In about 3 weeks, I’m going to get double-Topped at Folsom.  Double-teamed by my beloved, evil-genius Sir (Roxy) while losing my man-to-man submission cherry to Saynine, a physically imposing and no-less evil genius of D/s.

I hinted at it in a post last week and wrote about it in my Microfantasy Monday story today and now it’s been leaked on twitter:  Roxy and I have invited Saynine to do a scene with us at Folsom on Saturday night during the “This Shit Will Fuck U Up 5″ party, at the SF Citadel.

It’s possible I’m insane.  It’s definite that I’ll have an unforgettable experience.

The three of us have been in discussions for a while now about what we want out of the scene, limits, ground rules, etc.

Attending Folsom, subbing to Roxy and Saynine, being walked around the Fair on a leash behind my gorgeous Sir — all of this is a huge milestone for someone who never saw being submissive as one of my life goals.  For most of my life, playing a submissive role was something to be tolerated for a brief period in the course of having sex with someone.  And even then, it was limited to some very light bondage and impact play.

I had never seriously considered true submission before Roxy came into my life.  Even as we began doing D/s scenes, my attitude was cynical, skeptical.  I played at being submissive at first, put it on like an ill-fitting costume. Laughed it off, especially if it started to feel good.  I wasn’t truly submissive, but I could play the part if I decided to.

That’s what I told myself.

Between then and now, I’ve learned a lot about myself and a lot about what D/s is and isn’t, at least with regard to me.  I sub, but I’m not weak.  I sub, but I’m not inferior.  I submit to find out more about who I am, about my fears and motivations, not to hide from them.  When I serve Roxy, I serve her with strength, honor and sacrifice.  She helps me find and explore my fears, she tests my limits because she knows that’s what I need and want.  I submit because I want to be tested, I want to perform at my peak and I want to be found worthy.

D/s is made even more complex because of my genderqueer composition.  Casey subs differently than Kyle.  Casey finds it easier to slip into subspace, enjoys serving and being a slut for Roxy.  Kyle wants to serve, but is more defiant and can’t give in without pushing back, a lot.  He sees his service as something that must be earned.  In any case, as stated in a previous post:

She is the Dom of my Dreams, the one I didn’t think existed, the one I never believed I’d find.  I didn’t even believe I could ask for this kind of fortune, and, really, I didn’t know how.  But we found each other, and together, we’re creating something amazing.

In the process of exploring D/s through my identities, I’ve opened up to Roxy about my deepest, darkest fantasies, my best kept secrets, the taboos I revel in but keep to myself.  One of the areas we’ve explored together is Kyle’s faggot fantasies.  We’ve played out a lot of scenes involving Kyle and male-on-male interactions of various kinds:  Bad Daddy, Bad Uncle, Bad Stranger.  She’s also used the specter of Bad Stranger as a third in our cyber scenes.  She’s tormented me with visions of being bound and blindfolded while she invites a ‘friend’ to enjoy my services.  She’s tormented me (deliciously) when I’ve expressed crushes on men. All of this has built up to the point where she asked me if I would like to scene with a certain Bay Area Dom during Folsom weekend.  I tell you what, I might not have actually paused for years considering the pros and cons of that idea, but it sure felt like it.

You may be wondering, why Saynine?  My answer is, are you kidding?  But, OK, that’s a legitimate question, so here’s the answer:  He’s big,  strong and intelligent, he’s cruel and controlled.  He’s also extremely respectful, open minded and thinks a lot about both the psychological and physical aspects of D/s, and I’ve enjoyed his discussions and writings on the subject.   And, last but not least, he’s the kind of big, bad, scary man who dominates my darkest back alley, truck-stop, skanky restroom fantasies.

This is something I wrote to help Saynine understand what I was looking for in our scene:

I’ve had sex with a couple of guys in my life, not great experiences, they happened in my early 20s and weren’t super impressive.  Those were experiences my female self had, and over the years, I’ve decided that maybe they weren’t truly representative of what could happen I were more mindful and involved.

