The ‘Name that Movie!’ game

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these, so instead of movie quotes, I’m going to try something different and do movie summaries.

The first person to correctly name as many movies as possible will be crowned Movie Queen of the Innernets!!!

Remember: no googling, no jokes that are funnier than mine and the correct title of the movie is required.

The game starts now:

1. Set in northern Australia before World War II, an English aristocrat who inherits a sprawling ranch reluctantly pacts with a stock-man in order to protect her new property from a takeover plot. As the pair drive 2,000 head of cattle over unforgiving landscape, they experience the bombing of Darwin, Australia, by Japanese forces firsthand.

2. In the distant future, a small waste collecting robot inadvertently embarks on a space journey that will ultimately decide the fate of mankind.

3. Four London working class stiffs pool their money to put one in a high stakes card game, but things go wrong and they end up owing half a million pounds and having one week to come up with the cash.

4. In a future world devastated by disease, a convict is sent back in time to gather information about the man-made virus that wiped out most of the human population on the planet.

5. A classic fairy tale, with swordplay, giants, an evil prince, a beautiful princess, and yes, some kissing (as read by a kindly grandfather).

6. A Las Vegas-set comedy centered around three groomsmen who lose their about-to-be-wed buddy during their drunken misadventures, then must retrace their steps in order to find him.

7. In 2027, in a chaotic world in which humans can no longer procreate, a former activist agrees to help transport a miraculously pregnant woman to a sanctuary at sea, where her child’s birth may help scientists save the future of humankind.

8. By tying thousands of balloon to his home, 78-year-old Carl Fredricksen sets out to fulfill his lifelong dream to see the wilds of South America. Right after lifting off, however, he learns he isn’t alone on his journey, since Russell, a wilderness explorer 70 years his junior, has inadvertently become a stowaway on the trip.

9. A young Greek woman falls in love with a non-Greek and struggles to get her family to accept him while she comes to terms with her heritage and cultural identity.

10. A bored married couple is surprised to learn that they are both assassins hired by competing agencies to kill each other.

11. In October of 1994, three student film makers disappeared in the woods near Burkittesville, Maryland. One year later, their footage was found.

12. A young journalist must investigate a mysterious videotape which seems to cause the death of anyone in a week of viewing it.

13. Two straight, single Brooklyn firefighters pretend to be a gay couple in order to receive domestic partner benefits.

14. A retired master car thief must come back to the industry and steal 50 cars with his crew in one night to save his brother’s life.

15. When wealthy industrialist Tony Stark is forced to build an armored suit after a life-threatening incident, he ultimately decides to use its technology to fight against evil.

*I’ll be modding comments for this just so that the answers aren’t revealed too soon. Even if your comment doesn’t show up, rest assured I’ve got your answers in my hot little hands.*

What does he do when I don’t want to play?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing has changed as far as he is concerned – I’m still his slave, he still owns me. Whether I want that to be the situation or not doesn’t even come into the equation. It is that way; it has been that way; and will be that way as far as he is concerned.

Which is good for me. I don’t want things to change per se because I’m happy with things as they are. I don’t want him to suddenly treat me as his ‘partner’ or have him walk on eggshells around me, I just want him to realise that my waning interest is not waning interest in him – it’s waning interest in what I used to be interested in.

I’ve always thought that things generally have an expiration date. In my case, my interest in things probably comes and leaves slightly quicker than it does for other people, so when I have a craze for something, I leap into it and then once I’ve had my fill, I depart stage left.

But as I said, my waning interest won’t really affect Master. I’m sure he will still do what he wants to do when the mood takes him, but I’m also hoping that in an indirect way, my waning interest will perhaps ‘dull’ his interest in certain things. I’d enjoy less of the public stuff, less of the ouchie stuff and less of the me needing to be slavey stuff. Whether I actually do get a reduction in these things remains to be seen, but Master is a nice guy and in my experience, nice guys do nice things for people they are in a relationship with, so fingers crossed.

To be honest, I don’t know what his feelings are towards play. I’ve asked him a few times whether he is as interested as he used to be but I’ve never received a direct answer. The only thing I have to go on is the layer of dust on top of things we used to play with and from that I could safely assume that his interest levels and my interest levels are pretty much in sync.

But then I wonder whether his interest has already waned because of my wane. Has he already picked up on my negative feelings towards play and unconsciously adjusted things? I know it’s often the case that people will bounce off another during play and if one party is not up to scratch, the other will be the same, but I’m not sure in his case. I’d really like to know if it was one way or the other. If his interest has waned and we’re just going through the motions of teasing each other about ‘beating my ass’, I’d like to know. That way I wouldn’t feel so….guilty? I’m not sure if that’s exactly how I feel but I’m at a bit of a loss at how to describe it.

On the other hand, if he is still interested, I’d really like to know that too. I don’t know whether that knowledge would change anything for me, but there is always the possibility that it could be a bit of kindling for my fire. I dunno. It’s hard to say without hearing the words.

I think it’s hard when your man isn’t a sadist and you’re not a masochist. I’ve often asked why we do the ouchie stuff if neither of us is really into it, but the only answer I really get is that it’s a sign of submission. Either that or he tells me I have a ‘beatable’ ass and therefore it gets beaten. Personally I also think that the M/s stereotype is at work and we feel obligated to do stuff because that’s what is expected.

Anyway, what I wanted to say was that nothing will change. I’ll still wear the shiny thing. I’ll still blog. And I’ll still whine.

Welcome to the new me ūüėČ

What to do when you don’t want to play

For a while now I’ve felt my interest in all things kinky to be waning. It’s a lot like I’m simply going through the motions¬†and I find myself¬†feigning interest because I’m ‘wearing the shiny thing’¬†and that¬†obliges you to be interested in that stuff. Honestly, I think if I didn’t have another kinky moment in my life ever again, I’d be fine.

I’m over fetlife, play parties and fetish wear. I can still manage boots because they’re actually in fashion this winter – especially those of the thigh-high variety – but everything else I can really take it or leave it.

I’m also over angsting over my ‘slavery’ and all the assorted stuff that comes with it. It was fun while it lasted, but try as I might to convince myself otherwise,¬†it’s not really me. And if I’m constantly trying to convince myself otherwise, that’s a pretty good indication of what is actually the truth, don’t you think?

