They say before you die you see your life flash before your eyes. This week-end I had the opportunity to see mine, without the dying part. I am glad for that part! I wanted to do a car wash flogging. I did one several weeks ago, but wasn’t able to go as far as I wanted due to the ropes. We had a suspension and a flogging planned. I have never been suspended, rope just isn’t my thing. I like it, it is pretty, I just don’t have the patience. The suspension was what stopped me. My leg went numb. I had to come down. The scene was ended. It was fun, but I wanted to try the car wash again, see how far I could go. Last night we did it again. I was in a massage chair, eyes blind folded., binaural beats playing in my ear phones. Tutivillus drew some binding signs on my back and both his and MindnBody’s arms. Later he explained the meanings. The open and closed areas for the flow of energy. Lifelines and energy flow patterns. The flogging began. I don’t remember much of the individual hits. The blows seemed to run into each other, an occasional wrap around would bring me to notice. Then I would pop up, yelp or curse. Slowly going back into myself and the “movie , my life in snippets. Swinging on the swings in elementary school, Giggling non stop with friends. Running around the old fields by my house. The same fields where apartment houses now are becoming old, run down “bargain” rental units. Yes, that many years ago. The childlike wonder of Christmas mornings. Almost TV sitcom like in those days, before the greed and materialism of today’s standards. Happy memories. Small, non-eventful moments, remembered in small doses. I remember giggling a few times. Recalling stunts we tried pulling, moving closer to the teen-age trouble making we did, that in today’s world would seem so innocent and non troublesome. Yes, I was a nerdy kid- just on the edge of being a cool kid, not quite there. I was happy with this as a teenager. I grew up with the “cool” kids in my town. Had known them since I can remember my firsts- kindergarten, skipping around the neighborhood, playing dodge ball, football, making sand castles and as we grew older, sleep-outs in the empty lot between our houses. These moments played in my head. Between junior high and high school we moved. To a larger house. My mothers dream house. Perfect in her eyes, the kids could still go to the same schools, a sheltered neighborhood, The first I had ever heard of a homeowners association, a monthly fee for having a park, and activities just for the neighborhood use. Our house bordered the park. Easy access to the large expanse of grass, playgrounds for the younger kids- the older ones later at night, and stuffier neighbors. But not close enough to my old friends. I made new ones. They were not stuffy, nor “conceited” as my old friends complained. They were nice, accepting and fun. Many good times were spent in the park, hanging out with friends. Talking about the future. My old friends were nice enough. I wasn’t included in their plans anymore. I watched them start high school becoming what they always complained about my new friends being. Conceited and mean to others. I was very glad I was not among them. I was never the object of their meanness. I knew them too well. I was just glad I wasn’t one of the “cool” kids anymore. I was just accepted as, well, just there. Not one of them, but not an object of their ridicule. Funny how I have always described my inclusion like this in most of my descriptions in life. Work life, social life etc. through the years. Not quite a part of the group, but not unaccepted. Talked to when around, treated ok, but not totally accepted and included in the initial plans. A periphery acceptance. Moving on to later days, I remembered the fun times of young adult hood. My times spent at the local watering hole, Trying to manage parenting, school and fun. Somehow doing it all without knowing how I did. Growing up, learning the good and the bad about life. Then the stinging sensations began. I do not like stingy. I prefer thuddy. Thuddy sensations put me in a very nice gooey spot. Melty as I like to call it. Stingy makes me angry. Sitting up in anger I am told to not sit up, it is not acceptable- injury could occur and the scene will be done if I do it again. I want to return to the happy memories, I lay back down face first into the chair. The happy memories do not come. Now the sadness. Memories of the unhappiness, the disappointments and the pain in life. Many long forgotten. Relationships gone bad, memories of betrayal, hurt and anger. I think I am crying. I start to get a bad memory, a harsh mean word said to me. Then a realization. Good ones pop in over the bad ones. Harsh words heard with a follow-up of truth from a memory that dispels the words. Swirling of the two. I am now feeling stronger. The negatives I feel are being crowded out with the actions. I hear a phrase I heard when I was a girl, teen age and pregnant. Very looked down upon back then. “You will never amount to anything, you will be a Welfare bum you know.” Followed by my running into this same person as she is ringing up my groceries that I am buying for my party for Graduation. I have just completed a Master’s Degree program. We talk some little small talk, I am not really interested in how many kids she has, how she hasn’t been able to go back to school or get a job that pays more than minimum wage because she makes more to stay home. I don’t think I even told her what I was up to. I think it is ironic. Karma. Maybe. I feel bad for her. I don’t want to, but as much as I hate her comments, she was just young too. Hopefully she is happy. I continue to see moments of betrayal and negative for what they are. Non truths, people are human. Nothing personal. Everyone has things they are ashamed of, feel bad about, me included. I understand this. I am now going into more happy memories. The time spent with my mother before she died. We did not get along after my pregnancy. I did not spend much time with family for many years. The last few years before she died I became very close with them. I am grateful for this. We didn’t know she would die so soon. I was able to ask many questions of her. Put to rest many unknown whys and let the negative thoughts go about family. I have missed her a lot. Lately, I have been missing her more and more. Not sure why all of a sudden I do, but it has been increasing. I continue into happy memories. Then they fade. I am having a discussion with my mother. Questions, concerns. I am not sure what is real and what is not. I do not really care. I move on to a discussion with an unknown animal. And then clouds. Clouds dissipating from grey to white fluffy clouds in a blue sky. I am done. I am not feeling the blows but just think I have done what I set out to do in this scene. I sit up, I am asked is that red? I say yes I think I am done. The scene is over. I am oozing. I have never had open areas, skin bleeding or large bruises from flogging. We took some pictures. I need to take more as the longer it goes, more bruises show up! I had a fabulous time. I am sore and bruised. And more at peace I think. Maybe I can see myself more as part of things and not just accepted as being there. Who knows!
