that they would be a nice couple as well. Obviously it was a bit awkward, but on the whole the evening left me with a very happy feeling about my amazingly tolerant parents and a boyfriend that cares enough about me to meet ‘The Germans’.
They met twentytwo without making a lot of fuss about it. Yes, initially my dad had refused to meet him, but he quickly changed his mind. (Thanks, mum)
They were absolutely lovely and cute and concerned about making a good impression. My dad even asked me in advance for some words in English that he thought would be useful for having a conversation.
They made me feel incredibly loved and accepted. It must have been a big step for them to meet ‘the boyfriend’ who is only marginally younger than they are. Who has a past they know about and that has caused me some distress in the past. They know (roughly) what we are into and I’m sure it took some effort not to imagine their daughter being beaten and abused by the relatively sane looking man sitting next to her.
This man made me really happy when he agreed to meet my parents and I think he did a great job trying to understand my parent’s school English, looking at my mum’s (nice but rather boring) pictures and letting her try his Béarnaise sauce.
I was surprised that the whole situation wasn’t as weird as I expected it to be. I thought it would be more than strange to see my dad and twentytwo in the same room. To see my ‘Papa’ and my Daddy chatting to each other. To look at my mum and twentytwo and to think that they would be a nice couple as well. Obviously it was a bit awkward, but on the whole the evening left me with a very happy feeling about my amazingly tolerant parents and a boyfriend that cares enough about me to meet ‘The Germans’.
May 26, 2010
One year
One year ago I joined a German slave register. A few weeks after I went to my first munch and maybe two months after my first kinky sex. Definately nothing I would call bdsm. If I remember correctly, the sex was just a bit rough and I had a cucumber shoved up my arse.
Several encounters like that followed. No more cucumbers, but plenty of pseudo-dominant male fantasies came true.
I discovered my kink for doctors and men in suits. Realised that an awful lot of men still have pictures of their ex - girlfriends around. Or that they are cheating. I don’t fuck men who say they are in a relationship, but girlfriends I don’t know about?! I guess there isn’t that much of a difference really.
I had men with cuddly toys in their bed and ones that didn’t want me to stand up while taking a shower. There were men I’m still seriously scared of because they confused pure violence with bdsm. Others I actually really liked, but casual sex is rarely a good start for something like a relationship. Not that this was something they were actually looking for. I was.
There’s only one person from that journey that I still truly care for. Because he cared for me. Helped me to take care of myself. Be rational and reflective, without losing faith and the love deep inside me.
I told myself for a while that I was simply looking for experiences, but I wasn’t. I was looking for someone to love and for someone that happened to satisfy my kinks. Very late I realised that this wasn’t how that was going to happen.
That’s when I started my book. And my conscious journey that (sort of) led me to understand who I am and what I want. Yes, I have a book that contains the names of the people I had some form of sex with. I’m still convinced that this is a fabulous idea that will spare me an awkward moment in the future. I won’t be introduced to a colleague and wonder if I slept with him or not because he looks so familiar. I’ll just have a look at my book. Not that I carry it around with me or anything… but still. It’s like a very organized diary. Dates. Names. Numbers. Rational. I find it fascinating to look at now.
I’m still amazed at how many experiences I managed to fit into this past year. It felt like a long journey and in the end I was tired of travelling.
That’s when I arrived. And I stayed.
Several encounters like that followed. No more cucumbers, but plenty of pseudo-dominant male fantasies came true.
I discovered my kink for doctors and men in suits. Realised that an awful lot of men still have pictures of their ex - girlfriends around. Or that they are cheating. I don’t fuck men who say they are in a relationship, but girlfriends I don’t know about?! I guess there isn’t that much of a difference really.
I had men with cuddly toys in their bed and ones that didn’t want me to stand up while taking a shower. There were men I’m still seriously scared of because they confused pure violence with bdsm. Others I actually really liked, but casual sex is rarely a good start for something like a relationship. Not that this was something they were actually looking for. I was.