I find myself getting more and more snarky towards newbies and cynical about everything else. My eyes glaze over at the fiftieth discussion titled, ‘Am I normal?’ and my answer to everything is a nice, short, ‘meh’.

I don’t associate play with excitement or butterflies or anything else like that anymore. My first reaction is usually, ‘Do I have to?’ followed by, ‘How long is this going to take?’ and completed with, ‘Are you done yet?’

My heart just isn’t in it and I can’t will myself to feel any differently. Pretending otherwise is just a waste of everyone’s time.

So yeah, I’m over kink everywhere except in the bedroom, ’cause that’s the only place where it still rocks my boat.

I just¬†couldn’t imagine going back to ‘vanilla sex’ or ‘making love’ as they like to call it even if I’m no longer interested in anything else. Sex has been and will always be an animal act for me. I don’t see it as an expression of love between two people and I don’t require any of the niceties that are supposed to be associated with it.

Just have your way with me and leave me a snotty, dishevelled mess. kthxbye.

Why some people amuse me greatly

Normally I’m not one into pointing at people at laughing, but sometimes, there are just some situations where I just can’t control myself…

Like this morning when I opened up my email and saw this:

I’m sure after looking at his delightful pics that, like me, you immediately want to know more about him…

Behold, the introductory blurb:

Yep.

I like the ‘Ming vase’ reference. Classy.

Every month as a member of alt.com I get an email that summarises the members of the month and people who are interested in my profile. The gentleman above was chosen as a ‘standout member’ for his ‘discerning taste and style’.

Now, I realise that some doms have fetishes and are into leather, latex and all that sort of stuff, but for me, I just can’t take a guy seriously if his outfit is better than mine.

I also can’t take a guy seriously if the expression on his profile pic seems to say, ‘You be my vase and hold my flower baby’, but that may also just be me.

P.S I really do need to get myself a keyboard cover so when I snort coffee all over the place after looking at amusing emails I don’t fuck up my iMac.

PP.S Sorry if this is your profile….but…umm…you might want to rethink things a bit…

Why I don’t think sucking it up is the answer to everything

You wear the shiny thing so suck it up.

It’s a phrase I hear all the time and it drives me absolutely crazy.

I think, feel, worry, hesitate, angst just like every other human being. Wearing something around my neck does not help me deal with things any better and it does not make all my problems magically disappear. In fact, wearing the shiny thing gives me a whole new layer of things to feel on top of the constant flood of emotions and fears that I have as a result of every day life. On top of money worries, family worries and body issues, to name a few of the everyday things floating around my brain, as a slave I also get the lovely worries of angsting about whether I’m ‘slavey’ enough, whether I’m pleasing enough, whether I’ll pass out next time he beats my ass, and so on and so forth.

In short, wearing the shiny thing makes things harder – not easier.

I understand that as a slave I’m supposed to take all these things in my stride. I know I’m supposed to be able to juggle life, work and slavery with one hand while I give Master pleasure with my other and still have every hair on my head in place, but I can’t. And if I can’t manage to do all the physical stuff at the same time, imagine what’s going on in my head. Imagine how over-stretched I feel when all the little voices keep chip, chipping away at my

I don’t think sucking it up actually deals with anything. More than anything it pushes the problem under the rug and just delays the inevitable confrontation. There might be ways of working through some things, there might be problems that easily be solved with some discussion, but there will always be stuff that is ‘untouchable’ – that core of beliefs that are intrinsically formed from a lifetime of experiences and the scars and battle wounds of former relationships. Those things can’t be altered, because they form the basis of the person’s personality and that person’s humanity.

It’s serious shit dealing with the stuff inside people’s minds. It’s not something that a bit of ‘re-training’ will address. Yes, you can be taught to make someone a cup of coffee in the exact way they like it or give head so they cum in record time. Learned behaviours can be re-learned, but beliefs, ideals and emotional baggage are beyond the scope of behaviour modification.

Being told to ‘suck up’ something that goes against my internal wiring is like pouring petrol on a dying fire. It’s going to flare up and burn your eyebrows off, but after that initial burst, the fire is still going to die, because nothing has really changed.

I can’t do everything. I’m not super slave. There are limits to what I can and cannot do. There are limits to what I can and cannot deal with mentally and emotionally. That’s all part and parcel of being human and more importantly part of being me.

Being a slave doesn’t change that – I’m still me.

Why I think I have an under-evolved gag reflex

After two, maybe three glasses of wine and a ridiculously over-priced and not very nice meal that included one raw oyster that I downed in an attempt to (yet again) overcome my loathing of oysters, I spent the hours of 1am-4:30am feeling incredibly nauseous and like I desperately wanted to vomit.

But I didn’t.

I made numerous trips to the toilet down the hall from my bedroom where I spent considerable amounts of time hugging the porcelain and willing myself to vomit.

But I didn’t.

So I decided to help nature along by shoving some fingers down my throat. I knew I’d feel better if I could vomit, so down the fingers went. One finger…two fingers…pushed all the way down the back where I fumbled around with my tonsils, and I moved my fingers around and pulled them out and shoved them down again, hoping to make myself heave, ¬†but nothing.

I know in certain circumstances, having an under-evolved gag reflex can be a wonderful thing, but when you’re desperate to heave it can be a bummer.

Eventually at 4:30am, after downing several panadol and managing to throw up a bit, I fell into an over-tired slumber until 6am when I heard Master get up. Then I slept some more and got up at 10am to have some toast with vegemite and a cup of tea – my settle-my-stomach breakfast of choice.

Speaking of gag reflexes, have you ever thrown up while having a cock shoved down your throat?

I have.

Once.

Although, it wasn’t so much the interaction of the cock and my gag reflex that did it, it was more what the cock smelled like and where it had been before going down my throat that made me throw up in my mouth a little.

(In case you hadn’t guessed, ¬†I have a strict TMI policy on this blog…sorry….)

I remember distinctly there was a reasonable amount of rear-end action where I thought my ass was going to be forever broken, and then I was flipped over with my head hanging over the side of the bed and there was a cock-down-throat situation.

I’d done an enema that day but apparently there are some things that even 3L of warm water won’t remove.

