On the up

Things are looking up again :)

N has decent painkillers which are allowing him to sleep and it’s making a very pleasing difference. My boy is back, hurrah! 

I have been running around making the house twinkly and christmasy which delights my camp sparkly self.

All gift shopping is complete. Repeat, all gift shopping is complete. I have a few things to ‘do’ gift wise, but we are within acceptable time still. I have however wrapped bugger all really.

My health has gone down quite sharply the last week or so, but it’s still objectively good considering the time of year, which I'm trying to focus on. I’m pleasingly non busy at present so I'm trying to buoy myself up that way. Steroids soon are inevitable I suspect, and they should help. 

S is coming to stay over Christmas and he too is perkier again. It's funny how both N & S are following the same patterns really. Though their syncing like this is sort of sweet in it's own way, I must add that it is most inconvenient for me ;)

Our anniversary was rather lovely (and thankyou everyone who sent well wishes, that was really awesome of you all). N very sweetly has not so much as asked to take off the bracelet I gave him since I put it on him. It was intended as a sort of collar substitute for when he can't wear his collar, and he is obviously very pleased with that as he wants to wear a collar more often than he gets to. And the bracelet doesn’t even tangle in my hair at night which is a near miracle.

Now N’s a bit more back to usual I’m hurting him again, which is really good. Repressing sadism is beyond fucking frustrating for me. This will sound ridiculous but it actually hurts. And yes, I know how ironic that is. Not hurting him is a great act of love sometimes. It's really nice to be back :)

It's different when it's mine

I was writing a response to something on FL earlier and I thought I’d try to explain a bit more fully here.

I’m a sadist. That part is easy. I also like control, and preferably ownership. These obviously don’t have to be linked but as soon as you get to O/p they become so for me.

There are so many sadistic things that I like to do to what’s mine, and that gets reflected in myriad ways. Sadism without the context of ownership feels like a different creature to sadism within O/p for me. With someone I don't own it’s just different. I don’t drink just anyone’s blood for example, but if it’s my blood, in the sense that I own it, it’s a glorious, passion filled, life filled intimacy for me.  Take that connection away and the act is unrecognisable for me.

So for me, within the context of O/p sadism becomes more than ‘just’ sadism. It becomes a manifestation of a core truth, an essence, of something to do with authenticity and being who we are, and sharing an energy that we create.

That’s why trying to talk about sadism cleanly, as distinct from O/p doesn’t work for me if I’m talking about sadism within an O/p context. It’s because I am, effectively, talking about an utterly different experience.

I can hurt other people, I can lay all sorts of claim to their bodies, their spirits, their time, their love or whatever it is we are based upon. But unless they are my bodies, and my spirits contained within them, it is not the same from my side of the equation. Can I hit or bite flesh as hard? Yes - but the connection behind that is not in any way the same.  It may be wonderful, but for me it’s not the same.

I want to gulp down blood that I own, not on just anyone’s blood. There may be pleasure in it without ownership but for me, it’s not comparable. And drinking from someone I used to own would feel like sucking on something dead, not the warm fuzzy thing I hear about on FL. It’s the energy and connection that matters to me. As blood floods into my mouth (or whatever the act in question may be) it’s the physical manifestation of a primal, spiritual connection.

I know deep connections can exist without ownership, I have such connections, but this is specific and that’s why I find it hard to talk about sadism as the same thing whether it occurs in O/p or not. Because to me, it just is not the same the same thing. It may be to some people and that's wonderful, but it isn't to me. 

I can get pleasure from being intensely sadistic to people I don’t own, but it is so different to opening up what’s mine, because it’s mine, that it feels like discussing another subject.

Sex.

I’ve just posted on a thread on the O/p group and it led me to write this post.

Though other people do, I never use the term ‘sex addict’ about myself as I think it’s a spurious ill defined term, but it’s definitely fair to day I fit much of the vague criteria generally bandied around as indicating sex addiction – except for the ‘negative impacts’ factors, and it’s this I’m going to discuss.

For the benefits of this post I just did a silly online assessment on a very earnest site to see what it said, and lo it informed me I have a serious problem with sexual addiction and need help. Okey dokey internet. But you see, I do not consider my sexuality to be problematic (you will be unsurprised to know there is a political rant about the tethering of female sexuality just brewing but fear not, I shall spare you all as an act of kindness).

