I decided to have a brazillian today. There really wasn’t any need and it’s not like I have anyone to maintain myself for, but I felt a little like it was my duty- to keep myself ready and available at all times. There was a period just after I’d decided to leave when I went through a phase of getting myself back, thinking that it was my pussy now and why should I be waxing/shaving for anyone? So I let it go for a while and delighted a little in controlling my body. But I felt this pressure from the little voices upstairs, that it was wrong and that something needed to be done about it. So today is the day. There is also a little excitement at having some pain (small though it may be). I used to sugar myself and I’d need to smother myself in baby powder because I’d get so slicked up that the stuff wouldn’t stick. Sad, isn’t it?

I’m also thinking about making this journal public. I’ll need to go through and change some names and put some background info in, but I think that I’m ready to do it because that phase of my life is over. And it is. I really think now that there is no going back. I can’t start to hate him just so that I can have some closure, but I think I can put him behind me and focus on the future.

There is hope yet!

Father figure

The similarities really are quite scary.

I saw my dad for the first time in about a year on the weekend. His non-existent care factor and complete lack of ability to communicate with me are strikingly familiar. I wonder if he would be able to whisper in my ear and tell me sweet nothings if he had access to a chat program.
I think about you then and now and wonder what the hell changed, what happened?

You seemed to be “telling” me that you wanted me back so I suggested the non-threatening medium of an email. That was about a week ago. We are in an age where a country can be formed in a day, yet you cannot write one little email to me. Why do I bother? I suppose people would look at me and you and look at my sister and my father and see the mirror images. Where I won’t even give him the time of day, she will give him the world.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my abilities as a sub/slave. I now have a great deal of doubt. In some ways I wanted to talk to you about us so I could allay my fears in me. I’ve broken vows of marriage and vows of slavery. My ability to say that I am “committed” and “devoted” seems to be about as water-tight as lace. Was I wrong for leaving? Should I have stuck it out because I had vowed to be a slave through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer? Looking at my track record it looks like my word means nothing. My word…me…. really is worthless…

The deepest, darkest hollow

It was tough to start to write again. There were a few things that I had wanted to write this past week or so but I wasn’t quite sure where I wanted to start and every time I came back here I’d see what I had written before and the whole Pandora’s box would be opened again.

One thing, at least I’ve stopped crying. There are moments when I feel intense loss; when I lay in bed and roll over expecting you to be there but you’re not, or when I see a couple holding hands and enjoying each other’s companionship. There is a lot to be said about love, but there is also a lot to be said for having someone to share your life with. Butterflies in the tummy might be all said and good, but familiarity helps get you through. God! I’m sounding like a fogey.

I think I’m going through a stage of getting back my life. I’m trying to really feel my boundless freedom and take charge. I really am in a place where I can do absolutely anything that tickles my fancy, which can be quite scary for a girl who feels most at home in a leash like me.

I’ve been spending some time in the chat rooms and writing quite a few emails. It’s all part of my ‘confidence building’ plan. After many chats with friends and much angst and agonizing, I’m starting to feel that perhaps I’m okay and there is nothing wrong (well, not that much…lol) with me, that I’m not too bad in the scheme of things.

Perhaps I should take some advice that has been flung in my direction and study some more. Pieces of paper can never hurt a resume. But then I’m not getting any younger and sooner rather than later, my best asset, my youth, will be gone.



It’s something that I’m very,very good at. I’d waited until the very last moment to do it, though;it seemed so very final and absolute. So all the boxes are sealed and what remains for me is to catch the plane. I marvel everytime my life is packed away into those boxes-it’s so meager and insignificant.

It was a very strange night. I knew something was different when we sat down to watch the movie and you put your hand on the back of my neck as you always had done. I really have no idea what is going through your mind as you see the minutes that we have left together tick by. You seem to be so much better than me at playing the nonchalant, stoic type. I have a few minutes every now and then when I lose myself in something and I don’t have to think about what is looming, but it doesn’t take much for the reality to scream through my brain once again.

You went to bed and asked me what my plans were. You never do that unless you want something from me. I was oh-so-tempted to turn the light off and leave you wanting, but that good little slave girl inside me that can deny you nothing responded. I see a change in your aura when you get into dom mode and something inside me kicks in.

I felt like they were the last rites of our relationship. The last time you would chain me, the last time you would fuck me and the last time that I would taste you. That knowledge put a completely different slant on it-everything was tinged with sadness.

It’s all so wrong. But this time there is no right.

All today I’ve had two words that you said to me ringing in my ears and I’m sure you know very well what they were. From those words I can only assume that with me is where you lay the blame. Those two words were an expression of your frustration- a feeling that my choice to leave is incorrect. I guess I should be happy that you’ve finally tried to show me what you are feeling, but all I feel is hollow with those two words echoing inside.

It really was bittersweet-that communication that I had been craving was delivered to me on a gilded tray of indifference, so shiny that I saw myself reflected in the surface.

Shiny. Buffed. Polished.



He is the one man, perhaps the only man in her whole life, who has ever seen her shame, known how she craves to humiliate herself, and yet has neither ridiculed nor despised her? He is the only one who accepts her shame, who wants to help her celebrate it. And she feels for him a profound gratitude, even a reverence, on that account.

There was a time in my life when I was seriously considering becoming a nun. That life of discipline, self-sacrifice and submission called out to me like a beacon in the dark. It was a ‘pure’ way to fulfill my needs to give myself to another and submit to the ultimate dom and his ‘mysterious ways’.

For some reason or another I chose the ‘dark’ path full of pain and darkness. The violence behind the ideas, the terror and the lemming leap of faith involved seemed to speak to me of an even higher calling.

I really can’t describe how traumatic this has been for me. It’s been a gut-wrenching, soul-tearing, mind-ravaging nightmare that has made me question whether it really is worth going on with life.Losing your god is sometimes too much to bear.

Now I’m smiling at the irony of the situation. You can beat yourself up all you want about what you ‘could have’ done, but the fact is you didn’t and now there is no going back. The fact is that our relationship was full of ‘could’ve, should’ve and would’ves’ but the bottom line is that you’ve gotta move on your ideas before it is too late, before the slaves get restless and there is rebellion.

Q:How many counsellors does it take to change a lightbulb?
A:One. But the lightbulb has got to want to change.

I’m smiling on the surface and trying to be tough, just because if I don’t I crumble into a crying mess. I’ve probably said some fairly thoughtless things to you and I know it’s not really an excuse, but it’s my way of protecting myself.

I was writing in my journal at work the other day with tears streaming down my face. Thank god no-one came in. I just couldn’t stop. I’m not really sure whether the journal is a catharthis or just me dragging myself over the hot coals relentlessly. Sometimes I really do wonder. But there are just so many things that I want to put down, want to try to gain understanding of through the act of putting them into words.

I’m just living in hope of some healing.