But in terms of our Folsom play, we’re not talking about my female self, we’re talking about Kyle and he has a different attitude about sex with men.  I can tell you what the draw is for him and it will be multi-fold and as complete as I can articulate at this moment in time.  He’s always been drawn to strong, capable men. We both love faggot porn, but for him it’s almost a religious experience.  His favorite scenes involve very muscular, strong, stoic men.. loves to see these very strong, masculine guys open themselves up to pleasure.  Some scenes that resonate (and I’ve mentioned them) are the scenes where a new member is being brought into a fraternal group.  The new member is tested for fitness by the membership.  He’s being challenged, he won’t be allowed into the circle unless he meets the membership criteria.  Sometimes the initiation is simply the new member being made available for use by the others.  Other times it involves more physical challenges, pushing him through humiliating situations, tests of endurance and strength, ending with being of service to his fellows in any way they see fit.

The idea of being tested and found worthy is what turns Kyle on.  He will endure humiliation, pain, physical challenges, all with the goal of being welcomed in as an equal and valued member of the group.  Having not been socialized as a male and not being seen by the outside world as a male, this idea has taken on an almost mythical significance.  To be tested and found worthy of acceptance by other males is something Kyle craves deeply.

What else attracts me about being the ‘little s’ part of a D/s dynamic?  You may wonder why I wouldn’t strive to be a Dom given that I want to show control and strength and power.  Well, what I’ve learned in the past two years is that, even though it may appear that the Top is completely in control and gets to make all the decisions, as Corey Alexander put it in his Faggot Play Workshop hand-out (thanks to Roxy for bringing this back from Butch Voices 2009):

The bottom sketches the landscape for the top, the top drives through it.

This is the something I didn’t understand until I’d really started to dig into the D/s relationship Roxy and I were creating.  As my Sir, she puts a lot of energy into understanding what motivates me, what I fear, my triggers, limits and cravings.  She puts in a lot of time creating scenarios for us to explore.  I know she enjoys it a lot, but it’s also a lot of work.  Not only that, I love attention.  When I’m subbing, I have the top’s full attention.  Imagine how happy my attention whore’s gonna be to have the full attention of two tops, plus an audience?

A lot of complex interesting stuff has come up for me internally and for Sir and I as a D/s couple in the course of talking about and planning for our scene with Saynine.  I am very loyal and devoted to Roxy as my true Sir.  No one will ever take her place, no one could.  She is as perfectly tuned to me as anyone could possibly be.  That said, I’m pretty darned excited about the challenge of submitting to a man, and to Saynine specifically.  It’s going to be a new and different experience, and I’m grateful to Roxy for making it happen. And that’s really an important detail.  Roxy is my Sir.  She is creating this experience for me, She is helping me explore some of my deepest desires and trickiest fears.  She’s the boss of me, in the end, it’s all about Her and I and the experience we’ve created together.  I know She’ll have mixed feelings seeing me submit to someone else, just as I’ll feel conflicts in submitting to someone else.

What buoys me and keeps me safe in my head is knowing She’ll be with me through the whole experience.  Not that I don’t trust Saynine, but She knows me, knows my triggers, knows my tells.  She’ll know when I need a nudge, a stroke or a slap.  My performance will be for Her.  I’m determined to make her proud, to show all in attendance that my Sir chose well that She chose a strong, smart, spirited boy.

This the part of the essay where you’re supposed to write your conclusion.  The thing is, I don’t have a conclusion yet.  I know more now about submission than I did 2 years ago and I’m sure to know more in the years to come.  This is definitely a case of  the journey being much more important than the destination, especially when I can’t really visualize a destination.  It amuses me to remember how I used to react negatively to seeing a D/s couple, one of them on a leash, or how I’d shudder at the idea of living as a full-time slave to someone else.  I only ever saw inequality, subservience and weakness.  Fast forward to now, with me looking forward to spending a weekend in public as the collared property of Roxy.  I know now that being in a D/s relationship with Her is one of the most fulfilling things that’s ever happened to me.  This relationship is a rich source of love, encouragement and strength.  I’m learning more and more about who I am and what makes me tick.   And, so far, I haven’t run out of new things to explore.