I decided I wanted to do a scene that incorporates several things into it. I wanted a flogging by several people at once and I wanted to be suspended while they did this. The multiple floggings is a carwash. I have never been suspended. I like chains. Rope is conducive to suspension. Rope doesn’t give me a smile and make the clinking noise and have the cold hard steel feel that warms to the touch and has a metallic smell that is faint, but present no matter what you do to it. Rope is a lot of peoples fetish. I love the way it looks on someone when they are tied up, suspended and in decorative ties. It is pretty. I am very impatient. Rope takes time, knowledge and a lot of talent. I am unsure of the talent part as I have so little of the patience that I have never attempted to learn rope. Knowledge is something I don’t have a lot of in the rope area, but it is very available if I was interested. So, the impatience part really is my strongest barrier. I decided I wanted the suspension. I would be patient. I was for about 90% of the time. Tutuvullus was the one who prepared and asked people for help with the scene. He was able to have Mindnbody do the suspension part and also participate in the carwash. And Novicecub was kind enough to step in when Gameruk was called in to work and couldn’t make it for the third in the carwash. I was very nervous about this scene. I haven’t been this nervous in a while for a scene. So many different aspects. Never have done a suspension, never have had more than one flogging me at a time and I haven never played with any of the participants except Tutivillus. Mindnbody, and Novicecub are both hard players. Could I really handle all three at once? And then there is the suspension. I was suspended for a few minutes with chain by Tutivillus. It was very different. More like being restrained and then put on a swing. The tightness of the rope is not able to be duplicated with chain. The feeling and way it is done is very different. I start the scene out with getting undressed. The party has so many people there this time. Standing room only in some areas, people sitting on the floor. Many people are very new to the scene. Their first party. A few old that have been around a block a time or two is in the chairs right in front of the area we are starting to get set up at.. One person starts to crack a whip right next to me. He jokes about maybe he should hit me a few times while I am waiting to be tied up. It might loosen me up and make me a little more comfortable. I laugh, but really, it might be true! The rope starts. It is not cold like chain. I like that but it doesn’t do anything for me. At least at first. I am pulled up after several adjustments. (I am not a very good submissive, I want comfort and stuff…dammit!) No, I am a masochist. A sadist. And occasionally I can be a Domme . But I am a picky masochist. I want the types of pain that I like, not whatever anyone else wants. So, rearrange to get the pinching areas tweaked. I am suspended up. I then have earplugs placed and a blindfold put on me. I relax and am just there. Floating in my own little world. Almost sitting, but leaning forward. No pinching, no pulling no noticeable anything. I start thinking about popcorn. It is popping so light and fluffy and white. Flowing down the side of the yellow tub. Red letters on the side of the tub and the white popcorn is so big and fluffy. All the kernels are popping. None of the kernels laying in the bottom of the tub. It smells like fresh popped at the movie theater. Ouch, I can’t remember what I say, but something about hitting my butt without a warm-up is not a very nice and proper thing to do. Probably not worded that way but…. who can remember specific words! I realize the flogging to my back is what feels like popcorn popping would feel like. A little burn now. Fireworks. I see the fourth of July celebratory red, white and blue sparkles of light flash across the sky. Cascading down with trails of glowing embers fading away into nothingness just as new ones glow ablaze in glorious flight. The floggings to my back are continuing but now are peppered with thump thump thuds of sticks. One of them has a stick. My stick probably. My glorious sticks that I love to hit people with. I also love the feel of the wood hitting my skin. Thump thump thud thwack. A beautiful feeling sound. I hear bickering. A few words here and there. It sounds distant. The earplugs take away a lot of the noise but not the talking near me. I can’t make out sentences, only a word here and there. The grumpy old men movie comes to mind. I can’t remember the title. I let them know how old menish they sound. In a nice pleasant pleasing way I am sure. Surely I would not have been sarcastic at this time. In their mercy. No, not me. Gunfire. I am hearing gunfire all around me. Hiding in a bunker I realize it is the sound of a battlefield. The rifles ring out. Shots are regular but not in a rhythm. Very thuddy. Sticks. I feel sticks. The gunfire is getting farther away. Now, I think of pie. Sitting on a red and white gingham tablecloth. I am unsure as to the nature of this battlefield. No anger, no angst. Just shots, rifles and then at the ease, thoughts of pie. Not until a few days later did I think about this and wonder. Was this a battlefield or was it a recreation of a famous battlefield. There was not any emotion to it. So, at the time it didn’t feel the same as other times I had felt I was somewhere else. Voices. I am hearing voices. It takes a second to realize they are talking to me. Asking me if the ties are ok, are my feet, legs, arms doing ok with the ropes. I can tell my leg is numb. My thigh is throbbing. I say something about being ok. Just that my foot is numb. I am fine. Just a little nauseous. I am not done with the hitting. They decide it is over. The ropes are beginning to be undone. The nausea comes on stronger. I was not done with the hitting I keep saying. Just untie me and we can finish. My leg starts to hurt, it has been asleep. I can move it but it is throbbing. I begin to get impatient. I just want to lay down, sit down something- the waves of nausea are not liking standing up anymore. Finally the ropes are off. I sit down. I feel alone. I look up, Tutivillus is talking to someone. Getting water. Everyone is blurred. I can tell I am on the floor and many people are still around. I just want to lay down. I just want to be touched. Water is here. It tastes good. The nausea stays. Mindnbody tells me it is from the decreased circulation in the leg. I should have told them sooner. I just didn’t realize it until they asked. It wasn’t causing any damage. I just wasn’t used to it. It will go away. We leave and go home. I am still nauseated and my leg is painful. On the way home we talk about ways to do it again but not having the nausea. One is to do more suspensions so I am used to it and my body won’t try to revolt. The blindfolds and earplugs with the suspension was very disjointing for my brain to figure out. Next time I won’t do the nausea! I will have that part figured out or else adjusted to.
This was a very fun scene. Different in that in a usual flogging there are swing breaks and “are you ok” breaks. In this, with three of them, there were no breaks. Someone or two were always impacting me. I do like that part of it very well! I do want to try this again. But it will be after I am accostomed to being suspended. The suspension was very good too. I was surprised at the amount of relaxation it entailed and how I was able to just let go. I didn’t even notice when they started hitting me with the floggers.
Thanks to all three who participated!