By the way, vomit and a cock down your throat really restrict your ability to breathe. It’s a good idea at that stage to remove said cock from throat before the receiver dies and then you’re answering uncomfortable questions about why there’s a dead girl on your bed wearing shackles and there’s vomit on the sheets.

And just as a public service announcement, one thing I found really helped de-evolve my gag reflex was swallowing whole chunks of different foods. Start out with something soft like bananas and gradually make the pieces bigger. Then move up to grapes, cheese, apples, carrots etc. Then you graduate to half-swallowing them and bringing them back into your mouth again and doing that over and over.

Funnily enough I didn’t set out to de-evolve my gag reflex, I just started doing that when I was a kid because I liked the feeling of swallowing and being able to feel things in my throat.

Well, after sharing that information that you probably didn’t need to know, I feel like I need to hurl some more. I think I’ll go back to bed.

Why I think I’m slightly hentai

I’ve recently discovered anime porn. Well, I haven’t ‘recently’ discovered it actually, I’ve known of its existence for 15+ years, but I’ve only recently started to think that it may have some possibilities.

Why? Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s getting harder and harder to find porn where the girl doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself. I’m guessing for most guys (those that aren’t sadistically-minded) that having the girl moan and oohh and aahh is good not only for the ego, but also for his enjoyment, which means that a lot of porn show girls either enjoying it or trying to look like they are enjoying it.

Hentai, by the way, means ‘strange’ or ‘deviant’ and hentai anime covers things like bdsm, rape, confinement and other such niceties that I enjoy watching. It also includes that curious genre of tentacle porn, but for the life of me, I just can’t understand how large octopus-like tentacles appearing out of no-where could possibly be sexy in anyone’s language.

For all my fascination and interest in all things Japanese, I’ve never really gotten into anime or manga. I keep feeling like I’m totally uncool because I don’t read or watch anything in the anime/manga family and invariably these days, if the topic of conversation turns to Japan, 100% of the time it turns to a discussion of anime/manga and I’m generally there saying, “Did you know Naruto is actually a little piece of boiled fish paste that floats in raamen noodles?” because that’s the only thing I can add to the conversation.

Before we went off to Japan, I was discussing books and things that I should bring back with me to Australia with my boss. I wanted to know whether there were any good manga or anything that he could recommend because I was sick of feeling like the un-cool kid on the block. He suggested a series set in Hiroshima during and after WWII saying it was something ‘everyone should read’ and then seeing my slight lack of enthusiasm about reading depressing stories about radiation sickness, gave me a sly look and said,

“Why don’t you get yourself something a bit erotic? I’m sure you can find something to suit your tastes.”

And once again I was sitting there thinking, “Yeah, he knows about me and my deviant behaviour.”

Yesterday he also said something to the new guy in the office that made me think he knows more than he lets on. When explaining how he manages me (in the sense that I know my job and he just lets me be to go about doing things at my own pace) he said to the new guy,

“Yeah, I do a bit of houchi play with her.”

Houchi means to abandon or leave to their own devices and houchi play is generally used to describe tying someone up and dumping them somewhere or stripping them naked and leaving them in a car park or something like that. So while he doesn’t exactly come out and say to me, ‘Yeah, I know you’re into funky stuff’, he drops all these hints and things that are just totally amusing.

But I digress from the subject of anime porn. I like it because the girls always have suitably ‘innocent’ expressions and there’s always an element of being forced. In fact, Japanese porn in general is, 99% of the time, centred around shy and ‘innocent’ girls being made to do nefarious things. It’s actually a very good reflection of the general attitude towards women in Japan – that they should be cute, sweet and not forward when it comes to things of a sexual nature.

Now if only they’d get rid of the really hairy bushes and the mosaic blurring over the naughty bits in Japanese porn; then I wouldn’t be forced into getting a fix from anime where most women are drawn with boobs larger than their heads and a waist the size of my wrist.

Why I think Master has an addiction

Exactly how many cameras does one man need?

Apparently the answer is three digital and two SLRs.

Master added a new addition to his Panasonic digital camera family today – the black baby Lumix on the far right. As a result, I’ll be moving from Daddy Camera (TZ1) on the far left to Mommy Camera(TZ5) in the middle, while Master enjoys his new TZ7 baby. (Daddy Camera will be taking up residence at Master’s Daddy’s residence in Melbourne now that the new baby has entered the scene.)

Master has a total of 30,000 photos on his various hard drives.

Of those 30,000, there are 5814 photos of me.

5810 of those are photos of me in various states of undress.

5800 of those photos show me wearing boots.

The remaining four photos are photos of food that the facial recognition software in iPhoto on the iMac has mistakenly matched to my face.

Perhaps I look like an omelette.

(Well, it might be a slight exaggeration, but there are many, many photos of me naked and in boots.)

Truth be told, I’m excited about inheriting his old camera. I think it takes much better food porn ūüôā

Why I’m known as the omelette queen

Thinking about what to have for lunch today, I decided to really live on the edge and have what I’d normally only eat for breakfast- an omelette. (Yeah, I really walk on the wild side when hungry and left to my own devices.)

I like to fill my omelettes with big chunky pieces of tomatoes, capsicum, jalapeno peppers, mushrooms and sometimes, but not today, onion. I also added some left-over cold chicken that we had in the fridge.

Then I went Japanese and smothered the baby in tomato sauce:

I’ve never had an omelette in Japan that wasn’t served with a smothering of tomato sauce or a bottle on the side to squirt on your own, but then again, omelettes in Japan are mostly filled with rice and look like this:

Speaking of tomato sauce or tommy sauce (which is what we call it in my neck of the woods), I was reading wiki the other day – for no other reason than I’m a nerd – ¬†and discovered that there’s a huge thing about whether you call it ketchup, catchup, or tomato sauce. I remember when I was going through my makes-me-cringe-now Garfield phase (yeah, it followed my I-want-a-horse stage and was right before my in-love-with-Mel Gibson phase) and wondering why it was written as ‘catsup’ (to be honest I thought it was a joke, like ‘cat’, and you know Garfield is a cat and yeah, I’ll just shut up now.)