There’s only one person from that journey that I still truly care for. Because he cared for me. Helped me to take care of myself. Be rational and reflective, without losing faith and the love deep inside me.
I told myself for a while that I was simply looking for experiences, but I wasn’t. I was looking for someone to love and for someone that happened to satisfy my kinks. Very late I realised that this wasn’t how that was going to happen.
That’s when I started my book. And my conscious journey that (sort of) led me to understand who I am and what I want. Yes, I have a book that contains the names of the people I had some form of sex with. I’m still convinced that this is a fabulous idea that will spare me an awkward moment in the future. I won’t be introduced to a colleague and wonder if I slept with him or not because he looks so familiar. I’ll just have a look at my book. Not that I carry it around with me or anything… but still. It’s like a very organized diary. Dates. Names. Numbers. Rational. I find it fascinating to look at now.
I’m still amazed at how many experiences I managed to fit into this past year. It felt like a long journey and in the end I was tired of travelling.
That’s when I arrived. And I stayed.
May 23, 2010
His little girl
Sitting in the living room and trying to study I can hear him in the kitchen talking to her.
I’ve seen pictures, listened to her on the phone and looked at her toys. I know when her birthday is and when she wins a prize for the prettiest drawing in her class, I’ll probably hear about it. She prefers to take the scooter to school and she takes a sweetie to bed. She’s really cute when sleeping and has the longest eye-lashes ever. She has a pink little cell phone and sends the most adorable texts poking fun at her dad.
She’s a little phantom. She’s always around and at the same time never here. She completes him and needs him as much he needs her. I’m not part of it. However I feel like I am. I want to know all about her, meet her, smile at her, speak to her. Struggle with her accent and ask her what some word means. Explain others to her. Teach her some German and how to dance. When I cook lunch I wonder if she would help me if she’d be here. I can picture us walking along the river and being all girly and giggly and fun and childish and just us. She’s part of my thoughts a lot. Warm thoughts that often give me a very happy feeling. I like her.
It’s strange because actually I’ve never met her. Nevertheless I feel like she belongs to my life now. I’d have never known about her, but there’s something that connects us. Her dad who lives in two different worlds. I’m looking forward to the time when those two worlds fuse and become one. One complex but happy place that makes him feel perfect and complete. Because of us. Me and her.
I’ve seen pictures, listened to her on the phone and looked at her toys. I know when her birthday is and when she wins a prize for the prettiest drawing in her class, I’ll probably hear about it. She prefers to take the scooter to school and she takes a sweetie to bed. She’s really cute when sleeping and has the longest eye-lashes ever. She has a pink little cell phone and sends the most adorable texts poking fun at her dad.
She’s a little phantom. She’s always around and at the same time never here. She completes him and needs him as much he needs her. I’m not part of it. However I feel like I am. I want to know all about her, meet her, smile at her, speak to her. Struggle with her accent and ask her what some word means. Explain others to her. Teach her some German and how to dance. When I cook lunch I wonder if she would help me if she’d be here. I can picture us walking along the river and being all girly and giggly and fun and childish and just us. She’s part of my thoughts a lot. Warm thoughts that often give me a very happy feeling. I like her.
It’s strange because actually I’ve never met her. Nevertheless I feel like she belongs to my life now. I’d have never known about her, but there’s something that connects us. Her dad who lives in two different worlds. I’m looking forward to the time when those two worlds fuse and become one. One complex but happy place that makes him feel perfect and complete. Because of us. Me and her.
May 14, 2010
Anticipation
My emotions are living in a house. A mansion with hundreds of rooms, some smaller, some bigger, depending on how much space an emotion needs at any given time.
