Marrying the mental and the mischief

It always surprises me how aspects of my kink related play marry to other aspects of myself.

Let me back up briefly.

 It’s about to get a bit personal.

I have struggled with an eating disorder for over the past decade, though I am now medically considered recovered. I was hospitalized for it back in my late teens and it has influenced some of my current medical conditions.

My relationship with food is still complicated. Especially around holidays like Thanksgiving. I have to navigate a prickly maze of thorn-laden hedges in my brain to merely sit down with family and eat a plateful of food.

I deal with it in my day-to-day life mostly by grazing. It tricks my brain and those darkly creeping thoughts to only eating a little at a time. It’s the plates full of food in front of other people that sets off that siren screaming in my head. Calling the cruel goddess Ana to my brain with her poisoned words and glittering sharp teeth. Just a couple pounds less. Always just a couple less.
Her demand of sacrifice is a throwback to the days of pagans gathered around an unfortunate virgin, knives gleaming.

But I have found a surprising weapon in the community and exploration of kink. Not just the support I receive from friends and mentors when the dark thoughts curl around my feet, but also the play itself.



The subspace is untouchable by Ana. It is a thickly layered brick maze that she cannot navigate. The stinging of a flogger, the thudding of a paddle, they add barbed wire to those brick walls. The rip of tape, the slithering sound of rope, the zap of electricity…

All of these things are soothing to me. They bring me to a place that I cannot bring myself. 

It may seem unorthodox, and I’m sure the average mental-health professional would be floored by the therapy I get from play. After hitting subspace, I haven’t the inclination or motivation to count calories or restrict myself.



The food I put in my mouth after a scene is so goddamn guilt-free delicious.

Competing with Myself (TW**)

(WARNING: SUPER DUPER TRIGGER WARNING FOR BDSM PLAY TALK– MAINLY IMPACT PLAY [i.e. spanking/paddling].)
I know this can be an especially hard trigger for the mental health community and survivors in general. I do want to reassure my friends that my interest in impact is 100% consensual and a cathartically-theraputic release for me. I am not being abused in any way, shape, or form. But I needed to write about this and put it out into the world. I have mentioned some BDSM stuff before.
But please don’t feel like you need to read it. I promise it’s okay if you don’t. I do plan a more PG rated update this week as well.

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These last weeks have been rough.

They have been a blender of loss, frustration, depression, anxiety, and self-loathing. The combination of my grandfather passing within days of the anniversary of my miscarriage has my headspace a mess. Halloween stress and relationship turmoil hasn’t helped.

Thankfully, I’ve had some great support along the way.

I’ve recently become closely involved in the local BDSM/kink community in my city. I imagine that seems extra nuts for a nutty person who survived childhood sexual abuse.

I will say my specific interests are extremely focused, have nothing to do with non-consent, and I only do anything sexual/fluid-exchange related with my partner Army. I still consider myself monogamous, though some argue that fact and consider non-sexual impact play with others makes me poly.
But that’s a whole other topic. Army is aware of my interest though, and supportive. I am not dishonest in this interest.

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The Experience

In October, I was happy to be able to attend a private BDSM play party with some trusted friends I’ve made over the past six months. I wanted to try and relax and let myself feel more normal. Away with the swirling cyclone of blackness I’ve been caught in. Let in some fresh air and some good conversation. And of course, break out the floggers and paddles.

I thought bottoming in a simple impact scene would be good for me.

It felt like a mere five minutes before I tapped out (I was lovingly assured it wasn’t that short of time). I could immediately tell by the minimal level of red skin and bruising on my rump that I hadn’t taken the level of impact I normally do. My mind immediately recalled a recent scene with the same trusted tops where I took over an hour of play, building up to some good thuddy and stingy impact tools. I was thoroughly bruised for days. And the cathartic release and therapeutic stillness in my head had lasted for hours afterwards. My main goal.

I am what’s called a masochistic bottom (or sub). I get off not only on the pain and surrender of control during the scene, but the flash of pain I can achieve 1-3 days later by doing that casual “bruise-press” with my hand. It’s something that helps silence both the cacophony of voices/thoughts in my head and the daily autoimmune issues. I suppose the endorphins released could be compared to self-harm, but I like to think this coping technique is healthier. Definitely safer. There is no bleeding or scaring level injuries.