All that is to say, this isn’t the last post you’ll get from me on the subject.  And I’m certainly going to have a lot to say after the scene with Saynine, not to mention the things Roxy and I have planned for the Eclipse party on Sunday.  There’s so much to anticipate, my nervous/excited belly can hardly handle it.

But I will.  And then I’ll write about it.

I want to hear from you about this post and about your views and experiences with D/s and anything else that catches your attention.  Don’t be shy, let me know what you think and feel.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

I wrote yesterday about some of my Training exercises, activities meant to prepare me for the dual-domination waiting for me when I go to Folsom at the end of the month.  This is a picture from a previous exercise.  She gave me an assignment, a scene with Her blue butt plug:

1. give it a blow job

2. beg it to fuck your ass

3. fuck your ass with it

4. take pictures

She likes it when I gag..

I decided to go for special credit.  I fucked myself in the cunt with the glass dildo, Her Cock, plus I recorded myself begging for it… She approved… but those pictures are for Her alone.  Y’all will just have to use creative visualization.

Happy HNT, y’all

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

The Sweltering Celt gave us this writing prompt for our weekly Microfantasy Monday exercise:

It’s cold already here. Today was an outdoor concert and I thought my fingers might freeze off before we managed to finish. Thankfully it was a short concert.  The leaves are changing, and so are many aspects of life in this crazy little family. This morning I had a lengthy conversation about some of those changes, and it occurred to me that a fantasy could be had of one of them (or more, but I’ll keep it simple this week)…

This week, your theme is: Training

–

She’s given me training exercises.  There aren’t that many weeks before Folsom and She wants to make sure I’m ready.  I close my eyes and breathe out while pressing the blue bulb against my asshole.  It goes partway before my body balks and I pull it out again.  I squirt a little more lube onto my finger and press it into my ass.  I’m leaning over, forehead on my bed, imagining it’s Her behind me, probing me, testing my readiness.

Now the blue plug again, I press it partway in, breathing through the pain, welcoming the pain, sucking it into myself instead of resisting it.  Now I imagine She’s standing before me, fingers in my hair, pressing my face against Her sex.  He’s standing behind me, pressing into me, feeling my resistance.  She yanks my head back and he plunges into me, grunting.  She purrs Her approval, grinding into my face, using me.  He slaps me on the ass and I lurch back reflexively, impaling myself further on his cock.  I’m pinned between them, being used: a sentient, living sex toy.

Flopping onto my bed, blue plug securely clenched inside me, I breathe heavily, fingers working between my legs.  I imagine Her scent, filling my senses.  My asshole clenches the bulb, imagining him fucking me.  I want to taste Her, feel Her pleasure gushing out onto my tongue.  My fingers press harder, faster, stroking myself into ecstasy.

Moments later, sprawled out and only half conscious, I turn off the light, blue plug nestled happily in my ass.

Training.  It’s a good thing.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

Roxy often makes observations that throw me for a loop.  She’s incredibly insightful and observant and has a way of putting things into words that is crystallizing.  The other day we were talking about some pictures, specifically, ones I’m considering for my Butch Voices presenter profile.  I told her that I liked one because it portrayed a thoughtful Casey and I thought that was a good image for a presenter to have.  The other picture I also like a lot and in fact, as I told her, I kind of have a crush on it.

I felt a bit odd saying that, as if I were confessing something kind of dirty, “That’s weird, isn’t it?  To have a crush on my own self?”

Her response stopped me in my tracks because it was so insightful and interesting.

“You’ve got a crush on a transman.”