Tonight the ‚anticipation room‘ is one of the biggest, most colourful and creative rooms of the whole house. It has a huge walk-in closet with a little flared rubber dresses hanging in it, transparent, or maybe purple. I can see myself in the mirror wearing it and twentytwo smiling at my attempts to pull the dress further down. Does it matter how long a dress is, if it’s transparent? There’s also a little jewelry box with a collar in it that I can’t touch. But only the thought of it makes me smile…
One of the big windows is looking out over Shanghai by night. Maybe I will be there soon – or maybe not. In the corner a little fireplace. Little pieces of paper slowly turning to ash. ‘Deontology’, ‘strategy of war’, ‘ f’(x) = ? … I’m done.
There is also kinky corner with fantasies enclosed in shiny black air bubbles. One seems to be about to burst. I can see myself in it, silently crying all alone. Begging to be led free, offering my body to twentytwo. Wanting to please. Desperate to be fucked, but not prepared to give in – yet. Struggling, kicking, biting. Rope cutting into my skin, my voice being silenced. Considering to bite what silences me, but ultimately being too scared to land under the patio. Being hugged and loved and just being to be with him again.
Vorfreude
Tonight the ‚anticipation room‘ is one of the biggest, most colourful and creative rooms of the whole house. It has a huge walk-in closet with a little flared rubber dresses hanging in it, transparent, or maybe purple. I can see myself in the mirror wearing it and twentytwo smiling at my attempts to pull the dress further down. Does it matter how long a dress is, if it’s transparent? There’s also a little jewelry box with a collar in it that I can’t touch. But only the thought of it makes me smile…
One of the big windows is looking out over Shanghai by night. Maybe I will be there soon – or maybe not. In the corner a little fireplace. Little pieces of paper slowly turning to ash. ‘Deontology’, ‘strategy of war’, ‘ f’(x) = ? … I’m done.
There is also kinky corner with fantasies enclosed in shiny black air bubbles. One seems to be about to burst. I can see myself in it, silently crying all alone. Begging to be led free, offering my body to twentytwo. Wanting to please. Desperate to be fucked, but not prepared to give in – yet. Struggling, kicking, biting. Rope cutting into my skin, my voice being silenced. Considering to bite what silences me, but ultimately being too scared to land under the patio. Being hugged and loved and just being to be with him again.
Vorfreude
May 11, 2010
Numbers
Do you know [insert a 20-year-old song]?
No.
But you know [insert long forgotten and/or dead popstar, preferably from Britain]?
No.
Such a shame. You must know [insert British television program from the 80s] though.
No. Do you know Loriot?
Who?
He’s really famous in Germany.
And I would know him why?
Exactly, why would I know all those 20-year-old songs, dead singers or – from a German perspective – not so funny TV programmes?
They are classics?!
So is Loriot. Or have you never heard of Herrn Müller-Lüdenscheid before?!
That’s what twentytwo years can do to your conversations. Or to your relationship if you take it a step further. Twentytwo years and two different nationalities.
Sometimes I lose track of how many times I’ve said ‘No, I don’t know.’ in one night. Sometimes I want to scream ‘Think, before you ask. Think about how (un)likely it is that I know this particular song/person/film/TV show.’ Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me who hasn’t watched all those classics and hasn’t got a clue about music. Sometimes I forget about all those things I know and he doesn’t.
Loriot. Michael Mittermeier, Thomas Gottschalk, Silbermond, Nina Hagen, Stefan Raab, Löwenzahn.
But sometimes I love it. Watching the Clangers on youtube or Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang on a lazy sunday morning. Being told about something that happened when I was really small. Saying things like ‘I wonder what you did while I was born?’ and getting ‘I walked to my first job’ as an answer. Receiving answers for questions I haven’t even asked and insights into a world full of anecdotes and memories.
I love to be in a relationship with someone who is twice my age. Roughly. At the moment it’s actually a bit more. It’s hot. We don’t have to age-play. I can look up to him all the time. Admire his knowledge and experience. Be small. Looking at him with big blue eyes, sucking in every bit (of information) he gives me.