One of the many reasons for me not considering my sexuality to be problematic is that I niftily manage this facet of myself by owning a slave.  ‘Problem’ solved. - I'm an ENTJ, remember? We don’t like to not have stuff running according to our wishes. It's messy ;)

I am a diehard pleasure seeker, and God do I love the highs in Life. Always have done, it’s my base nature. So naturally over the years I have learned how to manage my hedonism. Throw in the fact that I’m hyper orgasmic, and the fact I would have a huge desire for sex starts to seem pretty obvious. The fact I cannot manage without orgasming very, very regularly is just how this manifests.

When I say ‘I can’t manage’ I do not mean I just feel an overwhelming (sometimes painful) desire to orgasm many many times a day, though that is also true too. I mean that I literally cannot manage not to – my body will even spontaneously orgasm if I don’t ‘feed’ it. I can often orgasm at will without external stimulation (I use the term ‘external stimulation’ because I am often stimulating myself with my muscles internally) and thus I just am sexual regardless of whether I seek out someone else to 'do sexing' with or not.  I am aware this is seen as ‘problematic’ to some people, but really I would not change things. I like my sexuality. Very much.

Anyway, coupled with my natural hedonism, having people who are obligated canvases for my eroticism, be that for sex, sadism or domination; and to be honest the line between these is usually blurry in reality; is a perfect solution to a constant craving. And of course it’s also one that fits my base nature in the far more fundamental way as I really love control. I like just saying ’put your arse up, I want to use it’ or ’get busy with your mouth’ or ’lie there, I’m going to hurt you now’ or ’get your cock stiff I want to fuck’ without any need for whatever the hell it is other people do - roses, or candles or whatever it is. 

The way I see it, if you are working something successfully to your advantage, not harming anyone, and happy with the outcome how is it a ‘problem’? The criteria for sex addiction is a) non conclusive, there is no definitive clinical definition from what I can see, and b) steeped in an ‘it’s a problem’ discourse (generated remember, by people making money out of expensive treatment programmes), which is one of the many reasons I do not genuinely identify with the paradigm;

But to take one popular model for sexual addiction;

• Frequently engaging in more sex or with more partners than intended.  

More sex than intended? Yes, sometimes. But generally I’m happy with the principle of rampant fucking. More partners that I intended? No. Why? Because I don’t set myself up within a restrictive criteria, and I own a slave so I can have what I like anyway.

• Being preoccupied with or persistently craving sex; wanting to cut down and unsuccessfully attempting to limit sexual activity.

I constantly crave sex. I do attempt to limit for practical reasons. I don’t want to though. I was to fuck. Surely that’s obvious?

• Thinking of sex to the detriment of other activities or continually engaging in excessive sexual practices despite a desire to stop.

‘Desire’ to stop? Erm, depends what you mean by ‘desire’. While there’s a necessary and deeply annoying practical requirement, that’s not something I see as a desire.  I occasionally wish I didn’t wake up horny so many times a night, or that I didn’t orgasm on the train or in Starbucks, but generally I’m content with the status quo. I engage in excessively sexual activities by most standards, yes, but these are not my standards.

• Spending considerable time in activities related to sex, such as cruising for partners or spending hours online visiting pornographic Web sites.

I’d say no to this but I’m sure a psychologist would count FL.

• Neglecting obligations such as work, school or family in pursuit of sex.

Guilty as charged.

• Continually engaging in the sexual behaviour despite negative consequences, such as broken relationships or potential health risks.

No major negative consequences recently. Well, other than a few sexual injuries and the odd necessary slave repair job. ‘Potential’ health risks? Sure. Don’t all sexual relationships contain those though?

• Escalating scope or frequency of sexual activity to achieve the desired effect, such as more frequent visits to prostitutes or more sex partners.  

And/ or generally upping the kinky depravity? In that case, yes. I am continuing to have a fine time, thankyou very much.  

• Feeling irritable when unable to engage in the desired behaviour.

Oh FUCK YES. Stand between me and sex and it’s not pretty. It’s not pretty because when I need to orgasm, I. Need. To. Orgasm. And therein lies a key point - not all of this is psychological for me, it’s also very very physical. And I manage this, just the same as I manage my sadism.

So anyway perhaps I’m a 'sex addict' whatever that may of may not mean, but if I am I manage it well and I have no desire to change.

So there pseudo scientists.

'Whose arse is this baby'?

My last post was a festival of whining and the one before was all political, so today dear friends I offer you filth (I know that’s what most of you want really).

I've chosen this sordid little tale as I get asked about it sometimes. We’ll call this little piece ‘Who owns this arse?’ as that really has been a key point here once or twice. You see N, being the sort of bloke he is will sometimes try to stage a coup at the drop of a bloody hat.  He is also fiercely possessive and traditionally very jealous. It’s all very ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane!’ and if you are a submissive woman no doubt utterly wet knicker inducing stuff. Sexually he’s very much of the dominant male persuasion left to his own devices  and it’s fair to say that he would very much like to at least own my arse, even if he can’t have the rest of me.

