A One Trick Pony and His Beloved Mean Girls

I'm told this startling visitation by my long departed mother will end at the anniversary of her death which thankfully is next week. I can't wait!! In so many recent interactions, I've experienced over and over again the facination and terror I have for the wrath of a mean girl. I hunger after it and fear it at the same time. From sexualizing humiliation to eroticizing pain, I'm a text book case. The submissive eldest son of an insecure, abusive, dominant mother.

The wife wants to stay in our beautiful coop while I'm eating refried beans and living out in Queens. "She-Who-Visits" says the flowers I sent were vig - a bribe bestowed to get a phone call. A key employee, dommy girl type, tells a new job she can leave me anytime at the drop of a hat. Variations on the same theme. Oh Advo, Mom's here!! Do I crave true cruelty from my mean girls - or do I yearn for something more?

Once I wanted destructive denegration. But I'm a changed bottom. Somewhere in this emotional murk there's a strong, shining, chain-link between my need for romance and my submissive masochism. I want her to love me. I need her to realize that my need to be hurt and humiliated completes her sadism and her own need to humble another. She cherishes that connection and nurtures it. She cares for me in the process as I care for her. Together we silence our demons and are redeemed.

In so many ways, I've lived my life as a broke down, damaged, one-trick pony. While I've figured out ways to befriend my damage and find a positive identity there, I still feel all outside looking in. But there's honor and inspiration in my search for connection. Maybe I'm a scarecrow filled with nothing but dust and weeds; maybe I'm a one-legged dog making my way on down the street. Maybe I'm a one trick pony in a field so happy and free - but I'm getting to know that I'm just me.

Mickey Rourke "kinda being friends" with Bruce Springsteen
brought him to the project.

June

Memorial Day Weekend...it's the unofficial start of summer. Soon, as the showtune goes, June will be busting out all over. Longer, lazier days; the green of trees in the parks of New York City; the red paint toes of all the anonymous subway women i ogle on a downtown train. But I realize in May that June is such an emotionally loaded month for me. A virtual Coney Island funhouse of distorted mirrors and scary goblins. For June is the month my mother died and the month my brother committed suicide. June snuck up on me in May, got its hooks in me and wouldn't let go.

My mother was a strong, successful, dominating woman. It is too simple and just plain inaccurate to credit and blame her for my kinks. But she had a guiding hand. A hand not always kind and gentle. She is gone seventeen years now, but her spirit snuck up this year, grabbed me by the ear and whispered - do not forget.

My brother, dressed only in panties, suffocated himself with a plastic bag in a motel room. He was of me - a part of my soul - despite the fact that after my mom's death we had become completely estranged. We shared inherited kinks. He loved cross dressing. But he'd dress and put himself in situations he'd be "discovered" and physically hurt. He'd goad others into punishing him for his love of women's clothes. He became addicted to crack cocaine. And then he was no more. He is gone ten years now, but his spirit snuck up this year, grabbed my sleeve and shouted - do not forget.

The light I've let into my life finally illuminated the spirits that haunt me in May. As the counter-weight promise of my June passage brings another new summer to stretch out in welcome warmth, the pain of prior loss recedes and I look forward to the red paint toes of a downtown train.

Tom's voice has been described as;
"like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon,
left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months,
and then taken outside and run over with a car."

A Kink Life In Retrograde

Someone I'm corresponding with told me yesterday that Mercury is in retrograde. Her cellphone stopped working and all manner of snafus had befallen her. Work was good though she said. I told her that I thought my kink life was in retrograde. I thought that sounded cool and knowing. Kinda catchy though I had no idea what it meant. Mercury, the Winged God of Commerce and Trade, is apparently doing a backwards moonwalk until the end of the month. This little astral dance supposedly messes everything up.

While I'm not much of one to believe in the stars, psychics, fortune tellers, or fables maybe she's onto something. My efforts to engage a connection in my kink life seem all gummed up. For a variety of reasons I'm on hold in my marriage. A comfortable estrangement. No island getaway with She-Who-Visits, who has eloped with Mercury and isn't sending messages. All my flirt friends are either gone or clearly want nothing to do with me. Or they're busy. Or maybe I'm just whining.

This time last year everything seemed so limitless. Everyday an adventure. I was meeeting new people, having amazing interactions on the Max board, and dreaming of a new millenium, kink-style romance. Today I'm feeling stuck knee deep in comfortable, lukewarm, oatmeal slogging my way to who-knows-where. The shrink said yesterday it's just a phase. Mercury whispers quietly - be careful what you wish for.

But I'm ready for some action. Gimme some kind of sign. Maybe things will change when the fleet messenger god reaches his appointed station in the zodiac. Because my schoolday's insane, my work's down the drain, I need to put on my face for a mellow thighed chick to put my spine out of place.

Can you catch the "A Clockwork Orange" reference?

