More knife play

She took out the knife again, and this time she tried out on my ass. Not a pretty heart this time, but still very pretty. And a bit bloody, too.

Solving a conflict

I made a mistake the other day.

I had a meeting yesterday with my thesis colleague and the person who's going to grade it in the end, to see if he would allow us to go forward with our idea for the study. He had expressed some doubts, we'd tried to rectify it, and then he had answered "this is so complicated I think I need to see you before I can agree to this". That scared us, badly - I had visions of not being allowed to continue, of being grilled about the statistics of the study (of which I know almost nothing) and about having to come up with a whole different concept.

In the end it turned out that he had misunderstood us, which says very bad things about our ability to convey our aim and methodology in text, but fortunately nothing about the design of our study or statistics, so we got a go-ahead and are finally approved for that part of the course. Yey!

But. We decided to hook up before the meeting, have lunch together and go through his comments and try to think of some answers. And I didn't tell Mistress.

To me, a meeting at one o'clock and deciding to have lunch before kind of equates. It means I'm booked for the lunch and the afternoon that day, and that I'll be away from home, and somehow I figured that was all Mistress needed to know. She, on the other hand, checked on the calendar that I had a meeting at one and thought that good, then I could go to the local vet and buy special kidney-friendly dog food, because they opened at twelve. And she declared that to me over breakfast, I panicked and spluttered and stammered and said that I already had a meeting at that time and couldn't do it, she got pissed off and glared at me - and here's where the interesting thing happened.

I mean, all of the above is just our normal day to day thing. She wants to keep track of me all the time, I try to oblige but routinely fails because... well, honestly, because of ADHD. Because I'm a scatterbrain. Because I make plans and then promptly forgets about them. This is nothing new, and not all that exciting.

But. When she gets pissed off like that, I have for years decided that she doesn't get pissed off in the right way. Yeah. I'm bright like that. She doesn't go all domly-dom on me, she doesn't correct me or yell at me, a lot of the time she doesn't event tell me what I've done wrong (okay, that part I think will always bother me, since I'm not telepathic). She gets mad, for real, and hurt, for real, and she shows it by withdrawing and disengaging. Not to punish me, simply because that's her genuine reaction when she's hurt and angry.

And it used to piss me off so bad. Because it makes me feel like my innards falls to the floor and someone electrocuted my brain - it's an instant break down of the whole system. Massive pain. And, naturally, feeling like that makes me panic, and when I panic I attack. So the process is usually like this: I fail at something she wants me to do - Mistress gets angry and hurt - I interpret that as a catastrophe, and lashes out at her - she gets defensive and withdraws - I get defensive and feel sorry for myself - we both feel miserable.

This time, when she said (! Not using not-working-telepathy!!) that she didn't like me not telling her about my plans, I simply said "you're right, I'm sorry." And then I said it a couple of more times, and eventually, I think she got that I really meant it and that it wasn't a preface to "...but really, it was your fault because you...!". It was my fault. It's not unfair of her to be displeased with me when I don't follow orders. She doesn't have a duty to show that displeasure in any certain way in order to make it less uncomfortable to me. It's my fault, and any aversive feelings her displeasure causes me is both inside me, not coming from her, and  well-deserved rather than unfair.

Before she left, she gave me an slap and forgave me, and before she got home from work I'd managed to get to the vet before closing time and get the dog food. And we didn't fight and I again learned that it isn't the end of the world if I screw up and everything is so much easier if I just own up to my mistakes and don't fight it.

Valentine's Day and first blood

I hadn't thought we would, but we actually did celebrate Valentine's Day. I studied from home and Mistress had a meeting in town in the morning, and came home for lunch and then we took the rest of the afternoon off. We had lunch together and then we went to the local mall and shopped, a little groceries, a dress and a teddy bear for little S, and most especially, a knife. Oh, and some ginger.

I actually got Mistress a knife for Christmas, but somehow we misplaced it and hasn't found it again. I suggested that we should simply buy a new one, and to my great surprise she agreed. So we did. It's a little smaller than the first one, and with a shiny steel blade instead of a black one, but still very cool and a little evil-looking.

When we got home, after a latte and cute pink cakes with hearts on them at a coffee shop, Mistress pondered a bit whether to play with me or work but in the end decided to... play with me! I think that was about the third or fourth happy surprise I got today. She bound me with rope to the bed, and proceeded to cut me with the knife.

A pretty heart for Valentine's. The dark spots is were she drew blood.

It was the first time either of us did anything with knifes in a BDSM sense, and it was intense. I mean, I'm sure it didn't look it, it was all very serene and calm and quiet actually, but the sensations. Oh my God! It was like taking a fast elevator straight in to subspace. In about half a minute my breathing had slowed to a minimum and I was floating in perfect awareness and acceptance, a state it usually takes me a good long time of whipping to achieve. The mere concept of being bound hand and foot without being able to get loose and having someone with a big knife above me, carving in to me - it had an enormous impact. Even if the person in question was Mistress, and the cuts were short and shallow.

It impacted Mistress too, she told me that when she let up she was feeling a bit faint, and afterwards we cuddled for a long long time. It was a while since we did something completely new together, and we were reminded of how it used to be in the beginning, when every session led to hours of after care and shaky knees. We don't usually need that nowadays, but this was intense. And very very cool.