Funnily enough I never used to like or eat eggs. I spent the first…umm…20 years or so of my life never eating a boiled egg, a scrambled egg, or even an omelette. There was just something about the idea of eating something that came out of a chicken’s bum hole and that could become a living animal that totally grossed me out. Now I’m okay with eggs as long as they are well-cooked. I’m still not big on the soft-yolk or the poached or the raw in any way, shape or form, but omelettes are things that now line my tummy several times a week.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, my omelette for lunch was divine. Usually I’m not one to brag, but I really do have to say,¬†it was FUCKING FANTASTIC!!!

Ceremonies and all that jizz

A couple of people we know recently did a collaring ceremony. From what we’ve heard of it, it was a mix of pagan rituals & other assorted stuff that involved a near-naked ‘collaree’, a broach-pin to extract some blood and a ring of breadcrumbs that no-one could enter or leave once the ceremony started. I can’t tell you exactly what went on because we didn’t go, but I’ve seen the pics and heard enough of what happened to get a fairly good idea of what the ceremony entailed.

I’ve witnessed quite a few people doing the ‘collaring ceremony’ thing recently and it seems to be the thing to do if there’s a shiny thing involved in your relationship, but I wonder, is there really a point?

I’ve done the big white dress thing and it was a great experience. I’m glad I did it; though I’m glad I did it more for the ability to be able to cross it off my life experiences list than the actual ceremony itself. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more stressful experience in my life for such an extended period of time than I did during my wedding preparations and the build up was so great, that the actual ceremony was a bit of a downer. I couldn’t shake the, “Is that all there is?” feeling once it was over with. In retrospect, maybe I needed some fireworks to really end it with a bang ūüôā

I understand the desire of people to have a wedding ceremony in front of friends & family because it’s what society expects, there are customs & traditions involved that attendees are aware of and legally you need witnesses to sign the marriage certificate. But a collaring ceremony that has no legal implications, no societal acceptance and no meaning to anyone but the couple involved? I really don’t see it as anything more than another form of public play.

Maybe I’m harsh, or maybe Master’s lack of empathy is rubbing off on me, but I just don’t see the point of getting dressed up in some medieval-looking garb and pricking my finger with a rose.

I think the only thing people in kink can agree on (maybe, every now and then) is that everyone has their own definition of what they ‘are’ and what their ‘role’ entails. My definition of a slave can be quite different to someone else’s and then of course, there are the folk who say slaves only exist in certain third-world countries and that to even call someone ‘property’ is an insult to those who actually are property of another human being. So based on that, standing in front of a whole bunch of people and declaring you are someone’s ‘slave’, has absolutely no meaning to anyone else but the master and slave involved.

I realise there can be many different takes on a marriage too, like in some marriages the woman wears the pants and makes more money or everything can be split down the middle and they can almost be living separate lives. There are a million and one ways to live under the umbrella of marriage, but every marriage is defined by law and the basic rights of each party in the marriage are set down. People understand when you say you are ‘married’ and when the time comes to dissolve the marriage there are specific legal things you have to do. The reality is that there are bigger implications for ‘getting married’ than ‘getting collared’ and nothing shows that more than the absence of a Hallmark ‘Congratulations on your collaring!’ card at your local supermarket.

If I was going to do something, I’d do a branding ceremony,” said the scary man who holds my leash. “I’d get you naked, have you tend a fire for the brand, then have your friends hold you down while I had my minion sear the red-hot iron onto your flesh. All the while I’d be lounging back in my chair, sipping on a drink. That would be the only way to do it – have your friends well and truly fuck you over to the last.”

You’ve just got to love a man with an imagination, haven’t you?

Hand to mouth

One the aspects that I’ve always loved about being property is being treated like an animal. Well specifically, like a pet.

Master has been hand-feeding me recently. First it was grapes then segments of mandarin he’d peeled and held above my head so I could reach up and grab them like a well-trained circus act.

He had a warm glimmer in his eye as his did it and sometimes moved the morsel around so I’d have to follow it and reach up further.

‘That was so much fun,” he said afterwards.

Normally Master doesn’t like sharing his food. His food is his food and he said that he has never shared his food with anyone before but me. I feel kind of special knowing that he is willing to share his food with me and even take pleasure in it.

There was a time before that I ate everything out of one of these:

Of course, eating everything out of a dog-bowl is not without challenges. My brekky of nuked Weetbix and milk would usually involve me getting some of it up my nose (and of course, the nuking had to be done in a different bowl and then the finished product transferred to the stainless bowl for eating on floor). Sandwiches had to be cut up into bite-sized portions and everything had to be cooled enough so that third-degree burns weren’t sustained on my tongue.

On the pet theme, I also spend some time in this:

Which is big enough for me to fit in, but not large enough to be comfortable for very long. After several hours in my cage, I can understand why one of the easiest and most successful torture devices is something that keeps you in an enforced foetal position.

And then there’s this, of course, the ultimate pet accessory:

I have several, with chains of different lengths, straps of different colours and a really big mother-of-a-chain that’s not really a leash but that is used to leash me to his bed.

Slave? Pet? What am I?

Who knows.

Dear Alan

Thanks for the comment. It’s always refreshing to hear *yet another* view that I’m a bad slave. I’ve always questioned whether I really am a slave or not, so thanks for clearing it up for me by saying that I’m just ‘playing at it’ based on your observations from afar ūüôā

I had a look at your blog because you left a link and I’m always curious about who reads me. So you have an on-line slave and less than a year’s experience? Funnily enough, I don’t think I’ve ever had a comment saying I was a crap slave from anyone other than those who live in lala land.

Amazingly, there also seems to be a correlation between people who really haven’t experienced M/s in real life and those who feel the need to tell other people they are doing it wrong.

Now before you tell me that online M/s is equally as ‘real’ or ‘more real’ than real life, let me tell you that I’ve done both several times and it’s not.

Really.

Trust me on this one.

In fact, I’ve had three on-line M/s “relationships” and of those, two developed into real life M/s situations where I packed up my bags and went to live with the person I’d been a devoted on-line slave to for months. The realities I found when I actually got there were very, very different. Everyday life was very, very different to the ‘perfectness’ of on-line life where there is no ‘life’ and just pure play and it was incredibly harder.