Ebb and Flow

Sadly, She-Who-Visits and I have decided to postpone our much anticipated jaunt. While I'm disappointed to say the least, I'm oddly taking the whole thing in stride. When last we left our intrepid, daring, handsome, submissive hero he was eagerly scurrying about at his dominant's behest checking flight schedules, rental cars (no convertibles, drat), idyllic beachside inns, and even the average air and water temperatures of our destination. I was a happy, happy subbie. I was directed to put a hold on her flight from there to here for 24 hours, was told to renew the hold a day later, and then stunningly, She just dropped off the face of the earth. Total MIA.

Even though it was She who was supposed to let me know if she'd cleared it with her husband and gotten coverage at work - breathtakingly - she surfaced almost six days later and asked, "What's the status of our trip? It dropped off my radar." After I picked my jaw up off the floor, rinsed it off and replaced it on my face, I somehow politely responded that she was the one who was supposed to get back to me and if she still wanted to go there was whole lotta work to do to make it happen.

She loves to mock me when I go on and on. This time, it was her own trademark expression - "blah-blah-blah" - which captured the essence of her very lame explanation as to her ambivalance. The fact of the matter is that it is me, not our trip, which is way off her radar right now. Once she'd gone on about the reasons why she was hesitant (they might move, might not, new job, dog ate her homework) she said, "Why don't you check everything again, see if the prices have changed and get back to me."

Now I love a nice orange crunchy carrot dangling all nice and tantalizingly from a stick - preferably a stick she'll beat me with as I eat the carrot off the floor at her feet. But I knows me some ambivalance when I sees me some. So I suggested we postpone and she readily accepted.

Things change. I am not in her life these days in the same way. When I made my plea to be hers at the end of last summer, in so many ways I didn't really know what I was asking. But she knew. In the five months after I "proposed" she made me the happiest subbie I've ever been - and it was all long distance. I felt our strong bond on a daily basis. In February, it just stopped. There are lots of reasons on her end. All understandable and legitimate. While it doesn't help my feeling of lonliness, in the end, I believe that if I just give her space, she'll cycle back around. No more chasing. No more letters with question marks at the end of sentences. I'll find a voice without request for return. Asking will lead only to disappointment.

On the bright side, I told my kinky work friend about my blog and she read it. She called me "deep and poetic". Little does she know, huh? It was the first time I've told someone in my "vanilla" life about my advochasty musings. She seemed to genuinely like my writing and said she took the stuff about her as a compliment. I told her it was meant as truly high praise and she was an early inspiration to be more out with my kink. I'm really glad I have her to talk to ... and flirt with!

So there's an ebb and flow to the current of my life right now. Through the crests and troughs I know my course is true. So what if the tide is high ... I'm not the kinda girl who gives up just like that ... oh nooooooo.

Bend With The Breeze

She-Who-Visits is supposed to let me know whether we are are going to spend a weekend together later this month. We've been talking on the phone, emailing, and conspiring. It's all very exciting. Just the contact is wonderful. She has been back in my life on daily basis. The scheme is to escape to a place we had planned to go together two years ago. I guess "plan" is a generous word. I begged, she relented and said yes, then I chickened out. There were just too many lies to tell back then for me to do it. I was closer to my wife and had to hoodwink everyone at work. My fantasy getaway collided with the reality of my life and I opted out.

This time it's different. I really want to be with her, but it is bittersweet. On the one hand I'm excited to see her and maybe get played with. On the other hand, the ease with which I'm eagerly arranging each successive flight or hotel reservation, is a measure of how much less close I am to my wife. I'm going to be in the vicinity of my hoped for rendez-vous with She-Who-Visits at a conference. My "cover story" for my wife is that after the conference I'll be meeting with people about some new business, while in reality I'm pining to get up to all manner of "old business" with the lovely She.

Three years ago, my wife would have excitedly suggested we go to the conference together and make a long weekend of it. In fact, as the date gets closer I worry that she'll want to come along. But I think it's just phantom limb pain. For so long I've wanted more freedom. Now I've got it but it comes with a price tag - the passing of intimacy.

On the other hand, while I reel from a heady mix of excitement and loss, the oh-so-dommy She has mysteriously left the radar screen. Almost three days ago she had me put a hold on a flight for her while she checked two things overnight to pave the way for our trip. Easy things. I haven't heard from her in 72 hours. Honestly, as I write this I'm not truly certain that she can even meet me. I'm one of those people who makes a plan and then does it. She ponders the plan, tweaks it, gets it for cheaper, rearranges flights, agonizes over the whens, hows and whethers -and then calls me high maintenance!

I renewed the airline hold for a couple of days even though I haven't heard from her, but yesterday I let it expire. There's a limit to my taste for the unrequited. Still, I long for her to call soon and chastise me for not keeping all the plates spinning on their sticks while balanced on my nose. We shall see.

So while my brave new world feels a bit off kilter this morning I think I just need to open my arms a little wider, embrace it, and sway...bend in its breeze. Because whatever happens and whoever she may be ...

I can hear the sounds of violins
Long before it begins.
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now.