Welcome to fall

It’s the first day of fall! With a forecast of straight rain and a storm on its way it feels fitting.

I’m looking forward to fireplace nights. To the crispness in the air when we are lucky enough to get it without showers. The smell of the fallen leaves and the crunch of them under foot when they aren’t waterlogged.

These night will hold blankets and tea and pumpkin scones. Lazy evenings of snuggles and comfort food. Long hot baths and the chill of the air on my skin when I cool off on the deck.

School is back in swing, and while it makes me anxious E is happy to see his friends. Soon it’ll be thanksgiving, and while it’ll look different this year, the house filling with the smells of cooking turkey and the cloves in the ham makes me smile.

Birthdays and a visit from the girl, seeing the Halloween costumes the kids pick out, all of these things have me looking forward to the weeks to come.

Day by day. It’s always a adventure.

When the anchor sinks the ship

We lived together for about 3 months all 3 of us. He kept quiet. She grew frustrated. Tensions rose. She left. I repaired. She came back.

He felt she tried to break us up. Yet I’m still with him. And through it something peculiar has happened.

The person he said she was, the one he still has so much anger over, has now turned in to him.

The one creating the divide at the kitchen table of polly is him. It’s difficult and frustrating and makes me deeply sad to watch.

There are all these rules from the one who said he was so chill about everything. Some logical like she can’t move back in for a year. And others a tool to cling to control like how she can’t sleep in our bed for a year as well. He went from not wanting to see her at all to saying it’s fine for her to stay for dinner she makes us but also indicated he could care less about a home cooked meal and a clean house.

The other day I got him a cake. I knew having her thrust in to the home from the eye emergency hadn’t been easy on him and I wanted to show my gratitude for him navigating it as best he could. We were all just getting through.

I watched as he took the cake and cut two slices. One for me, and one for him. She sat beside me at the table, the one I purchased to accommodate us all and made many polly jokes about. He put my cake down and sat down with his own.

She didn’t say a word, and I ate half mine before giving her the rest. Inside I was seething. He was doing whet he said she was guilty of.

When we finished she took his plate from him to the sink. As the water ran from her rinsing the dishes I wanted to scream.

In the 3 months we lived together she NEVER did anything like that. She never did things to make him feel separate from the polly family I was trying to build, the one I still want to build.

Now we have rules of no sleeping beside me when she is aloud to sleep over. Suddenly I feel like I’m being controlled by someone who said they were chill. And my resentment and anger is building for the divide he blames her for making that he is cultivating.

I know if S from Edmonton was down he wouldn’t care if she slept in the bed with us and it makes me all the more furious. Because I feel their are boundaries and then just control. I understand not sharing a bed for a while, but a year is over kill. I understand not moving in for a year but feeling like I need to get his blessing for her to be able to stay the night has me feeling like he is dictating my relationship and it has me scratching my head as to when the power was transferred.

He is NOT my dominant. Yet standing up for myself is terrifying for some reason. Ultimately though I think we are  dissolving and at a very fast pace.

It doesn’t matter that we have fucked 3 times sense Thursday. It doesn’t matter that we have had quality time. It’s about the big picture of polly I want in my life. I want my partners to be friends with one another. For some of them to share a home with me, and for the others to all get along. It shouldn’t be so hard! It shouldn’t stretch me so thin.

People can have outbursts and learn, we are all human. What I’m learning about N is the person behind the words isn’t the same as the chill one who is presented. The one who speaks of the hurt of divides is causing the same pain to those I love. I don’t know how much longer I can try to force it. To have a anchor partner who is just pulling me down with him.

Ramblings on a rainy Saturday

It’s a slow paced rainy Saturday. A much needed one for many reasons

The rain is clearing the smoke in the air so breathing doesn’t feel like working out. Sitting on my couch naked wrapped in a fluffy blanket feels like heaven after all the running around to eye appointments for A. I finally washed my hair and had a long shower. It’s a revitalizing day in so many ways.

And yet beneath it all I’m exhausted. I’m heading out to see my grandmother in the next little bit here. Once the kids come back tomorrow I don’t know when I’ll see her next. With E back in school the expanded bubble is just to much of a risk for her with her declining health.

