Murmurations of Me

The silence, the stillness, the sound of the wind as it washes over your body. Peace. 

It’s warm, summertime warm, although it’s still early here. I can feel the heat from the sand through my clothes. The sea is swearing at me for disturbing her peace, demanding her time to wash over me, spitting profanities through short ragged deeply offended breaths. I laugh at her when she’s like this, she doesn’t like it. 

My little companion (my dog!) is whining in anticipation. He loves to swim, but he’s not sure enough of himself to go in alone. He’s quite a good reflection of me - so enthusiastic about so many things that I enjoy, yet terrified to do them alone.  So we do what we can together.  

Well, now, that was certainly invigorating!!! She rose to meet me even though I wasn’t quite ready, washing over me, taking my breath away with her cold criticisms, laughing at my gasps. But she soothes me, and I adore her. Now the sun can dry and warm me, and the sound of the wind and my snoring pup can keep me company. 

Good morning all. Time for some warm hugs (coffee!). 

So many times I’ve woken up, night after night that demon chasing away sleep and just lurking to wake me a second or a third time. I wouldn’t call it fear, though sometimes it’s just aches and pains and my body saying it can’t stay still anymore. But sometimes, just sometimes, especially lately, it’s my subconscious saying “wake up, check your phone, it’ll be worth it...”

I have such a vivid imagination, such a mind’s eye from just words. Waking to the words of that soft gentle soul whispering in my ear while he pulls me close against his hard body, feeling all squishy in his strong arms, listening to his strong heart thud a peaceful rhythm for my own to match, feeling his breath against my skin as I cuddle in close. And all just from a message. 

My days have become about him, watching and waiting for that ping to tell me he’s awake and immediately thinking of me. Him tucking me in at night. Checking in with me all the time. Hearing his voice laughing and joking down the phone to me when he has the time to talk... Sometimes, just sometimes, life gives you lemons.

I don’t wake as much as I used to anymore. But now, if I do, he’s waiting there on my phone for me to pull me in close and lull me back to sleep... 

Sometimes, just sometimes, my gut gets it wrong. The banality of life caught me unawares and also kept me wide awake last night - i don’t like making decisions for me, in fact I’m quite bad at it. But today, a big one was taken out of my hands (yes at great expense) but it was worth it. 

Knowing I had someone standing in my corner, thinking about me and messaging me allllll day long made that dull hollow feeling of inevitability (and worry) dissipate into hope. 

It all worked out in the end. No hard decisions need making (for now). Life moves on and I feel a little more alive and free with a cold glass of wine in my hand to celebrate. 

Thabk you, my beautiful gorgeous soul, for keeping me company all day and keeping the demons of doubt out of my ridiculous head. Hope springs eternal when I get to hear your voice... 😘

PS, nothing serious, just car stuff lol. 

I’ve been reading about all the heat you are all having in the states, and I’m sitting here drowning my body in warm hugs against the cold! But... you know that windy rainy day that feels just “heavy”, like happiness is being suppressed but fighting it’s way back to the surface at the same time, that’s the heaviness I can feel in the air... There’s sunshine coming this weekend, finally our summer has installed after deluges of rain, the fields so waterlogged that the rain is running straight off onto the roads... but it’s not the sunshine I’m longing for, it’s the mornings. 

When the land is that wet and then the heat comes, if you get out early in the morning, this surreal mist clings to everything at ground level. Yes, I know it’s evaporation, but it’s just so pretty. There’s a stillness, a perfect happy balance between damp and wetness and the dry heat that’s yet to come. You can walk through it and make swirls and patterns, disturbing the peace but creating art. And the funny thing? Well, I’m not really a morning person - but sometimes, just sometimes, mornings make it all worthwhile...

Days will pass and lush green grass will be follow, delicate buds that have survived the downpours will burst and bloom, silage season will begin (who doesn’t love the smell of freshly cut grass!?), tractors will hum through the night. We call it “silly season” here, all the farmers are exhausted but smiling through it all because their fodder is in. A community pulls together, young and old side by side going farm to farm. Lunches and dinners are seldom at home, instead being served on neighbour’s tables, men complimenting wives that aren’t theirs and asking for recipes to bring home to their own (all in jest, don’t worry...).  Conversations turn to stories of old, the machinery used, the myriad of funny stories that will be remembered for generations, memories of relatives long gone are placed firmly in the mind of every child listening intently hoping they won’t be caught out of bed. This is the Ireland I adore, full of hard work, community and laughter at its core. 

Memories of my own grandfather flood back, going field to field with his little trowel, he would gather a handful of soil from each one. These would carefully be brought to a stream on the land where he would place his enormous shovel of a hand into the gently flowing water and oh so delicately open out his fingers. Depending on how the soil floated, washed and sank, that would tell him what to do with the field that year - was it to be harrowed, fertilised, limed, or was he to plant a crop to plough in and rotavate at the end of the summer in preparation for the following year. There was no science, just his rough hands filled with precious soil and a little river to tell him what needed doing. I remember distinctly when I finally asked him why he was doing it, and his words have always stayed with me: “only nature can tell you what she needs you to give back.”