Until I put on my 14cm heels. Then I’m on the same level again. Speaking to him in German even though he doesn’t understand. Giggling about the two men in the bathtub, feeling somewhat equal again. Actually it’s the best of two worlds. At least until he asks ‘But you know Bono, don’t you?’
I do.
May 7, 2010
Cuts
Blood, needles, cuts and the likes have always been a hard limit for me. However my problem with limits is that sooner or later they seem to become a very desirable thing to try. Since I'm not the person for a huge amount of fantasising, I realise I would like to try something and then get on with it.
But I wanted to be cut and not cut myself. Therefore I obviously had to convince someone to cut me. I felt a little rejected by twentytwo when I mentioned it for the first time, but also understood that it wasn't really his thing and that cutting someone is in a whole different category than spanking and such. It's serious harm, it might be permanent, it's not like a bruise that might look scary at first but will vanish after a few days.
I kept mentioning my desire to be cut once in a while and - I don't know what brought about his change of mind - he agreed to look for 'something sharp' at LAM last weekend. I couldn't quite believe my luck. I really wanted to try this now.
To be honest I hadn't done a lot of reading up on the topic and I just envisioned 'something sharp and scary' to cut me. Preferably a big shiny knife. The only thing we could find at LAM were scalpels that reminded me much more of my very painful and non-successful wrist surgery than brought up images of a hot scene. But I still really wanted to try. I mean, I really wanted to try.
When he left to get the car I decided to sneak back and buy some of those scalpels. I very proudly showed them off to him in the car and again was very surprised when he agreed on using them. Later that night we decided that this whole things shouldn't be taken lightly and that some preparation and lots more information on the topic was needed. Some lovely people pointed us in the right direction, Boots provided some equipment and the thought slowly becoming reality left me with a very unusual feeling. Something inside tightened by the thought of twentytwo with a scalpel in his hand. Pictures of big wounds and lots of blood. I was getting seriously scared.
I sort of hoped that as soon as I arrived at his place we would sit down, talk about it and do it. Unfortunately he had decided to punish me for making him do something he really didn't want to be doing.
The moment he hit my breasts with the flogger I started crying. Every blow of the crop and cane made me jump and even though he had barely started I was already in tears, begging him to stop. Inside I was so scared I couldn't even take a spanking. Thanks to his good sense of judgement he soon untied me and led me into the play room. At first I just sat there with my eyes closed, feeling the pain and trying not to think of the cutting.
After a while I opened my eyes and found everything from bandages to antiseptic cream on the bed next to me. I smiled to myself and all of a sudden I was getting quite excited. Part of it was that I kept telling myself that it wouldn't be that bad. That it just couldn't be. It would be fine. Just fine.
However the tightening sensation came back as soon as we unwrapped one of the scalpels and both tried to cut lightly into a tangerine. I couldn't believe how easily the blade cut through the skin. A clean deap cut. Very deep.
'No pressure' I told him and we both laughed nervously. I still really wanted to try.
My hands tied together I lay down on the bed, watching him putting on his latex glove and sitting down next to me, with the scalpel in his hand. A very powerful sight I will never forget.
The first cut I could hardly feel. Or maybe I didn't feel it at all. It took some time for him to find the right pressure and for me to adjust to this new feeling. In the end he wrote a little S on my thigh. For Sirebel, submission or my name. It was over far too quickly, but I was still massively proud we had done it and very thankful for him being as careful and caring as he was.
It was intense, but it wasn't sexual. I wasn't aroused and therefore complained a lot when he started to spank me. I knew there wasn't even a slight possibiliy that he would hit the fresh cuts, but I felt too vulnerable to cope with more pain. When he started fucking me I didn't even want that. Sometimes he knows me better than myself. I did want to be fucked and I felt complete and truly happy being in his arms afterwards, smiling and admiring the S shape in its bright red colour.
