Monthly Archives: January 2015

Some Advice?

Hi everyone!
I have been trying to think of something to write in the About section of my blog but I am having trouble figuring out what to say. I don’t usually fill in the bio or about me sections because it feels strange talking about myself in such a way. If I fill those sections in at all, I just write lists. I like lists. 🙂 Anyway, all of you have written very nice about me sections, so I thought perhaps you might be able to give me some pointers.

Any ideas? Comment away. Please and thank you.


When I Was Vanilla

It is something I found on Fet when I first joined. It opened my eyes to the person I was before I learned of D/s. It helped me understand what I was feeling and craving back then, but did not know how to ask for.

Joy, I told you that I would find it again and share it.

When I was vanilla I fell in love with a man and my skin went ablaze. I felt his nearness create hives on my skin, nervous energy had me twitching as he came close, and my own throat betrayed me when trying to form words.

When I was vanilla I surrendered to this feeling. I drove 140km an hour because I could not get to him fast enough. I didn’t care he was older, I didn’t care if people didn’t see the match. I loved those knowing crinkled eyes, I loved the calm against my storm.

When I was vanilla I started to fill my fridge with things he liked. It didn’t cost much but I wanted him to feel at home, I wanted him happy. I wanted to be good for him.

When I was vanilla I would watch the clock to see when he would get home. I’d make my time count so that I had time for the gym, friends, errands, and be there in time to fix myself up a bit and meet him. When he walked through those doors whatever little stresses I had were gone. With him I wanted moments not the mundane.

When I was vanilla his work sometimes brought him home at 3 am. More often than not I would be awake for him. He never asked but date night would start then. I’d lay a towel out for him so he could shower. When he was done, there would be a blanket laid out before the TV with wine, cheese, crackers, some fruit, and me. The first time I did that he gave me the most peculiar look and said “Where did you come from? You know, other girls don’t do that” I laughed and said “How am I supposed to know what other girls do”

When I was vanilla we would walk hand in hand, but sometimes his hand would wander to my neck. Without breaking our stride his fingers and thumb would gently clasp around the back of it, leading me. In those moments I’d melt while at the same walking taller, feeling stronger and more beautiful than just seconds before. I doubt he sensed what beautiful turmoil that hand could engineer in me.

When I was vanilla having even great sex sometimes just wasn’t enough. I wanted to be stitched together only to be ripped apart. Needed to have the mind played with along with the nipple or the skin. Wanted him to look into my darkest corners and call them pretty. Wanted to break out into giggles at our badness, or childish selfishness for one another. Wanted to see the beast behind the man, knowing I would kiss it’s wet nose after it had finished destroying me.

When I was vanilla we would cuddle often. I would have my head in his lap and wanted to melt into it, it felt so good. Sometimes by some unknown puppet strings I would crawl across it until my stomach pressed against his lap, ass in the air, my head on my hands. Frozen there I would be waiting for something that never came.

When I was vanilla sometimes the world would end. I would have to go looking for my heart in the blood and guts of my stomach or wedged inside my throat. Tears would flow bitterly and solace would come eventually through sheer exhaustion. Those tears were cried for things that had been promised but not done. Promises made both big and small that were forgotten or dismissed for bigger or more important things. Someone else had demanded more or asked louder and others needs were more pressing. Sometimes his own comfort was more important, sometimes it just slipped his mind…..

Those times I realized I might not be his prized girl after all, just a pretty thing that happened to be there.

When I was vanilla I told the truth. When asked I was an open book. I wanted to be known and researched, wanted to explore and hunt for truths right back. But things were often left unsaid. That is when I discovered unsaid things create a special kind of pain.

When I was vanilla I wanted to be lead by this man. Someone confirm to me it is not so strange to have a will, a pulse, and a fire inside and yet hand it over in a chosen moment, because you can, because you think it will bring joy, because your heart is strong enough to beat outside your own chest. Tell me it’s not strange, because he certainly thought it was.

When I was vanilla, I wasn’t vanilla at all….I was a submissive without a dominant.