 And for once, she took pictures. I'm usually the photographer of us, and I don't have that many pictures of me in these kinds of situation. Anyway, this is me, and this is our bed, and Mistress' ingenious way of making sure I'm not going anywhere with a minimum amount of fuss. It's a good bondage bed, this one.

Bound to hands and feet, and with a pretty heart carved on the right shoulder blade.

I kind of like the fact that there's clothes hanging on the bed and that there's a red sock waving at us in the left corner. This isn't a very fancy shot, but then again, that isn't what it's all about. Not this blog and not our life. This is just it. This is what it looks like at our place when Mistress tells me to take my clothes off and lay down on the bed a Thursday afternoon when we happen to have time on our hands.

And I like it. I like our non-glamorous but very loving and very interesting life.

Snow day

There was a lot of snow this morning, and Mistress decided to work from home. She goes by bus for 1,5 hours to work, and that road is treacherous, so this time of year sometimes she opts for not going. I was scheduled to sit at home all day writing on things for our thesis, and so we had company. She sat at the workplace and I in the bed beside her, and we actually worked quietly for hours. And then we had an hour long lunch break, during which we managed to squeeze all sorts of things. I cut Mistress' hair, and we had lunch, and then she spanked me with her belt for the first time for what feels like ages but isn't more than ten days or so, and fucked me. And then I made her a latte and we went back to work.

But honestly, she whipped me all red and fucked me to orgasm in less than fifteen minutes. We don't do speed dating, we do speed BDSM-sessions. I'm not sure what kind of skill this is - the most S/M-play in the least time? Is there competitions for this? Because we would have a good shot at winning!

Now she's picking up little S from pre-school, and I'm supposed to finish my school work so I'll get on that. I don't want her to start competing in "most punishment in shortest amount of time" either. I bet those don't end with an orgasm.

A qoute

This popped up in my Facebookfeed today:

“I slept and I dreamed that life is all joy. I woke and I saw that life is all service. I served and I saw that service is joy."
~Kahlil Gibran

I'm not sure if it's true, but it resonated with something inside me. What do you think?

Job hunting

I'm applying for a job! Since it's one I would really really like, it makes my stomach fill up with butterflies. It's very very slow going, mostly because every time I try to do something with it I feel overwhelmed and switch to something else - like writing blog posts. Heh.

I'll graduate in June, and well, then it's time to get a job. A real job. With a real salary, and an office, and clients, and a boss, and colleagues, and my own coffee mug, and vacations, and contracts and insurance and rights and privileges and set work-hours. And other strange and new stuff.

I've been working for this for... well a lot of years. I got in at the program spring 2006, and I've been muddling along since then, interrupted a few times, not the least by childbirth. But I'm hanging in there, and soon, soon, I'm going to be done. Finished. Graduated.

The job in question is a temporary position, and they will most probably want to fill it before June, and I'll most likely not get it. But I'm going to apply anyway, mostly because it's at the place were I did my intern ship, and I loved it there. So I just have to go for it. I have nothing to loose.

False advertisment?

Sometimes I want to make a t-shirt were I've written down everything that's odd about me. The thing is, the cool kids, the avant-garde, the norm-breakers, they tend to advertise. They have mohawks' and piercings and tats and cool clothes and listen to music that fits with their clothes and the crowd they hang out with.

When I went to gymnasiet (think High School, 16-19 years old) I hung out with a group of left wing vegetarians and vegans. They all had long hair, like really really long, long flowy skirts, and cared a lot about the environment and organised rallys and were politically aware. I was to. I did to. But I wore my hair short and had jeans all the time. Mostly the same pair - I'm not sure I owned more than one pair.

Later, I studied at the university and worked for a while, and I never got the hang of that outfit thing then either. Now I guess my look fits part of my life, since I look more or less like a frumpy soccer mom, and I am one - more or less. My friends are usually awesome people, really cool, and they tend to present themselves that way too. Many of them have looks that screams "alternative liftestyle" a mile away.

 And then there's me.

And on some level, it is annoying. I mean, I guess there's a reason why I look like I look - there's nothing stopping me from changing it up if I wanted to. Well, yes there is, Mistress would probably have strong opinions about any kind of body mod or hair changes, and clothes costs money, and make up takes skill and time and so on and so forth. And also, in the end it bothers me, but not that much. Not enough so that I want to make any wholehearted effort to change it.

Hence, the t-shirt.

It could say: "I have ADHD!". It could say "I'm still breastfeeding my three-year-old!". It could say "I once lived in a poly-tryad". It could say "I'm owned property". It could say "I get beaten bloody regularly and I love it". It could say "I'm bisexual". It could say "I live in a same-sex marriage".

Or maybe just a cloud of words: ADHD. Owned. Bi. Lesbian. Pervert. Masochist. Pro breastfeeding for toddlers. Poly. I'm strange and I know it.

Just so I wouldn't have to disappoint people all the time, just because they judge me by the cover.

Hypocritical much?

When  little S declared that she had beaten the dog "three times!" with the rainbow coloured feather duster, I steered the conversation along the lines of how she's not supposed to hit anyone, how it hurts the dog, that we never hit the dog, or her, or anyone else, and ended the sermon with a sanctimonious "We don't hit each other in our family!".

A very good, moral, and pedagogical statement, that was somewhat ruined by the loud snort of laughter from Mistress in the other room. Oh well. "We only hit consenting adults in our family!" doesn't really have the same impact when talking to a three year old.