therapy reports

The therapy is going well. Already on my third session i left yesterday feeling very upset, a clear sign, if you ask me, that i'm digging in the right spot. As C told me last time i saw him 'i don't know if therapy is right for you but you're probably right for it'.

I have now decided to keep a log of my sessions. Each one tends to end with some insight and i guess this is a good place to record it. The weblog (blog) becomes a psycholog. Er... clog?

dead end

again L comes to confuse me with a mixture of care and carelessness, displays of affection and total lack of consideration. And again i let this affect me in a way that irritates me beyond belief. i'm beyond the stage where i feel i can play along with this and i need to learn to formulate some kind of response. Damage control. All my positiveness that i managed to keep going for so long comes crashing down when once again he says he wants to see me, tells me what day and then lets me know it's not happening only because i ask him about it a few hours before. There's never any consideration for me, my time, my life. I am constantly reminded that all that has no value. And i obviously feel the same way because i move everything around to make room on the day he says he'd like to meet. But any chance of us meeting is based on my being available at a moment's notice because everything comes before me and pushes me lower down his priorities. And i'm always the idiot that drops everything the minute he calls. And he says we are friends. But how do you treat a friend this way? A slave, maybe, but a friend? And my desire to see him is so fucking strong. I manage without but then he calls, he offers. And as he gives, he takes away. One moment it's there, the next it's gone. And i'm completely powerless, unable to help being drawn once again in this perverse dynamic that only hurts me. But if i confront him about it, it's all in my head. No way out.

the cloud and the silver lining

i have no idea how it's come about or if it's even real but all of a sudden i can sense the heavy shade of my L obsession finally lifting off.

As i am left walking the earth and looking up at the big cloud billowing up and away, the tingling feeling in my legs alerts me to an almost forgotten sensation: i'm regaining some of my strength and maybe the ability to stand on my own 2 feet.

It may all be an illusion or a temporary glitch in my mental functions. Maybe it's the flu or maybe it's the trip. Maybe it's the powerful effect of my first 2 therapy sessions or something i ate last night. Maybe it's because i've been staunchly fighting the urge to call him, text him, email him but for the first time we have spoken and i haven't felt it: that desire, so familiar, to become a nothingness in his hands. All of a sudden he has shed his immortal gown. Maybe he's not a superhero anymore and he's become like the rest of us mortals. What's done it, i don't know.

But true to my melancholic nature, i cannot rejoyce in this new found strength. Instead, i mourn the loss of a hero.

home

Back home after three weeks in 中国 i feel a little numb. Long trips always leave in their wake an aftertaste that's difficult to define, huge distances that appear reduced to nothing when half the world can glide beneath you in a day and everything can so easily return to what it was. As life's gone on undisturbed in your absence you can't help but notice what little weight your existence carries.

And from the plane, staring down at the seemingly endless blanket of yellowish unremarkable lights that is london, the only pathetic thought i could conjure was that L was down there somewhere and that my birthday had come and gone with not a message from him. For over a month now i have stopped actively seeking contact with him, aware that any of my futile attempts to reach him will always leave me feeling unhappy and the contact i need will never be there.

Then the moment comes, when the plane touches the ground, when the city literally hits you and shakes your world. But my mind was simply tired. All i could think about was that i wanted to go home and be with my family of friends, that my boyfriend was once again thousands of miles away and that monday i have to go to work.

i guess the plane has jetlagged the kink out of me... give me a couple of days

race

spicy content warning

This may be a bit of a controversial and politically incorrect issue but i guess in my own blog i can allow myself a little leeway to be controversial and politically incorrect.

I have to admit that one aspect of a D/s relationship that I find exciting is when the disparity of power is mirrored in a perceived - albeit constructed - natural difference such as can be materialised and reified in race. In my non specifically D/s life - if there is such a thing in my case - I'm not particularly concerned by issues of race. In fact I believe this is quite an artificial concept that we've come to accept as a given fact of life when in fact it's merely a human construction: a cultural concept. If you think of it, the idea of humans being subdivided in races is completely arbitrary: a parameter that's been defined and internalised to the point that we've actually come to accept it as innate or factual when in fact it's completely cultural.

