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I saw them coming from a few yards away and my heart flew up into my throat. I gave some meaningful eye contact for a long moment, averted my eyes, looked back once more to make sure they got the message. After all, I wasn’t alone. I have family visiting.

It’s something I’ve been scared of since I joined this community. I don’t use my real name. I had one close call out on a date, when I ran into a friend from my graduate cohort. Thankfully, she was cool enough to understand when I came out as poly to her and explained the situation.

But, here I was, with family, scared someone would blurt out the wrong name. Instead, the two looked away and walked by me in silence. 

Later on, I texted the one whose number I had, thanking him for understanding the situation. As I did, I realized something about my fear: I was scared most about being part of this community and ashamed of possibly being outed. But, I had neglected to recognize that word: community. It’s not just about the munches and the play parties, it’s about having each other’s backs. 

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I miss Sir. A lot. Like, all the time. 

And the situation is only made worse by the fact that he has his own work/family crap to deal with and I’m suddenly becoming more of the submissive I want to be right when he’s stuck handling all of that. I wish I could be able to show him in person how good I can be and how proud I can make him.

I realized tonight that I had done wrong by him a lot early on in my submission to him. In trying to cope with my own shame, I wound up shaming him for a lot of the things that he asked for. I told him stuff was ridiculous or “too porny” when it was honestly something I liked, but I was scared of admitting to myself that I wanted. As a result, he’s totally reticent about actively dominating me and letting me be totally passive to him, as opposed to pre-negotiating every detail of a scene. 

I apologized to him, but I still feel awful about it. I feel terrible about shaming him and how it’s now left him feeling really awkward as my dominant. Hopefully, he’ll be able to visit soon and I’ll be able to demonstrate to him that I’m not going to fall back on things like that anymore. But I still just feel horrible for having made him feel like he couldn’t articulate his fantasies without being made to feel ashamed.

Ugh, it’s so hard to admit when you’ve just plain, old, black and white fucked up. And it’s even harder when I have to wait to make it better. 

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Maybe there’s something a little sick about it. The fact that I gravitate to pastel colors and bridal lingerie for play parties or that I enjoy feigning innocence in the midst of doing something depraved. I like being the one sweet little outfit in a sea of leather and fishnets. I like feeling impressionable and corruptible. I like how there’s something inherently a little more perverse about an outfit like that than a mesh bodysuit.

I’ve spent a lot of time shaming myself about the stuff I’m into or finding places to draw arbitrary lines where “this” is okay and “this” isn’t. I’ve done a lot of useless work of sorting through which taboos are still acceptable and which are simply just too far. Frankly, it’s just gotten counterproductive and exhausting. 

So, yeah, I’m a little sick. But I am getting better at accepting these facets of myself. 

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A couple of people have tagged me in the thing where you pull up iTunes and post up the first 20 or so songs that come on your shuffle. I wasn’t sure if I was going to do it, but I pulled up iTunes just to see what came of it. 

The first song was one that I used to listen to right around when Sir and I first were messing around back in fall of 2012. Hearing it again, it took me back to the really weird space of that time where we sort of had no idea what was going on between us.

He’d given me the panic attack when he found my tumblr, he’d turned out okay, but I was still nervous. Even though I’d never seen him before at school, even though we had mutual friends and yet somehow had never encountered each other, once I met him he started turning up everywhere. Not in a stalkery way, in the way that something keeps appearing once you’re actually looking for it. And it made me anxious, because I worried about people somehow finding out about this blog.

I might just text you
Turn your phone over, when it’s all over
No settling down, my text go to your screen
You know better than that.
I come around when you least expect me.
I’m sitting at the bar when your glass is empty.

We started seeing each other behind everybody’s back. Not romantically, but just to mess around. After meeting him for the first time, I awkwardly got really subspaced when he tested out a flogger on me and felt really strangely attached. And I carried it out in doing this weird secret arrangement where he’d sneak in after my roommate fell asleep, tie me up and play with me, and then leave. It made me feel a little naughty and a little brave, and they say nothing brings people closer than sharing a secret.

You start calling, you start crying.
I come over, I’m inside you,
I can’t find you.

Aside from the obvious emotional fuckery that something like that comes with, I was coping with the fact that my relationship with that guy from my frat was not going to work and that he and I were awkwardly transitioning back into being just friends. To make matters worse, he was getting interested in my close friend, the Redhead.

And, even worse, I was placing all my shame and anxiety over this blog and my kink onto Sir. Worse, I was conflating it with him. 

Meanwhile, Sir wasn’t over a girl and the two of us would just wind up venting to each other about our respective issues. I spent a night at his place, talking and crying on his couch until five in the morning.

I was wrong, but would you have listened to you?

In an effort to protect ourselves, we were absurdly cold to each other. He had trouble kissing me. I had trouble not turning every other comment into a bitchy wisecrack against him when we weren’t just messing around. It was a harebrained effort to protect my heart from someone I felt an instant connection with but who I wasn’t sure would reciprocate. 

Are we dating? Are we fucking?
Are we best friends? Are we something in between that?
I wish we never fucked, and I mean that,
But not really, you say the nastiest shit in bed and it’s fuckin’ awesome.

