Re-Introduction

Hi, I'm Joy and I'm a bi, poly, submissive, dominant, pup handler, slut.  On Fet I identify my role and sexual orientation as "fluctuating/evolving".  That really sums me up.

A lot has changed in the three years I've been absent from here.  I thought for sure my blog had been deleted due to the many year hiatus.

M is my lover, my Sir, and my friend we just cannot stay away from each other.  We share a love that is intense and one that seems to keep us coming back together.  We're a much stronger couple now than we were.  Alan is my dominant, husband, and lover.  He found his dominant muchiness again and can't seem to help himself dominating the heck out of me.  I am his collared submissive, which came as a surprise to me a few days after MIM 2014.  Alan and I have a new partner we just met three months ago.  She's amazing and the NRE is plentiful. I love the smiles she puts on Alan's face.  He's smitten and even feels love for her.  I adore her, I'm a little slower to profess love until I get to know her more. 

She just fell into our laps and on our first meeting we "zinged".  I'm just blown away that Alan now identifies as poly and found another person he can love. He used to identify as strictly monogamous.  It makes me happy to see him happy and exploring something new.  I LOVE that we share a partner, I'm feeling like he and I are closer as a result.  We've found our physical affection and almost constantly touch each other.  If you told me a year ago that not only would Alan and I be a stronger D/s couple but that the third we'd always talked about would just walk into our lives totally out of the blue, I'd have expressed some serious doubts.

SO.  I'm back.  I'm still me but I'm a different me.  I'm a much more whole me.  Mentally healthier and stronger.  Finally, Joy.  Much more muchier.

I'm here to write for myself.  To work out my crap for myself so I can be a stronger partner for my loves.  I can't believe I have three partners!!  Three people who love and/or care about me. Three people I get to love and care for. I can't believe the abundance in my life

You'll be hearing more from me in the days, weeks, and months to come.

Where are we?

I don't know where Alan and I are right now in our relationship.  There have been so many changes in our lives recently and more yet to come that we seem to have settled into being husband and wife and clinging to each other to weather the storms and upheavals.

I miss my kink, I miss my submission, and gods know I miss my sex.  But I don't seem to have the energy for it at the moment and I think that's okay.  I try to remind myself that everything ebbs and flows like the tides.

I still serve a bit, just not as much or in the same way.  I've stopped veiling my hair for now, I'm not even coloring or cutting it.. no energy to put toward it.  He seems to understand and has given me space.

We haven't talked about our relationship as it is or what it might be in the future.  I'd like us to bring back the few things we kept, my serving him, veiling my hair for him, and being cuffed to the bed as I sleep.  We'll see what the future holds.  For now I think we're okay as we are.  I just hope he can wait for me to make it back.

In My Head

He's there in my head, all the time, wandering the corridors, opening doors to memories and feelings, best left alone, closing other doors to possibilities not allowed.

He takes me forcefully, hungrily, and with dire need.  My heart skips a few beats and I hold my breath waiting to see if it is real or only another dream.  He is insistent and takes possession, my body and mind follow, only too happily.  The energy builds and builds as passion grows more fevered, frantic.  I feel as if one tiny spark will ignite a wildfire that cannot be extinguished, a moment of panic squeezes my heart.  It doesn't last long as he brings me back to us and his scorching hands on my flesh....

He whispers sweet words in my ear, holds me close as if I were precious to him but only in my head.

Laryngitis

I thought I'd lost my voice.  My writing voice to be specific.  

I thought I was out of things to say, but the words are back, writing essays and blog posts in my mind when I should be sleeping.  Gods know how much sleep I've lost to this and how many pieces of writing I've forgotten because I chose to roll over and go back to sleep instead of jumping up to write it down before I lose it, as I prefer to do.

I guess this means I'm back.  Heh!

They're Just Sneakers

That's like rape..

That's what my therapist said in response to an incident from my teen years I'd been talking about.  I don't know how to come to terms with applying that label to that experience, much less coming to terms with the experience itself.

I so want to pretty the story up, add flare to it, but you can't gild abuse to make it palatable can you?

I was a young teen living at the local youth shelter because I couldn't live with the abusive egg donor, aka my mother.  She'd bought me a new pair of sneakers shortly before I was sent there to live for a bit.  I had needed new shoes so ya get the kid some shoes, right?  Once you give the shoes to said kid they belong to the kid yeah?  Especially if the kid needs them.

There came a day when the egg donor was visiting me at the shelter or something and we'd had an argument or something, the details are beyond foggy.  She flipped out on me and insisted I give the sneakers back.  I refused.  She demanded that I give her the sneakers immediately "or else".   I refused again telling her they were my shoes and I needed them.

Voices were obviously raised by now and a staff member or two got involved.  They told me to give her the shoes back, taking her side.  I was beyond indignant, incredulous, and pissed off by now and I dug my heels in and absolutely refused.

The egg donor knelt on the floor and tried to remove my sneakers while I stood there wearing them.  I refused to budge.  I was stuck in a corner between the staff members and the egg donor-big mistake.  The staff members lifted me up so she could remove the shoes.  I was writhing, kicking, fighting, and yelling "NO!" but no one helped me, no one was there to take my side or to be a voice of reason.  No, the egg donor had worked her victim magic and the adults believed I was the horrible abusive kid and she was the poor put upon single mother trying in vain to obtain obedience from me.

Once she'd gotten the shoes off of me the staff put me down, I was crying.  They'd done all of this in sight of the rest of the kids there and a few other staff members.  Not a one lifted a finger or a voice to help me.

I was violated by adults who were supposed to protect me against the abuses of the mother who never wanted me.  It was supposed to be a safe place but it wasn't, I wasn't safe anywhere as long as the egg donor could work her victim magic, plying the people who were supposed to help me with lie after lie about me.  I was violated yet again by the egg donor, of course.

I couldn't figure out, until my most recent therapy session, why this incident was stuck in my head and caused a very visceral, emotional reaction whenever it popped up out of my subconscious.  I didn't really know why I got so angry and upset when someone used something that was supposed to be mine.

Growing up, nothing was ever mine.  Not birthday gifts, not clothing bought because I needed it, not my time, not my space, not my body, nothing was sacred.  All was subject to be taken away at the whim of a madwoman.  If I did something that upset her she flipped out and took away my clothes, the stereo she bought me for my birthday, anything she knew would hurt me the most.

It's no wonder I get a bit pissy about ownership of my body, my shower time, and my "stuff".  It seems silly looking at it as an observer, watching me get upset over something as minor as my husband using my Hello Kitty pen.  Only until you know the back story, and even then it may still seem silly.  *shrugs*

My whole life with that woman was a series of mental abuses, violations, and yes, non-sexual rape.

How do you even wrap your head around it?  I thought I'd healed from most of the abuse trauma but this one came out of nowhere and knocked me down.

Awareness is the first step.  I can at least communicate now why certain things upset me so badly and I can ask that certain items or activities be respected as being mine.  That's something isn't it?  I think so.