We went for a walk and took pictures. I am trying out learning the settings and the ways the different settings can change a lot. I really miss the walks. We had started walking a few months before Tutivillus’s first surgery. After he had recovered, it was just too hot! The evenings never cooled down enough to get outside to walk until way too late in the evening. I am not looking forward to the coming winter season, but the fall. It is already looking good to me! I am very amateur at the pictures. They are fun to do though. Today, the canyon. We tried the graveyard last evening. The gates close at dusk. Trespassing after they close. We got there, the gates closed. I guess another time. Last night we did some predicament pictures. I wanted to do these. I like the predicament pictures on the Tumblr website. I was tied with rope, had my arm with a parachute cord wrapped around my wrist, looped through a collar around my neck that had a loose tie and was looped over a pulley that had a machete hanging from it. Moving my hand would cause the tie to come undone and the machete to drop onto me. I have an aversion to being fileted. I am unsure as to why I would have this aversion, but it is present. I also have an uncanny sense of itch. If I am put in a restraint, I itch. Somewhere, always and badly. I absent mindedly scratch. Of course Tutivillus knows this. I could move my wrist and hand about half an inch before pulling the tie loose. Not a good predicament for me. I was tied by my ankles and legs spread with rope. I like chains, they are metal and cool and feel good on my skin. Rope is a big fetish for a lot of people in the kink community. I like the pictures, the scenes and the look of those that do rope bondage. I don’t get all floaty and in subspace with rope. I am easily irritated with how long it takes to get it all tied. This predicament was interesting to me. No floaty bondage feel, no exchange of good sensation for a painful one. Just an uncomfortable situation. A fearful predicament. My imagination and what if this fails or that is bumped and “would you quit bumping the table” followed by his evil laugh and bumping it harder. My feet started going to sleep, they were painful. When the pictures were done, being untied and my feet released were terribly painful. I felt like I had been sitting on my feet and not noticed they had gone to sleep and then jumped up at a full force run. I cannot imagine what the pain from one who is bound so that the feet are purple before they are released. I am assuming it is the exchange of sensations, the floaty feelings take over and the endorphins flood you. I did not have those with this scene. Just anxiety and fear. The next predicament, I was immediately handcuffed. My wrists instantly felt the cool metal, it slid down into a comfortable groove on my arm. The place that is made for metal handcuffs. My arms have missed them. It has been a few months since I have worn them. The chains around my ankles, pulling them down off the table, chained to the leg of the tripod. I am laying open legged, naked, with my hands above my head handcuffed behind the tripod leg. I am immediately calm, I am in a safe place in my mind. Subspace. The clover clamps are put on. They are more painful than the ropes had been on my feet earlier. The hitachi is now replacing the machete, it is lowered to touch me, maneuvered to stay in place, clamps applied to help it stay in place. These too are painful. The buzzing is not heard, only felt, as the good sensations are mixed in my brain with the painful clamps. The chain of the clover clamps is put in my mouth. Not only can I feel the smooth surface of the chains on my feet, the handcuffs on my wrist, the clover clamps on my nipples, but now I can taste the metal. Steel has a distinctive taste. Cool, metallic. Very similar to blood. I think it is the iron in the blood that gives it the similar tastes, but it is an erotic taste. I like the taste of blood, but I do prefer the metal taste over the blood. Although similar, they are also very different. All of the sensations are swirling in my head, surrounding my body and making every pore feel. I feel the good sensations, I feel the painful sensations. My body interprets them as just that. Strong sensations. Different sensations. The first set of pictures seemed like a long time. I am not sure which set took longer, but the second set was definitely a totally different feel and reaction. Both were erotic in their different way, but the second definitely was more painful, yet highly sensuous. I understand the rope feeling. I don’t react that way to rope, but I am sure if a rope fetishist were to be chained, they would have the same reaction I do to rope. Not a bad reaction, just a meh, now for the fun stuff?
I have always been more of a “lurker” than a “talker” on the internets. The social media sites are interesting. I follow people, occasionally will talk to some, but mostly I just read. I have been very scarce on the internets lately. Just haven’t been lingering on the computer online. I think it is a cycle. I will spend time, try to get a little more verbal, then retreat into barely online. I do, however like to look at pictures. I have always wanted to take pictures, good pictures, never had the patience to learn the camera settings and functions. So I look at others photos. I will still take some and try it, but mostly will reblog and post others work I find interesting. I save them from social sharing sites. Mainly Piccsy, and Tumblr. And others that I stumble upon. I save them and try to save the original info, but it doesn’t always show without clicking and saving the photo. So, by posting some of the pictures that have caught my attention, I hope I don’t offend or come across as trying to say that I am the photographer. My pictures will have my name on it. The rest, I like very much!
Yes, angry birds…. and gas masks.
Some pictures I like are just interesting. Some I like the subject. Others are the unsaid, what the picture invokes to me. The BDSM ones, of course are always the subject, the situation and the realism. The look on the face is what does it for me. Terror, true pain, true ecstasy, The trueness of the facial expressions. A BDSM pic of a smiling person in bondage with painful situations, ties or events just screams staged. That might not be, but it won’t catch my eye.
Who can’t do with a little religion….