Just the beautiful canvas of colors on my rear that can occasionally bloom in a distracting way.

But this scene certainly won’t give me much of that.

It wasn’t that the scene became too painful, per se. It was more that I could feel the subspace drop almost immediately, along with an edge of wanting to cry. Like, full on sob. And I wasn’t brave enough to cry in front of multiple people. Even if they are my friends, I’ve never felt comfortable with public crying.

And yet the other bottoms that were scening already had some beautiful bruises blooming on their own rears.

My jealously ran quick and deep. Not a jealously of their specific bruises. A jealously of my earlier self, who would have easily gotten such badges of honor.

I do know bottoming in a scene isn’t a competition between persons.

But this was the first time I learned that I have to count myself among those persons. I’m not competing with myself.

It’s been a hard lesson to learn. It’s an ongoing lesson as I write this. I suppose the whole DID thing doesn’t help when it comes to self-competition. And I definitely noticed the fact that it wasn’t Charlotte who was 100% fronting during this scene like usual. She could always take more than any of the rest. Even my co-concious self.

I’m blessed enough to have some great local friends in the community who were unbelievably kind about my insecurities. I even had the tops from the scene take me aside afterwards and reassure me. Now those are some awesome people to keep in a play roster. Their intuitive understanding is the best I’ve encountered. Actually, they’re the only people in the past six months I’ve trusted enough to play with on my own (i.e without Army) and multiple times.

Even though my direct grief influences will most likely end soon, I have to figure out the balancing game of dealing with grief and still trying to remain active in the scene. I don’t want to have this sort of sub/grief drop again.

I imagine it is a process that takes time. I don’t think it’ll be easy, but it’s looking like I have a great support network while I get this lesson down.

Subspace/Sub-drop versus Depression

Trigger warning: BDSM, kink, and sexual experiences talk (healthy and non-healthy/abusive both)

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Subspace: a mental space for those who identify as submissive in BDSM play and sexual situation/scenes. It can be spiritually and viscerally deep for many. The endorphins released for a sub during a scene make it very similar to the high many drugs offer.

Sub-drop: the sharp change in mental status that can happen to a submissive after the endorphins disperse. It can happen at any point from right after the scene ends to hours, or even a day later. It is called “drop” because it is a empty sort of feeling; akin to depression.

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For the first time in years, I agreed to let Army try his hand at a true BDSM-centered “scene”. It involved wax play, breath play, and spankings- in addition to actual rough intercourse. Some of the kinks I have not partaken in since Katherine, despite enjoying immensely.

We staged the scene during the mid-afternoon (2-3pm) when my house was deserted. In spite of this, within minutes of us finishing, Army fell deep asleep.

I tried to control my breathing and pushed back the “crying sensation”. Or what I call the crying sensation- never actually cried. Not sure if that would happen if I didn’t push it back. I’ve always pushed it back. Curled into my normal ball.

And the sub-drop hit.

I’ve never been one of the parts in here to really struggle with depression. I suppose I’ve been touched by it during our co-conscious period when depression would hit. But I’ve never soaked in it.

I soak in sub-drop.

Katherine was initially good at aftercare. When we first delved into the world of BDSM, she read all about how to be a good “domme/dom” and we would frequently watch Disney movies or a musical and she’d make me a grilled cheese. There was lots of soothing cuddling. No conversation required, which isn’t really something I can manage while still in semi-subspace.

Then our relationship soured. The honeymoon period ended. And she became harsh. Or lazy. Or both. The end of a scene was the end of her commitment to pay attention to me.

I soak in sub-drop.

Like gin, I learn to make the bitter taste sweet and steep my insides in it.

On the tail of this deep depression that’s been spinning around in the brain the past couple weeks, this sub-drop is more bitter than sweet. My normal tricks and masks aren’t doing it. Perhaps I’m losing my knack.

I’m still doing my best to fight it.

Sometimes it’s just better to squeeze the bruises or brush the burns/welts to try and release some remnants of euphoria. Anything to avoid becoming like one of the cutters. Ugh. I will not be like Victoria.