So the day came when he pushed his luck too far on the matter of jealousy and possessiveness and I decided to take matters in hand. So obviously off to the friendly neighbourhood sleazy bisexual swingers club we went. As you do. The guy that runs it, waves at G, is lovely and makes every effort to accommodate us dirty perverts with our BDSM ways. He even put in a BDSM room for us, makes it clear that his is an inclusive venue and that if people don’t fancy watching BDSM to look the other way (kudos),  and sweetly puts gay porn on for me in the cinema to give me a break from directing my own. Darlings, I suffer for my art.

Usually when we go there it’s basically for me to entertain my depraved self by putting N to work on some cock. I like this primarily for the control factor (it’s fair to say being made to suck cock or being fucked by men sends him crashing through the floor psychologically), and also, well let’s face it, two or more hot men together is hot. Well, it is if you're me, ok?

So this is what he was nervously and reluctantly expecting. A beating and general degrading public usage, plus a cock or six shoved down his throat (I sometimes put him on his knees in the middle of a room and let men take turns). And most of that occurred, but perhaps more interestingly so did the following.

This rather handsome buff young black guy caught my eye and I decided he may be fun to take for a spin. I started by just offering him N’s mouth, which he graciously accepted, and so off to one of the seedy fucking rooms the three of us trotted.

Rather marvellously Mr Studly turned out to have a fucking huge cock as well as a fine arse body. Oh my. He also turned out to be pleasingly perceptive and pretty talented with said body and worked out the score pretty quickly. So I flounced around having them perform for a while and generally being rough with N. As N was on his knees sucking his cock and looking all fucked and mortified, when I shoved N’s head down - ’get that right down your throat bitch’ - I decided to stay local and enjoy Mr Studly kissing my breasts and running his hands up my thighs etc. When N saw this I thought he was going to hyperventilate along with his choking but I shoved his head down, kicked him a bit and reminded him of a few key truths as I had Mr Studly put his fingers between my thighs. At this stage our studly hero got very excited which was really good for me,  and delightfully bad for N’s mouth. Poor baby.  

Some undressing and general fondling ensued and then I went over to the wall and told N to ‘get his slut mouth off my lovers cock’ and come over to me. He knew this was not going to end well though I’m not sure he had a clue why. Then I braced myself against the wall so my arse was sticking out and told him to life my skirt (leather, because I’m cliched like that) over my hips. He complied. I told him to pull my panties ‘prettily’ onto my thighs for the other guy. I could feel him hyperventilating on my thighs and I have rarely seen him so mortified. But he did as ordered. I told him to do it slowly and sexily and asked him how my arse looked. Did it look fuckable? Wiggle wiggle. Did he think the other guy would be enjoying the sight? Were my cheeks spreading at all?

Mr Studly then instinctively got his tongue between my cheeks (men who want to do me always want to get between my cheeks, it’s pretty much a given here) and his fingers in my pussy while shoving his cock now really roughly down N’s throat. He was obviously bursting to fuck me, and poor N suffered the price. Ooops! Such a thought never occurred to my pretty little head. La la la.

A pleasingly plumptious view

All the way through this I was tormenting N about my arse being mine, not his, and how good he looked sucking my lovers cock while he got me off. Lots of questions and big eyed muffled mortified head nodding occurred. Did Mr Studly’s cock feel really fucking fat in his mouth? Was it really lovely and hard? Because you know how I love a nice hard fat cock in my bootie, you know that makes me come. Make sure you suck it nice and hard for me, because you know how horny I get for a fucking when I have my arse licked. And I haven’t had my behind shafted for a while so I bet it’s really tight and enjoyable.  He looked fucking devastated as well humiliated beyond belief. It was hot as fuck. 

N loves me and he loves my arse you see. Most men who find me attractive basically see tits and arse which is unfortunately understandable as both are very round and somewhat in your face (only literally in the case of the breasts). My breasts are not a major thing for me, but I actually really love my arse being pleasured.  I’m a total anal slut and wouldn’t trade that for the world. Think that makes me submissive? Then we can safely say you have never fucked me and that you’re opinion is pretty irrelevant. And I’m not denying myself pleasure to order to fit anyone’s view of the world. Screw that I'm afraid.

