music for the full moon + anticipation


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My Moon My Man

My moon, my man
So changeable and
Such a loveable lamb to me
My care, my coat
Leave on a high note
There’s nowhere to go but on
Heart on my sleeve
Not where it should be
The song’s out of key again
My moon’s white face
What day and what phase
It’s the calendar page again
Take it slow
Take it easy on me
And shed some light
Shed some light on me please
Take it slow
And shed some light
Shed some light on me please
My moon and me
Not as good as we’ve been
It’s the dirtiest clean I know
My care, my coat
Leave on a high note
There’s nowhere to go
There’s nowhere to go
Take it slow
Take it easy on me
And shed some light
Shed some light on me please
Take it slow
And shed some light
Shed some light on me please
My moon my moon my man
My moon my moon my man
My moon my moon my man
My moon my moon my man



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Halloween. All Hallows Eve. Samhain. Daddy and me. We were going out, together, on one of my favorite nights of the year. He was taking me to meet his friends, the first time I would meet them in person. I had been excited all afternoon, planning the perfect outfit in my head while he napped next to me. I wanted him to feel proud to be my Daddy, proud to call me his babygirl. We got ready together, he packed his toy bag and I fussed over my lingerie. “Just wear some pretty panties,” he said. “Yes Daddy,” I replied of course, I always wear pretty panties for you Daddy! I chose my prettiest, sexiest pair of black lace panties, just for him.

On the way out we chatted, as we do, about how the evening might transpire. Perhaps there would be play involved, perhaps with his friends. An exciting and somewhat intimidating prospect. In the parking lot he grabbed my hands and thumbcuffed me without warning. I was simultaneously shocked, horrified and intoxicated by his sudden display of dominance. I quickly slipped out of them and scurried away until he sternly roared for me to get back to him right now and to not make him ask me again. Mind screaming DADDY NO, body betraying mind. Panties becoming wet with anticipation. Swoon. Yes Daddy. He cuffed me again. Sigh. We walked toward the restaurant together, he was triumphant and I was defeated, head hanging in submission. I begged him to release me as this situation was awkward enough without me being thumbcuffed in public. My sweet and reasonable Daddy conceded, always the gentleman, first and foremost.

Over dinner the four of us settled into an ease and comfort and the air around us hummed with a subtle excitement. His right hand on my thigh, in my crotch. His left hand on the clicker; clicking for every infraction, no matter how minor. Of mine, of hers. I took her clicks as my own, panties getting wetter with each one.

We went to their house. The Daddies got their toys, we girls got ready. First the violet wand, then the rattan cane, the single tail, the dowel rods, the floggers, the paddles. Her squeals, my squeals, both of us squirming under their dominance and impact, intoxicated by the play. Daddy had me across his lap…spanking me, biting me, touching me. His eyes having shifted into the glowing amber that they do when he is intoxicated by my submission. In the midst of it all he agreed to let his friend flog me, something neither of us expected. I took my place against the wall and as the well-placed flogger found its place on my flesh I looked over at my Daddy. His eyes! Gleaming with lust, shining with excitement, radiating pride. I could not get enough. Of the flogger, of my own sounds, of his eyes. We were drunk on each other and wanted more, more, more. He took over and was like a man possessed, two cracks of his belt on my skin and we were spent.

Afterward as he held me in his lap he told me that I drive him crazy, his good girl. In this intoxicating way we connect. And we fuck. And we connect…ad infinitum. His crazy is my crazy and we feed each other delicious drunken buffets of passion and kink.

A hallowed evening indeed.



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We first met in a seemingly uneventful way.  Our paths crossed online, as they sometimes do.  A like here, a comment there and then a message arrived.  “Thanks for all the loves,” he said. “And the friending.” By the end of that day we were texting.  He told me about his game of eights I told him about my life. Then we talked and we kept talking and we cannot seem to stop talking.  About anything, nothing and everything.  As our dynamic began to form organically it was evident that we share something special…something that transcends space and time. When we first met the chemistry between us was immediate, intense, palpable.  Better than expected. The conversation, the sex, the romance, the sweetness, the closeness, the kink, the everything, the anything and the nothing.