He was an intelligent man, a gentle soul, a hard worker who never gave up. Quiet and thoughtful, patient to a fault. He never raised a hand to his children. Any moment he had spare, his nose was buried in whatever paper or book he could find, his hunger for knowledge always greater than his need need for rest. His disappointment was enough to bring tears to any adult, never mind a child. A true gentleman.

In his later years, I remember regularly cutting his nails for him. His hands were genuinely enormous, though he himself was not. He’d smile, then pretend I’d cut his skin making me jump every damn time then collapse doubled in laughter at my fright. I’d turn them over, feel how soft they were now he could no longer manage the physical work he so adored. Yet the memory of my small hand as a little girl disappearing into his rough calloused ones and the sense of safety and pride it gave me will always stay with me. 

Ladies and gentlemen,

I’m sincerely apologising in advance of what’s about to be plastered in your brains, and please be respectful of your thoughts and opinions here. 

I’m talking about me, my thoughts, my meanderings of the mind, my “me-ness”. That being said, I really would like everyone’s respectful opinions on this. 

I’ve been analysing me and what’s right for me in this lifestyle. In depth thought of what others have written in blogs and forums has had an impact in my thought processes, but nothing more profound as what has come from engaging with Doms and subs alike in various correspondence. I’ve been enlightened and stunned in equal measure by some of what’s come forth. This is NOT a criticism or a judgement of anyone, let’s be clear about that. Quite simply, it’s been an eye-opener. 

Now whilst I would consider myself to have quite the list of “acts” which I felt the “lifestyle” would involve, nothing (and I mean NOTHING) could have possibly prepared me for what the actual daily lifestyle involves or could involve. Again, to be clear, this is not a negative thing and shouldn’t be read as same.  I blame my vanilla life for this, and I believe I spoke about my concerns in terms of the “transfer of power” in another blog. 

Now, I’ve always had it in my head what I would do on a daily basis for my Dom, that romanticised notion of living the perfect life of peace and harmony wrapped up in my own little bubble of subbie bliss. How the hell did I miss the part where tasks, consents, expectations and so much more would form part of this from the Dom’s side? I’m going to miss some parts trying to explain this, so please don’t jump down my naive throat as I can already feel the collar tightening there thank you very much. 

In my head, as a mum, owner of time consuming animals, worker, person involved in committees, family person, involved in friend’s lives, blah blah blah, surely my Dom would be “oh so happy” with the time I spent with Him. How the hell did I not see any of this? Where in my brain did I miss the part where I’m His? How do I reconcile the two? 

Anyways, I’m not here asking for a “how to”, what I’m asking is for your input, beautiful people. 

Doms: what of YOUR expectations did you find difficult to reconcile when having a “lifestyle” relationship (as opposed to just sexual). 

Subs: (yes that capitalisation was very intentional as I’m utterly in awe of you all right now) what of YOUR expectations did you find difficult to reconcile when having a “lifestyle” relationship (as opposed to just sexual). 

Yes, I’ve asked you both the identical same question, but I think it’s pretty damn clear that they are two VERY separate questions... 

I’m really not interested in any arguing on this, really, so just keep it polite and respectful please. We all come from a myriad of different backgrounds, circumstances and responsibilities so it’s only your personal experience I’m interested in!!!  It doesn’t matter how big or small of an issue it is to you, it could be huge to someone else (or so I’ve discovered) so fire in the good, the bad and the ugly please!!! 

My reason for this is quite simple  I’m 40, and my time is kinda precious in my eyes, as is everyone else’s  I certainly don’t want to rush into anything, but I’ve come across quite a few things that I just can’t get past in terms of “me”.  When a discussion on hard limits comes up, that’s relatively easy as it’s done in terms of bodily sexual limits. Surely if one is hoping to live in the lifestyle, our hard limits should extend to there? I appreciate there’s a cross-over (well I do now, I might not have before...!), so it’s something I’m looking to explore that the internet is, for once, not giving me any help with! 

If you don’t want to share it on a public forum, I’m open to pms. That does NOT mean fill my inbox with your sexual expectations please - that’s actually the easy part 🤣🤣🤣. 

In advance, thank you 😊 

MLP

Maybe I’m alone in this, I don’t know! But I’ve written so many blogs that I didn’t share and I’m really not sure why! Maybe I’ve reached a point where writing my “blogs” is more like journaling? It’s just some of it seems too personal to share, others too raunchy, and others are just - well they could be perceived as just downright rude!!!

I don’t see myself as crude or brash, I personally prefer to be measured in my words. So what’s stopping me?  