So, there I am bent over braced against the wall with my bootie angled at the sexiest sluttiest angled imaginable (fucking a lot of girls provides helpful tips re these matters – they don’t tell you that in Cosmo now do they? I could write a monthly column. Someone suggest it to Cosmo, quick), with my panties placed by N under instruction at just the most appealing place on the thighs, a leather skirt pushed up over my back (ok, and fuck off chunky biker boots on rather than some sluttastic stiletto but I’m me. Anyway, my legs look better in big boots IMO), my breasts bouncing around madly because if I’m bent over that’s what they do, Mr Studly’s cock slamming down N’s throat, and his fingers and tongue intermittently in both my holes depending on positions etc.  I was orgasming all over the place from the combination of fucking with N so much, and also the very pleasing sex. Mr Studly was desperate to come but clearly didn’t want to waste any chance of slamming up my arse, and N is on his knees, so humiliated and jealous he looks like he’s going to collapse and wants to kill someone, and then I realised he was trying to make Mr Studly come as he’d rather take it down his throat that have my arse filled with the fine young hottie's spunk.  This fact is very pleasing to me and my ego.

So naturally I take N’s mouth off Mr Studly’s cock for a few minutes, and onto the bed we go for a while as I make N watch while Mr Studly gets busy with the body worship (and worship he could. Oh my) and of course gets his tongue back up my arse while I come and come and ask N all kinds of questions and generally taunt the living fuck out of him, because I’m romantic like that.

Eventually I belt N around the face a bit, kick him down and tell Mr Studly to come down his throat while he’s making me come. It’s fair to say the guy gave it his all and N’s lips were exquisitely cock bruised for days afterwards.  (Side note: Is there anything more horny than a man with forcibly cock bruised lips? I really fucking love that).

I beat the living crap out of N afterwards obviously, and generally tormented him and had him generally whipped for the rest of the night, repeatedly asking him what rights he had over my arse. His reply was correct and for a change the desire to be a mouthy bitch or engage in his very special brand of ‘humour’ was quelled. A near miracle.

I’ve just looked at N’s blog and his account of this event is here 

It was a pleasing night and one that’s been replayed a couple of times in various ways since.  It’s not really about me wanting other men though, it’s very much about the control. God do I love the control.

Here endeth the filth.

'How long have you been into BDSM?'

When I venture to public access BDSM events, I get asked things like ‘how long have I been kinky?’ ‘How long have I been ‘into’ BDSM?’ ‘When did I start ‘doing’ kinky shit?’ I always look at the people who ask these questions with a sort of blank stare. What are we calling ‘kinky’ for these purposes? How ‘into’ BDSM does one have to be to ‘into’ it? And what kind of ‘it’ are we talking about?

The simple answer is that as long as I’ve been sentient I seem to have had the kink component. I distinctly remembering having hardcore sadistic fantasies; even by my current standards; aged no more than five, though I didn’t see them as sexual then. My erotic fantasies have always been SM and/ or D/s  related.  Interestingly, in my formative years I was rarely the giver of sadism, I was watching others engaged in agonising, dastardly deeds, or occasionally receiving it, but never intentionally being sadistic (I would imagine doing the hurting but never ‘enjoying’ it. Snort). I didn’t want to be a sadist you see. I didn’t like people who hurt people. They were bad. And I didn’t want to be ‘bad’.

What really got my engine running was the energy between people though, and somehow I managed to justify that in my processing. The physical stuff in my fantasies was just the manifestation of that, it was the remorse, the tears, the begging, the screaming, the desire, the longing, the pain ending, the brave stoicism, the nobility that held it all together for me. That was what I wanted. The passion that goes with pain, to have them under my control, that was the key. The pain was largely just the tool (or so I told myself anyway). Typing this, I’ve just realised that in the same way that other girls think that they’ll love you if you suck really good cock, I thought I could get them to love me if I hurt them and protected them so only I hurt them, and took them to places they never even dreamed of. I simply couldn’t perceive of meaningful intimacy without control and pain in the mix.

Eroticism to me was, and is, all about domination and submission and pain…. but still I didn’t want to be a sadist. A lot of people don’t I realise, but I had my own very strong reasons in addition to this so it was a huge thing to me.  

When by the time I got round to having penetrative sex, I’d been a fucking Grand Poobah of SM and D/s (in crude, non defined forms) for years before then, it was in my blood.

I’m good at inspiring loyalty, it’s the magic card I was born with, and I ran with that. And it turned out that I was right! If I protected people, and hurt them, controlled them, and took them on magic carpet rides to a mixture of good places and bad, they gazed at me with big dark addicted eyes and did what I wanted. Tra la la. It was easy for me, it came entirely naturally. Looking back I enslaved people very very young, too young.

