ServiceSlut & I talk about how living the BDSM lifestyle has changed us, from little things like hugging people, to dealing with our emotional traumas of the past.
The Love Bite – 03/10/2013 – How BDSM has changed us
Monday, March 11, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
The Love Bite – 03/03/2013 – Slave vs submissive with slave Julie
We chat with Julie, a slave, about her journey from being a bottom to a submissive to her acceptance that she is a slave at heart. She addresses the differences between slavery & submission. Oh, and she's adorable.
The Love Bite – 03/03/2013 – Slave vs submissive with slave Julie
The Love Bite – 03/03/2013 – Slave vs submissive with slave Julie
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Rape
This isn't a post about rape play, or even any kind of consensual play that BDSM kinksters do, it's about rape, my rapes. Yes, rapes. I could go on about how 54% of rapes are never reported, and how only 3% of rapists serve any jail time, but that's not what this is about, it's about being raped, coping with it, surviving and working to move on.
Rape is: Forced sexual intercourse including both psychological coercion as well as physical force. Forced sexual intercourse means penetration by the offender(s). Includes attempted rapes, male as well as female victims, and both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal threats of rape.
That definition is flat, rape is that guy who harasses you for a date, insures you drink a bit too much, pushes a kiss on you, and though you say no, he persists, insisting that it's something you both want, that it will feel so good. You don't want to, and yet your shirt is getting untucked, your skirt is getting lifted. At some point, as a woman, it's accepted that there really is no option, and though you never comply, you never consent, you do end up having sex. Sometimes your hands are held too tight, their weight on you is too much to bear, your mind races and then goes blank, it's the only defense you have, the hope that it will be over quickly. This was my first rape, and I was 15.
For many years, no, for many decades I believed it was my fault, that I had led him on, that I was overly flirtatious, that I behaved like a girl who went "all the way," so I said nothing, to anyone. My best friend didn't know, my mom, my sister, no one. It seemed like karmic justice for not being a "good girl." Why wouldn't I believe that? That's what society believes and touts, that you're not really raped because you were asking for it, and deep down you wanted it. But I didn't. I felt ashamed, mostly because I believed the hype that I was to blame, that I got what I deserved.
That moment is as clear in my mind as if it happened last week, my heart still races thinking about it, the look in his eyes as he grunted his disgusting sounds of pleasure, the breath being forced from my body as he pushed down on me, the pain in my wrists as he held them, the hickeys left on my breasts. I remember every humiliating moment in graphic detail, like a prison from which my mind won't release me. You know what I don't remember? Whether I made any sound, whether I uttered a single syllable, but I think I was quiet, mostly because it was on my couch and I was terrified my mom or sister would hear. When he was done, I remember him saying it was good, whatever that means, and leaving. There was no condom, no kiss good night, just me half naked on my couch as he bolted, thus adding to my sense of shame.
I decided some time later that I wouldn't be a victim again by becoming more of a predator, but guess what, even predators have predators. Many years passed while I continued my hunt, using men one after the other, often to simply avoid ever feeling the way I did that one night. Then I got married.
Well marriage fixes everything, right? Not mine. The first few years were bad, but they got much worse. He was abusive in many ways, which made me hate having sex with him. I refused many times, and went for long stretches without anything. He threw away all of my toys so I couldn't masturbate (I don't want to surprise y'all but I could still use my hand), I assume he did so in the belief that then my only sexual pleasure would be from him. Well that didn't work. Then this odd thing started happening, I would wake up in the middle of him fucking me. I don't remember the beginning, I just know that I was awoken by cock in my pussy. He would tell me that I started it and he simply complied. I hated it, I told him I didn't believe it, because I already knew that I didn't want him touching me so why would I want him fucking me? Then one night I wasn't asleep, and it all happened. He quietly slid my panties down and spread my legs and began pumping into me while I was supposedly still sleeping. I approached him and said that he had raped me, to which he laughed saying you can't rape your wife. Actually, you can. I can't tell you how much I regret this conversation, because after that he stopped hiding what he was doing and it got much more violent. He began raping me nightly, sometimes anally, and because I had become so trapped in the abuse he knew I wouldn't leave. Months blurred, I became a zombie barely living life, just going through the motions, not believing I had a choice, and always going back to the rape when I was 15 wondering if I deserved this as well. Was it God's justice on me? Was it because I wasn't a good enough wife? I could barely sleep, though not scared he would do it again and again, I knew it would happen. I never said yes, never enjoyed it, never encouraged him, I never consented, didn't kiss him, tried not to touch him at all. He just took and took without regard for me, ever.