My first owner, whom I fell head-over-heels in devotion for, turned out to be a very different person to the persona he had presented to me on-line. We’d chatted for hours, talked on the phone for hours and done the webcam thing. I thought I knew everything about him and that we’d slide seamlessly into M/s in real life. He lied to me, cheated me out of considerable sums of money and, as I found out later, had a past that still sends chills down my spine. People are not always who you think they are and that can be said about both the Master and the slave in the relationship equally.

My second and current owner is also someone I met online. We chatted for months on-line and did the long-distance M/s stuff before I finally decided to go and live with him and be his twoo slave. We’ve been living together for nearly 4 years now and it’s been hard, really hard for both of us. There have been meltdowns, re-adjustments, removal of collars, re-collarings, crying, screaming and many arguments. Wow…if you take out the ‘collar’ stuff in that description it looks like I just described a ‘normal’ relationship – because ultimately that’s what it is. All of the arguments, adjustments and compromises are all part and parcel of learning to live with another human being and sharing your lives together. There are family, friends, job issues, pets, housing, bills etc. (all the stuff that never pops up in on-line relationships) to deal with as well as the M/s stuff. That’s what makes it hard – life. Life is so much harder than the M/s stuff.

I don’t say I’m a good slave or pretend to be something I’m not and the fact is, I’m still learning how to please and serve. ¬†And even though I may not be ‘here’ for Master emotionally sometimes, like when he’s sick as I wrote in my last post, at least I’m physically here, as in five metres from his bedside and my slavery is not dependent on an internet connection.

Sarcasm aside, I’m still looking for that definite moment when I can finally say to myself, ‘Yes, I’m a slave and that’s what I was meant to be’ but until then, I’ll keep working through my feelings and laying it all bare here. If what I say goes against your sensibilities as an owner of another slave, just don’t read it, okay?

(Oh and one last thing…above and beyond that on-line vs real life stuff, keep in mind that you’re not qualified to make any sort of judgement on my ability to be a slave because I’m not yours. The only person who has the right to give me a yay or nay on the state of my slavery is the one who holds the end of my leash – Master. Meaning not you, me or anyone else really has a right to pass judgement on what is his.)

When he’s sick

I was thinking about what was behind my little outburst in my last post. Well, I don’t know if you can really call it an ‘outburst’, as much as it was simply me telling the truth instead of saying what I think he wants to hear.

I’ll admit that I do that a lot – the saying what I think he wants to hear stuff. Not so much here, but in my interactions with Master. I used to tell him the truth during interrogation sessions and I remember once he said that it ‘interupted the flow’ or something along those lines.¬†Upon reflection, I can see how an interchange of:

“What are you?

“I’m your slave and property.”

helps the flow so much more than:

“What are you?”

“Your whiny & often annoyingly mouthy bitch-cum-slave whose arm is now dead from you pinning me to the bed with it.”

I’ve also learned that telling the truth often gets me pinched by Master’s fingers of death and so to save my skin (quite literally) I give him what he wants to hear straight up so that I can remain bruise-free.

But anyway, I was thinking that there is a situation that often tips me over the edge into outburst territory and that’s when he’s sick – not the makes-me-all-juicy kind of ‘sick’, but the am-I-going-to-have-to-call-an-ambulance? kind of ‘sick’.

Master is sick at the moment and it’s about the sickest I’ve ever seen him since we’ve been together. Unlike every other man I’ve ever been around, Master really has to be sick before he will admit to being sick and¬†even then¬†he’ll gruffly say ‘I’m fine’¬†after¬†a coughing fit that leaves him breathless and barely standing. He actually got sent home from work yesterday for the first time in his life and I’ve been deathly worried to the extent that I’ve crept up to his door at various times during the night to check that he’s still breathing (yeah, I know that irrational fear, but I’m stupid like that…)

Now I know he’s sick and I’m supposed to be looking after him and everything, but along with the worry about him, I’ve also got this growing feeling of becoming less and less of an M/s relationship because, well, he’s not in a position to be in control of me.

It’s totally fucked up but it’s happened before. I remember being with my first owner and things blew up between us after several bouts of sickness on his part. Of course, there were underlying problems between us to begin with, but his¬†repeated colds¬†(that he also used as¬†another excuse¬†as to why we didn’t play anymore) brought things to a head and lead me to ask to have my collar removed.

Things with Master are fine and I’m not saying we’re on the verge of a break-up or anything, but I just find it really messed up that instead of being able to wait patiently for my SO to get better and things to resume as normal, I actually get irritated and let rip with thoughts that are best talked through when both parties are able-bodied.

I’m not sure whether it’s the sense of suddenly being thrust into the driver’s seat that makes me panic and become all emotional, but I really find it sad that instead of being compassionate and caring at the times when he needs me, once more I become totally focussed on me, my problems and I.

Does it have to be about me all the time?

Whine & you shall receive

Apparently if you whine about a lack of releases, sometimes the man will grant you a couple. Yes, people, I officially have two releases up on the fridge door with an expiry date of today¬†and the gods, being so kind, saw it fit to give me my period two hours ago. If it wasn’t so tragic, I’d be laughing.

Master has also written a blog about my release situation. From his point of view, I have to earn my releases and I understand the theory of that, but the reality is that it’s a bit of a ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ situation. ¬†Just like every other human being, I want to get something out of what I do. I don’t want to be constantly giving down a black-hole of slavery where nothing is returned to me. And while I understand that releases are things to be earned by doing things that please him, I really don’t get motivated to please him unless there’s something to sweeten the deal.

We go around in circles sometimes because he wants to be pleased and I want to be pleased, but he won’t please me unless I please him and I want him to please me so I can please him. What comes first, you please me or I please you? Chicken? Egg? Omelette?

Actually I don’t need to be pleased beforehand. I don’t need three mind-altering orgasms before I feel like I want to suck his cock, I just need a sign, a glimmer, that somewhere, sometime, my needs are going to be addressed. At the moment I just feel like I’m staring into a big, black pit with no light at the end of it whatsoever.

Yes, I know I’m hormonal, nancy and suffering from chocolate withdrawal, but seriously, what does a person have to do to get tied up and played with a bit around here??? And if that’s asking too much, how about you let me take care of my own needs before I start climbing the walls and and writing desperate-sounding blog posts that are going to get you hate mail?