The weight of being “on point” as a caregiver dominant this week has been very heavy. It has me wishing I had a daddy type who came to empathy naturally, who would just hold me and care for me so I can let go for a little while. Yet the one I have, the one I live with doesn’t quite reach the mark. It’s another source of fatigue, trying to navigate what will happen with me and him, all the ups and downs. Yet I don’t let go, I stubbornly hold on.

This week has shown me its natural for me to be on point with A. To speak for her, to care for her, to make sure she is taking her meds. It’s also shown me it’s a balancing act. That sometimes I’ll end up behind my closed bedroom door on my knees sobbing like a hot mess trying to calm and ground myself because I have to do it for myself.

I’m not sure if being this way makes me a bad dominant, or just human. One who is under tons of things I can’t control. And I wish I could because control, giving and taking, it’s security, it’s safety.

My other girl is in Edmonton. I’ve spend hours beating myself up feeling I’m failing her. I often wonder if my insecurities about doing enough for my subs makes me flawed somehow. It’s not from a spot of lack of confidence to lead or structure or accept their service. Rather it’s from a place of it being very important to me they always feel valued, loved, safe, owned, appreciated. They give me their trust and the power to direct them, to take from them, to shape them. The very least I can do in return is give them the best of myself in return, to feed them in ways that enhances their submission and happiness as my partner.

I try hard. Because to me receiving submission means the world to me. From a distance though, it’s very hard. Phone calls and texts and pictures will never be the warmth of my lap or the feel of my fingers stroking her hair. Amidst the craziness my girl has kept on with her tasks, sent her pictures, listened to my stresses, and in return I tell her of her value. I call her a good girl and hope she knows the depth behind the words. I dream of her coming to me so we can build our life.

It doesn’t feel enough. When she is so new to this life all I want to be is the best dominant I can for her. So I worry late at night, and I reassure her when I have time amidst the crazy of my day to day life right now. And every time she calls me Miss I’m filled with gratitude that she sees me worthy of the title. Even when I’m a mess.

October holds my birthday and a much awaited visit from her. She will meet A and they can work on growing together as a team.

This last year has shown me to never guess how things will go. I never thought I would have two subs, let alone 3 partners. I didn’t plan to navigate blindness in a sighted partner, or a online dynamic from the D side of the slash. Yet, here I am. Growth is often messy and unplanned. It’s how it’s navigated that counts. Step by step I think I’m carving out something for myself, and for them as well.

When the storm keeps comingWhen the storm keeps coming

This year just keeps dropping things on me and the ones I love.

The other day A went to the eye dr. When the blind one (me) is seeing better it’s a major cause for concern. I had been nagging for a while and she finally went.

It’s a good thing she did. Pressures on her eyes were up in the high 40s (normal is 16 to 20.) She was given pills and drops to lower them, and sent all over to many specialists. It’s been our Thursday and Friday, Lyft after Lyft and getting more answers.

Sad ones.

The pressure in her eyes has caused  irreversible damage to her vision. So much so that it’s very likely she will be classified legally blind from here on out. Had she left it even for months, she would be in total darkness.

We saw a retina specialist, and next week we go to a  glaucoma dr. In October she has to have a  angiogram where they inject dye in to her eyes to figure out the scope of the damage.

The prevention is lasers and steroid  injections to prevent the blood vessels caused by this rare condition to stop coming back and causing damage and preventing her eyes to drain and making the pressure build.

It’s been a lot. Even more for her, understandably. Eventually there will be surgery, and talking to the CNIB. There will be O&M (orientation and mobility) training.

I know all of this being blind myself. And my own blindness has kept me from totally losing my shit through this. I think it’s kept her head above water as well.

I try to show her it will be ok. I make little jokes to try and lighten the mood, and I hold her when she breaks down.

I know when this is all said and done she will have a bit better vision then she does now. Maybe even more then the bit have. I know she is terrified and all I can do is be there,

So it’s appointments and tons of eye drops. It’s waiting for answers and being a pillar of support. It’s reassuring her everything will be ok.

When she said she wanted to share everything with me I don’t think she meant this. Yet I know she is in good hands. Between the drs and me and my partners, we will all take care of one another. As it should be.

