Storms

I had a terrible nightmarish dream on Friday night about being in the stocks and about the single-tail. For me, those two things together seem to evoke a horror and a terror that plunges me into a mental darkness that is as black as anything I know. I woke in the middle of the night, sweating, chilled, with my heart racing, trying not to cry... and I couldn't get back to sleep.

The irony is that the single-tail, like the stocks, was a gift from me to Him. I bought it, knowing that it was a fearful thing, but that it was something that attracted and fascinated Him. So, I swallowed hard and took the leap.

I never kidded myself about it (at least I don't think I did). I knew when I chose to give it to Him, that it would challenge me from the moment it went from my hand into His. The giving of it was a facing of my fears, and a relinquishing of a measure of control, and an ongoing act of submission. The fear of that whip remains to this day, each time He takes it in hand, I fight the urge to scream, to beg, to refuse, to flee.

Now there are these stocks, and they are truly awful. Mentally and emotionally awful because they take all the options away; because they are cold and hard; because they leave me alone and isolated; and because they enforce a sort of physical vulnerability that is tangibly humiliating. But, it isn't just the emotional tangle. There is a purely physical issue with these things, too. I don't have to be pretzeled into this monster very long before my legs start to shake and cramp while my shoulders and elbows and back start to strain and ache. It stretches the flesh so tightly over my butt that there's no padding so every blow feels like it lands straight on the bone of my pelvis or my tail bone. I have to hold myself just so, or the weight of my head puts pressure on my throat and it becomes difficult to breathe. It is just physically hard to be there... so no way can I just relax and try to find a way to "ride" out the pain of whatever else might be going on.

But I'm trying to learn. I made the committment when I chose this gift. The fact that it is hard doesn't let me off the hook, but we are finding that we are needing to go slow. I am needing to learn ways to stand, to lean into it, to bend, to breathe. I am needing to find a place in my head to even be able to get there in the first place.

Honestly, it is making me crazy a good part of the time. Making me question my path. Making me wonder if I can do this. Making me wonder about "consent." It isn't Him pressuring me. I'm putting the expectations on myself, and it is me that feels disappointed when I "fail" according to my own set of goals. I want to do this better and braver.

A big part of what makes this hard for me is that I see all the "Internet Chickie-Poo's" who get spanked and caned and whatevere-d and smile through it all and never even get their hair of makeup messed up -- and I know I'll never ever measure up. There's always some cute, young butt out there ready to take on whatever the meanest sadist can dream up. How's a working, washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning, old lady like me supposed to keep up? I can't tell what's real and what's make believe and what is legitimately a viable yard stick for any kind of anything anymore. There aren't any real people for me to see, except now and then when we manage to get to a BDSM conference.

I think I might be lost.

swan