It started out as fire play. Trying out the new Blaise stick Tutivillus was given at Thunder by Simon Blaise. It is a very pretty stick. It fits Tutivillus. It is stainless steel, gothic looking and heavy. And claws. Sharp claws. Fire play is warm, it is nice. The flames lick at your skin, dancing lightly and are brushed away quickly before any damage to the skin is done. A sensuous activity that still requires trust. It is more sensuous than painful. I like pain, I like sensuous. I like this stick. He would put the flame to my skin, the flames spread where the alcohol had been smeared, wipe it away gently and at times use the spiked claws to scrape along my skin, putting sharp edges into crevices and open areas. Mainly my ass. He thinks it is funny to tell me not to move and poke my ass with sharp things. Of course I jump. Might be a little funny. I would think so if I were standing there poking someone else! My skin is becoming red from the flames so he decides to use his new sword, not big enough in width to be a machete but sharp. I feel the blade up and down my spine, occasionally slapping my back. I like the slapping, it is thuddy. The blade caressing my skin is sensual yet painful, a scraping type sensation that feels like a knife carving into my skin. I like this sensation. I like the cutting feelings and sensations but limit this activity as I am a little vain. I do not want scars all over my body. I limit them. But the sensations of it, yes, I like that! I feel the thuddy sensations and am really starting to relax even more. I am starting to see the room become a little darker and more cramped. There is a few people standing around. A woman is in a smock dress. 1950′s type with the apron and flowers. Blue flowers, white background and green leaves. It is old, worn and tired looking. There is a frilly pinafore on the chair, pink, with white lace. Little blue flowers, small flowers, not the big ones like the ladys dress, this one is a childs size. Hanging neatly over the chair with small shiny black patent leather shoes, they look like new, sitting beneath the chair. White tights are slung across the seat, almost like they had once been alongside the dress and had slipped down into the seat. No one had straightened them. There is a large cylindrical tube that I am feeling around me. I can’t move my arms very much, my hands can only wiggle a few inches to either side and up and down. I am laying on my back with my head poking out of the top of the cylinder. My lower legs are poking out of the bottom. I can feel each breath pounding, each one pounding harder. The more it pounds, the more I want to move and cry. I am told to hold still. The stern voice of the one running the machine, sounds like they are trying to be unemotional in their commands. But I can hear the choking back of sadness in their voice. It occasionally cracks as they speak. They are feeling conflicted. Does the pain really help or is it just delaying the inevitable? Disassociating from the little girl of about 8 laying in the big tube, her small frame made even more small appearing with the large metal tube covering most of her. I realize where I am, I am in an iron lung. I did not realize how painful this would be. Each breath feels like it is taking the wind out of me. Pounding my back like it would throw me across the room if I wasn’t held in place with the giant tube. I am crying, and kicking. I can’t kick very well, but I am doing my best. I try kicking and screaming. I want to kick out of this thing.
The pounding again. Thud thud thud. I am aware of the pounding on my back, I am in the dungeon. Tutivillus is hitting me with the sword, I think. I can’t tell if it is now a stick as it is thuddy. I like the thud. I try to tell him I like that. I am not sure if I say anything as something catches my attention. I see me. I am doing CPR in a hospital room. I recognize the room, I recognize the people who are doing the code with me. A boy of early twenties. Was drinking a few drinks with friends in the canyon, the ski resorts are closed, it is spring. The runoff is moderately high. The water is cold. Freezing. He is trying to be responsible, drinking in a campsite with friends, not driving, planning on camping over and driving home in the morning. He thinks he hears something, a dog or cat? Unsure he gets closer to the rapid stream of the bulging river. The ground is wet, he is a little tipsy. Not used to the tipsiness maybe, maybe just a wrong step? No one will ever know for sure as he slipped and fell into the river. Friends run, can’t get to him as he is pulled down stream. Emergency help is called. It is 45 minutes from the time he fell into the river before he is able to be pulled out. CPR is started immediately. He is able to get his heart started again, he is brought into the unit I am working. I am charging. Overseeing all the staff on the floor. The trauma unit is busy tonight. We do CPR multiple times. He is cold, the heart is very irritable when it is cold. The brain doesn’t like being warmed very quickly, brain tissue is preserved with the cold. Warming him slowly but not too warm is the goal. He is banged up everywhere. The river is an equal opportunity menace. The freezing temperatures, the many rocks, stumps, trees and branches as well as swift water tearing at all flailing limbs doing multiple traumatic damage to the entire body. His face is barely recognizable. We bring parents in, the staff is doing everything thinkable to try and save this boys life. It is unsuccessful. Three and a half hours of “coding” him, getting a heart rhythm back, trying to oxygenate his fluid filled lungs, losing his blood pressure and heart beat multiple times it is finally called and he is pronounced dead. The family has stood in the corner of the room watching this. I go to talk with them. Try to pull myself together as tears are trying to fall. I won’t allow them, not in front of family. They need professionalism, they need comfort that everything possible was done. Ironic as the family began to comfort the staff. Thanking them for not only doing all they could but for caring and feeling for him also. I am now looking at another patient in a bed. A different room a different circumstance. There will be no codes in here. This man “Michael” was in a parking lot. Drug by a car as they drove away. Were they trying to get away? The car ran over his head. Story remains unclear whether it was a drug deal gone bad or a drunken “darwin” moment on his part. No heroics, the CT scan shows too much damage to save any resemblance of life. The mother and girlfriend are here. Waiting for another friend to arrive. The one who hasn’t been allowed in. He was the driver of the car. He has been in custody while they have tried to piece together the story. The mother was the one who decided his fate. “He was a good friend, they drank a lot together, I believe it was an accident.” The police dropped all charges, he is on his way to come say good by to his friend. The ventilator will then be removed, he will be allowed to die. Many staff are curt and blunt to the family. This is my third shift with him. I was here when he was brought in, I will be here when he dies. The family is very hard to talk with. Very un-trusting of staff and their motives. They have seen the wrong end of the law many times in their lives. Healthcare personnel are usually put into a “side with the law” category. Utah is also known to have a very low tolerance for people who do not conform to the common mormon religion. Our unit has a very high non-mormon ratio for this community. But the judgments of some stand out as it is expected in this state. I take care of this patient the way I do most of them, I give them my standard of care and also try to give them some respect as a person. Many forget that although they are not really there, they are still a person. I am also one who believes the person and the body are not one and the same. I did feel him standing next to me at one time while I was giving him some medications. When he died, no one cried. The family had said their good-byes and did not want to be there when we removed all of the equipment. People deal with death and dying differently. Choosing to be with a person as they die is personal. The only comfort I could give to the family was that it was ok to leave. They did not need to stay if they did not want to watch him die. Being at the bedside for a persons death does not tell anyone how much you loved them, the way you treated them in life is what matters.
The thud thud thud began again. I am thrashing as much as the big metal tube will allow. Damn, it is starting to get stingy… The feel of the pounding becoming increasingly stingy due to the repeated hitting of the skin in the same area. Extremely stingy. And painful.