It got worse towards the end, which might have been why I ultimately left. He would choke me, not in the good way, and I was scared, really scared. It was this fear that woke me from my zombie state.
He still terrifies me, and not a day goes by that I don't remember something awful that happened. I love sex, but there are some things that emotionally I'm not able to do, that will send me into a downward spiral of fear and self loathing. Some kinds of broken can't be fully fixed, not even with all the king's horses and all the king's men. Today I work towards being sexually empowered, being the master of my own body, my own sex, that's the only way I can cope with it all. I keep hoping with each day away from all of that there's improvement, and some days there are, some days there aren't, ebb & flow, the way life does.
You can take the girl out of the abuse, but you can't take the abuse out of the girl.
The point is, I guarantee that you know someone who's been raped, you may have been raped, and no matter the circumstances, it's not your fault. Sex requires consent, if you didn't give it, that's what matters. Don't accept the adage that you had it coming, you didn't, ever. Say no, and if no is said, respect that.
Rape is: Forced sexual intercourse including both psychological coercion as well as physical force. Forced sexual intercourse means penetration by the offender(s). Includes attempted rapes, male as well as female victims, and both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal threats of rape.
That definition is flat, rape is that guy who harasses you for a date, insures you drink a bit too much, pushes a kiss on you, and though you say no, he persists, insisting that it's something you both want, that it will feel so good. You don't want to, and yet your shirt is getting untucked, your skirt is getting lifted. At some point, as a woman, it's accepted that there really is no option, and though you never comply, you never consent, you do end up having sex. Sometimes your hands are held too tight, their weight on you is too much to bear, your mind races and then goes blank, it's the only defense you have, the hope that it will be over quickly. This was my first rape, and I was 15.
For many years, no, for many decades I believed it was my fault, that I had led him on, that I was overly flirtatious, that I behaved like a girl who went "all the way," so I said nothing, to anyone. My best friend didn't know, my mom, my sister, no one. It seemed like karmic justice for not being a "good girl." Why wouldn't I believe that? That's what society believes and touts, that you're not really raped because you were asking for it, and deep down you wanted it. But I didn't. I felt ashamed, mostly because I believed the hype that I was to blame, that I got what I deserved.
That moment is as clear in my mind as if it happened last week, my heart still races thinking about it, the look in his eyes as he grunted his disgusting sounds of pleasure, the breath being forced from my body as he pushed down on me, the pain in my wrists as he held them, the hickeys left on my breasts. I remember every humiliating moment in graphic detail, like a prison from which my mind won't release me. You know what I don't remember? Whether I made any sound, whether I uttered a single syllable, but I think I was quiet, mostly because it was on my couch and I was terrified my mom or sister would hear. When he was done, I remember him saying it was good, whatever that means, and leaving. There was no condom, no kiss good night, just me half naked on my couch as he bolted, thus adding to my sense of shame.
I decided some time later that I wouldn't be a victim again by becoming more of a predator, but guess what, even predators have predators. Many years passed while I continued my hunt, using men one after the other, often to simply avoid ever feeling the way I did that one night. Then I got married.
