The Queen of Crushes on the Act of Confesssion

During our most recent session, my therapist called me the Queen of Crushes. She's never had a client with more crushes, she said. I crush on everyone. It's ridiculous. Male, female, young, old, teacher, friend, coworker, Budget Manager (yum), acquaintance, dog walker. If I had super high self-esteem, I'd probably crush on myself. We discussed why I get them, how they have very little to do with the people they involve, and how it's about me and how I react to certain situations.

One thing I've learned over the last year is that one must shine a light into the corners so one can see what's going on. Confession is an industrial-strength flashlight. Whether I confess in person, by accident, or confess to the empty internet, the result is the same: I'm able to let it go. Effortlessly.

Orange Crush soda by Olivander, on Flickr

The same thing happened at work.  A coworker stormed into the office one morning, frazzled and tired, ranting about how her husband abuses her and the children. I've heard this before from her and called social services, because child abuse will not go unreported on my watch. Anyway, I got harsh with her and said that by staying she was letting her children be abused.  I just wouldn't let it go, saying it over and over.  Your letting your children be abused. Of course this was pushing personal buttons because my mom stayed allowing my father to verbally abuse all of us. Finally I busted out with, "My mom allowed us to be abused and I'm still angry at her for it."

Over the next week or so, I was able to let that anger go. I'd been working on that for years, but saying it out loud in that way changed something. It still hurts, but I'm not angry anymore. I'm glad to be able to say that and mean it.

There is something about the act of confession.  

Even though I have many problems with organized religion, I think the Catholics were on to something with Confession. (Of course if one has ever watched the Borgias, one may be forgiven for assuming confession served as a place for secret communication, a place to organize illicit liaisons, and a way to gather information on the failings and weaknesses of your enemies. But I digress.) So in its holy and pure form, untainted by mendacity, confession could be a life saver. Secrets can keep you stuck. The act of speaking your truth can be liberating.

Look Alikes: Hillary Clinton and Big Edie Beale

Today, after several postponements due to a stomach virus, fainting and blood clots, Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton testified before a Senate committee about the attack on American state department personnel in Benghazi, Libya. She looked as well as ever and gave impassioned testimony.  This photo was on the front page of the Washington Post website this afternoon:

The Washington Post

When I saw the wide-rimmed glasses, the long wavy hair and the slight magnification of her eyes, my first thought was Big Edie Beale! The look isn't identical, but the essence of the image is.

www.raycaspio.com

I love both of these women.  Hillary Rodham Clinton is an icon to me, and while no one is perfect, she is someone I admire. Big Edie is the matriarch of Grey Gardens, a run-down estate in East Hampton, and mother of Little Edie, one of the most quotable ladies of 1975.  You understand.

American Soldiers with Photographer by Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library Archives

Morganatically

A new word I've discovered describes the way the aristocracy handles the transfer of fortune and privilege. In this type of marriage, a person of higher status will marry one of lower status based on the condition that neither the spouse or the couple's children have claim to the title or estate.

That's very harsh.

 I've just started watching Downton Abbey so I do not know if the union between Lady Sybil Crawley. (Jessica Brown Findlay) and the former chauffeur Mr. Branson is a morgantic marriage.

((((((mummification)))))))

The title is wrapped in layers. It's mummified, get it? AHEM, sorry for the bad joke.

I had the most wonderful experience with mummification a couple months ago.

So HB (a variation of his scene name) wanted to try mummification so I let him practice on me, wrapping me tightly from my shoulder to knees. He enjoyed the practice wrapping, and I enjoyed the feeling of plastic wrap on my skin and the increasing inability to move.

That was kinda it until I said, "You know what would be fun?"

Months ago I watched a scene with two men and two women. The women stood face to face while the men wrapped them from shoulders to feet in plastic. The guys pushed the ladies back and forth between them. It looked very fun.  Later in the scene they pushed the ladies onto the floor, punching with fists and shocking with a mini cow prod. Then the ladies started to "yellow."  At that point, I was a little disgusted but the scene wrapped up quickly.

I wanted to recreate the plastic-wrapped lady toss.  He brought over another guy, Sexy Dude (SD), one that I had my eye on for a couple months as just a really nice looking dude with all these muscles and stuff.  This new guy was kind and asked right away if he had permission to touch me.  As I was already immobilized and feeling a little helpless, I appreciated that.

I stood between as they pushed me just a little. Then they got a little further apart at which point they had to catch my weight.  HB said "Give her some shoulder!" and SD did, but I told them that I did not consent to hard impacts.  This is important to understand as a bottom, because consenting to one thing does not mean you consent to everything, and that even in the middle of a scene you have the right to refuse what you don't want.  Any play partner worth your time will respect that.

I kept my eyes closed as the falls grew longer and longer, so long that I screamed out because I felt like I was going to hurt myself if I plopped on the floor. (Even if I did fall, there would have been no breaks because we were on mats. Safety first!) That was so fun and so scary at the same time.  If I do it again, a blindfold would be fun.

Then the two put me over a wide spanking bench and hit me with riding crops and gently with their fists.  Two men at one time.....my fantasy!  :-) When the plastic wrap came off, I went from sweating hot to freezing cold in about 10 seconds.

After a bit of recuperation, HB bent over a spanking bench for a nice paddling.  I was the first time I used my West Virgina paddle for almost the length of an entire scene and the first time I topped a man. Also the first time that I've switched with a person the same evening.

It was almost the first time I tried buffalo, when HB and I, along with two others, went out for a 1am dinner in Dupont Circle. I got cheesesteak instead. 

Slowly I'm learning that sexual freedom does not eliminate the need for emotional intimacy. A year into my exploration of the BDSM scene, I've gained an appreciation for my body while engaging in some very fun scenes. I've developed a massive crush on an unavailable man. I've honed my ability to walk up to strangers and start up a conversation (I love your outfit!) But I'm no closer to developing close friendships or romantic relationships than when I started. If I'm truly honest with myself, relationships with others are what I'm after.  They're what everyone is after. They give meaning to life.

Yeah, a little frustrated and lonely tonight.