I have begun to feel tiny places in my mind opening up to places as yet undiscovered. Dark crevices filled with more mysteries to explore. Broken pieces to mend.  Deeper wounds to nurse.  The seeking never ceases.  He is bringing out parts of me that had been lurking under the surface; perhaps hidden, possibly ignored. He says “mine” and I reply “yours.” This need to be possessed is like a craving that he feeds.  In this never-ending journey of self-exploration I am sometimes surprised by my own needs, wants and desires.  Sometimes I feel embarrassed.  Embarrassed that I didn’t know.  Embarrassed by my own feelings.  Embarrassed by my lack of self-awareness.  Frequently I am embarrassed by my own need.  Neediness feels like weakness and I have spent a lifetime being the opposite of weak. I am strong, independent, self-sufficient…to my own detriment.  My strength grew into walls to keep people out.  My independence became silent suffering.  My self-sufficiency kept me alone.

He has fed my need so that now it grows wild and untamed, like a feral vine I can no longer control.  The mutuality of our desire is a serendipitous synchronicity that has a life of its own. Together we feed it, we water it, we nurture it and together we watch it grow into something that we unknowingly manifested.

déjà vu


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He says he likes me…because I’m different from the rest.

He says he loves my words, loves my mind.
instant connection
effortless communication
minds and souls ablaze
Yet then, as if on cue, Fear steps in. Fear, the evil and corroding thread. “This short word somehow touches about every aspect of our lives…the fabric of our existence was shot through with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us misfortune we felt we didn’t deserve.”
fear of needs going unmet
fear of not being enough
fear of being too much

Suddenly, the tides turn and the energy shifts.
my differentness, no longer an asset
my toomuchness, now a liability
no longer becauseof, it becomes inspiteof

I have spent too much of my life hiding my light.
Feebly fumbling to be something or someone I’m not.
For him, for her, for them.
I don’t want hostages.
I don’t want to convince anyone to stay.
I want to desire and be desired.
because of who he is
because of who I am

something I can never have

Mickey: Let me tell you something, this is the 1990’s. Alright?
In this day and age, a man has to have choices.
A man has to have a little bit of variety.
Mallory: What are you talking about, variety? Hostages?
You want to fuck some other women, now?
Is that what you’re talking about, Mickey?
Why’d you pick me up? Why’d you take me out
of my fucking house and kill my parents with me?!
Ain’t you committed to me?! Where are we fucking going?!!
Mickey: Just relax, alright?  It’s me, your lover, not some
demon, not your father. Alright, relax.
Mallory: No, you’re not my fucking lover. You’re not my fucking-
You’ve been loving me?! You’ve been fucking loving me?! Huh?!
You’ve been loving me real…

I still recall the taste of your tears.
Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears.
My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore.
Scraping through my head ’till I don’t want to sleep anymore.

You make this all go away.
You make this all go away.
I’m down to just one thing.
And I’m starting to scare myself.
You make this all go away.
You make this all go away.
I just want something.
I just want something I can never have

You always were the one to show me how
Back then I couldn’t do the things that I can do now.
This thing is slowly taking me apart.
Grey would be the color if I had a heart.

Come on tell me

In this place it seems like such a shame.
Though it all looks different now,
I know it’s still the same
Everywhere I look you’re all I see.
Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be.

Come on tell me

I just want something I can never have

more musings of a hungry madwoman…


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Here is something I threw together on 8/31/15 as a follow-up to my previous post.  Now he asks, he asks, he asks…I want to tell him everything.

  • He’s a grown-ass man
  • He says “fuck yes” to me
  • He’s equal parts classy/dirty – knows when and how to be a gentleman and treat me like a lady and when and how to do everything else
  • He respects that my submission is an honor and a privilege and doesn’t ever take that for granted
  • He doesn’t intentionally withhold communication, attention or affection
  • He understands that the seduction of a woman begins with the brain, outside the bedroom and long before the sex act
  • He knows how to help me relax & quiet my mind
  • He can make me laugh
  • He is confident yet remains humble
  • He always respects my limits, he’s willing to negotiate & renegotiate
  • He knows that sometimes I will be pouty, needy and want him to baby me; he’s patient and giving
  • He respects that I have a life outside of BDSM, remains discreet and doesn’t leave visible marks
  • He is open to sharing some time together for “vanilla” dates
  • He always keeps me safe and protected
  • He takes care of me after intense scenes, both immediately and in the hours and days afterward
  • He is sweet yet firm, kind yet rough
  • He is a creative and imaginative lover
  • He lets me be me and keeps me on a long leash, knowing I will always respect and adhere to our established boundaries
  • He doesn’t break my spirit
  • He knows that within this partnership we can help each other grow and become better versions of ourselves

Why I Hide (crossposted from FL)