I look in another room, a young girl. Seventeen. She is very pretty, from the hallway walking in she looks like my 16 year old daughter. Blonde hair falling over her face, she thrashes about. Confused, talking nonsense and her whole body hitting rhythmically into the rails of the bed. She arrived a few minutes earlier, here on a trip for a beauty pageant. She was a contestant. Started running a fever and a headache. Laid down to rest, her neck then started hurting. Her mother was called, she brought her into the ER. Within a 45 minute period she went from telling the story of her headache starting and her neck starting to hurt shortly after, and her feeling just very hot, to flailing, confused, unable to speak or acknowledge anything. She arrived to the ICU room tied down to prevent her from hurting herself or falling off the gurney. Upon moving her to the hospital bed I put the rails up, took the restraints tying all four of her limbs down off and padded the rails of her bed with blankets and pillows. I put a large sheet across her at the waist and tied it to the bed. She could thrash and turn and move, but could not flip out of bed. Her mother was at the bedside. She started crying. We talked. She was very appreciative of her being untied. That was very difficult for her to witness. There was not anything to do except antibiotics and fluid and hope they were effective before her brain, in essence, dried up. She had bacterial meningitis. It was later found to be going around at her high school. She just happened to be one that it hit hard and fast. She was the only death from that outbreak that I heard about. Her mother and I talked a lot. She was my only patient as I had been called in to admit her. I was having a lot of difficulty with my daughter at the time. She was acting out, running away and pushing boundaries. At the moment she was a runaway. I did not know where she was. Her daughter was a good kid. Straight A’s, graduating from high school in a few months, planning on attending college, already had done her ACT and had been accepted. Was doing the beauty pageant to try and get a scholarship for college. The pageant she was participating in had a nice scholarship and she was hoping to place high enough to get most of her tuition paid. The father was dead. This woman had raised the three children alone, while two of them had blamed her for all of the bad things in their life. These two siblings were not around. When I asked her if she wanted me to try and call them, she told me about them. One was in prison. He had killed someone over a bad drug debt. He had stated he hated his family and refused any contact with them. He became angry and started using drugs after his father died. Her other daughter was in and out of drug rehab centers. Spent many months at a time in jail for drugs and prostitution. She was angry and wouldn’t speak to any family. Their anger was at the mother. The father had abused the children. When she found out she left him. Took the children. He committed suicide, afraid the truth about his abuse would come out now that she left. They never forgave her for leaving and “causing” him to kill himself. I remember watching this strong woman fighting internally to let this child die after it became apparent that she had lost the battle. She was basically alone and now childless. Losing parents is very sad, you lose your past. Who made you, who loved and influenced you, who made you strong. Losing a child, you lose the future.
Bam, thud, crack, now I am seeing anger, I want this to stop. I can see many many more rooms. All hospital rooms, all codes, death and sadness. Pain and loss. All of them I had witnessed and been a part of their last moments alive. I start crying out, the thud is now stinging. It feels like an open sore that is having acid thrown in to cause more pain. I hear the don’t move. I hear are you done? I hear “you remember your safeword don’t you”? I am crying, I am yelling, kicking and trying to form what I want, I am not sure of the safeword- am I? Am I not sure of it or do I not want to stop? I want the sensation to change, yes. But stop? I am not sure, I try to talk and am unable to. I sit up, not sure how I sat. Was I helped? Did I say anything? The images I have seen are flashing through my mind. I open my eyes, Tutivillus is handing me tissue. I remember asking for it, I think. I look up, I am starting to piece together where I am now. Back in the dungeon. Sitting next to Tutivillus. I want him to hold me, he touches me. He looks angry. He tells me he is not happy with me, I cannot do that to him. I have to remember my safeword. I remember my safeword. It is also a safe thing for me that I am there with him. I trust him to not go too far that I have permanent damage. We talk.
I am not sure why I couldn’t remember my safeword. Was I not done? Was I too deep? Was it something to do with the spontaneity of this type of scene that I didn’t prepare to stay in touch? I am not sure, but this journey was the same as others in the death and dying aspect, yet very different as to many of the scenes I saw were real life scenes I have participated in. Each of these were very short snippets of reminders. I lived them already, they didn’t need to be repeated. There were many more I could have seen. A cameo peek, like a fly on the wall watching me in each scenario. Maybe a while to think about these, maybe nothing more than the emotional losses in the past week of many patients dying. I will have to reflect and think about it.
I have done a few energy pulls. The first was with some needles and string in a classroom setting. Learning how to pierce the needle to perform a pull. The mechanics of doing one. I had only known Juju for a few weeks, just had talked a few times. We did an energy pull for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure what one was at the time. It was fun, not epiphany stuff, just a fun thing to try. Juju and I became friends after that. We became known in the community as the J’s squared shortly thereafter. I did another one at a play party. It was an unplanned thing. I was walking from one room to another. Nothing much going on. I was thinking of leaving. I was having a few personal issues, not really bdsm community related, more home stuff and trying to balance things. Making many decisions. My mindspace wasn’t on much of anything, I just wasn’t in the play mood. A friend came up and said “hey, want to try some hooks?” I didn’t really want to. I had done the needle pull, it was a very small needle. I like putting needles in other people, I am not opposed to them being done on me, it is just not my first choice in play. I like hard impact. Thuddy. Needles are more stingy type sensation. I will do them and like them, it just isn’t something I crave. It is more of an energy exchange for me. Hooks? They are a lot larger in size. I have seen the pictures of rituals with Native American hook pulls. It looked like way too much for me to take. I had to think about it for a while. I finally decided to try it and see if I could. It was amazing. I had four hooks put in, two in the front on my chest and two on my upper back. One person in the front pulling and one on the back pulling. A tug of war type pull. I think I was in sub space for days after. When we signed up for Thunder the option for a hook pull was open. The first 50 to sign up could do an energy pull with Cleo Dubois and Fakir Musafar. Of course we jumped at that! The pull was the last session of classes of the event. This Thunder was a very different one for me. The atmosphere was a little different. Things were a little stressful with us at home too, with the recent surgery, changes in normal life and cost of this trip at a time their were other issues needing money. The usual life stuff. This week end was a get away, but not as enjoyable as we had anticipated. This event was the final Thunder sponsored plan for us. Juju was not able to be one of the 50, but each participant could have one person in to watch the event. She was on the list to be inside to watch us. As she wanted to participate we were planning for and hoping someone