Well marriage fixes everything, right? Not mine. The first few years were bad, but they got much worse. He was abusive in many ways, which made me hate having sex with him. I refused many times, and went for long stretches without anything. He threw away all of my toys so I couldn't masturbate (I don't want to surprise y'all but I could still use my hand), I assume he did so in the belief that then my only sexual pleasure would be from him. Well that didn't work. Then this odd thing started happening, I would wake up in the middle of him fucking me. I don't remember the beginning, I just know that I was awoken by cock in my pussy. He would tell me that I started it and he simply complied. I hated it, I told him I didn't believe it, because I already knew that I didn't want him touching me so why would I want him fucking me? Then one night I wasn't asleep, and it all happened. He quietly slid my panties down and spread my legs and began pumping into me while I was supposedly still sleeping. I approached him and said that he had raped me, to which he laughed saying you can't rape your wife. Actually, you can. I can't tell you how much I regret this conversation, because after that he stopped hiding what he was doing and it got much more violent. He began raping me nightly, sometimes anally, and because I had become so trapped in the abuse he knew I wouldn't leave. Months blurred, I became a zombie barely living life, just going through the motions, not believing I had a choice, and always going back to the rape when I was 15 wondering if I deserved this as well. Was it God's justice on me? Was it because I wasn't a good enough wife? I could barely sleep, though not scared he would do it again and again, I knew it would happen. I never said yes, never enjoyed it, never encouraged him, I never consented, didn't kiss him, tried not to touch him at all. He just took and took without regard for me, ever.
It got worse towards the end, which might have been why I ultimately left. He would choke me, not in the good way, and I was scared, really scared. It was this fear that woke me from my zombie state.
He still terrifies me, and not a day goes by that I don't remember something awful that happened. I love sex, but there are some things that emotionally I'm not able to do, that will send me into a downward spiral of fear and self loathing. Some kinds of broken can't be fully fixed, not even with all the king's horses and all the king's men. Today I work towards being sexually empowered, being the master of my own body, my own sex, that's the only way I can cope with it all. I keep hoping with each day away from all of that there's improvement, and some days there are, some days there aren't, ebb & flow, the way life does.
You can take the girl out of the abuse, but you can't take the abuse out of the girl.
The point is, I guarantee that you know someone who's been raped, you may have been raped, and no matter the circumstances, it's not your fault. Sex requires consent, if you didn't give it, that's what matters. Don't accept the adage that you had it coming, you didn't, ever. Say no, and if no is said, respect that.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Hubris
Does one have to be Icarus to be hubristic? Cannot one simply have pride or is that then hubris? What does it mean to be proud? Are you forever relegated to the roles of Mr. Darcy or Icarus? Cannot pride be a good thing? I'm proud of who I am, that's not hubris. I take pride in what I've gone through to become what I am, that's not hubris, but when I hurt because I'm doing something that is not what I've worked to become, is that hubris? Is it my pride that's causing the pain?
I'm in love with a married man, who's not in an open relationship, and who's wife most likely suspects my existence, but doesn't actually know (we so often believe the truth we choose). This makes me the other woman, or the mistress (note the little M). I have been the other woman many times out of choice, because I did not seek a relationship, nor love, so I didn't care if they stayed with their wives, which statistically speaking, only 1% of married men leave their wives for their mistress, so I've got that going for me [sarcasm font]. He never lied to me about his situation, and I honestly didn't expect to fall in love, but I did, and here I am.
I am not other woman material when it comes to a relationship. I'm demanding, and I expect attention, affection and admiration at a whim, I'm the kind of woman that should consume you, your thoughts, your very breath. Being the other woman doesn't lend itself to that kind of consumption. Is that hubris? Is it pride, or is there no distinguishable difference?
I am at a crossroads; do I swallow my pride for love and continue in the hopes that he is the 1%, or do I sever my ties for the safe bet? Pride comes before the fall, but that expression doesn't apply, I'm not blindly moving forward because of pride, I'm looking with eyes wide open. I can't express the hate that I would feel towards myself, towards him should I knowingly choose to stay and he falls into the 99% category. I'm rarely vindictive, but I would be in this scenario. I mean, making this choice is a huge gamble, and I'm not a gambler, I like logic and reason, I like to know where my foot is stepping next, and with this, I'm at The Grand Canyon's edge blindfolded with him behind me, trusting that he won't push. ... Trust. This all boils down to trust. Do I trust him to do what he says he will do? I've found the magic question.