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Throughout my life I have consistently gone into hiding. I hide from my kink, I hide from my fears, I hide from the world and sometimes I hide from myself. Once I even hid from my sexuality for four years straight. That was not my intention, life just unfolded itself that way it does. Over the past few years I have drifted in and out of the BDSM lifestyle, outwardly at least. Inwardly it is always there, it has always been there. I cannot, nor will not, deny who I am. Finding my place in the world has never come easily to me, I usually feel like a misfit…even amongst the misfits. A few years ago I was ousted from a kinky supper club because one of the members believed I was lying about my celibacy. “Please accept my resignation. I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept people like [you] as a member” (thanks for that, Groucho Marx.) If you know me, you know that I am honest to a fault. Why would I lie about NOT getting laid? Oh the irony, as if it were any of her fucking business anyway.

No one is asking for an explanation but I feel compelled to offer one anyway.

Sharing openly helps me feel seen, understood, known. It gives me a sense of belonging and acceptance. For over twenty years I have been searching for answers from medical and mental health professionals. I have been diagnosed, misdiagnosed, re-diagnosed, informed I should leave my day job to join the Cirque du Soleil. I have spent hundreds of thousands of dollars and countless hours trying to figure out what is “wrong” with me. For years I had a therapist who repeatedly implored me to journal on the topic “what if there’s nothing wrong with me,” which I dutifully considered in spite of knowing there was definitely something wrong with me. The relentless pain, the neverending fatigue, the mood swings, the mental fog; none of it could be normal. It has driven me to hide because sometimes being in the world is simply too much. I have an amazing capacity to put on an excellent show along with a happy face but all of that has an expiration and the aftermath can be crushing. Life has not been smooth or easy, relationships have been painfully unsuccessful, my social life has suffered, higher education was excessively challenging and jobs excruciating.

Finally, after the persistent urging of two medical specialists, I met with a sleep doctor last year. During my initial consultation he told me that he suspected I might have narcolepsy but I would need to complete a sleep study (MSLT) to be certain. Obviously I found his assertion ridiculous and sought a second opinion from another sleep doctor who happened to agree. Everything I had ever heard about narcolepsy came from popular media, not from medical experts. But I figured that surely at at age 41 I would KNOW if I had narcolepsy! We all get sleepy, right? I agreed to the sleep study, which my insurance company would not cover, and the results were conclusive. I have narcolepsy without cataplexy and it’s probably not what you think it is. It’s definitely not falling asleep standing up humorous. This level of sleepiness would take a normal person 2-3 days of sleep deprivation to experience and I experience it almost every day, sometimes many times throughout the day. It has led to some fairly catastrophic consequences in my life and in many ways I feel irreparably broken. I am still sitting in the denial phase of the grief process. I have spent at least half my life trying to figure out the right combination of factors to help me feel like a normal, fully functioning human being. It is taking a long time for it to fully register that and that is heartbreaking.


I know it could be worse and I do not need or want to hear anyone’s words of encouragement. I simply want to share my experience as someone suffering silently from an invisible illness. I may look healthy but I feel ill much of the time. So please understand if I say I will be somewhere and then back out or don’t show, it’s not because I’m flaky. It’s probably because I’m super fucking sleepy and really have no choice but to go climb into bed. Believe me I hate it more than you do.



He asks me what I am looking for and I reply that I do not know. I am not being evasive; the truth is I don’t know. This question is not an easy one for me to answer. My kink is multifaceted, ambiguous, defies compartmentalization. With the right Dom, I submit. With the right sub, I dominate. Does that make me a switch? Perhaps…but I despise labels, as I have never fit comfortably into any category.

In the vanilla world, I am an alpha female. A double Scorpio, a Rat, a Challenger; tightly wound and in control. This does not elicit the response from vanilla men that I find I crave. I attract the kind of man who is broken, lost, needy…not necessarily submissive, but definitely not dominant. Repeatedly I have found myself frustrated, longing, starving; craving something that perpetually eludes me.

I am not one for whom submission comes easily. I think of myself as a free spirit, an untamed pony, wild and unfettered. Yet relinquishing control of my body is intoxicating. Being bound quiets my mind like nothing else can. The sting of flesh disciplining flesh is a heady release. Knowing I have pleased him with my submission is a reward in itself. Being the good girl that he wants ignites a fire in my soul. Knowing that the offering of myself to him, body mind and spirit, elicits a complementary response in him brings a singular satisfaction from the symbiosis of mutual needs met. In no other way do I experience that feeling of being desired, cherished, coveted and protected. That is what I want. That is what I crave.