In my opinion, each person takes something different from what I write. Some resonates quite effectively with others’ opinions, experiences and desires, some are utterly diverse in their views. That is ultimately what I love AND hate about the written word simultaneously - that clear, concise, precise wording can still be misinterpreted. Writing is far from an exact science. 

So this brings me to the topic of this blog: opinions. I have sooooooo many! As I’m sure do others. Why then is it such a hard concept to understand that just because we all have them, and some want to express them, that an opinion is just that: an opinion. It’s not a judgement, a criticism or an instruction on what you should or shouldn’t do; simply a thought process we all go through and should respect each other’s. If we all had the same ones, life would be a very boring world indeed.

So maybe we should stop and absorb what someone else sees once in a while. Just because one person’s observation at a beach is the ebb and flow of the tide and another’s is how warm the sand is beneath their feet, it doesn’t mean one or the other of them was/wasn’t at the beach! One person’s warm is another person’s cold. A physical observation is no different to a mental one. To one of those people, the idea of the sea is terrifying and all-consuming so the sand is their soft haven. To the other, the sand feels like it may engulf them so the safety lies in the water that they can float away in. 

Respect people’s observations in life. They come from a different place to yours - some positive, some negative. Take what you can from them instead of instantly offering your own. You may just find that you’re actually arguing the same point... 

Contemplative mode today...

MLP

The purity of this image gives it all for me.  

Her body is soft, yielding, submitting truly, leaning to him to give herself completely, her hands, arms and wrists unflinching against the power he uses to tighten that bind.

His body is tense, powerful, stiff and strong trying to maintain control as he tightens the binds.  

The pure desire on his face as he drinks in her scent, softly leaning against her face, the pain running across it felt deep and true - yet she doesn’t see it, or feel his intensity towards her. She just yields, trusts, gives, waits, submits.  

She is His. He knows it and worships her because of it.  

When all around you is buzzing with life, children, parents, grandparents, random individuals milling through life at their own pace, and you feel so alone, that’s loneliness. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been so incredibly lonely surrounded by people. 

It’s said that a “community” is a group of two or more people with a common interest/purpose.  The Cage is my community now. 

Im a sub, and I’m finally proud to be. Having the validatory supportive comments, experiences, attitudes, opinion and so much more to read on blogs through the myriad of “controversial” topics is breathtaking to me. Even the argumentative and contradictory ones aren’t necessarily judgemental!!! 

I’m chatty to the vanilla world, bubbly, outgoing, even “vibrant” has been thrown at me. How little do they know about me. I’m actually incredibly private, quiet, permanently deep in thought, and so often so incredibly lonely. Surrounded by people, yet solitary. 

But I’ve found my people, I’ve found my tribe, Ive stumbled upon my community. 

I’ve been blessed to meet like-minded people who’ve welcomed me with open arms, a warmer hug I’ve only received from my coffee of acceptance. I feel so safe here (despite the a-holes of insta-doms). 

I was always told life begins at 40, I guess it has for me! 

So whatever the future holds for me, thank you, kind folk. Thank you kinksters. Thank you for being you, recognising it, and not being afraid to be here. 

#markedsafefromvanilla

The sense of impending doom is lurking behind every door as I open it, through every window as I push them wide to let the cold air in to clear out the night’s misgivings. No cacophony to greet me, just a few warning chirps echoing in the silence of the stillest air. 

Vivid dreams still dance in my head, my body flushing warm from the recollections conflicting against the crisp air and fighting for a place on my skin. I ignore the dread, instead embracing the heat my mind provides. Morning chores are a lot more entertaining when you have memories attached to every surface.

Rousing a grumpy teen, poking the bear from the safe distance of the doorway, banishes those thoughts from my mind though I can still feel the pleasure between my thighs. Not now. We run through the day ahead, the evening’s activities bringing a little excitement to her drowsy eyes and then a smile. My own rainbow in a storm.

Another warm hug, this one reaching the depths of me, like arms wrapped around my waist with hands placed gently on my tummy pulling me close. A warm embrace, whispering promises for later into my ear as I gaze out the window. Lost in my thoughts, the teen tells me it’s time to leave. 

Friday mornings are reserved for music instead of conversation, my charge takes control of the playlist giving a sense of where her mind is at. Contemplation is the word that springs to mind. Familiar roads wind through the landscape, hills and corners giving breathless moments as the land meets the sea - a reminder of the doom as I observe the darkness of the sea in stark contrast to the sun-filled sky. I allow the dread to return, but only for a moment.

Human activity rudely interrupts my indulgent, wandering mind as we near the school. Reminders, checks and well wishes for summer tests spill from my lips automatically, a promise of fun in the evening. Mutterings are returned, a pause, then a clear “I love you” and my rainbow returns with a smile. 