But I wanted to be cut and not cut myself. Therefore I obviously had to convince someone to cut me. I felt a little rejected by twentytwo when I mentioned it for the first time, but also understood that it wasn't really his thing and that cutting someone is in a whole different category than spanking and such. It's serious harm, it might be permanent, it's not like a bruise that might look scary at first but will vanish after a few days.
I kept mentioning my desire to be cut once in a while and - I don't know what brought about his change of mind - he agreed to look for 'something sharp' at LAM last weekend. I couldn't quite believe my luck. I really wanted to try this now.
To be honest I hadn't done a lot of reading up on the topic and I just envisioned 'something sharp and scary' to cut me. Preferably a big shiny knife. The only thing we could find at LAM were scalpels that reminded me much more of my very painful and non-successful wrist surgery than brought up images of a hot scene. But I still really wanted to try. I mean, I really wanted to try.
When he left to get the car I decided to sneak back and buy some of those scalpels. I very proudly showed them off to him in the car and again was very surprised when he agreed on using them. Later that night we decided that this whole things shouldn't be taken lightly and that some preparation and lots more information on the topic was needed. Some lovely people pointed us in the right direction, Boots provided some equipment and the thought slowly becoming reality left me with a very unusual feeling. Something inside tightened by the thought of twentytwo with a scalpel in his hand. Pictures of big wounds and lots of blood. I was getting seriously scared.
I sort of hoped that as soon as I arrived at his place we would sit down, talk about it and do it. Unfortunately he had decided to punish me for making him do something he really didn't want to be doing.
The moment he hit my breasts with the flogger I started crying. Every blow of the crop and cane made me jump and even though he had barely started I was already in tears, begging him to stop. Inside I was so scared I couldn't even take a spanking. Thanks to his good sense of judgement he soon untied me and led me into the play room. At first I just sat there with my eyes closed, feeling the pain and trying not to think of the cutting.
After a while I opened my eyes and found everything from bandages to antiseptic cream on the bed next to me. I smiled to myself and all of a sudden I was getting quite excited. Part of it was that I kept telling myself that it wouldn't be that bad. That it just couldn't be. It would be fine. Just fine.
However the tightening sensation came back as soon as we unwrapped one of the scalpels and both tried to cut lightly into a tangerine. I couldn't believe how easily the blade cut through the skin. A clean deap cut. Very deep.
'No pressure' I told him and we both laughed nervously. I still really wanted to try.
My hands tied together I lay down on the bed, watching him putting on his latex glove and sitting down next to me, with the scalpel in his hand. A very powerful sight I will never forget.
The first cut I could hardly feel. Or maybe I didn't feel it at all. It took some time for him to find the right pressure and for me to adjust to this new feeling. In the end he wrote a little S on my thigh. For Sirebel, submission or my name. It was over far too quickly, but I was still massively proud we had done it and very thankful for him being as careful and caring as he was.
It was intense, but it wasn't sexual. I wasn't aroused and therefore complained a lot when he started to spank me. I knew there wasn't even a slight possibiliy that he would hit the fresh cuts, but I felt too vulnerable to cope with more pain. When he started fucking me I didn't even want that. Sometimes he knows me better than myself. I did want to be fucked and I felt complete and truly happy being in his arms afterwards, smiling and admiring the S shape in its bright red colour.
May 6, 2010
Women
I had been in touch with him only briefly in the morning, but we agreed to meet up the same night. One of the few opportunities to go to a fetish event in my hometown presented itself and I wasn't going to let anything distract me from attending. At first I was desperate for someone to accompany me, but in the end I realised that I could probably have more fun on my own than with an open-minded but non-kinky male friend who I would have dragged along for the lack of choice.
Nevertheless I was still happy that the random guy who seemed genuinely nice would be there. So would his partner.