The great divide and sinking ships

The way I operate my polly is in the style of kitchen table. Often I talk to my partners about things I might be struggling with with other partners. The idea of everyone getting along, sharing time, a bed, a home, it’s all something that fills me with pride.

I’m the girl who will walk down the street with a partner on either side, holding both their hands.

I do this for many reasons. Primarily because I’m proud and I dare someone to rain on that, to try and dull my ability to love. Also though I want everyone to feel included, loved, valued.

The other day for the first time I had someone break that chain. They pulled away and communicated they were not comfortable being seen like “that.”

And honestly, it hurt. It ended up  dissolving the relationship. It took me back to a time where someone saw marks on my ass and suddenly couldn’t get it up.

I felt gross, like I was something to feel shame over, like my other lover was something to feel shame over. All these feelings triggered such a pull back shut down response in me.

It would be one thing if he hadn’t known how i handle my polly, but his shame for who I am, what I seek to build sunk our relationship ship really fast.

Once the words had been spoken he couldn’t take them back. I couldn’t stop hearing them, how he wouldn’t be seen like “that.” I am to damn proud to slink in shadow.

Be it my dominance, my daddy dynamic, my polly, my dirty humour, my trucker mouth, I am loud in all I am. If it bothers you, don’t take up my space, don’t try to trim my unruliness. Accept me or lose me. There is no room for compromise when it comes to who I am.

This is not to say I would shove a dynamic in family’s face, or shove polly on someone who isn’t okay with it. But if you’ve identified yourself as my partner the assumption is that by that point you realize nothing with me is spoken in whispers. It’s one thing to communicate your needs, I’ll work with you. But when your insecurities make you cruel, when your possessiveness makes you careless, when your fear closes your mind, you’ll never get my compromise.

Be real with me. Tell me what you need, don’t hide from who I am, because I will not hide to make you feel better.

Don’t share my bed thinking you will change me once I’ve opened up to you. I’ll retreat to save myself faster then you can blink.

This is who I am. Proud of my polly, my kink, my intensity, my dominance. I seek partners who respect and even like one another, I share most things, because I believe in openness. I can respect keeping things between partners if asked, but my default is openers. I will not tone it down, quiet my moans, dull my shine, silence my ability to love many. Accept me for me, or find what you need to feel secure. I always do what I can to build a foundation, but I can only fight so many fires. Ultimately it’s the other person who knows what they can and can’t handle.

Not quite

Her bum was on the floor.

She had not yet been permitted to kneel, but the urge to look down at her was to strong to ignore any longer.

Fingertips painted the bones of her face before firmly gripping her jaw, squeezing.

This was a unspoken ownership. From how their breath mingled to the blood pulsing in their veins. It was clear to them both. The lack of titles did nothing to hold back the energy they were transmitting.

Gentle kisses turned to nips, then hungry bites. Fingertips on skin soon became teasing nails turned to eager claws.

Clothes fell away, helpless to the need that burned in the air between their bodies. Nothing existed in this world but the two of them. Her body, her upturned face, the curve of her neck, the way her hair fell around her face.

Every reaction was a gift of its own. A gasp here, a whimper there, a moan now. She was captive without a collar, without the title of owned.

Primal energy crackled between them. the urge to claim a taunting whisper beneath their motion. The call of it was something one could get lost in if not careful.

Like the pressure applied around her neck. The wetness between the thighs when she offered it up without a word. The power swirling through veins as the hands tighten, the heart quickens, then the grip loosens. The hands stay, not quite a collar, yet they both feel the symbolism of it in their bones.

Bones that raddle in both their bodies frames. Ones that ache to kneel and ones that resist forcing the action.

They must be patient. Beauty is pain. This waiting, it’s the sweetest kind of suffering. Dancing around these flames of lust burns them both, yet they come back again and again. Some dominants like pain, some submissives like to see how far is to far.

They feed one another. In these games they play, testing their limits time and time again. Waiting to see if the kneeling will be given or taken. If “mistress” will be gifted or torn from a cry of passion or pain, or both.

The lack of clarity makes it all the more thrilling. The journey might be unclear but the destination is what drives them forward.