Sex, without power exchange just bored me, but I wanted to be ‘normal’, to not be fucked up, to not be bad and dangerous. Now I know I am fucked up, abnormal, can be dangerous if necessary, but not bad. Then, being ‘bad’ was a terror.  

I like cutting. And kicking. And choking. And fucking while people scream and cry. And biting right through flesh. And drinking blood, And beating, harsh and long. And humiliation and headfucks and other deliciously twisted sadistic things. Most of all though, I like power. I like control. And what do you know I’m very good at that?  But there wasn’t a space in my head for all that stuff marked ‘good’ (or ‘not bad’) so I struggled.

But I love power exchange so much more than the giving of pain, TPE in particular. I like to see people gulp down their pride when they don’t want to, but know they feel they have to for me. I like to see them submit. I like to run them. I like to see them extend themselves, way, way beyond where they are comfortable, just. for. me. And knowing how to do that has always been like breathing to me.

So how long have I been into BDSM? Always perhaps? Since I first made someone crawl for me? Since I ordered people to do what I wanted and they did? Since I hurt someone and made them gasp? Since I took charge of someones life? Since I broke someone and saw them look at me like I was a God? Since I made people afraid, because they wanted my approval more than they wanted not to get hurt? Since I changed people's erotic responses? Since I forced someone to orgasm then laughed at them for it and made them beg?

Power is what I fly on, much, much more than giving pain, which I know surprises many people. BDSM is largely what I’m made of.  I still sometimes wish I wasn’t a sadist, but I am what I am.

I'm a kinky bitch, and I'm ok with that.

Hitting him when he's down.

I haven’t been being anywhere near as sadistic with N as usual lately, for a lengthy list of reasons which I will probably cover in another post.

We are both viral at the moment, though he’s definitely worse than me. This has probably made him tetchy, but he managed to really irritate me this morning. As he also annoyed me the night before last this was not the brightest of moves. He compounded his error by not seeing why I would be pissed by his actions.

So, when the plumber had left today we staggered to bed for an hour or two of much needed restorative dozing. During a short conversation I looked at him and suddenly thought ’You know, if I set about him now, while he’s feeling so ill he’d really suffer’….. and lo, my base nature won out. He just looked so victim-like and helpless, which I never usually get from him so it was very tempting.

So, to paraphrase I put him on his stomach, stripped him and welted the Hell out of his arse with a very heavy hardwood paddle that he detests. His throat was too sore to even yelp with any affectivity, which was oddly pleasing and mock worthy. However hard I whacked him all I could hear were these tormented little raspy croaks and moans. That simply awakened the sadist in me and made me enjoy bruising his arse up even more.  He was crimson, very swollen and bruised by the time I’d finished, it was pleasant (for me).

Then of course a kindly soul would probably have let him sleep, but his cheeks looked so appealing that kindliness went out the window so I shoved him on his side (see how considerate and kind? I didn’t make him bend over, I let him lie comfortably on his side. Am I not saintly?) and basically shafted the living fuck out of his bruised little arse. It was so hot his cheeks were actively uncomfortable on my thighs to start with. This too was pleasing (for me).

I have never once seen him so pathetic and helpless.  Ill and shaky and devoid of energy, there was wonderful whimpering and some really satisfying snivelly type noises, and he still couldn’t make any serious noise because of his throat.  Every now and then he’d have a coughing fit which I quickly realised made his muscles contract so I soon got into a rhythm of shafting his arse really roughly every time he coughed. He looked a broken little heap of helpless loveliness.

I finished buggering him, many orgasms and somewhere between fifty and seventy minutes later, (I know this as my alarm went off at the wrong time as the clocks have gone back here and I hadn’t altered my phone so my alarm inconveniently went off at the wrong time) and laid there with him impaled deeply for another fifteen minutes.  He didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie there occasionally whimpering.  

I graciously told him I’d excuse him arse to mouth as I didn’t actually want him to suffocate – ‘then who would irritate me and make tea’? He gave a timid little croak that I took for gratitude. It could have been hatred but he was so wretched by this stage it was impossible to discern much without an effort.  He looked really rough.

Being rough with him while he is so ill was really enjoyable.  I think we can safely say my sadism remains intact despite less outing than usual.

Happy Halloween everyone.

The sum of my parts.

I am doll eyes

Doll mouth, doll legs

I am doll arms, big veins, dog bait

Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, they really do

Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, but I do too

I want to be the girl with the most cake

I love him so much it just turns to hate

I fake it so real, I am beyond fake

And someday, you will ache like I ache

Someday, you will ache like I ache

I am doll parts

Bad skin, doll heart

It stands for knife

For the rest of my life

Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, they really do

Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, but I do, too

I want to be the girl with the most cake

He only loves those things because he loves to see them break

I fake it so real, I am beyond fake

And someday, you will ache like I ache

Someday you will ache like I ache.