I'm in love with a married man, who's not in an open relationship, and who's wife most likely suspects my existence, but doesn't actually know (we so often believe the truth we choose). This makes me the other woman, or the mistress (note the little M). I have been the other woman many times out of choice, because I did not seek a relationship, nor love, so I didn't care if they stayed with their wives, which statistically speaking, only 1% of married men leave their wives for their mistress, so I've got that going for me [sarcasm font]. He never lied to me about his situation, and I honestly didn't expect to fall in love, but I did, and here I am.
I am not other woman material when it comes to a relationship. I'm demanding, and I expect attention, affection and admiration at a whim, I'm the kind of woman that should consume you, your thoughts, your very breath. Being the other woman doesn't lend itself to that kind of consumption. Is that hubris? Is it pride, or is there no distinguishable difference?
I am at a crossroads; do I swallow my pride for love and continue in the hopes that he is the 1%, or do I sever my ties for the safe bet? Pride comes before the fall, but that expression doesn't apply, I'm not blindly moving forward because of pride, I'm looking with eyes wide open. I can't express the hate that I would feel towards myself, towards him should I knowingly choose to stay and he falls into the 99% category. I'm rarely vindictive, but I would be in this scenario. I mean, making this choice is a huge gamble, and I'm not a gambler, I like logic and reason, I like to know where my foot is stepping next, and with this, I'm at The Grand Canyon's edge blindfolded with him behind me, trusting that he won't push. ... Trust. This all boils down to trust. Do I trust him to do what he says he will do? I've found the magic question.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
The Love Bite Valentine’s Episode – D/s relationships
Relationships are hard, add D/s and it can complicate it further. Nancy & I talk about our personal experiences, trial, tribulations and successes.
The Love Bite – 02/10/2013 – Valentine’s Episode – D/s relationships
The Love Bite – 02/10/2013 – Valentine’s Episode – D/s relationships
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The Love Bite Podcast Intimate Talk
On this show we discuss our darkest fears, desires and some recent relationship issues that resulted in punishment and a reset for Nancy and me.
The Love Bite – 02/03/2013 – Intimate Talk
The Love Bite – 02/03/2013 – Intimate Talk
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Sometimes I get it all wrong
It makes me laugh when people say they're scared of me. The concept truly is hilarious, I'm one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. I'm compassionate, caring, empathetic, attentive and above all, reasonable. Every one of these things robs me of the ability to be a "true Dom." And I'm about two seconds away from saying fuck it all. Either I should just be a douchy dom, they seem to get all kinds of respect, or just hang up my Dom hat. I am just a girl after all, I'm not deserving of it anyway. Aren't I just a submissive who hasn't found the right Dom anyway? (as all women are) [demi-rant and MASSIVE sarcasm font]
Sometimes I get it all wrong, I do all the wrong things, and make all the wrong moves. Yes, I fuck up, and when I do, I like to fuck up big (there's no point in being half-assed about a fuck up). My propensity to be compassionate often drives me to do it all wrong, there's no one to blame but myself.
For example, I poo poo'd Doms who had to capitalize "Me" or "Her" or "Him," and had their submissives lower case "i." All I could think was what assholes were they to demolish one of the basic tenants of English grammar for their own ego. How naive of me. Now I understand it, and it has nothing to do with a Dominant's vanity, it has to do with maintaining the balance in the relationship with a submissive. This was lost on me, assuming that balance was maintained by daily or ritualized contact. Not being a submissive, I don't know how their minds work, though I do try, so I couldn't see that they need this reaffirmation. NEED it. As foreign of a concept as this is to me, I need to accept it for the well-being of all involved. So chalk that one up as a tick in my failure column.