wouldn’t show and she could sign up in their place. I am not sure if someone was a no show or not, but when she asked if she could participate instead of just watch, Cleo said “of course” and she was able to participate. The scheduled time for the event was a three hour block of time. The first 20 minutes was an introduction, explanation and the event and how it would happen. The feel of the room was the same as any other room full of strangers. People sitting in their seats, talking amongst their friends, not negative, but not a noteworthy energy feel. The piercers had stations set up, 7-8 stations with a table of two more putting the rope on the hooks after they were in place. The group opened a circle by getting into a large circle, holding hands making the circle complete. I had a hard time understanding Cleo when she spoke, she has a very strong accent and speaks very quickly. I can understand when a person has an accent or speaks quickly, but not when they do both. In reality, the words really didn’t matter as the energy was the goal. The feel of the room changed to a more, the only way I can explain would be a “oneness” and “equality”. Acceptance and love of all of the people in the room, with no feelings of one being better, more important, more knowledgeable more desirable, who you know, or who you don’t. Just people. Standing around in a large circle of about 75 people holding hands, the event was started. A ritual was performed of cleansing with sage and words, then the hands were released and we gathered our floggers. We flogged each other by making a train of Tutivillus, me and then Juju. Tutivillus flogged my back while I flogged Juju. After several minutes we turned and switched to have Juju flog me while I flogged Tutivillus. We were a ways to the front of the room where the booths were, but I decided I was done flogging and wanted to go see who the piercers were. We walked over there and a few were starting to go to their booths. People started lining up to become pierced as we got to the booths. Tutivillus and I were the first couple of people to be pierced. Juju decided that although she was in line first, she wanted to make sure their were enough hooks for everyone before she got hers. I went to an older man who was very ritualistic with his piercing. He performed it in steps and I didn’t feel it very much. A quick sharp sting. The next table had several people tying ropes and carabiners to the hooks. The carabiners were for connecting the rope to other peoples ropes and to objects for grounding. The room had a large open area and other areas of scaffolding with rope and carabiners. I went over to the scaffolding where Tutivillus was hooked onto a rail. He was pulling already. Grounding and getting used to the sensations. It takes a few minutes of adjusting to get the feeling from extreme pain, to the endorphin rush. I hooked onto a rope. It hurt like hell to pull back. I winced a few times, slowly easing into the pull. I was thinking a lot of things. Many emotions and thoughts. I wondered if this was a good thing for me, to pull and be this close in energy to others when I was feeling very down and out of sorts. My mind was swirling and I didn’t feel like I should be in this group. So much energy, so much acceptance and yet I was feeling very negative. I still don’t know why. I was with people I love, people I have fun with. People I want to be with. I was having a few days away from work, responsibilities and cares and yet I was not in a good mindset. I didn’t want to be an energy sapper. I tried a few times to hook in and below Tutivillus. He looked so peaceful, content. I had to unhook and move so I wouldn’t alter his energy. I finally just laid down and pulled. I wanted to purge my feelings, purge the negative thoughts. I couldn’t. I would alternate between feeling love and peace, to feeling negative and down. I went out into the open space and hooked onto one of the circles of people who were pulling together. Many different people hooked on or off the circles at times, people would pull for a while and dance. Then switch circles. Moving from group to group, pulling and dancing. Laughing and enjoying the mixed energy. Cleo walked around and would join circles, using a hitachi to vibrate the connecting ring so that everyone in the circle was receiving the vibration, Fakir joined circles, pulling sharply so the circle would be pulled abruptly across the floor. Sharp intense pain. I had to take time every so often to go back to the scaffolding to bring myself back to grounded. A centering of my thoughts and feelings. I was enjoying this pull, enjoying this sharing of energies. I still was trying to fully purge the negativity. It is hard to purge something you are unaware of the cause. I went to the scaffolding. I wanted a few minutes of just me and my feelings. I wanted to explore them. I didn’t like the negative me. I don’t know why I can’t accept all of the goodness in my life, and just enjoy it without worrying what could happen, what may transpire if x and or y were to happen. Petty stuff, not important or necessary. I began to feel the need to connect with those I care about. I went to Tutivillus and Juju. I wanted a three person pull with just us. I was able to finally just let go. The security of friends maybe. I just lost the emotions. I started crying, and I couldn’t stop. The emotions of the past were flowing. This was the meaning of life. Enjoyment and acceptance of all those you care about. I didn’t need to do any more pulling. I was done. We went over to have the hooks removed. We were able to get them removed as the three hour were approaching. The circle needed to be closed, the ritual needed to be done. Cleo and Fakir did the closing the circle ritual. We were the first few to have thee hooks removed and were able to leave as soon as the ritual was completed. We left and talked a little about our experiences. I am very glad to have been able to do this with Tutivillus and Juju. This makes me happy. This was such an awesome experience. I would jump at the chance to do this again!
The dungeon in the hotel for Thunder in the Mountains is large. Several convention rooms opening into one large room. There was scaffolding, St Andrews crosses, benches, tables, hanging bars, and crosses. Even a jungle gym type enclosure for rope suspensions. No chintzy air conditioners are used, it is very evenly temperatured. Cold. This is good if you are doing a scene and are becoming physical. Many people in one area rises the temperature also, cold temperatures are a must for comfort. Beginning a scene as the bottom, not so good! This dungeon is set up nicely. Easy to watch and meander through to observe many scenes without intruding on others. Friday night we went semi early. It opened at nine pm. We went at about ten thirty. We wanted to do a scene. I like impact; body punching, hitting and flogging. Tutivillus has recently had surgery. He is healing, but still on the mend so we haven’t played much for a month or two. This was his first really physical scene since the surgery. We picked a cross that was hanging from the ceiling. It looked really cool. Practical, I thought. It could swing and allow me to move and jump away from punches and sticks. Yes, this one will work nicely.
I slowly undress. I leave my rainbow thigh high gym socks on. The dungeon is cold, I do not do well with cold feet. I leave my underwear on. I am not sure why I am not comfortable with having them off. That has always been a hard limit for me. I might need to explore that some time. I take a look around. The dungeon is fairly active. Not crowded or uncomfortable, even a little slow for Thunder standards. It is early though. To alleviate his burn out factor from overdoing it too soon, and just because he is sadistic- Tutivillus has brought sticks. My two new sticks and his two new sticks. They are gorgeous and solid wood. Made by hand by a friend. We were able to watch him make one of them and had picture updates on the others. It is kind of like watching a behbe grow into a child. Except these children are for hurting people and causing pain. Better than labor!