I soak in sub-drop.

Possession

Trigger warning for sex/BDSM/abuse talk
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Somehow in all our teasing, flirting lighthearted talking last night, Army convinced me to text him a picture of me in stockings with garters.

I’ve never done such a thing before.

I’m sure that seems surprising, with Charlotte’s sexual nature.  I’m not 100% sure that she’s never slipped out a risque pic to some stranger that meant nothing but pure sex, but I can say pretty confidently that I’ve never sent such pictures to anyone who meant anything to us.

I was nervous about it, and to his credit, he wasn’t being pushy.  It was that gentle sort of prodding that got me to finally gather up some of that elusive courage and manage something relatively sexy.

It was pretty much just my legs crossed in stockings with the garters peeking at the top.  No face, nothing X-rated.  Just in case it were to find it’s way into the public eye.

And I still worried.  Something tugged at the corner of my mind.

My fingers moved on their own.

“Just yours, right?”

He texted back almost immediately.

“Only mine. No sharing.”

My brain seemed to explode.

Voices started screaming at me.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. No sharing. No one else. No touching. Mine.

A cascade of memories of Katherine’s games of possession and branding wash over me.

I touch my left hip nervously.  The scar is very faint now.  That means I’m no longer branded, right?  I don’t belong to her.  I’m not breaking it.  Not violating the pact.

She violated it first.

But she was never marked.  She could do as she pleased.

Only me.

I am the property.  I am the girl.  I am the claimed.

I am nothing.

Monogamy vs. Polygamy (in our DID world)

Recently, I’ve been reading about how most persons with DID/MPD are either non-sexual or polygamists.  Obviously, this isn’t true.  I know this isn’t true.  This is a narrow-minded pop culture viewpoint.

But I’ve gotten a couple people on a website I’m a member of ask me how I can be both DID and monogamous, and yet still be highly sexual and into kink/BDSM.

It’s hard, I’ll admit.  We play that balancing game constantly.  We are hard-wired to be monogamous, but it is tricky trying to satisfy all of the requirements demanded by each of us.  But we work it out due to the following feelings on relationships; broken down by alter.
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Armes:
being a litle i dont really wanna have a boyfriend or girlfriend.  but i do want someone who will let me have my alone time to watch disney movies and play with zoe.  i’ve never really found anyone i felt safe enough to be around.  besides katharine. there were a few times she would watch a disney movie with me and i felt safe. but boys are scary, so its harder with them. i just dont want someone who will trigger any of the others…

Charlotte:
I have needs.  That’s pretty much my bottom line.  If said person cannot fulfill my needs (which are also the body’s libido, so it isn’t just me being selfish or some shit like that), then they don’t hang around for long.  A libido has a lot of power, especially for a young woman, so I get a lot of say in whatever relationship we attempt to pursue.  I’m willing to be patient….to a degree.  But there is that point around the 3 month mark or so where I start getting antsy, twitchy, and it’s time for me figure out a solution to those needs.
However, I don’t do the whole cheating thing. That’s disgusting.  I am monogamous.  If the current relationship some other dumbass alter has gotten us into doesn’t fulfill my needs, then I correct that (Rika: she means sabotage).
Thanks Rika. Sure. Fine. I sabotage it. We need a complete relationship, not some half-hearted bullshit.

Claire:
I just want to be able to trust someone.  I don’t want to be used. I don’t want any more abuse.  We’ve had enough of that.  Sometimes Charlotte forgets that the sort of people that fulfill her desires are the dark ones who will take us down that thorn-covered path again.  Roms and Rika help back me up on that usually.  I like someone who I can actually talk to.  I can cuddle with.  Who will make me smile and charm me.
I like the idea of someone who knows about our condition.  It’s…really hard to hide it.  It’s dishonest.  I’m tired of dishonestly.  It’s only cost us in the past.

Kit:
I’ve been getting the largest vote in the past- though apparently this needs to be re-evaluated.  I care about that spark.  That chemistry.  Not necessary with the clothes-tearing and such, but just at least someone who will make me smile when I think of them.  I suppose I’ve got a bit of Claire’s romantic streak, but I also do enjoy sex occasionally (not to the degree as Charlotte, but at least some vanilla stuff).  I’m looking for that happy medium.  Someone who can be my friend and my bed-mate.

