I have not been a very good girl.

I have been wanting to write about this for a while and this blog post may never see the light of day, but I am going to write it. Because I started it a long time ago, like others, I am not going to change the tense. But it’s not *current* since we are apparently no longer speaking. Amongst the turmoil of my time in Vegas over Labor Day 2024, were some bright spots. I got spanked by Elephant every day. I brought a suitcase full of uniform things and had hoped I might get to wear uniform for him twice, but given everything, it didn’t work out until Sunday, and just the once. I was able to change my flight from a Sunday night red-eye to a Monday night red-eye, otherwise I’m not even sure that would have happened.

Shortly after waking up, I received the following text from him: “Marie. I would like to meet at 3pm for what really *should* be your regular Sunday formal thrashing in strict school uniform. I will pick out your uniform when I get there.”

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Where art thou, uniforms?

I have been asked a lot recently, what happened to talking about uniforms, posting photos, etc. This is a difficult one, I’m afraid. Uniforms are indelibly linked to discipline for me, which as I’ve written about, is not necessarily about real life things or punishment, but more of a broad structure, that is very real, but can stand on its own. Since letting uniform/discipline come to the front of my mind, acknowledging it, gaining a context and vocabulary for it, I’ve only felt safe enough to explore it with one person (Elephant). I have tried wearing my uniforms on my own, for me (and I had hoped/thought with time I would be able to do that more and have it be meaningful) but it always felt a little off somehow – I needed more time & practice basically. Last October, for complicated reasons that will not be made public fodder by me, he made it clear he wouldn’t be available for any sort of play for the foreseeable future. We didn’t only play with uniforms/discipline, but I only did those things with him.

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Missing a Piece of Myself

*please keep taking leaps of faith that make people say “that’s a bold move.” it’s part of your lore.*

photo above is from @case.kenny on Instagram

What do you do when your kink goes from feeling like the fundamental piece of the puzzle to your sense of self, the piece that pulls everything together and makes you feel whole, to feeling like you can’t grasp it no matter how hard you try? The puzzle piece isn’t lost forever, of course – it’s too fundamental – but you can’t see it through the mess. The hardest part is it feels as much of a need as ever, but it’s not there. It feels broken. I feel broken.

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