 Doll Parts by Hole.

_______________

I put a thread up on the FL O/p group regarding ‘theme songs’ yesterday. It’s a thread we’ve done before but it’s always fun and revealing, so as we have so many new members in the two years since last time we did it I thought I’d start anew.

In the course of this I linked to the last thread, and had a leisurely read through while I was at it. My own choices were Weak by Skunk Anansie, Born to Fight by Tracy Chapman, and Chinese Burn by Curve. Conspicuously absent though was Doll Parts by Hole. I can only assume I was having one of my phases where I misleadingly think I have evolved and moved beyond such things.  I’m adorable really.

My relationship with this song for the best part of twenty years means it deserved inclusion on the theme songs list, and this was noticed (you people are astute). I don’t like the fact it speaks to me and for me so well, I want to be a fuck sight shinier and more wholesome than that… but there it is.

Let’s start with the chorus shall we?

"I want to be the girl with the most cake"

This is self-explanatory; I want. I crave, I desire, I’m hungry, there are things I just long for. I don’t like settling without trying. My redeeming feature is that I am very easy to please, but perhaps counterintuitively that has never made me feel content to just put up with what anyone else says I ‘should’ do or have or want.  It’s also part of that childlike thing I referenced in my Innocence post.  I like cake so I’m having a big tea party, because I can have one now, and no one is going to stop me without good cause. No one is going to stop me being happy any more Motherfuckers, and if you try you’ll reap what you sow. The choices are sit in the lovely sunshine and have lovely cake with me, get out of my way and leave me alone, or get in my face and see just how much damage I can do with a teapot. I crave and I am driven to get as close as I can to getting what I really deeply crave.

"I love him so much it just turns to hate".

Not ‘hate’ in the literal sense (mostly), but I know sadism looks a lot like hatred sometimes. And for me the big sadistic stuff comes from him being mine, all mine, mine to do with as I will. He’s cake. The more he’s mine, the more I love him, and the more I love him the more I want to hurt him just because I can, because he's mine. My desire to hurt him comes from the fact he’s mine, and that is intertwined irrevocably with love for me.  Screwed up? Most definitely. I doubt you are surprised.

I love fiercely you see. In all ways, not just O/p or other kinky shit. The levels of fierceness that come out in me regarding people I love are overt, and sometimes these are pretty, pleasant passions of which people approve, and sometimes these are brutal in their ferocity. When I love I will go to any length to protect and keep safe and well. I’ll love you fiercely and joyfully and without much of a self protection buffer. People generally nod along at this in theory but the practice can cause overt disapproval.

And with N, my love sometimes morphs into ferocity anyway. Slashing and bruising and kicking and beating him is so much more fierce, more passionate, more intense, more painful, more full of love, and rage, and pain, and claiming, and authenticity because he is mine, and I love him. I couldn't do that unless he was mine.

"I fake it so real, I am beyond fake"

No, this isn’t an admission that I’m actually a male scuba diver from New Zealand, called Zach. That would be less messy, and at this stage probably pretty generic for the internet.

I don’t fake it in the sense of lying but my authenticity is rooted in being ‘fake’. Bear with me. I’m damaged goods. I nearly called this blog ‘Screaming Scars’ rather than ‘Sparkling Scars’ but then my natural urge to make a bad thing good (ok, and not sound like a total emo twat, despite this post with it's broken doll photos). And in a way that small choice is a good example of my authentic ‘fakeness’. I’m naturally Polyanna-ish, and I naturally want to be ok. That’s my nature. The effects of my nurture however fly in the face of that. It’s a dichotomy that defines me really. Being me is tiring sometimes - I doubt that surprises you either.

Being saturated in excessively destructive stuff from as early as I can remember means therefore that everything I have ever been has had that tingeing it. There is no sense of ‘me’ to look back to without that, ever. So I have no idea where the effects of that end and ‘I’ begin, and as such I just am what I am and I can't untangle anything. I had to learn almost Every. Single. Thing that most people take for granted too late, without help, and out of context, and unnaturally systematically, and therefore to an extent everything from there on is 'fake'. But I’ve faked it for so many years now and internalised that fakeness so deeply I have gone way beyond fake. I’m me now. However I got here, I am Me.  I fake it so real I am beyond fake and no one is telling me I don’t exist anymore.