Midori:
I am mostly a loner, so I don’t much care about relationships.  But I do like the idea of someone I can bake and cook for.  I’ve done that in the past and it was nice to have someone praise and enjoy my creations.
I also want someone who understands my function with the pills.  That I’m not trying to be suicidal, like Victoria or Daria.  I’m quite aware of the safe level to take to keep us from drowning.  I’ve perfected it over the years.  I’m the closest thing to a medical-alter this body has.  Let me do my thing and stop bitching at me for having “problems”.
And let me play my piano in peace. I do not perform.

Rika:
I allow only partners who will not fuck us up.  No more of that shit.  I have one job and I’m going to fucking do it well.
I will handle any asshole who thinks he’s hot shit but is really fucking crazy shit.  I don’t care about honesty, like Claire. I don’t care if they know about our “condition” or whatever.
I do care that they understand that though Charlotte may be into dark shit, there is a line and they will not fucking cross it, or they will deal with me.
There is a reason why we were not nervous living in the slum side of town without constantly carrying weapons.  And that reason is me.  I’ve handled men and women larger than the body in the past will little to no trouble.
You fuck with us and I will fuck you up.

Roms:
I’m not particularly opinionated about relationships.  I just want someone who isn’t going to upset the other alters, especially Armes or Claire.  I have no desires to be with anyone, but I respect the other alters having those desires and they are welcomed to pursue them.  I suppose I would prefer someone who does not have a problem with the whole Pagan belief thing.  Someone I can have the occasional intelligent conversation with.
Someone who doesn’t hate children.

Serefina:
I will not stand anyone who is dumb.  Also tired of people who don’t have their shit together.  I worked my ass off to get the job and education I have.  It was hard- but I did it.  Despite all the shit we deal with.  If you have a damn good reason for being a little behind the curve, then sure, I get that.  But don’t be making stupid excuses for being a lazy fucker who doesn’t understand how life actually works.
I don’t really have a physical interest in anyone.  Just someone I can talk to.  Especially about work.

Victoria:
No person should touch me.  That’s very bad.  The other alters say that it’s going to happen though and I should say what sort of person I would accept if I had to.
Someone who doesn’t judge our appearance.  I know we’re awful and fat and disgusting, but I don’t like that being pointed out.  Someone who isn’t constantly trying to make me eat.  I hate food.  Maybe someone who is nice to my hair.  I do like brushing it and playing with it and putting it into braids or buns or other things.
Someone to make the thunderstorms not so scary…

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Daria declined to participate.  I don’t think she has a true opinion beyond wanting to ruin anything we attempt to do as a functional person.

This is the balancing act we have to do every time we think about starting a new relationship.

But we definitely don’t want to compound the problem by adding multiple partners.  That would just cause more issues.

Sometimes we wonder if it might be easier to just remain single.

Message from my past

Well.  I’m attempting not to muck things up.  Kit just surfaced again and she’s already trying to figure out how to feel about what’s been done with the body in her absence.

Honestly, in my opinion, she decided to play ostrich.  None of us effin’ made her.  She doesn’t get to bitch about what we did.  We didn’t do anything illegal or that landed us in a hospital, which are the only bottom line requirements anyway.

But I am trying to not be a total bitch lately.

This morning I woke up to a message from a friend I used to get “chummy” with.  It’s not like we had a real relationship, considering the dude lives in Denver.  I really hate long-distance crap, so we were pretty just talking and joking around.  The occasional explicit “game”.  We met through a fetish website that I like to frequent.  It’s not like any one else in this stupid body is trying to “sate needs”.
Anyway, I hadn’t spoken to Raston since April. He dropped off the face of the planet and I didn’t particularly care, since it was an online friendship and I barely knew the guy.

However, his message this morning was explicit, and he is slipped into his dom role with me without my permission.
Kit was out initially checking various other morning online tasks like she does and when she saw the email she was all “WTF is this?”.