I also failed to understand that though some choose to submit to me, that doesn't mean they don't need a not so friendly reminder of this, often. The concept that one would be forced in any way to submit to me is appalling; however, that doesn't mean that they don't need forcible reminders of their role and responsibilities. It's another component of reaffirmation that I missed. *chalks another tick in failure column*
Sometimes as a Dominant it feels as though I'm working terribly hard, rolling that rock up the hill a la Sisyphus, and the submissive is just sitting there watching and waiting for their turn to receive some magnanimous attention. About halfway up the hill I think "y'know, some help would be nice," and where I fail is when I think that it's not their job to help. HELL YES IT'S THEIR FUCKING JOB. A relationship, ANY relationship requires both parties to PARTICIPATE, if it's just one, then fuck it, that's not a relationship, that's mental and emotional masturbation, and really that's what twitter is for. Here I was thinking that I'm supposed to do all the heavy lifting, such a falsity I told myself, and allowed myself to not only believe but live. No, boys and girls, that's not the right path. To believe that because it's hard it's right is fooling yourself, not to mention robbing you of what happiness should be. Life is hard efuckingnough without adding difficulties. Let's not do that, k?
So yes, getting it wrong sucks, but you know what's worse? Not realizing you've fucked up. Look, I'm not about to become someone's submissive because I made a mistake, I may be on some figurative rant about dropping it all, but I won't. It would be like giving up sex, or food, sure you can do it for a while, but it's not pleasant nor can you survive for long without either. (Okay, you can SURVIVE longer without sex, but it's just not fun). I suppose the best thing is learning and growing, evolving and becoming better. So yeah, I get it wrong, but I'll be goddamned (which I would be if I believed in God) if I'm going to stay stagnant in that or anything.
Sometimes I get it all wrong, I do all the wrong things, and make all the wrong moves. Yes, I fuck up, and when I do, I like to fuck up big (there's no point in being half-assed about a fuck up). My propensity to be compassionate often drives me to do it all wrong, there's no one to blame but myself.
For example, I poo poo'd Doms who had to capitalize "Me" or "Her" or "Him," and had their submissives lower case "i." All I could think was what assholes were they to demolish one of the basic tenants of English grammar for their own ego. How naive of me. Now I understand it, and it has nothing to do with a Dominant's vanity, it has to do with maintaining the balance in the relationship with a submissive. This was lost on me, assuming that balance was maintained by daily or ritualized contact. Not being a submissive, I don't know how their minds work, though I do try, so I couldn't see that they need this reaffirmation. NEED it. As foreign of a concept as this is to me, I need to accept it for the well-being of all involved. So chalk that one up as a tick in my failure column.
I also failed to understand that though some choose to submit to me, that doesn't mean they don't need a not so friendly reminder of this, often. The concept that one would be forced in any way to submit to me is appalling; however, that doesn't mean that they don't need forcible reminders of their role and responsibilities. It's another component of reaffirmation that I missed. *chalks another tick in failure column*
Sometimes as a Dominant it feels as though I'm working terribly hard, rolling that rock up the hill a la Sisyphus, and the submissive is just sitting there watching and waiting for their turn to receive some magnanimous attention. About halfway up the hill I think "y'know, some help would be nice," and where I fail is when I think that it's not their job to help. HELL YES IT'S THEIR FUCKING JOB. A relationship, ANY relationship requires both parties to PARTICIPATE, if it's just one, then fuck it, that's not a relationship, that's mental and emotional masturbation, and really that's what twitter is for. Here I was thinking that I'm supposed to do all the heavy lifting, such a falsity I told myself, and allowed myself to not only believe but live. No, boys and girls, that's not the right path. To believe that because it's hard it's right is fooling yourself, not to mention robbing you of what happiness should be. Life is hard efuckingnough without adding difficulties. Let's not do that, k?
So yes, getting it wrong sucks, but you know what's worse? Not realizing you've fucked up. Look, I'm not about to become someone's submissive because I made a mistake, I may be on some figurative rant about dropping it all, but I won't. It would be like giving up sex, or food, sure you can do it for a while, but it's not pleasant nor can you survive for long without either. (Okay, you can SURVIVE longer without sex, but it's just not fun). I suppose the best thing is learning and growing, evolving and becoming better. So yeah, I get it wrong, but I'll be goddamned (which I would be if I believed in God) if I'm going to stay stagnant in that or anything.
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