"And someday, you will ache like I ache

Someday, you will ache like I ache"

So left to own devices I am fundamentally one of the most relentlessly happy people you will ever meet ... I feel these tremendous waves of joy that I don’t think most people do, quite regularly over the smallest things, because somewhere deep in my processing I’m comparing. I’m pretty safe! I have water to drink and food to eat! And it’s lovely food! Yum! I’m loved! I’m in a cosy house! I have a comfy bed to sleep in! People care about me! I’m warm! My babies are safe and loved! I have so many luxuries I can’t count them all! I am lucky lucky lucky! This is how my psyche processes the world, almost constantly. Give me the slightest reason to feel happy and I revel in it.

But the fact I compare, even subconsciously, means the other decaying, painful, dangerous stuff full of suffering and terror is still defining me, because as I tried to explain above, that was the base that made me, not an additional factor. So I ache. A lot. All the time. Even when I’m happy it’s there. It comes out in dreams, strengths, fears, passions, responses, abilities, weaknesses, in the very essence of who I am. And more tangibly it smashes me firmly and suddenly in the face several times every single fucking day. When I am knotted up in intense pain from old injuries that my body couldn’t manage any more I’m forced to remember them, the how and the why, and the fact that I am imprisoned forever in the wreckage. When I haven’t done something before and people look at me like a freak because they don’t understand that they learned to do it, and laugh and demand explanations. When I have to tell people some tiny fact that is unfortunately necessary and then they either want a backstory or make horrible  assumptions, that I then have to live with or rebuff.

So I ache. Physically and in myself, and I don’t think it can ever go away, so I get my Pollyanna on and make the best of it. It's what I do.

I’ve felt like a doll a lot over the years and not in a nice way. Dolls aren't real girls, they are subhuman  simulacra, and not usually very valuable. Doll eyes can’t cry, doll mouths can't scream, doll legs can't kick or run, doll hearts can't feel like real girls hearts do, and wasted emaciated bodies have doll like arms with big blue bulging veins that are ripe for bleeding. As an aside, now my body is not doll like in that way (hurrah!), I choose my multi-coloured hair and glitter because I feel more natural when I have pink hair than when it’s natural. As I said, fake is very much my natural state.

Doll Parts is a record of longing and determination that doesn't hide from the recognition of the core truth of what some of us are. We are broken, fucked up beyond repair, not pretty or perfect or particularly treasured, but simply the sum of our parts; our doll arms, and doll eyes, and doll hearts, and doll legs, and blue veins making up the whole. Yet still, despite all of it, we never stop wanting and longing and trying, and we just have to learn to manage everything. 




From Dirty Blonde, The Diaries of Courtney Love. Courtney's original scribbled lyrics to Doll Parts.

 

I want to be the girl with the most cake, and my scars are going to fucking sparkle, and I’m not going to hide.  I may not be a 'real girl' but that doesn't mean I can't have cake. Or a relationship that makes me happy, my way. Or a life - even if it has to be one with knives in it.

Having (or watching) men fucked by other men

This morning I posted on a thread in AAFQ on FL about women liking watching men fuck. I also recently did a random quiz, which included the question "have you ever had anyone question your gender?" I automatically answered no, as in the pure sense they haven't. However, if you look a little deeper there is slightly more to it than that.

Sexually speaking, a great deal (though not all) of my sexuality could easily be mistaken for that of a gay, male, butch dominant (or to quote someone recently "you're just a really sick hard gay top with a cunt aren't you?" - why yes, yes I am, thankyou for noticing).

Men engaged in SM and dominant/ submissive fucking can get me very hot. Consideration calls for some discretion here, but a great deal of my sexual fantasises involve various men I know well fucking and beating each other in various forms.

I think men can look glorious skewered on another man’s cock (preferably slightly against their wishes, as some sort of subordinate act). In fact I generally love watching men physically show their authority over other men, and subordinate males submitting. This incidentally extends way beyond the realms of sex or kink.

Two muscular male bodies grinding together can make me wet as hell. If the man on top pulls the bottoms hair and forced him down on his cock, orally or anally I am beside myself with orgasmic delight. Maybe a good punch here or there for good measure, And, what the hell, if some forced arse to mouth can be arranged all the better.

My own personal preferences reflect this. I like buggering men, I like making men service other men while I watch and compulsively orgasm like a fucking firework. One of my pleasures is having men get me off in some form while my own man is on his knees sucking their cock and looking for all the world like he wants to kill at least one of us. But fear not I keep him involved - I get him to pull my knickers down etc (Cosmo told me it's important to keep the spark alive in a relationship, and in my efforts to be a real girl I'm sure that's what they meant). To an extent during these times though I'm just getting my rocks off while I watch some damned fine humiliation/ gay SM porn tailored to my specific whims. I'm basically having an interactive wank while I watch the man I'm using to get off, shoot down my very reluctant man's throat.