Whoa.. is that possible?  Not that I’d have a crush on a transman, because that’s totally possible but rather that the one I have a crush on is a part of me?

I’ve been mulling and crabbing over that idea for a couple of days now.  First, can I claim the label ‘transman’?  I’ve already told you all about my two selves:  butch dyke and transgender man.  I am not, in aggregate, going to transition physically, there’s plenty of me that relates favorably to this female body.  However, if I were only Kyle and not also Casey?  I think there are very good odds that Kyle, if he were alone in this body, would seriously consider transitioning.  So a fair argument could be made that I am, at least partly, a transman.

Transgender people often speak of gender dysphoria and I experience that from both sides.  There are days when I see a woman’s face and body in the mirror and I can’t relate what I’m seeing to who I am.  Other days I see a man’s face above my polo shirt and can’t figure out how it got there.   I can sit in either of my selves and look at the other, sometimes very clearly, and see an almost complete stranger.  Who is that and how is it that I walk around looking like that all the time?  When did the randy boy I’ve nurtured and sheltered for so long become this man I see walking around being an adult and parenting impressionable young people?  Will I always go through periods when I feel so disconnected to so much of myself?

It’s not all bad, not all of the disconnect is uncomfortable or confusing.  Most of the time, I have dual membership in my own mutual admiration society.  I can see Casey as a strong, sexy, nurturing, capable woman who deals with life’s challenges with grace, most of the time.  Casey views Kyle as a sometimes impulsive guy who’s growing into himself, becoming more mature and responsible, while never quite outgrowing the cocky, horny boy.  And I wouldn’t want him too.

So does Casey have a crush on Kyle?  Does she sometimes admire him and the way he’s working embrace his manhood, his kinks, his faggot fantasies?  Kyle is sexy, confident, has that devilish wink and a swagger that won’t stop.  Yes, sometimes I look at pictures of myself, of Kyle, and am stunned.  That’s him, that’s me, that’s us.  It’s not a figment of my imagination, I am this composite of man/woman.

So, yeah, I’ve got crush on a transman, and he’s me.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

Wendy Jo Carlton is a friend from way back and a very talented filmmaker and all around great person.  Her latest project is “Jamie & Jessie are Not Together”  and she needs our help in order to make the project a reality.  She’s looking for about $4000 more to be pledged within the next 57 hours.  Can you pitch in $10, $20, more?  Each contribution level comes with a reward as well as the satisfaction that you are supporting quality queer film making.  There’s a little video on that sight with Wenjo explaining the project and her goals.

You may have heard of Wendy Jo before, she was the director of Hannah Free, an award winning film starring Sharon Gless, now available on DVD and novelized by Claudia Allen.

Please consider contributing to this film.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

I was standing on the soccer field Saturday morning, enjoying the opening game of my fall season.  The air was warming, leading away from the mid 50s into the mid 60s.  My team was in a good mood, we were having fun and playing well.  All should have been right in the world, except it wasn’t.

At the skate park next to the field a young boy and his father had shown up early to take advantage of the lack of other skaters.  The little guy, somewhere between 7-9, was astride his bike at the lip of a swooping drop.  His father was on the far side of the bowl, calling out encouragement.  Except it wasn’t encouragement.  Dad was ragging on the boy, “Come on! Just do it, you’re right there.  Why are you just sitting there?  Do something! This is why we came here.  What is your problem?”

My heart sank and my stomach churned.  Such a familiar and disheartening scene.

The boy wasn’t saying much, but he also wasn’t moving.  I imagined he’d been asking his dad to take him to the skate park and I’m sure he had been visualizing himself dropping into the bowl, going fast, maybe pulling some minor stunts.  The whole thing thrilled and scared him, he wanted to do it, but was having trouble pushing himself over the lip.  It didn’t help that dad was impatient and belittling.  He walked around until he was screaming into the kids ear.

“You’re being a sissy!  Just do it, do it, now! Come one, you’re wasting my time here! What’s your problem, you’re such a sissy!”