I say constantly that the act of wearing the shiny thing doesn’t change how I feel or the basic facts of my humanity. Locking that band of metal around my neck doesn’t suddenly make my needs go away or focus my entire being on serving and being pleasing. I’m the same person with the collar as without the collar. More than anything, my collar is an outward symbol to other people of what I am. It’s like a name-tag with my name on it or a t-shirt that says, ‘Ho’, even if I don’t have something defining who or what I am that the world can see, I’m still the same person inside.

Because I don’t have a need to serve or a button that gets pushed by doing his laundry/cleaning his toilet/tottering around the house in boots, there are times I need to have my needs met. I need to get a little something out of this relationship too, ya’know?

And that’s what I think he forgets sometimes.I often feel that he thinks once the collar goes on, his part his done.

But isn’t that actually just the beginning?

The right position (NSFW)

I was bored.

Like, really,really, OMFG-breathing-is-boring, kind of bored so having nothing else to do but eat yet another easter egg, I instead went over to check on what porn updates occurred while we were away. And I found a shoot that just pushes all the right buttons for me:

*mops brow*

Yeah, I don’t know what it is, but something about that uncomfortable position, the wide-openess of it all and the cock up the ass, that just makes me all sorts of juicy.

And there’s another shot:

…which is not just hot for the whole tied-to-a-wooden-plank angle, but the look on her face.

It’s the damn-this-hurts-they-don’t-pay-me-enough-for-this look that really pushes my buttons.

I’m hankering to have a look at the vids, but because I’ve had four releases since December last year and nothing at all for the past two months with nothing at all on the horizon, I’m not going to. I’m just not masochistic enough to watch porn that pushes my buttons without the ability to get down and dirty with my hitachi afterwards.

I had a little bit of a whine to Master about my release-drought earlier. I suggested to him that ‘getting’ something would make me much more willing to ‘give’ something, as in, when I have releases, I feel much more sexier in general and get into the nakedness and boots headspace quite easily. Whereas, without releases, I feel like a dried up old hag, who if you suggest nakedness and boots to, will likely laugh in your face.

I like to think of myself as an engine – keep me churning over and I’ll stay lubed and raring to go, but shut me down and dust will choke the fuel lines and I’ll need more than a jump-start to even tick over.

But I don’t think he gets it. And even if he does get it, he doesn’t care.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that concludes my rant for the day and also sums up nicely reason #562 of why it sometimes sucks to be a slave.

Shitty movies I’ve seen lately and geeky gadget stuff

Julie & Julia – I blog and I love food, but I still didn’t get what was supposed to be so good about this movie.

2012 – I didn’t make it past the first fifteen minutes. Thank god I was on a plane and had 35 other on-demand movies to amuse myself with.

The Blind Side – I have no idea how this won an Academy Award…well, actually I do, but let’s not get into discussions about white guilt.

Sherlock Holmes – Robert….how can thee be so good, but thou movies so bad??

and the list continues…

Thank god for Avatar, or 2010 was looking like a total write-off as far as movies were concerned.

Other than a little outing to get some photos printed so I can send them to my grandmother and a supermarket run to get bread, milk & fruit and vegetables, we spent the day doing as little as possible. Master is still recovering from the cold/flu thing he picked up while we were in Japan so I stayed by his bedside loungeside and scoffed chocolate. Did I mention that I won an easter hamper *FULL* of chocolate while we were away? Yeah. It’s just the PERFECT thing to win when you’ve stuffed yourself full of melon bread, put on four kilograms and have vowed to start a diet on your return. This is the ridiculous hamper I won:

(I calculated that there are over 3kgs of chocolate in there…)

So yeah, the diet is starting again….from Monday (because I need another day to build motivation…and scoff some more chocolate.) For the last week, I’ve been wearing the uber little calorie measuring device I picked up in Japan so I can work out a plan (it needs a week to measure your average calorie expenditure). This is what it looks like:

It’s got a 3-D sensor in it that measures your movements/lack of movement and calculates approximately how many calories you’ve burned. As well as the typical pedometer functions measuring steps and distance, it also calculates calories burned during jogging, aerobics and desk-work due to the movements of your body. You can also set it for a certain amount of weight-loss you want to achieve in a month and it will work out what your daily calorie deficit needs to be and then will suggest things you can do to reach that and it keeps a daily record of whether you’ve reached your target or not. It’s obviously not as accurate as a heart rate monitor, but it’s much more user-friendly.

I also bought myself another set of scales in Japan and I now officially have three sets of scales lined up on my bathroom floor. These are my new ones from Omron:

The top part detaches to make a more accurate measurement of body fat (and is also good because the display is at eye-level instead of between your feet) and along with all the usual measurements of BMI, body fat, skeletal mass, bone density and fluid levels, the new function it has is measuring skeletal muscle. This is apparently a good indication of how well your internal organs are functioning and your joint health. Mmmm….I love gadgets.

Speaking of gadgets, I also popped the cherry on my new rice cooker (did I mention I brought back a rice cooker from Japan as well?)

(It came with a steamer rack, measuring cup and rice scoop for the price of $90.)

The only sad thing about this rice cooker is that it is actually made in Thailand and so the instruction manual includes recipes for such home-cooking favourites as Khao Ob Gai lao Khing (griddled rice with cooking rice liquor and ginger chicken) & Joke Moo Deng Sai Kai Yeoa Ma (congee with bounced pork an duck’s egg preserved in potash). And I shit you not, that is exactly what is written in the book.

Master wanted to know why the hell I went to Japan and brought back a rice cooker made in Thailand. And I can understand why he asked, but the answer is simple – because I had no other choice. Being that Australia runs on 240v and just every other civilised country runs on something else, Hitachi make one rice cooker that runs on 240v – for the Thailand market. So it has the two round prongs on the power cord for the Thai power plugs that I had to buy an adaptor for to use here, but at least it works without a transformer. In terms of functions and settings it leaves everything else available in Australia way behind, but in Japan, it’s the lowliest of the low models

But I was happy with the rice it cooked and more importantly it has a timer! Yay! There’s nothing like setting the rice cooker before you leave for work in the morning and coming home to the smell of perfectly cooked rice wafting through the house.

I made kick-ass curry to have with the rice and it was truly scrummy. Julia Child I may not be, but I can still make a mean curry.