Obviously I had to take control.  I don’t want to freak her out in her delicate condition. Okay. And I’m a coward. I don’t want her to know what sort of things I was doing (MONTHS AGO).

But I’m torn on how to respond to Raston’s message.  I want to play.  God, I want to play so bad.  But it’s just a stupid online thing.  It’s text. It’s not someone actually touching me. That probably isn’t worth the shit-storm that will happen if I egg this guy on.

Dammit.

Willing Sacrifice

Why did we have to go through puberty and gain a libido…?
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(Trigger warning: this entire entry concerns the creation of and main purpose of Charlotte. So…lots of sex talk. Nothing graphic, but be aware please.)
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She was just a girl in a toy store

Seeing the puzzles, the boardgames

Stuffed animals, coloring books

Dolls

Then in the blink of an eye

The dolls had genders

And parts

It was disgusting

(picture from here)
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I’m not one of the illustrious original alters.  Not like Rika, or Middi, or Masey. Obviously a 7 year old girl has no need of a nymphomaniac.  She only disassociated when those kind of things started happening.

We used to all be just fragments.  My first memory that was truly mine is brief.

His rough dry fingers brushed under our shirt before moving lower.  Instead of pulling into our robot-selves, the deceitful libido of this teenage girl-not-yet-woman sent heat low into our abdomen and I was born. The nails of his other hand scratched over our tailbone and I grinned.  This could be good.

I caused all sorts of issues from the start.  Rika was blaring warning bells about Uniballer left and right while I just wanted him to bite harder and brand us longer.  I perfected the sweeping gaze from underneath my eyelashes within months.

Daddy hated me.

“You are only with that boy because he has a car.” He sneered, glaring at me. I tried not to let a smirk slip out. He caught it anyway, “…it isn’t the car. I raised you to be a lady, goddammit. Get out of my sight.”
I was happy to comply.

He tried to overcome his own curiosity with disgust when we started dating a woman.

“How…how does that even work?? There isn’t the right stuff for intercourse!” He hissed.  This time the smirk fell easily from my lips.
“It works wonderfully.” I murmur, running my hand discreetly over the blooming bruises on my arms and legs. No more short sleeves for now.

But then I must have done something wrong because she didn’t want to play with just me anymore.  She knew about the others, even without us telling her.  It was strange, but we took it to mean she could read us so well.  She started wanting to “work” with the others.  She liked the change in temperament.
She wanted the equivalent of a virgin.

I acquiesced. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I have ONE purpose in this stupid system and I can’t even fucking manage that.

Obviously I’m a failure.
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And I only become a further failure as the years pass.  Katharine leaves us.  I try not to care.  But she leaves a brand she didn’t even realize as I discover quickly that the only kind of things I get any pleasure from are twisted. Sick. Dark and rough.

I want to be held down. I want to be tied up. I want to be bruised, scratched, flayed open, branded, claimed.  I want a hand to close around my throat.  I don’t ever want to seem like I have any control.
Even while I have all the control.

That’s exactly how the whole BDSM world works.  The one who seems like they are giving up all control are actually the ones who control the game entirely (assuming it’s done correctly, without abuse).

I want them to want me so badly that they can barely get the door closed on the public world before they start tearing at my clothes and flesh.

And yet Katharine, with her demand to have time with “all of us”, unintentionally made us more than we were.
We spent so much time outside in the body when we weren’t just serving the one purpose we were created for.

Roms grew to see beyond yoga and complex Pagan rituals.  Serefina stopped thinking merely in law and regulations. Claire stopped being semi-mute and completely blind.  Those who did not have names were given one.
I was no longer Lust (or slut).
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I smiled the first time Masey let me semi-integrate to watch Beauty and the Beast.  My eyes fell closed in rapture when Middi offered me one of her famous chocolate chip honey cookies.  Rika taught me to drive and I loved it, radio blaring and me singing along loudly and probably completely off key.

Then the bottom fell out.  The psych ward changed us.  We lost an alter (we thought forever) who couldn’t deal with not being with Katharine.  I joined Rika in the eyerolling at her lack of strength.