My anger flared but I was too far away from the scene to say anything and wasn’t sure what I would say.  A guy like that isn’t likely to take parenting advice from anyone, much less a woman.  Eventually, however, one of my players did run up the hillside between her part of the field and the skate park fence and shout something to the kid, rather than the man.  Something like, “Hey, kid, no matter what he says, you’re not a sissy.”  Something to that effect.  I was proud of her and ashamed of myself.  As a parent, I know how ready strangers are to offer advice, usually unsolicited and unwanted.  The man was being an asshole, but he wasn’t beating the kid, that would have brought both teams of soccer playing women up into his face.  No, he was just being an asshole.

They were there for an hour, through our most of our first half and into the second.  The boy did eventually push through his fear and ride down into the bowl and back up the other side, several times.  The sound of his excited voice made me smile.  It also made me a bit sad.  I was sad for him and his father.  His dad probably didn’t realize that he was ruining an excellent opportunity to build a better relationship with his son.  He could have been encouraging, positive, offered ways to help the boy face his fear without belittling and shaming him.  The boy  so clearly wanted to prove himself, he wanted praise, he wanted to impress his father and make him proud.  His shout of triumph was glorious and he babbled happily at his dad about how easy it was to do and how much fun.  His dad retorted that he’d known that the whole time.  He was dismissive, he was seeing the whole situation in terms of how it reflected on him, rather than what the experience meant to the boy.

I know he probably wouldn’t have welcomed my thoughts on the matter, but I wish I could get him to see what a precious gift that Saturday morning hour was for him and his son.  The two of them spending time together, the chance to help his son face his fears, the chance to show his son that he was there for him, to support and encourage him.  I imagined the years to come.  The boy growing more and more resentful of his father, pulling away and not wanting to share anything important with him, or maybe going overboard and doing more and more outrageous things to impress him.

My team won and we had a good time but I ended up with mixed feelings.  Being witness to someone else’s not so great parenting moment was unpleasant, to say the least.  Should I have done something, could I have?  Confronting him isn’t likely to have led to an open or positive conversation.  I guess my take away from this experience is to be mindful of situations I’m in where I can be supportive and positive, rather than judgemental and impatient.  I have my own kids, giving me plenty of opportunities to practice what I preach.  I know from my own experience that it’s not always easy to be mindful in the moment.  Hopefully, the next time I about to raise my voice in impatience, I’ll be able to catch myself before I become an echo of that unpleasant morning.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

Yes, I’m back from a fabulous week long vacation in very hot and humid Florida.  We had time on the beach, we had time in the pool, we had time for naps and sleeping in.  We were fed amazing food in large quantities.  I gained weight, I became well-rested, I enjoyed the time away with my family.  I added to my massive freckle collection and deepened the farmer’s tan on my shoulders and arms.  It felt good to not feel the gravitational pull of work and tasks and go!go!go! for a few days.  I wish I could afford more time off, it would certainly be good for my mental and physical health and I’d love to have more time for writing.  That’s something I was able to indulge in while on vacation, I pulled open my laptop — offline — and added to some stories that I really love and have high hopes for.

My wife passed a birthday milestone while we were away, we celebrated her 40th birthday party with a really nice seafood dinner at a restaurant on the Indian River (I had a beautiful and delicious tuna steak).  Her father and step-mom gifted her with a PowerBall ticket and we had some fun fantasizing about what we’d do with all that money.  One of the first things was:  I wouldn’t have to work unless I wanted to, doing things I wanted to do.  I also fantasized with her about building a writer’s hut where I could seclude myself and concentrate.  Ahhhh.. fantasies can be so much fun.  But, no, she didn’t have a winning ticket.

We came home and I got sick within 36 hours — sinus pressure, ears plugged up, post-nasal drip, coughing, slight fever.  Ugh.  It has been over a week since the last day of vacation and I feel better, but wish I could have held onto that post-vacation glow a little longer.