Ignorance is bliss

For the two weeks we were away I hardly looked at the internet. I checked my hotmail and the weather report and that was about it. No fetlife, no blogs, no spending huge amounts of time pissing around on the internet when I could have been doing something more productive and I have to say, it was really nice.

It’s not that I don’t love the internet, I do and it has changed my life in ways I can’t even begin to imagine, but I find that the internet also has a bit of a drawback – it gives you *too* much information or what I like to call *too* much ‘comparison material’ when you really don’t need it.

How many times have you read a blog or read something on the internet that made you question whether you were ‘okay’? I’m not talking about those lovely self-diagnosis sites where every time I put in my symptoms it tells me I have yet another type of cancer, I’m talking about reading about someone’s daily life or relationship and thinking, ‘Gee, I don’t do that. Should I be doing that?’ or ‘That’s not how I feel. Should I be feeling like that?’

Without the knowledge of the other person’s activities or feelings, you wouldn’t question your own because you’d have nothing to compare it to. But now I have the minutia of the life of every man and his dog on the planet, there before my very eyes and like a cud, I chew it over and chew it over, wondering, questioning whether my life is up to scratch.

I’m different to Master. I’m constantly seeking validation from around me before inching forward, whereas he is happy to charge along, blazing down the trail. He doesn’t care about mistakes or obstructions on the road ahead; he forges through with wild abandon, very rarely, if ever, looking behind. I’m much more cautious, much more timid, and easily distracted by what’s going on around me.

While I love reading other people’s blogs, I do find that I am happier when I’m not reading them. There are no comparisons to be made and no yardsticks to be measured by. It’s nice when it’s just me and Master doing our thing. And that’s what it was like for the two weeks. Now I’m surrounded once more by the, “Why”s and “Why not”s and it’s hard to stay on my road.

Apparently while we were away lots of things happened in ‘the scene’ – couples broke up, tensions mounted, rules were changed. In the space of two short weeks there was enough material for a two-hour gossip session over coffee and I had 46 unread threads on my fetlife page. But funnily enough, I didn’t want to know any of it. I didn’t care that so and so had broken up with so and so (and just as a side note, it always amuses me when people are shocked by a break-up of a D/s couple. People break up all the time so why should a D/s couple be any different??) or that so and so was on the verge of a cat-fight with so and so. Did their personal issues have any bearing at all on my life? I didn’t want to know.

I just wanted to go back into my bubble and stay there.

I know eventually I’ll have to re-join the world and go back to the dreary task of validating my life based on some secret code of who is tougher/cooler/more submissive.

But not just yet.

I’ll just keep on repairing the tears in my bubble until I can’t hide any more and I have to face the world around me.

But not ’til then

The ex

As I mentioned yesterday, I met up with my ex while I was away. Looking back, the very short time we had together was probably one of the highlights of the whole trip for me (the other being the seven varieties of melon bread I sampled).

We’d arranged to meet at a train station close to where he now lived and about 50km from the hotel we were staying at. Considering that¬†Master and I had¬†spent the greater part of that day travelling back to Tokyo, I didn’t think Master would appreciate being dragged off on another multiple train journey in rush hour, so he stayed at the hotel recuperating and I went out alone with my boots & shiny thing¬†glinting

Funnily enough, I didn’t actually mind the¬† journey because¬†part of it was a trip I used to do everyday when I lived in Yokohama, so the squishy peak-hour rush brought back memories. That was my first time doing it in stiletto-heeled boots though and I have to say, boots add another level of discomfort I’d never dreamed of.

So my ex picked me up from the station in a little blue car that he’d recently bought to take him to work. It was so not him. I guess forever in my mind he’ll be driving a red sports car and not some granny-like mini car (he had attempted to pimp it by installing some uber GPS navigation and tv in it though, so I guess the sports car blood is still running through his veins.)

I sat down in the passenger’s seat and he welcomed me back to Japan putting out his hand so I could shake it ‘like friends’ except when I did he covered his hand with mine saying how he had ‘missed my small hands’. Then we drove around looking for somewhere to have coffee and ended up in a restaurant chain we’d often frequented when we were together that is known for its all-you-can-eat fresh bread selection (unfortunately no melon bread, though).

So we sat and ate and talked. He filled me in – in great detail, I might add -about what the last 4 1/2 years had been like for him – painful, emotionally draining, life-changing – and I…well…I¬†apologised and had a bit of a cry. He said he was sorry for ‘chasing me out of Japan’ and not sitting down to talk through things properly¬†before¬†I left.¬†He said he regretted not trying to work things out before we got divorced and that he’d been churning over things in his mind ever since.

We didn’t really talk much about my side of things, which suited me just fine. He asked about my job and Perth and that was about the extent of it. Other than that we just talked about what had changed in Japan and what our trip had been like so far.

A couple of days before I’d had a bit of an extended conversation with him on the phone where I brought him up to speed on my family and he’d asked whether I was ‘still into the D/s stuff’. He seemed relieved when I said I was, as though as long as I’d broken up with him to follow my ‘truth path’ then it was all worthwhile. Nothing else was said or asked about it though and no comments were made on my shiny thing. My slut wear did get a ‘I can see your boob!’ comment from him though, that made me laugh and reminded me that although he’s nearly forty, he’s still a little boy at heart.

And because he didn’t bring up the topic, I decided to bite the bullet and ask about his fiance. I asked if he was marrying her because he loved her. He said no, but that they both enjoyed each other’s company and were getting older and it seemed like the right thing to do.

I thought it sounded like a very Japanese thing to do.

Then he handed me over some photos and letters I’d left behind and gave me an omamori charm he’d bought from his shrine to bring me happiness. It was nice.

All in all, we had about 1 1/2 hrs together before he had to head off to work. He dropped me back to the station saying we’d have to meet up again when we next came to Japan and that he’d try to get a day off so the four of us could meet and do some sight-seeing. Then he shook my hand again and we parted ways.

The whole thing had been incredibly strange and oh-so familiar all at the same time.

I do have to say that it gave me some closure though. I realised for the first time that I love him dearly as a friend, like my best friend, or a brother but that there is nothing else there. Neither of us could have given the other what they needed and therefore going our own separate ways was the best thing for us.

I think I’m ready to move on and I hope he can someday too.