And I fell back to my simple ways.  My one-track goals.  I found websites and friends who set-up blind dates.  Dates that I wished I was blind for.  Not a spark of lust in me for a single one.
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Until Matt. We first met at a movie theater. I don’t even remember what movie we saw. It was the invitation to a New Years party that peaked my interest.

There was plenty of booze (no gin, but my second favorite, vodka, was everywhere).  There was a game of beer pong going on and an unused air hockey table in the corner.  A stereo was softly playing boring soft rock.

I pulled my trusty iPod from my pocket, chose “Charlotte’s mix” and plugged it into the aux jack of the stereo.  Dark, vibrating and danceable strains came through the speakers and one of the beer pong players looked up and met my eyes.
He grinned at me. I winked back.

I had no idea it was Matt’s brother.

I challenged Matt to a game of air hockey.  His testosterone insisted he inform me he was a champion at his high school.
I creamed him, 7-2.
His brother approached to take over.  The game was a little more of a challenge, but that was mostly because I was having more fun throwing him sultry looks and leaning over as far as possible for trick shots in order to get his eyes glued to my chest (thank god I wore the push-up).
I still won, 7-5.

The night ended with me playing beer pong on Matt’s brother’s team and getting pretty sloshed.  By this point, Matt’s feeling pretty left out so I reward his patience with an almost X-rated dance to one of my favorite songs by Buckcherry.  He kisses me clumsily, but we’re both pretty tipsy so it doesn’t matter much.
It’s a week later when I realize he lives with his brother, is unemployed, and doesn’t even drive a car.  I could tolerate all of this if it weren’t for two glaring factors.

He constantly demands rides from me.
And the one time I tumble into bed with him, it is awful.

He will not stop the simple motion of intercourse for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, until the friction is too painful, even for me to stand.  For the first time in my life, I fake it and pull out all my tricks to force him to finish, even though he groans about wanting to last longer.

I ignore him for days and finally Rika sends him a short text getting him off our back.  I don’t feel guilty at all.
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I feel like I’m owed something better for standing Matt’s terrible attempts.  I make one of the worse decision of our lives and take control of the body for  a good three months.
Until the missed period.

I am a disgusting slut and should not be anywhere near the creation of life.  To this day I think it’s my perversion that wouldn’t let the life continue to grow.

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Daria is right.  I only destroy.  I don’t help us function as a normal member of society.  I ruin friendships, relationships.  I have desires that are so wrong, so bad that I should be tied up and tossed down that well and never allowed to surface again.

As I’ve done so many times in my existence, I offer my wrists up to be bound.  For the first time it isn’t for sex and for the first time it’s right.

Daria’s right.

Tribute to Charlotte

Armes requested that we all do a sort of tribute to Charlotte to try and help her.  Some of us don’t feel like saying much, still a bit too shocked and wounded by the whole situation, but we’ll do our best.
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Armes
i like how she always take over the body if someone or something scared me. she doesn’t always get along with the others, but she’s always nice to me.
i don’t like how her dreams are bad sometimes. she dreams about people doing hurting things and taking her clothes off, but in the dream she liked it. she refuses to tell me about it and always says she’s sorry her dreams upset me.
she watches disney movies with me too, though she doesn’t like other people to know that. she said she didn’t want anyone to think she had a “romantick side”.
she sneakes me strawberry ice cream or milkshakes if she’s out.

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Rika
I hate how she fucking flirts with almost anyone who has a penis.  I hate that she usually manages to make that work for her.  I hate that she almost never listens to my advice on whether people are trustworthy.
I like that she did listen with Stalker, even though she flirted with him past the point she should have for our safety. She was really regretful about that though. I like that she handles any sexual encounters that upset the others, even if it isn’t the “type” of sex she’s “into”.  She still understands her job, unlike most.
I hate her cravings that work their way into the system and body.
I like that she takes care of it herself most of the time.