As proof that there is no rest for the wicked, after only two days home, we hosted my wife’s 40th birthday party.  I was fully ill by then and grateful that my mother-not-in-law was visiting and able to help prepare food trays.  Another friend visited Friday night through Saturday morning and was able to help with a lot of outdoor prep.  Thank goodness because I could only work for about 30 minutes at a time before lying down for an hour.  My main job was keeping the baby happy and occupied.    I felt pretty guilty about all the work my wife had to do for her own party, but she was very understanding and only asked that I ‘rally’ for the party itself.

We had a nice group of people attend the party, time to visit and catch up with everyone and plenty of good food and drink to share.  The next day, I collapsed and gave in to my illness.

A few announcements:

Butch Voices Portland: My session on Genderqueer was accepted by Jay Walls and the rest of the programming committee for Butch Voices Portland.  I’m excited and very nervous.  I’m not academically educated in gender or sexuality studies, so I’m hoping my 40+ years of personal research will be enough to engage a group of people on this topic.  I’m sure to learn a lot from the participants, and that’s the real win for me:  meeting other genderqueers and learning from their explorations of identity and gender.  Roxy will also be at this conference, as my Registration co-chair and partner in crime.  She’s also volunteered to be the stage manager for Saturday night’s Butch Buffet variety show (with me as her backstage minion *grin*).

FOLSOM!!! In less than 4 weeks, I’ll be heading to San Francisco to participate in that festival of debauchery, kink and leather known as the Folsom Street Fair.  My lovely hostess will be the thoroughly perverted and lovely Roxy.  We’ve been scheming, planning and challenging each other about this since last year.  I’ll be proudly wearing my collar and lead by leash, doing my best to be the humble and obedient boy you all know I strive to be.  And if I don’t, Sir will put me right back in my place.  We’ll be cruisin the Fair, soaking in the sights and seeing who we recognize (and who recognizes us).  We’ve got two nights of dungeon play planned.   Saturday night, we’ll be at the Citadel where I will be on full display and Roxy will be inviting a special guest star to play with us* … maybe we can make a game of guessing who that might be.   The second night, we’ll be at the Citadel again for the Eclipse party.  Roxy’s got some special ideas for that night as well and is eager to introduce me to her friends.  It’s been too, too long since we were able to sink ourselves into each other and we’re giddy about spending so much time together.

* I was in the middle of writing that sentence when I realized that I was feeling kind of shy about telling y’all about the other person we’ll be playing with.  Our scene will be the culmination of a lot of talk and negotiation and discussion, and years of Kyle fetishizing certain situations and types of people.  I’m sure some of you would love to know who it is and some of you probably do, but I don’t know yet if he wants to be outed yet.  Oh, there’s a clue, yes, it’s a ‘he’.

Reading List:

Ivan Coyote’s latest column, Shemanifesto, is a must read for all who are navigating the sometimes troubled waters around butches, pronouns and transgender people of all kinds.   Ivan is clear, positive and generous in her attempt to broker a peace settlement across the butch-transsexual boundary.  In fact, she goes further, questioning the existence or need for such a boundary.  This column crystallizes a lot of things that were rumbling around in my head, thank you, Ivan.

SilverDayDreams wrote this a while ago, but you should check it out of you’re a tweeter, So You Wanna Follow Me? She expresses a bit frustration over how people sometimes respond to her tweets and has posted a set of guidelines some may find useful, “If you’re going to tweet to kinky girls (or to any girl for that matter), there’s some basics that you should know….”

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

I had a wonderful, week-long vacation with my family in Florida recently. We played in the waves, danced in the surf and relaxed.  We watched our Little Bit fearlessly toddle into the surf and giggle when it splashed up at her.  I watched happily as my wife taught our ElderSpawn how to hang out between breakers, teaching her when to duck under the waves and when to go over.