 

A burning moment

The first blog back after an extended absence is always such a momentous task. I really hate doing them. Not only do you feel the pressure of needing to be witty and entertaining right off the bat (which,¬†anyone who has met me in rl¬†will testify,¬†doesn’t come naturally to me) but you’re also faced with the dilemma of where to start.

Two weeks isn’t long in the scheme of things, but the amount of stuff we jam-packed into those two weeks is ridiculous. On reflection I’m wondering whether it was a ‘holiday’ or some kind of¬† “Truman show” game show where the audience gets to laugh at the crazy foreigners lugging suitcases across the length and breadth of Japan.

So I’ve made an executive decision not to put all the Japan stories here, but under the little tabbie¬†thingie¬†where I’ve been keeping all my Quirky Japan stuff. I figure everything I have to say about Japan will fall under the ‘quirk’ category anyway, so I’m better off separating it (there’s nothing new there just yet, but I’ll get around to it….sometime…I promise…lol.)

I also figure that there is a huge chance of this blog turning into some sort of Japanese-girl-trapped-in-western-body-talks-about-nothing-but-food-porn-and-weight-loss-and-how-quirky-Japan-is type of thing, so to avoid that I’m going to stay on track here with the Master/slave stuff and start out with the topic of what the trip did to our relationship.

Thus, the burning moment.

So while I¬†occasionally have the kind of burning moments that make me think I have a UTI,¬†the burning moment¬†I’d like to discuss is actually the¬†thing that stood out most in my mind about our trip to Japan:

For the entire two weeks, I felt like our dynamic had been totally turned on its head.

I’ve felt like this once before actually. The time I brought my ex-hubby to Australia and because he didn’t understand the langauge and relied on me totally for everything, he suddenly stopped being my hubby and became my bitch.

Now I’m not going to say that Master became my bitch in Japan for fear of¬†truly awful consequences¬†because that wouldn’t strictly be true, but honestly, he spent the two weeks without even as much as 1 yen in his pocket and when I said, “Run!” he said, “Look bitch, you’re fucking stupid” “Which platform?”

I didn’t really think about it much until the night I went off to have drinks and a chat with my ex-hubby (it’s another huge story that will be divulged at a later date). He ended up having a little more time than I thought and it took me longer to get home than expected, meaning that I got back to the hotel nearly two hours later than I’d originally told Master. Things were made worse by the fact that I’d forgotten to take the hotel’s phone number with me, so when I was going to call him to say I’d be late, I couldn’t and I was completely uncontactable as far as Master was concerned.

Suffice to say, the Man was pissed off and rightly so. He also said that he was thinking what would happen if he had to fill out a missing person’s report and that the interview with the police would go something like this:

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was the name of the person she was going to meet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is her passport?”

“I don’t know.”

‘What are your future travel plans?”

“I don’t know.”

And so on and so forth.

To add to my feelings of being totally in control, there was also a twenty-four-hour period where my collar was removed and apparently I became nancy about having it put back on again and there were “attitude issues” while it was off.

Getting dressed up in the white make-up and the kimono necessitated that I have a bare neck so he grudgingly obliged and took¬†the collar¬†off about 5 mins before we left the hotel that morning. We’d taken the allen key just in case there was a security issue with the plane or something – which there wasn’t – and it was lucky that we did. I don’t think the photos would look the same with the big chunk of metal around my neck.

He wanted to put it back on as soon as we returned to the hotel that night, but I asked if I could have a bath first. A few too many drinks, some late night snacks¬†and a chronic lack of sleep made me fall asleep without taking a bath that night and when he went to put it on the next morning, I protested that I hadn’t had a bath yet.

Apparently that was a bad thing to do.

But it went on anyway so I tramped off to the communal bath and prepared myself for yet another unfulling bathing moment where I just quite couldn’t clean my neck properly.

Personally, I don’t think there were attitude issues¬†on my side at all, but I did notice¬†that while I wasn’t wearing the collar, Master was a lot grumpier than normal. I don’t know whether the fact that I was running around town collarless disturbed him or whether he was just having his man-period not feeling well since he’d managed to catch a cold, but he noticeably cheered up once it went back on.

Now, in his defence as Uberdom Master of the World, it would be remiss of me at this point not to say that I did get ‘centred’ on the bullet train by being made to kneel on the floor on the carriage at every station and a video was made of my confession about being nancy. There was also a¬†policy of SMC (suck my cock) as we arrived at each new destination so we had SMC -KL, SMC-Tokyo, SMC- Kyoto etc. Generally once we’d put down our luggage in our new hotel room, he’d announce it was SMC TIME¬†and take position. Every time he said it, I couldn’t stop the strains of MC Hammer going through my head.

I suppose it must have been very relaxing for him in the sense that he was taken from one location to the next, checked into hotels and all the cash transactions handled for him. All he had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride. If the situation had been reversed, however, I would have wanted to know what our schedule was and what was happening so I could maintain some semblance of control. I would have taken an active part in the planning and taken a slightly more proactive role than he did.

Of course, if you ask him about it, he’ll say that his bitch in the silver thingie was handling everything and could you bring him another drink.

We’re baaaack!

In the blink of an eye our trip to Japan started and finished. One minute we were in the land of divine food and loaded up with cash to buy goodies and the next we were back in Perth minus a suitcase (fortunately, it turned up the next day) and with $60 left in our wallets.

It was all very surreal.

They’ll be some more detailed posts to come about what we got up to while we were away, but just as a bit of preview here are some of the things that filled our two weeks:

Cherry Blossoms at Ueno Park, Tokyo

Sashimi of the yummiest kind

Densely packed cities by day

Breath-taking views by night

Neon so bright you’d think it was day

Temples, temples, temples

Many zen moments

A gallon of make-up and a very heavy wig

Many, many varieties of melon bread and several types of sakura mochi (pounded rice cakes with azuki bean paste)

Copious amounts of sushi

Tiny, tiny bathrooms with funky toilets

Relaxing communal baths

Scrummy obento eaten on bullet trains

Artful & divine cakes

Snow-capped Mt Fuji peaking through the clouds

English that lost something in translation

Stay tuned for the story about why my collar came off and also find out how on earth the man who owns me managed to almost take more photos of random girls on the streets wearing boots than of anything else on the trip.