But far from wanting this to become the subject of this blog entry when it's meant to be about a much more neutral topic such as a slavery, the point i'm trying to make is that when the natural innate difference between a master and a slave is reinforced and accompanied by some degree of "racial" inequality, it makes for quite an appealing combination. The idea of master and slave being separated by not only their admittedly different mindsets but also some sort of genetic, "natural" or innate difference is for me quite a turn-on. It hints to the idea that a slave is a slave and could never be a master.

You can turn it around whichever way you please, i'm generally equally attracted by all combinations: black masters looking for a white slave, white masters looking for an asian slave and so on. Ultimately if you're going out to buy yourself a slave you might want to pick a colour to match the upholstery or whatever. The attraction is that If it's a slave we're talking about, there's no need to apply the same categories of respect, decency and political correctness that you would use for your neighbours, colleagues or anyone else.

As i'm currently playfully contemplating the idea of a move to Shanghai for a year or 2, the thought of becoming a chinese master's western bitch is rather appealing. I have similar fantasies about moving to an arab country although there it seems to be a little more delicate

dream: the blog

i google the words: "i miss L" and the search engine returns a page: a blog written by somebody who was his slave and now misses him. Somebody who had belonged to him. In my dream, i so wanted to be that person. the blog had actually been published (in Japan!) and as i held the book tight in my arms i looked forward to being home, alone with it, and reading about somebody who could understand.

parallel realities

Again L comes to me in a chaos of dreams. Waking up, the stark contrast between the dream L and the real life L makes me wonder if the man i worship so much could not be just like any other divine being: a product of a human mind.

old thoughts, new thoughts

In China, on holiday, in the exciting city of Shanghai and my mind drifts back again to the thought of L. I do my best not to let myself think of him but just one minor mistake and the bad mood sets in again quickly expanding to occupy all space inside my head. And i get sucked in and can't think of anything else. I can't let go of him - of the thought of him. Although all there is in it for me is pain. I've been thinking about whether it's true that i'm addicted to the pain and hurt, whether I actually seek it but i think the problem is something else. Whatever space he has taken over inside of me is now completely his. letting go would not replace the hurt with something else, it would just leave an unbearable void that, I fear, will never be filled. A non-space, negative force, a black hole, quiet nothingness. And just like a black hole, it's so dense that it's a weight i can't carry.

transport

growing up with very limited access to porn and even unaware that material might actually be available that could link in to the somewhat perverse thoughts i used to have as a child (i still doubt it), I used to follow with much interest historical films, not so much for their educational value, but for the simple reason that you'd get a glimpse of distant societies where slavery was part of daily life. I'd sit through mind-numbingly boring B-class movies just for the chance of seeing the interactions of masters and slaves. Men whipped within inches of their lives for not serving adequately, their lives completely in the hands of their owners. That sort of thing was worth enduring all the other side elements of the plot, things like wars and whatever else was happening in them.

One of the things that would properly set my mind spinning were people getting around on slave-carried litters. The way these men's only purpose was to be used as a means of transport was extremely exciting. How it is that a child comes to be excited about this sort of thing is beyond the scope of this blog. The fact is that this interest translated, in my adult life, in what is generally referred to as pony play.

Of course, as is often the case, my interest in this sort of thing doesn't seem to fit neatly in the proper BDSM-defined category. I'm not very appealed generally by the idea of becoming some sort of animal, be it a dog, a pony, a pig or a hippo. i simply enjoy the notion that my body can come to be used by my owner in many possible ways - a means of getting you from A to B being one such way.

Now, being something of a spoilt child, I have later moved my attention from litters, which would involve lots of other slaves getting in the way and diluting my devotion to my owner, to a simple rickshaw solution - mind you, the ones where you have to run though, not cycle. As i'm currently spending a few weeks in china, the rickshaw is not something that's very hard to come by. Tourists are constantly offered a rickshaw tour of the town, but those are the cycle variants - not so interesting - plus the obvious element of the retribution at the end makes them completely unappealing, you even get them in London. The other day, though, during a visit to the summer palace in Beijing - i saw an actual one, human-drawn, used to carry the empress - i know, a womam, I try not to focus on that. My boyfriend saw a sparkle in my eye as i stood in front of this simple vehicle designed for 2 people clearly belonging to 2 very different classes where one's life is only a commodity and intended purely for the use and comfort of the other. So I couldn't help but start day dreaming about running around the beautiful park surrounding the summer palace pulling the rickshaw behind me with my master comfortably sitting in the back guiding me to where he wants to go. Of course, ideally, there would need to be a lot fewer tourists