My mind is alert now, wide open to the possibilities of today. My playlist is my own, a Friday feeling starts to take hold as the volume grows, window open, sun beating in, sharp air fighting with the soft breath of my hapless singing, reminding me of the dread. 

I reach a point I always love to stop, pull over and sit on the wall to take it all in, this beautiful place I call home. Silence.  The sun beats down, attracted to the dark clothes I’m wearing, heating already warm skin underneath. Land and sea meet then immediately rise to a steep climb where fields are lush and green, little white dots scattered moving about on their morning scavenge of fresh shoots. I see it now, the dread, that sensational dark cloud finally taking shape as it moves over the mountain into sight. My eye is drawn back to the sea. So calm, so settled, so dark and brooding, an ominous warning of what’s to come. 

Home I go, excitement building from my toes up giving energy to my steps to the door. Then I hear it as I turn the key: The low grumble of thunder an assault on my body as I feel it from my feet permeating my being.  It’s here. 

I take the stairs two at a time, my knees loudly arguing with my energy to get there. Another growl, louder this time, giving haste to my need to be naked. I dive under the covers, soft fleece  embracing me in a familiar settling to the shape of me, my body alive, begging for release. 

A gentle tug on the string between my legs, an involuntary moan from deep inside me as the jiggle balls pull free followed by a wet stream of pleasure. It’s getting closer, louder.  One by one I remove the clamps hidden by my clothes all morning. Blood rushes in as waves of want and need take my breath away. Mmmm it’s time. Then finally a roar from Mother Nature muffles my own. Hello Friday 😈. 

Confession time: I’m a word nerd. (What do you mean you already knew!?) Ultimate confession time? I love reading the dictionary... Yes, I’m really that bad! I get lost in them and their myriad of meanings. So if someone has a good grasp of vocab, I immediately sit up and pay attention. Now, if that person also has the ability to use correct grammar and punctuation in such a way as to emphasise a point, well just insert a drooling heart-pounding melting puddle of me at your feet... 

I’m old school, traditional in my beliefs, values, morals and standards, always looking for a way to go back to the days when men were gentlemen and women were ladies and what went on behind closed doors was primal. I recently told my closest friend in the gentlest way I could who I really am. She was so shocked! There was the “but you always dress so modestly”, then the “but you’re always in control” (which I thought was hysterically funny because she had assumed for me the role of Domme!). She’s a badass biker babe who drives trucks for a living who I’d be terrified of if I met down a dark alley, but she’s also one of the kindest and softest people I know who needs a lot of help and turns to me for it all the time. So I used her as the metaphor of “don’t judge a book by its cover”, and suddenly she understood. 

So, I chatted to her while on my way back from dropping my daughter to school this morning. She was unloading her morning’s undoings, I listened intently as always, and then absolute silence from both of us...

A lot of her work of late is transporting timber, or, more specifically, felled tree trunks. She was giving out about moss in her hair, and wasn’t entirely sure whether it was just moss... I threw a sarcastic jibe asking what she had been getting up to with the crane operator, which she duly ignored, and continued on to explain how the moss came from when she was throwing and tightening and adjusting straps around the loads, how each one had to be so precise as to hold them in place, but also so incredibly careful of not damaging the “precious cargo”, that the moss being removed should be the only damage done when tying it all down. She went into detail about the whole process, how the buckles when you throw them shouldn’t catch on the far side lest they damage the outer bark of the trees, how to attach them to evenly distribute the pressure, how to pump the ratchet so as not to rush the whole process and damage the bindings... Yes, fellow kinksters, I fell silent whilst trying to not laugh and moan at the same time... 

About five seconds later, the laughter began and from her and not I thankfully, so I just joined in. The sarcastic comments flew in abundance for the next ten minutes or so, and I felt alive, truly alive. Through her venting, we bonded even more than we had before. Through her understanding, she saw a different side to what it is I find so appealing about this lifestyle we all adore. Through her explanation, I reaffirmed what it is I crave so much. Through her words, so simple, I came alive all over again in a friendship that is quite old. 

Words hurt me, they make me ache in pain, they make me cry in sadness and also in great joy, they stir passion inside me, they soothe my own soul and give me a prime seat to look into another’s.  

Someone wrote four words to me yesterday in the middle of a paragraph. Those words were written carefully, measured with the precision no dictionary could afford. Their collective effect was a dictionary’s worth of reaction from me that no phd in literature could achieve. For that, I’m grateful. For that, I wrote them out myself so they don’t get lost/misplaced. For that - well I won’t be crude and explain what the result was, but you all know what I mean...! 

I promised you all my second horsey-related quote that I enjoy which are so important in riding English as opposed to Western, I believe. Either style I’m sure will appreciate the analogy. For me they also define (to an extent) a sub’s life for me:

”Hips like a hooker, shoulders like a queen.”

Words... 🥰