Yearly Archives: 2005

Fatness In Stereo

Thumbnail: Large Dolly in stereo

I’ve tried many times to cap­ture the actu­al size of Dolly’s cur­rent girth, but the cam­era does­n’t real­ly do a good job of it. I fig­ured that the only way to accu­rate­ly show how large she’s got­ten is with stereo­scop­ic images. That way, one can actu­al­ly tell how much Dolly is com­ing off the couch with a bit of depth per­cep­tion. It’s nev­er easy to take stereo­scop­ic pic­tures of a cat. Usually they’ll move or twitch when the alter­nat­ing pho­to is being tak­en, so it almost always has to be done while they’re asleep. Even a twitch of the cam­era strap, or a shuf­fling of feet will be enough to pique the curios­i­ty of a cat

Dolly’s head looks small in com­par­i­son to the rest of her body, but her head is actu­al­ly nor­mal for a cat her age, and it’s her pot bel­ly that’s grown out of pro­por­tion. Every time some­one comes over, I usu­al­ly get a com­ment on how much she’s grown. Outward.

It's A D/s Life: Life After Loo

I haven’t writ­ten about this sub­ject in a while now. I need­ed to take a break, to dis­tance myself in order to gain some per­spec­tive. Now that I’m here, I feel com­fort­able enough to talk about it again.

But before I go on, a lit­tle expla­na­tion of my poten­tial bias is need­ed. I’ve always been one to believe that a sin­gle bad expe­ri­ence should­n’t turn some­one away from any­thing for­ev­er. I try to keep this belief in my head when I catch myself asso­ci­at­ing the D/s lifestyle with pain (ha! get it?) and frus­tra­tion. The only hands-on expe­ri­ence I have being a dom­i­nant was with a per­son who would repeat­ed­ly hurt me and bring me down.

However, I don’t believe that this was a con­scious char­ac­ter­is­tic. It was a per­son­al­i­ty that was wide­ly hyp­o­crit­i­cal, mean, and extreme­ly dif­fi­cult to deal with, but all of this fit the “type” of sub­mis­sive that she was. I saw her as a tremen­dous, effu­sive force that, when wield­ed cor­rect­ly, could be used to great advan­tage. The only prob­lem is there are only few with enough strength and patience to tame and guide such a force, although some­one who could accom­plish such a task would form an unbreak­able bond between mas­ter and slave. I knew that I would even­tu­al­ly have the strength, but I cer­tain­ly did not have the patience to be deal­ing with what con­stant­ly felt like a per­son work­ing against me.

So it’s with this cau­tion­ary step that I pro­ceed to explore the D/s branch of the BDSM umbrel­la. My sub was depen­dent on the lifestyle; she required it in her rela­tion­ships, and her only means of relax­ation was being a bot­tom at a par­ty. I knew the risks of get­ting involved. One of my biggest fears was that I would grow depen­dent on the lifestyle as well. After all, what greater ela­tion is there than to feel as if one owns anoth­er mind, anoth­er soul, anoth­er per­son.

As of yet, I don’t feel some tremen­dous urge to go out and find a sub to abuse. I’m not expe­ri­enced enough as a dom­i­nant to do that. I know, how­ev­er, that D/s is some­thing I’d want to explore in future rela­tion­ships. I con­sid­er it a basis of open­ness, trust, and accep­tance. Exploring the lifestyle (as a female sub espe­cial­ly) would lay the ground­work for a lot of oth­er things.

Many of which I have yet to dis­cov­er for myself.

Meet Me In Montauk

I admit that some movies, some scenes, some songs, some moments, still rub me the wrong way. In gen­er­al this is a good thing: the hard­er it is to let go of some­thing, the bet­ter the expe­ri­ence it was. I’m also giv­en hope in under­stand­ing that these things will pass, as all things pass, and every­thing will be put in its right place. Fortunately, this is easy to accept because of the fact that I’ve already gone through a full cycle with oth­ers. Perhaps I’ve also become accus­tomed to some resid­ual emo­tions, kept alive by the mem­o­ries of the ori­gins of lessons learned.

But all of this still does­n’t detract from the fact that some things still rub me the wrong way, as if my skin was peeled and every con­jured sen­sa­tion was a salt water burn. I can feel that sound in my ears, feel the pris­mat­ic danc­ing of light in my eyes, feel her say, “pris­mat­ic”, explain­ing the colour of her hair.

It’s not even the per­son with which I share these expe­ri­ences that makes it impor­tant, it’s the expe­ri­ences them­selves, because they mean some­thing. A change in my life. A change that may have not have hap­pened oth­er­wise.

And I real­ize that it’s not that I can’t let these mem­o­ries go, it’s that I choose not to.

Tastes Like Purple

When I’m eat­ing from a bag of can­dy with assort­ed flavours, I always have a favourite. For exam­ple, the red Skittles in the orig­i­nal flavours, or the Creme Eggs in a Cadbury Assorted Bag of mini eggs (which has WAY more of the less favoured Dairy Milk and Caramel Eggs, I sus­pect on pur­pose). The weird thing is that I still enjoy the oth­er flavours just as much. Every time I get one, I see it as an invest­ment towards the end of the bag, when a glo­ri­ous explo­sion of my favourite flavour awaits to tit­il­late my taste­buds.