These are my feet on vacation. Can you see how relaxed they are?  The water was bathtub warm, the sun was hot, the sand was soft.  Florida is too hot and humid for me to live there, not to mention the socio-political issues, but it’s a great place to visit.

Happy HNT, y’all

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

I have this bad habit of assuming the worst.  I assume things will go side-ways unless I exert the utmost effort to make them successful.  I assume my wife will push-back when I want to do something.  I assume a lot of bad things about her, actually, and I realize I’ve put her in a role and sometimes don’t see her as the person she is.  The role is based on old patterns from my childhood and early relationships.  The role of Disapprover, which my mom filled before that place was taken by a series of girlfriends.  Now, to be fair, my wife can be quite fierce when she isn’t in support of something, but it’s not fair to assume she’ll always disapprove.

I was in a panic state for several days.  Feeling pressure from all sides, pressure that I magnified and heaped on myself.  That panic affected my home life, my wife and I were bickering and sniping for the stupidest reasons.  It also negatively effected my relationship with Roxy.  I wasn’t really listening to her, I was hearing an old script, an old pattern that told me I was the one who had to make it all work.  Add to that my poor health and over-all exhaustion and you have a recipe for disaster.  It almost resulted in me losing Roxy, all because I was listening to an old recording and not what was actually being said.

Thank goodness for Roxy, that conversation we had on Tuesday finally broke the spell.  I finally listened, I finally communicated and she did the same.  We recognized that we have similar patterns and that we trigger each other.  When you are responding to a trigger, you’re not really thinking about what you’re doing or how you’re acting, you’re simply reacting, following the script.

Since that conversation, I’ve been opening my eyes to what my true reality is, rather than the hyped up panic-fest I was steeped in before.  My wife does love me, she supports me, she’s happy that I’m involved in activities I love.  She may have her misgivings about how deep my involvement is with Roxy, but she also knows I’m happy.  My task is to remember that she’s a person, she’s my friend, she’s my wife and supporter.  She’s not a role, not a caricature.  I’m hoping that if I can live and breath and exude a better attitude, it will help her to relax as well.  I want her to trust me, to feel secure in our relationship and I want her to share in all aspects of my life.  I imagine that when I’m doing the porcupine-in-a-panic routine, it triggers a defensive pull back on her part, which does nothing to foster a good home life or relationship.

I’m going to try a new mindset.  Instead of assuming bad reactions and bad results, I’m going to assume good ones.  I’m going to assume I’ll get support rather than prepare for a battle.  This mindset doesn’t come without risks, sometimes I may get resistance, sometimes I may have to battle for what I want.  Even with those risks, starting from this place of optimism, hope and love feels so much better than the panic mode I was in before.

I’m going to give it a try.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

Ang, the Sweltering Celt, has posted a theme for week 93:

Home from Montana.  Wow, what a great vacation!  We did a ton of stuff and relaxed too.  Glacier Park is as awesome as I remember, but to be honest the best part of the vacation was what happened when I opened the car door upon arriving at our cabin.  I was assaulted with all the smells I had forgotten exist in that part of the forest, and hadn’t smelled for at least 15 years.  In honor of that, this week I present you with the following theme: Scents.  Have at it!

Here’s what I did with that prompt:

—

Even before I opened the box, I could smell roses.  Ever since I smelled her skin that first time, roses have been her flower, a symbol and reminder of her sensual, sexy presence in my life.  In my boxes of Roxy keepsakes, I’ve got dried roses and scented lotions squirreled away.   I can’t count the number of times I’ve opened one of those boxes to take in a deep breath of her before turning out the light and laying my head down to sleep.

In my dreams, she comes to me wreathed in roses.  She stretches out, inviting my dream-self to embrace her.  In the crook of her neck I smell roses and the warm sunshine smell of her body.  Trailing my tongue down her body, I smell roses and the salty-sweet tang of her sex.  The flower between her legs is the most gorgeous rose I’ve ever seen, blooming under the attentions of my mouth.  Always ripe, glowing with color and filling my senses.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.