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Midori
I love how she’ll usually split her cigs with me, even if they are sometimes those disgusting Parliaments. I love how she praises my baking to high heaven, even if she pretends to bitch about the calories making it “harder to flirt”.
I hate how she rips on my music, but then I catch her humming the tunes sometimes.
I hate how she twisted the BDSM lessons we learned from our exes into something pleasurable for her. I like how she doesn’t let anyone else drag us into sex games anymore. I love how she’ll talk to people at a doctor’s office when I can’t contain my fear enough.  I hate how we both can’t handle hospitals.
I love that she’ll look the other way when I swallow a couple extra pills and help me slip some baking supplies into the cart during the next shopping trip.
I hate what Daria did to her.

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Roms
I like that she knew better than to smoke around family (besides Grey).   I hate how she jokes that Claire and I are “practically the same”. I love that she can always tell us apart, even with her eyes closed.
I love that she’s sweet with Armes.  I love when she lets us all share snuggles with Zoe, even if it’s her rightful time out.
I hate that she doesn’t realize she’s stronger than this.

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Claire
I hate that she thinks she isn’t worth anything unless a man wants her.  I hate that she loves it even more when it’s more than one man. I hate it so much that she decided it was better to shove away someone who was so good for us because of rumors of another man’s sexual prowess.
I love that she made herself not do that this year. She said it was just for me, but I know she really was realizing her deep-down morals. I love that she let herself feel attraction, even without sex for weeks.  I hate that I felt a little jealous of Saturday night, even though it was my own stupid fear that made her take over. I love that she didn’t turn in into some kind of depraved type of sex…
I love and hate that she mourned so much for Audrey and the loss of the pregnancy, even though she refused to be around “the grossly pregnant body”.
I hate that she tried to be some sort of stupid hero last night and I hate that it made her so scared.  I hate that it scares me so much to see her so scared.  She’s always been mostly fearless, like Rika.
Please don’t be like Audrey. You’re so much stronger than her. We need you so much.

Dreams Again

(Trigger warning: some of these dreams are…R-rated, so to speak. Not X, just R. Read safely please.)

Last night’s were a weird mix of not-quite-memories and just fears we’ve been having…but again, in the quick slideshow-type way that we rarely get.
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A gray truck hovers behind us as we drive around our old neighborhood.  We can’t quite make out the driver, but we know he is male and smoking as plumes of smoke ooze from his open window.  Though we know these streets better than our own mind, no matter how fast we turn and double-back and flip around, we can’t lose him.

_________

The red-yellow of a desert surrounds us and as we spin around taking in the beauty of it. A cough escapes us and we suddenly realize we are incredibly parched.  Automatically we glance behind us and see a campsite.  Heading over, there is a figure hunched over a smothered bonfire.  He’s holding a large canteen of water.  He turns as we approach and starts to offer it.  We reach, our hand just about to connect before he flips it over and pours out the contents onto the dry earth.  It is absorbed into the thirsty ground in an instant.
“Sorry cupcake, all out.” His voice says and we realize it’s the voice of someone who’s smack in the middle of puberty, not quite a man. Glancing up to his face, it’s those hazel eyes and the floppy blond-brown hair and we fall back onto the ground, our tailbone smarting from impact.  We start to skitter back and he chuckles.
“Wanna play hide and seek?”

_________

We are determined to prove to them can we can bake drunk.
Midori smirks at the three skeptical faces. “I can bake the hell outta cookies drunk.” She states firmly, then heads into the kitchen. It’s a good thing it’s Daddy’s kitchen and she’s able to automatically reach for ingredients in a place she’s been familiar with since early teen years.
He follows us in, just as drunk, if not drunker. Midori is only half-listening to his rambled thoughts, even as Claire tries to listen harder, recognizing the deep importance of them.  Midori shoves Claire away roughly so she can mix the dough. She easily molds it into balls and puts them on a sheet before popping them into the oven.  She starts to wash her hands when she feels him draw closer.  The intimacy and heat of it has Charlotte out in a moment, grinning and tilting her head down and to the side in submission. Her stomach coils with that tight heat in happy expectation of what will come next.

