The Muse

My first marriage and my first home, I wanted my Christmas to be amazing. My new home had a 12 foot high ceiling in the living room... I wanted a tree that would reach all the way to the top.  A real tree.  

Now with a tree that tall... the girth of such a find is proportionate.  I can’t even remember how we got the monster home. It had to have been on one of our small cars.  I’m pretty sure my first husband would not put a tree on top of his Eclipse... so it must have been my Hyundai.  The tree, I’m certain,  was larger than the car.

Erecting the tree was another feat.  We had to saw off about a foot and then go to a store that carried a base for a tree that was as large as the one trying to grace my living room.  Once it was set up, it was so wide around, it took up almost the entire living room. We would have to squeeze onto one end of the sofa to watch TV.

The cats thought it was the greatest thing in the world.  I had three cats at the time.  I was dumb and did not know that tinsel and cats don’t go together (more on that in a moment).  Anyway, the cats could perch comfortably on the bold branches of this tree and sleep; and they did.  We had live kitty ornaments. No fear of them knocking that massive thing over.

Now... I put tinsel all over the tree. I’ve always thought tinsel was so pretty.  Tinsel is not good for kitty cats because certain kitty cats like to eat tinsel and it comes out exactly how it goes in. 

One of my cats was somewhat neurotic.  She was afraid of her own shadow. And she had swallowed some tinsel apparently.  I knew this because she came flying out of the litter box running through the house with a turd on a string... chasing her.

Just a word of warning, if you have little fur babies. Don’t put tinsel on your tree.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!!

I don’t think this guy appreciated the pussy pics I sent him... (read from the bottom of each frame to put em in order)

also... I sent him two pics of Milo. Which I attached at the end. So when you see a message with nothing... and the one that says “*sigh*”...those are pictures.

I’m not sure my last blog was -really- about my submissive journey but it was what came next, chronologically.  It was a shift in my position.  I knew where my power was.  I was my own person.  Not a follower.

Glimpses of my nature could be seen in the characters I’d play in Dungeons and Dragons.  I enjoyed this world.  I could be who I wanted to be under the guidance of my Dungeon Master (DM).  

In retrospect... it really is a shame that I shunned his feelings toward me.  

High School was a little less lonely for me.  I received a collar from a guy I was dating.  It was not a symbol for anything that I was aware of.  “Data” was everything that my parents hated for me.  He was NOT a Dom.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he had been someone’s pet, though... relinquishing his own collar to me.

 Back then I had no idea what that was but putting that collar on felt incredible.  It was a simple black leather collar with steel spikes all around it.  I got in trouble for wearing it to school.  They told me it was more of a weapon.  I thought they were nuts.  (Although I gave the collar to a friend later when I broke up with this guy... and that friend wrapped the collar around the end of a bat... it became a weapon, indeed).

He hardly talked. I didn’t care. His Mohawk was my favorite shade of blue and he would just show up at my house at 3AM. Mostly for sex.  

We would skip school and hang out at his house.  He had this old Xerox machine his dad used for business, right outside his bedroom and one day he decides it would be a good idea to photocopy my boobs.

The thought actually turned me on. 

The next time I went to his house, he had his entire bedroom wallpapered with my boobs. I think that was the first time I really discovered that I was a bit of an exhibitionist.

We would fuck in public places... in front of friends... It was fun.  I was loud.

One time after having some loud sex in his room... he decided that was the perfect time to meet his family. Even his grandmother... all of whom I am certain... heard me crying out in pleasure not moments before.  

I don’t think that part of the kink was for me.  I’m sure I turned very red. 

Data and I did not last.  He was a nice guy and all but he stood me up for drugs.  

I really need to make that a hard limit.

There was never another friend like my friend I had in kindergarten, although I remained a tomboy.  

My days of being a tomboy, evolved into being a nerd. An outcast. A pariah. I didn’t fit in anywhere or with anyone.  

Purple was all the rave... I loved black.  

I hated following anyone.

Middle School held it’s handful of challenges for me and gym class was one of them.  We had made it to the unit where the teachers would give you a choice of three things to work on: aerobics, gymnastics, and wrestling.  Of course they really ushered all the guys into the wrestling and the girls into the aerobics and gymnastics.  

I decided to choose wrestling that year.

It was as if I had shit in the punch bowl.

I didn’t budge.

Then something happened.

All the little cheerleaders and popular girls who had originally chosen aerobics with their little dance routines... started falling in line behind me. To wrestle. WTF.  We tore the shit out of each other that year. It was great.

