being exposed, feeling seen

This was written as (and shared with him first, of course) a “letter” to my husband, processing a spanking he gave me a week ago Saturday. He said he wouldn’t mind if I shared it here and I felt it fit nicely with the anecdote at the end because it’s an illustration of an example of what I am talking about. I’ve experienced a few other moments of this feeling I describe, and maybe I’ll write about them someday.

This is about being seen, not just someone physically noticing you’re there with their eyes, but seeing inside of you, to the core of who you are, your vulnerabilities, your insecurities. Being seen like this is a form of knowing someone. To me, it feels like a form of love, a way of loving (and I don’t mean romantic love).

It’s a retelling – but not in story form or even as a reporting – about an intimate, close, hot, intense, beautiful moment between my husband and I.

o0o

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Drifting

I am struck today by how much I feel as though I am drifting. This sense of floundering, unable to get a grasp on anything. Desperate for connection, desperate for something that I can’t quite articulate. I have been working on a post about my “toy bag” so to speak, but that’s difficult when, again, spanking and kink feel so far away. I don’t want to look at these things I love and cherish, touch them, take photos of them, write about them. We don’t have many and each feels special because of that, and engaging with them stings a bit right now. It also makes me think of the other ones. A ruler I bought in the Munich airport last January. A tawse (er, or two) I recently won on eBay.

Connection still feels elusive, life makes the already flickering lights of kink energy feel as though they’re going to disappear at any moment.

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Fiction: What Didn’t Happen Last Night

This was originally written (and posted on my previous blog) October 4, 2009, the day after the (now defunct) OTK Night at Paddles, in NYC (a BDSM club that had a small cafe area with booths and seating but was rather dark with few private areas). I was a regular attendee from 2007-2013ish and even organized the pre-event Munch for a year or so. I was unhappy that a friend had to leave a bit earlier that night. This was someone with whom I had a very parental disciplinary dynamic with at the time – my first and so far, only, experience with something like that. Anyway, my best writing tends to come in bursts – emotionally charged, can’t get it out of my head fast enough, just need to write it down and get it out – vs planning and taking my time. This was no different. It’s not long, but it captures the feeling.

At the time, I was nearly 21 so this was 15 years ago. I think the biggest theme here is something I’ve explored since (personally, not in fiction) which is the idea that someone can see me at my sort of “worst” – my emotional worst, that is – big feelings, insecurity, etc. and be ok with it. That they won’t abandon me or change how they feel – they will simply…deal with it and continue loving/caring about me. This person very much did that for me at the time, which is I am sure what inspired this.

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