The blindfold is put on. I request the blindfold for scenes. That is one thing that I do get to choose in a scene. I am able to lose myself and just experience. The blindfold is my minds switch to let go and just be. My wrists are bound with rope. Tied to the cross, above my head. Not too tight that it affects my circulation, but tight enough that I can’t get loose. My chains are also hooked to the cross, so I can hold onto them. The cold, smooth feeling of the chains comfort me during a scene. I like having them close. Another thing I get to specify in most scenes, my chains, my friends. I felt his hands on my back, then the coolness of the hard smooth stick rolling along my back and neck. Felt like a massage, a nice deep massage. Rhythmic hitting and slapping on my back started slowly, building up. The rhythmic beatings are peaceful. Moves me into a space in my head where I can let go of all the thoughts and to dos and doubts in my head. The only time my mind is clear and nothing is important except the sensations. I could do this for hours. The rhythmic crescendo of force. Thumping wood against soft skin and muscles. Wooden sticks do not leave many marks. They are deep muscle impact. The impact vibrates through the muscles. Not much bruising to the eyes, but deep pain for days to the slightest touch. Rhythmic beating. Alternating hands with sap gloves, sticks of various sizes and thickness. They are wonderful feeling, I love these sticks. I think I mention this out loud. It might be just a thought. I am never sure if my thoughts and words are in my head or if I say them out loud. I curse myself whenever I say something to the affirmative when I am being beat by a sadist. The rhythm changes abruptly, the implements are used a little differently. They are changed about and the sensations are magnified. Not only is my body jolted, my mind will do a snap to reality for a second while it adapts to the new sensations. I sometimes float away into places where I see and feel images, places, feelings and energy. I watch and feel and see events and people. I don’t interact, it is more a feeling that comes over me as to the event I am witnessing and attending. I am always in the event, a character in the situation, but they are mere flashes of the event, no interactions with the others. Almost like a still shot but the facial features change, clothes ripple in the wind, people will move in response to the feeling. Most of these have been sad events. Recalling the most memorable places I have gone, I don’t recall any that have been happy events. Yet I am still intrigued and want to stay in these places. Changing the tempo, intensity and energy of the beating will pull me out of the event. Back to reality for a moment, then off to another once the rhythm change is adapted to in my mind.I went many places in this beating. I have been very frustrated that I can’t remember much about them. Little fragments only. Just one was different. I remember a little more of this one than the others as it was very different. I interacted. And I was me. I saw a man, he was nondescript. I don’t remember how he looked, other than the feeling of him being wise. I wanted to go through the door. He said no, it wasn’t time. I began to argue. Wham, I am standing in the dungeon cursing to no end, kicking and trying to inflict harm. I was also worried about actually kicking and making contact and doing harm. Worrying about hurting the one who was hurting me was very interesting. Maybe that is the start of the syndrome with people who are kidnapped and start sympathizing with the kidnappers.
I am now angry. I am kicking and cursing and wanting this to stop and yet not wanting it to stop. I want to go somewhere else, I want to break loose. The floating cross is now not a good idea. I have no sight, the blindfold is still in place, I have lost the perception of where I am. Am I standing, or am I floating, am I facing north, south, east or west? The quietness of my mind is now against me. I feel off kilter in my ability to distinguish where anything is, where is the beating coming from. The closest thing I can think of is how it would feel to be in the ocean. No boat, just floating. After hours in the sun and miles and miles of water, the reflections are making a mirage of uncertainty. Then the stability. Tutivillus puts his arms around me, I think I say something, he asks if I am done. I say no. Just a break. I am not sure if I say we are done after a few minutes or not, I remember saying not yet when he asks if I am ready to go again. I remember being taken off the cross and the blindfold coming off. I pull the blanket over my eyes. The bright lights of the dimly lit dungeon are too much at first. I just lay in Tutivilluses arms for a while. I like that place. Laying with him, holding him close, feeling his touch.
I finally got my new stick! I like it. It is shiny. Fits in my hand really well, I think it wants to be used. I want to use it! I am quickly wanting to hurt people more than I want to be hurt. I started out in this journey of mine wanting to be hurt, knowing that someday I would want to hurt people, but just not comfortable with doing that very much. I hadn’t experienced much of the sensations. Tingly, thuddy, stingy and sharp. Sensations that when applied make you slightly gasp as to the softness of the unexpected. The heavy whaling of a hard instrument upon your body. Force behind it, coming to a complete stop when it hits soft, unyielding flesh. Time and time again the implement pounds the same spot. Capillaries break, skin tingles. Nerve endings become inflamed. Your skin and muscles burn, yelling for this invasion to stop. Endorphins grabbing their armor, swords and little helmets to rush off to swarm your bloodstream with pain stopping, gooeyness. The gooeyness, that is the feeling that is desired for most who stand on the receiving end of a flogger, a whip or any other implement of choice. Each implement has their own type if sensation. Which is the favored one? That, to me is like choosing which kind of ice cream to have on a lazy, warm summer afternoon. Personal choices and a flavor of the mood. Me, I like the impact play best. Fists, hands, floggers, sticks, whips and some types of canes. The thuddy implements. With a few whips that produce stingy sensations for variety. Each one produces different end results. The thuddy will take me to other places. Pathworking perhaps. The stingy whips, catharsis. This is not a normal reaction to whips. I listened to a class last year at Thunder in the Mountains, it was on cathartic floggings. I enjoyed the class, an excellent instructor. I agreed with all except the inability to achieve catharsis with a whip. I spoke with Juju later about this. I had heard him a little wrong. The statement was actually stated that it was difficult to achieve catharsis with whips. The catharsis is achieved with rhythmic steady beatings. Difficult with a whip.That is a better statement. Just as in life, there are no true yes/no’s in most things. Maybe for me, the catharsis is from the doing what I have always thought I couldn’t do. I remember as a child watching slave movies, people being whipped. Fascinated, thinking I would never be able to endure that. How are they still fighting back. I was able to find a few pictures of S/M type variety. Difficult in an age before the internet, and highly religious upbringing, but still a few were found, that had whips and men chained to crosses and walls with strong burly men wielding said whips. I did not understand why these images fascinated me. When caught by others, I would make comments of how strange and not understanding why these people would subject themselves to this. Yet, I wanted to be there. To watch, to see, to question the men as to why they allowed this. I wanted to know what it felt like to be in control of such beautiful leather whips. Feel the leather warming and conforming to my hands. Letting the thong slide close by your ear, feeling the short burrst of air whisper by. Watching the falls cascade down towards the bare muscular back of a strong yet submissive slave. The popper slapping and stinging the skin, marring the smooth virgin skin with cuts, flashes of red streaks. Making a beautiful impression on a blank canvas. Artwork in skin and blood.