I still wasn’t popular. But I had some freaky friends.

I’m home. I hurt. But I’m walking around and okay.  I have meds and my bed and my cat.

I’m also havin a little smoke but I just wanted to ramble a little before I leave for surgery.  

Remember how yesterday I lost my car in Staunton?  Well apparently my social security card decided it loved Staunton so much... it jumped out of whatever I put it in... because I don’t really remember where that might have been...and is now livin’ it up. Probably at the Stonewall Jackson Hotel.

Im not too worried about identity theft.  Someone would be pretty stupid to steal mine.  They wouldn’t be able to open any credit cards or anything like that.  This really makes things tricky though.

My interview that I was supposed to have two weeks ago got postponed; first because of the interviewer having an emergency, then second because of weather.

I need my social security card for the interview and they gave me just enough time to find it in the depths of all my little secret cedar boxes and cubbies... then just enough time again that I’ll be sitting in the interview telling them my animated tale of my car and the card and all of the shenanigans that accompanied it. *sigh*. 

I don’t think I could even make this shit up.  

My night shift brain... that’s what I call it.

(freakin...Milo!)

fhgjfut

okay...I’m going to try and type with cat all up in my face... 

He only does this when he sees me typing. Now I’m gonna have to share the crazy picture. 

Okay... Now that I’m way off topic because of the devil cat...

Ahem...

So I went to court today and parked my car where I thought it would be safe in a two hour spot.  I did not think I was gone two hours.  I had no way of knowing for sure because I had to leave my phone in the car.  

I left the courthouse and proceeded back to the area where I swore my vehicle was and it had been replaced with a Subaru Outback ...Same color... wrong freakin car! I started to panic.  I swore up and down I had parked right in front of this historic hotel (The Stonewall Jackson in downtown Staunton).  I called the police and everything and they said they didn’t tow any cars. I panicked even more. They said they would send a cop out to talk to me.

I thought it would be a good idea to double check outside and down the street... Not even 50 freakin feet away... sat my car, just a grinnin’ ... in front of the Black Friar’s Playhouse.... Some Beach!!!!

... but I have this song on my mind. 

Girlfriend in a Coma by the Smiths

Girlfriend in a coma, I know
I know, it's serious
Girlfriend in a coma, I know
I know, it's really serious
There were times when I could
Have murdered her
But you know, I would hate
Anything to happen to her
No, I don't want to see her
Do you really think
She'll pull through
Do you really think
She'll pull through
Do
Girlfriend in a coma, I know
I know, it's serious
My, my, my, my, my, my baby, goodbye
There were times when I could
Have strangled her
But you know, I would hate
Anything to happen to her
Would you please
Let me see her
Do you really think
She'll pull through
Do you really think
She'll pull through
Do
Let me whisper my last goodbyes
I know, it's serious

I seem to ramble on about everything, but I haven’t really shared much about my submissive journey.  

When did it all begin for me?

(You must excuse any mistakes because I’m typing around a cat...he’s literally got his head resting ... okay he moved...phew)

At what point did I realize the pull? That desire?

I had to think about this.  I took a good look at my childhood and I could identify some things that make more sense now.  

I was a tomboy.  I preferred matchbox cars and Star Wars figures over Barbies... traipsing through the woods over shopping for dresses (in fact I don’t think I would even wear dresses until I was about 11 or 12).  

Now, this alone may not appear to give reason to my sub side, however, the reason why I was a tomboy- does. 

When I was in kindergarten, I had a little boyfriend.  He was from England and had an accent (which is probably why I love accents so much).  He would tell me what to do... all the time.  He told me who I could play with and what games I could play and I would just do everything he said. No questions.  

We would play Star Wars together because that was our main common interest.  He would tell me exactly which figures I could play with and tell me the scenario.  Can you imagine this from a five year old?

He kissed me one time, at the bus stop.  He dipped me and everything!  Then promptly denied ever doing so.  I didn’t care.  I was stunned and head over heels for him.  Besides... I had an entire bus stop full of jeering witnesses.

We were best friends for years. Our families were friends. He lived across the street... and when he moved away, our parents allowed sleepovers, only because our older sisters were best friends as well. 

We never had a physical relationship. Ever. But he insisted that when we grew up we were going to get married, join the Army, and ride around in a tank. He had it all planned. I couldn’t argue!

The reality was, he moved away to Africa.  We kept in touch but we never married each other. I joined the Army ... I think he became a marine. Not sure about any tanks though.

I never had a friend like him. I was a tomboy because it pleased him.  

(To be continued)