I don't get off on camp men at all in this manner. Nor am I interested especially in mirror loving men whose muscles are for appearance. What I really like are muscles designed to work and the sort of men who have them. Fortunately for me this often plays in nicely to my enjoyment of seeing men physically or psychologically overpower each other.

When I take N out he gets a lot more female attention than one may imagine a 55 year old would. He also gets a lot of male attention – pretty subby boys love him, they're all big eyes and trembling lower lips etc (he still has that dominant vibe). The butch tops though, they like me. They look at me and even if they can't quite work things out, the more astute ones instinctively get that I'm the person to come through in an effort to get a piece of N. They also tend to bond with me quickly, often picking up on some social factors/ background first as a primary bonding move (there is very often a core link), then eventually as described at the beginning they decide I'm essentially a gay dominant dude. Or a pervert. Whatever.

And then the real fun starts, because seriously for a control freak sadist pervert like me, forcing the slave to take cocks in both ends, just for my entertainment, while I do whatever the hell I like is a fine way to spend a few hours.

Innocence

Manifesting my sadism has many effects on me. Primarily I become utterly primal, but there is another sometime manifestation that I thought I'd share because it is probably not one that people who don't know me in the flesh would imagine.

Sometimes, my sadism provokes a very childlike response in me. Not an especially standard or pretty childlike response of course, but....

The childlike sadistic glee I am describing may sound counterintuitive, but it really is the best description I can give. I just feel totally realised, at home in the Universe and utterly rapturously, blissful. And this sometimes comes out as though I am some delirious, demented child with a knife in one hand and an ice cream in the other, carefree and laughing while covered in blood and chocolate and sprinkles.

When we were out a couple of weeks ago at the event where I was beating the living Hell out of N with a sjambok (I had gone well into Big Sadism by this point), I had floated off to my happy place and was high as a sadistic little kite, euphoric on chemicals, and the contended oneness of doing the thing I was made to do (Joan of Arc may have had a more noble cause I realise but the phrase just fits) ;) So what did I instinctively do in the moments between blows when I wasn't torturing and tormenting? I spun around elated in the sunshine twirling my sjambok in the sky like some brutal blissed out little ballerina. This response may sound odd but it comes entirely naturally to me.

I sometimes find myself laughing delighted and gasping and squealing and clapping, much like a little girl receiving the dolly she has been longing for, wrapped in pretty sparkly paper, at a surprise birthday tea - "Oh my dolly is bleeding! And howling! How pretty! And I can make it do it again! Wheeeeeeeee!"

My intoxicated, exuberant childlike side also shows when I am toying with what you might call my 'people-toys'. The other day I was lying in the middle of N & Ava and doing painful things to them simultaneously. I was also happily getting my 'dollies' to hurt each other because I enjoy that, tra la la, look at the pretty bodies writhing around in pain. Clap clap. One of them was getting me off while N hurt Ava & I tugged on a chain yanked tight around his balls. Eventually both of them loudly howled in unison and I instantaneously orgasmed incredibly hard. On regaining their breath their instant reaction was to laugh, and stroke me loving and indulgently, I think because there is such a purity of desire in my sadism. In it's own depraved inverted way it's almost innocent. It's pure uninhibited passion, taking, and enjoying.

I'm not childlike in the little girl way you often hear about on kink sites. There's no "I am sweet and gentle and helpless and demure", or "I'm being a naughty little girl" stuff, or anything contrived or even eroticized. I just have the total uninhibited, enchanted glee of a sadistic girl who has had too much sugar (ok, blood) and is seeing what happens if she chains her human Cindy doll up and puts pins in it.

(My favourite blade)

People who see this primally recognise it as entirely authentic when it happens, and sometimes it terrifies the living fuck out of them. Other people utterly love me for it though. It's very honest and pure. I ponder why it disturbs people so much sometimes, and I wonder if they see me on some level as a cautionary tale ~ "Be nice to little girls, or they might pick up knives and turn into primal bloodthirsty dancing dollies who rip off their Sunday dresses, gag you with them, and happily run round in their knickers, cutting away just to have lovely blood run over their ice cream sundae like strawberry sauce." It's an oddly comfortable image for me.


At the time though I don't care what anyone thinks. I am too busy blissfully taking exactly what I want and twirling joyfully around in the sunshine like a carefree, euphoric, bloodthirsty fairy with an enchanted blade which is way better than any silly old wand.

Wheeeeeeee!