The moment they walked into the bar I knew that it was going to be an interesting night. Being primarly focused on men I started flirting with him and something inside me wished that she would just disappear. Don't get me wrong. She was hot. Tiny. Energetic. A tad masculine. Dominant. I still wanted her to leave.
At some point I found myself over the random guy's knee, certainly enjoying myself. She was nowhere to be seen. When she appeared she seemed like a different person. Corset, petticoat, heels. Her masculinity traded in for fragile beauty. Little flames danced in her eyes. Flames of jealousy at the sight of me being spanked by him. They had told me they were only casual play partners, but what she saw didn't please her.
I was told to kiss her. I was told to kiss the girl with the little flames in her eyes. The girl who hated me in just that moment. And who liked me at the same time.
The moment my lips touched hers I loved her. For her beauty and grace. For her softness and strength. For her energy and intellect. For her white and perfect breasts, for her long brown hair. For her generosity to share despite the dancing flames in her eyes.
It was the moment I realized that I love women. Just for what they are.
Last night twentytwo asked me who I would have liked to fuck.
We had been to the U35 munch and I was confronted with a feeling I haven't quite experienced before. Yes, I knew I liked women. But I was convinced I would only be attracted to one in thousand, or maybe to one in a million. Sitting in the corner, looking from girl to girl, I realized that two in twenty was maybe a more accurate estimate. Or one in ten to make use of my maths skills.
Slim, short hair, pretty face, pale skin. Intellect, character, humour. There were at least two women who fit that discription. And I did want to fuck them. Be fucked. Probably hurt as well.
It was a strange feeling to be attracted to more women in the room than men. Powerful and liberating. It made me feel happy and alive. Because I'm going through life with open eyes. Seeing what I haven't seen before.
Nevertheless I was still happy that the random guy who seemed genuinely nice would be there. So would his partner.
The moment they walked into the bar I knew that it was going to be an interesting night. Being primarly focused on men I started flirting with him and something inside me wished that she would just disappear. Don't get me wrong. She was hot. Tiny. Energetic. A tad masculine. Dominant. I still wanted her to leave.
At some point I found myself over the random guy's knee, certainly enjoying myself. She was nowhere to be seen. When she appeared she seemed like a different person. Corset, petticoat, heels. Her masculinity traded in for fragile beauty. Little flames danced in her eyes. Flames of jealousy at the sight of me being spanked by him. They had told me they were only casual play partners, but what she saw didn't please her.
I was told to kiss her. I was told to kiss the girl with the little flames in her eyes. The girl who hated me in just that moment. And who liked me at the same time.
The moment my lips touched hers I loved her. For her beauty and grace. For her softness and strength. For her energy and intellect. For her white and perfect breasts, for her long brown hair. For her generosity to share despite the dancing flames in her eyes.
It was the moment I realized that I love women. Just for what they are.
Last night twentytwo asked me who I would have liked to fuck.
We had been to the U35 munch and I was confronted with a feeling I haven't quite experienced before. Yes, I knew I liked women. But I was convinced I would only be attracted to one in thousand, or maybe to one in a million. Sitting in the corner, looking from girl to girl, I realized that two in twenty was maybe a more accurate estimate. Or one in ten to make use of my maths skills.
Slim, short hair, pretty face, pale skin. Intellect, character, humour. There were at least two women who fit that discription. And I did want to fuck them. Be fucked. Probably hurt as well.
It was a strange feeling to be attracted to more women in the room than men. Powerful and liberating. It made me feel happy and alive. Because I'm going through life with open eyes. Seeing what I haven't seen before.
May 4, 2010
Target
I want to write about my thoughts. Things that make me smile and make me cry. About things that happened and will happen. About me. My relationship to Twentytwo. About love. And about BDSM.
I want you to be a part of me. To think what I think. To feel what I feel. Nur für einen Augenblick.
Puppengesicht
I want you to be a part of me. To think what I think. To feel what I feel. Nur für einen Augenblick.
Puppengesicht
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