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A red silk tie dangles in front of our eyes, swishing back and forth a couple times.
“You know the rules.” Our Master says firmly. Charlotte steps eagerly forward and immediately kneels on the bed, head bowed and wrists presented forward.
“Yessir.” she says softly.  Despite the body of our Master being female and being referred to as such in the public world, Charlotte knows better than to allude to this.  It is a firm rule in the bedroom.  The tie quickly binds our wrists before being securely tied to the top post of the bed frame. Charlotte twists in ecstasy.  Suddenly our Master frowns in recognition.
“I did not request your presence.” The voice says darkly. Charlotte freezes, her face turning petulant.
“But Sir…”
“No Charlotte.”  The tone leaves no room for argument. Charlotte sighs and mentally steps back. Our face is blank for a moment before it turns fearful. Our Master smiles. “There we go. Hello Clarissa. Turn on your side now.”
“Yes…sir.” She whispers.

_________

We stand at the base of a statue of Mary and try not to think of the irony as we turn to face Becca.  She smiles slightly.
“You can tell me anything. You know that.”
Kit trembles, but forces a smile, “How do you know I wanted to talk and not just hike?”
“Come on. We only come here when you need to vent. Badly. What’s up? Fuck-buddy thing not working out anymore? Wouldn’t surprise me. Army’s a complete asshole. I told you not to.”
“I can’t do…real relationships anymore.” Kit murmurs, a hand reaching into the front pocket of her jeans and pulling out the Zippo etched with a butterfly. The hand flicks the top on and off compulsively.
“Bullshit.” Becca says with an eyeroll, “I still say you should have given Je-”
“Stop. Shut up. That’s not what this is about.” Her trembling is worse now and Becca finally notices. Her eyes soften.
“What is it?”
“My period is super late.” Kit says bluntly. Becca blinks. “You know I’m like clockwork.”
“It’s probably stress.” She replies smoothly. Kit winces.
“I already took a test.”
“And?” Becca asks. Kit lets out an annoyed hiss of breath, Rika merging with her for a split-second.
“Would I have you out here if it were fucking negative?”
“Jesus. Who the fuck have you told?” Becca says, sinking onto a bench by the statue. We remain standing, the nervous flicking of the Zippo speeding up.
“You. And Grey. That’s it.”
“So…not Army?” She states. Kit trembles again, but this time she can’t sustain. She flees. Rika sighs and sits down on a bench across from Becca.
“Fuck no. I’m not a goddamn idiot.” Becca stares. “Well. I mean, I guess I have to eventually or some shit. But…maybe I don’t. I could totally not fucking tell him.”
“That’s a terrible idea.” Becca murmurs. “He’s an asshole, but that’s not fair to him at all.”
“I could go to Germany with you.” Claire says, her eyes wild. “Just…sell everything, sell Pete [our car] and have enough for a plane ticket.”
“Run away, huh? That’s your answer for everything. I’d love to have you come with me, but I love you and you’re not allowed if it’s only to run away.”

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It’s Audrey who first notices the blood.  She freezes and suddenly pushes Army away firmly.  He blinks in surprise before he glances down and sees it.  Audrey faintly wonders who’s idea was it to own a freakin’ white couch.  Her face drains of color to match it and she trembles.  Her place of blame is immediate, and probably unfair, but at this moment she only thinks of his distance (especially when she cries), his constant demand for intimacy. She doesn’t think of how he makes sure there is always strawberry ice cream for her constant cravings or ginger ale for her morning sickness. Or how gentle he is when she gives in to his advances.
He will never touch her again.
Within a week, Audrey is gone, never to resurface. Charlotte doesn’t mind taking over the physical demands. She quickly introduces him to her darker tastes and he embraces them easily.

_________

Roms decides to go to this Pagan circle meeting for a second time.  The first was a fluke- the meet-up was near work and we wanted an excuse to not have to go home immediately.  But we could go for the apple cider the coffee shop carries.  Texas agrees to join us and we walk in, immediately recognizing the circle’s leader, SD.  We smile and introduce Texas before SD mentions there will be someone new coming tonight.  When she talks about him, it is in a warning way.  He is deeply flawed and we need to be aware.  She warns us of his dark and flirty nature and Roms frowns, making sure Charlotte is firmly corralled.
When he walks in, SD’s energy shifts entirely and she positively grins at him.  Roms is startled until she feels Rika’s chuckle from the balcony of our mind. “Well…look at the parade in that one.”
Roms hesitates before a small smile flickers across our face.