Nikita

Writing is a Panacea for a Dirty Mind

Running With Scissors

You know when you get that urge to pick up the scissors and just snip?  Trim something that is sticking out just a little bit?

I wanted to trim the fringe on my forehead.  Had a brand new hairdressers scissors too.  It looked okay, but the sides were not matched, so I trimmed them too.  But they were uneven. *sigh*

The crown was heavy, snip snip.  The back by the edge of the neckline was bushy.  snip, snip. oops.

I couldn’t reach back there and had to rely on my outstretched fingers.

Hubs came looking for me. Two hours had passed.  Red hair was all over me, the floor, the bathroom sink.

“What the…”

He grabbed the scissors out of myhand.  His face said it all.

“Can you check the back honey?”  I whimpered.

Long silence.

“Uh…you have a hole here…and here.”

fade to black.

The Blunt Honest Truth About Submission

Dear Xxxxx,

The word “submission” is uncomfortable.  That’s why I’ve procrastinated about writing this.

The operative word for my submission to you is need.

Perhaps I shouldn’t feel this way, but, submission isn’t all about the dominant.  It’s about the submissive first.

Why so?

I wasn’t born this way, I was made this way.  There are times when I don’t understand why the need is there, but I understand that I have to go through the process.

Do I need to go through the process all the time, as in a constant linear fashion?  No.  I couldn’t deal with it.  That’s how I was made.

My submission is given willingly but unwillingly.  Not being made to do it does not appeal to me.  I want and need to be made to submit.  This is the way I need it, like it, and want it.  That’s how I was made.

It works best when you tell me this is what I will do and then expect me to do it.  The only decision I must make is how to serve you want the best way I can and go beyond it, because I need to.   It is an honor.  I know that.  My submission cannot be realized if you were not on the other side.    It is YOU I want to make happy because you are making me happy by making me do things for YOU.  Does that make sense?

Submission is not easy at all.  It takes strength to kneel but once there, it feels right.   Pain, I can handle.  Pain takes me to a different place.  If it gives you pleasure to see me take it, I will gladly give it to you until my last breath.  But, what is hardest is doing things that in my eyes are humiliating.

Some things I can handle and can even find thrilling, like dressing up in a short elegant dress, high heels, and no panties, then try to gracefully pick up an expensive piece of jewelry that you had me drop.  I had to do it in front of people you knew.

When you forbade me to use the women’s bathroom when we went out for dinner, I had to find an inventive way to use the men’s bathroom.

But the things that challenge me to the very core are telling you the most private shameful things I like or have experienced and recreate them in your presence.  Making me do other things, like gagging, anal and pee play.  While I’m doing it, I don’t think.  I just DO it.

The mental play occurs afterward.  The lowering of oneself like that is, in a way, destructive for me.  This is when I crash and burn, even when you help me land safe and sound.

I can only submit to you because when I go beyond, it is hard for me to come whole.  I need to crawl back up. I trust you help me with it and you do.  This is where strength comes into play again.  It’s hard as hell.  But I have faith that if it doesn’t kill me, I’ll flip back and rise like a phoenix, stronger than before.

Why?  I was made that way.

Yours truly,

femme

Bucket List

I had a surreal weekend, but one thing that stands out in my mind was my first tarot reading with a woman called ‘Gypsy’  whom I’ve never met her before.   I never had reading done.  I’m skeptical.  She started laying the cards out in a way described as Celtic.  As she ‘read” them, I felt transparent and vulnerable. One of the cards echoed a warning I heard from someone else in the recent past.  It struck a chord and I don’t know why.

However, the point of this was not the reading but rather what Gypsy and I talked about later.  She was walking with a cane due to knee surgery and was wistfully looking at a suspension scene.

“I want to do that some day.”

Yeah, I get it.  Me too.  That was one hell of a suspension scene.

“I’d like to sky dive at least once. ”

“Really?” I asked looking at her knee and cane.

“Yes, and then, I want to …. ” She was on a roll.

“And I’m not done adding to my ‘bucket list.”

A bucket list.  Brilliant.  What would I  want to put on my bucket list?

1.  Win the lottery.

2. Spend at least a year in Europe, visit every country and experience being a native, not a tourist, and speak their language.

3. Be pampered, touched, massaged, touched, kissed, touched, read to, touched, fed and exercised, touched, pampered, touched and then touched some more.

4. Host a talk show with people I find interesting.

5. Go away on a quest to soul search and figure out who I am and where I want to go, then do it.

Stuck on You

It was uncut

thick and focused

gripped ankles

planted on the floor

squirming

struggling

the feeling of fullness

time stood still

nothing was damaged

just my self esteem

not really . . .

femme