Looking back, it’s weird to think that I felt so ambivalent about someone almost two years ago who now means so much to me. It’s also clear to me now how freaking lucky we were, because this could’ve all come together horribly. We were navigating this strange in-between space, we were trying to subvert an intimacy that was attempting to take root. Until, one day, he asked if he could kiss me. And then, at a Halloween party, he forgot himself and kissed me in front of my friends. Just like that, we weren’t a secret anymore. And suddenly, we felt free to be ourselves with each other, I felt safe being sweet and open with him, he felt comfortable being affectionate with me.

So, Sir and I are in love and happy. Even that guy from my frat and the Redhead are happily living together and are some of our closest friends. But, damn, could that have turned out pretty shitty. 

I guess the moral of the story is that even though he and I were fortunate enough to work out, don’t put up walls with people you want to let in. 

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Of course, this had to happen. I get home, I’m excited about what happened last night, and I just drop. I thought I was over this shame thing, but maybe I flew too close to the sun and I’m starting to feel awful.

This year has been huge for me and I was excited to start 2014 shedding away a lot of that shame about my sexuality. But I got home and suddenly I was bombarded with negative thoughts about how I wish I were normal, how this could ruin my career and relationship with my family, how I feel like such a freak of nature sometimes. I went back to a really awful place that I thought I’d moved past.

It started a little last night when I subdropped at the end of the party. I got really short with Sir and incredibly impatient and upset. He doesn’t deserve that and I didn’t realize that I still needed more aftercare, but I was acting out to a degree that he thought I was angry with him. My shame had even made me rationalize it that I was and that somehow he’d done something wrong. Which isn’t fair to him at all.

He just gave me a little pep talk reassuring me that I am going to be happy and successful and that all of this is okay. I’m paraphrasing, but it was so beautiful and so gentle and I love him so much for it. I just wish after a night like last night I could feel pride and not such complete and utter shame.

I’m resolving for 2014 that I shake this. I am so tired of these feelings and these old scars getting in my way. I hate that I have to constantly go back to this paralyzing fear of complete rejection if the people in my life figure out the extent of this side of me. I’ve been burned pretty hard in the past and it’s made my progress sometimes feel like I’m pedaling backwards.

This is also me asking your patience with me as I start to get my thoughts together and retell what happened. I had a wonderful time, but I’ve got some demons to work through here.

crescentmoon06:

…… by ~EmilyaManole

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A year and two days ago (agh I fucked up this and thought it was the 19th, but it was the 17th ugh), around this time, I took out my cellphone at work, checked my email and found this message from tumblr:

Good to see a fellow [Ivy Universityite] comfortably exploring her kinky side, and consider me impressed by how comfortable and well-articulated your sexuality is for someone our age.

There’s more, I’ve had to cut it because it is too school-specific.

The point is, a year ago Craftsmate came into my life and gave me a fucking heart attack. Like I said, I was at work and I had to walk calmly into the bathroom before having a freaking panic attack. I had just started discovering myself and opening up on here and I was worried that this would not only drive me to have to shut the blog down, but to reconcile the identity I created on here to explore my sexuality as well as all the facets of myself that stayed off the Internet.

I’d been careful and always kept one foot out the door. All my topless pictures only showed one boob, which was totally unintentional but reflected a general unwillingness to be too vulnerable. 

So, for those of you who’ve just jumped on board and don’t know how things turned out, here’s everything chronologically

For those of you who have, I don’t really know what to say without being hokey. But it’s been quite a year (and two days) and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Except maybe that stupid nickname. Sorry I decided to call you Craftsmate, it sounds like a freaking kitchen appliance. 

I love you. 

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This week, I have been committing several small acts of bravery. I am moving past that which I have been anxious about and denied about myself. Tonight, I’m going to take a big step.

Wish me luck.

robotcosmonaut:

Love Me, I’m Trying

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tease-and-deny:

alexandhissubmissivepet:

-Sir

Look at me. I want you to look into my eyes and tell me how proud it makes you to suffer for me. I want you to tell me that it makes your slutty little pussy wet.

(Also, Team Yellow Clothespin, woot woot)

It’s so hard for me to admit I like it or I want it. I so often hide behind some struggling victim persona to avoid having to confront the shame of actually enjoying it. But I’d like to become brave enough to stand behind all of my desires, even the most depraved, and this might just be the way to do it.

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Craftsmate had made me dinner and, after serving himself, put my plate on the floor. I got down onto my knees and went to start eating when he interrupted me.

“Not yet,” he said, picking up the roll of duct tape and taping my hands into little fists.

I huffed, pawing my napkin closer before gingerly lowering my face down to pick up a piece of broccoli.

Craftsmate watched for a few minutes with a smirk on his face as I carefully avoided getting food on my face as best as I could. All of a sudden, he reached forward and grabbed my hair.

“That’s not how kitties eat,” he insisted before shoving my face deep into the plate, covering it in food and sauce. “Kitties are messier, like this.” He pushed down a bit longer, shaking my head against the plate before pulling me up.

I stifled a whimper and cursed at him. Getting this vulnerable still scares me sometimes. I’m frightened when things start to get messy, especially when it comes to how much I enjoy it.

My head processes this sort of stuff in a way that figures that if I express outrage my partner will do it again without me having to ask. But this time, I had to.

“Do that again?” I choked out. I hated having to admit I liked it. I was ashamed to admit I wanted it. But, he complied, reaching up and shoving my face into the food once more.

“Good kitty,” he murmured as he practically wiped the dish with my face.

Without another word, I swallowed my pride and started eating.