Impact is a favorite ice cream on a very hot, summer day. Wonderful happy memories, floaty and carefree. Whips are an occasional treat. Not a frequent desire, but a desire nonetheless. A very cathartic, strong, put me in a very self positive and good place. A banana split.
Yes, I still like the pain. Feed the desire. I just am getting to want to give it out a lot more. Feel the whisper of the whip by my ear. Feed a different desire.
Turn the switch.
Last night was a very fun and entertaining night. I wanted a light get together with Juju, Amiboi and Tutivillus. We decided to have just a quiet evening of banter, Reiki and see where it went. I have done Reiki for about 18 years. I have had a level one Reiki with no interest to do any more. I had done self Reiki, and some close family, pets and friends. I stopped doing it altogether several years ago. Lately, with the journeys and pathworking I have had a desire to start up again, as well as get a level II. Amiboi is a level III Master. She agreed to do a Reiki session and give me a level II attunement. The session was very relaxing. I was a little floaty and just felt calm. It was nice. The attunement went well. I could feel my hands get very very warm. I saw a mist roll by. Away from her hands behind me down my shoulder and off to the right. The symbols are in a notebook. I am excited to start using them.
After a few snacks, some drinks and banter we went upstairs to the designated dungeon and did a cathartic flogging scene. Juju flogged Amiboi while Tutivillus beat the hand drum, and I beat some sticks together. They are meditation sticks Juju had. It was a very intense scene. Afterwards we talked about the scene, Amiboi told us of her take on the scene and the catharsis aspect. A very good energy between us all.
Next, I wanted to try some pathworking with the drums. Amiboi and Juju beat the drums and bongos. The rhythmic drum beating was the goal. Tutivillus started with flogging me and then the bodypunching.
I was wanting to go find something very profound. Experience very detailed knowledge. I guess I was not wanting to be patient in the quest for what I am looking for in the cave and places I have gone. I went places. Short snippets of two places and one longer agonizing place. I wanted away from there. The first was very very cold. A jungle. I thought jungles were warm and tropical. This was cold, it was daylight but in the brush was dark. Many leaves were yellowed, mostly green but yellow edges. The beginning of sickness, death and dying. Not many bugs and animals. I recall wondering where all of the wildlife was. Why were there not spiders, bugs and insects. Death, sickness and dying was the feeling. And male energy. I believe I was male at this place.
The second snippet was a mineshaft. Dark, dank and musty smelling. It is rumbling. Caving in. I remember thinking; this is expected, I will die here. But why does it have to happen now, I am not ready. Sadness and great loss. Men around crying and yelling. Me, I am sad. Great sadness, not for the death that is coming, but for the loss of what will never be. I have never had anyone who will miss me when this cave in is over.
The third snippet. The longer one. The one I try to escape, barter to leave from. I think I ended the scene to get away from this place, not due to the pain itself of the beating. I feel male energy.I am sitting at a kitchen table. 1940-1950′s table. Formica with metal trim around it, metal legs and chairs. Family is watching, scared and sad. Not knowing what to say so they cower in the corner. The breadwinner. I can’t breathe. I am coughing, sputtering fighting to breathe. I can’t cry, I can’t show sadness, anger and worry. I am sad and angry. Very angry. What will happen to the children when I die. Cancer, lung cancer. That is the feeling. I can feel a large mass in my chest, pushing the air, not allowing me to breathe. I want to fight, knowing it is futile. Great worry about the children. I did not like this anguish of worry about the children. I end the scene due to anguish.
I really do not feel the punching throughout this scene. That part is very new for me. Usually, I do not want to leave but cannot take the pain anymore. This time the pain was not even noticeable. (Well, today it is VERY noticeable!) But I wanted to leave the place I was at. I tried many times to go somewhere else. I couldn’t.
After this scene I cried. I couldn’t cry during the scene. I did not like this anguish. I think that must be how it feels to leave children behind. Very very strong emotions for me.
After putting myself back together, I joined the others. We took some pictures. I took new “family” pictures. I like them!
Juju and I went shopping, had dinner and then attended a community event and party last night. I miss dinner and shopping with Juju. We had fun. We are similar shoppers. Quick, decisive get the hell out! I needed clothes. I love getting new clothes, I hate shopping for them! At least that is done for a while. Dinner was more fun than shopping. Chatting, having a few drinks, catching up. Planning for when she moves. I am not real happy about that, but I understand the needing to like your job part.
The community event was fun, we sat at our own table so we could still talk, chat, comment on the proceedings. The after party was very melancholy for me. I didn’t want to sit in the chat room as it was too smoky. No, I haven’t gotten “ooh smoke, I can’t be around it” since I quit last year, It was just a big cloud of smoke in a small, closed room. A little overwhelming. I went in for short periods only. I still enjoy the chat smoking area, just like them either ventilated or outside. No, I was really just missing Tutivillus. I am a big girl, I can attend things alone, I have for years. I just really prefer him with me. Juju did help a lot though! She presented me with a gift. A young boy. He wanted two Dommes to top him. Carte blanche. Hee hee! He doesn’t realize who I have been hanging out with lately and have had a few things rub off on me! Yes, that was very fun and entertaining! Neither one of us had brought any implements with us. We didn’t even know if we were going to the party for sure. We asked a few people what they had that they would loan us. Two daggers, a very sharp knife and a wooden beating stick/insertable and a supermarket rubber separator. Interesting! This said young boy now has jujubees and jouvarti written in his back, a purple ass and lines of scratches up both legs, arms back and front. He was kind of gooey and smiley when we left. I think he was happy. Something about a new fetish… when cougars attack! Yes, I approve! and I need a dagger! Large one. And a beating stick. Thanks Ranger Team 6 and Amiboi for the implements.!