I haven't really delved deeply at all into what my BDSM limits or hard limits might be either, or even all the possibilities. I just know I enjoy the idea of it, and have enjoyed what little "play" I've experienced in my life.
I think relinquishing a certain amount of control is good for me, because I am one who "needs" control, almost always. I need the final word. I need things to go my way, or I feel "out of control". I really hate that. I don't believe I could ever be a submissive outside of the bedroom either.
My fantasy life kind of borders on the extreme, and I truly don't believe that some of the things that get me off in my mind would translate well to real life. Some things are better left in my head, where they're safe for me and other people. haha I have extreme sadistic proclivities, just as well as masochistic. I'll leave all that for another day.
Not being familiar with terminology, or much of anything involving BDSM other than a few basic principles, I can't say that my experiences actually qualify as good BDSM, or safe. Perhaps someday I'll know better. I'd like to.
For now, I need to revisit a time when I was an impressionable, young girl. I had already suffered certain atrocities in life but they hadn't yet scarred the innocence out of me. I was still curious, and enthusiastic. If I grew up today, I would have likely been diagnosed as ADHD, but back in the 70's, when I was in Kindergarten, people might have called it being high-strung, or excitable.
I wonder how fondly everyone else remembers Kindergarten? There were all the toys, snacks, story time, nap time, crafts, and other lessons to learn, things like that. It was also the first coming together of children socially, if they hadn't been to daycare facilities, or preschool. I was 4 years old when I started going. I was right on the cusp. They usually only took 5 year old children and I would be 5 in a couple of months. I guess I was special. I already knew how to read a lot of words, tie my own shoes, and some basic math. Little miss smarty pants, I was. I was also, very, very "spirited".
My teacher must have had issues with controlling my behavior for a long time before the actual incident occurred, as I remember her being quite flustered. I remember flashes of things from earlier that year and how difficult it all seemed for her.
I remember two black boys in my class that the other kids, and myself, called Chocolate and Vanilla for complexion reasons. They acted like they didn't mind, but now I feel like it was racist or something. These little fellas cussed a lot and made overtly sexual gestures and comments. I don't think I understood what any of it meant at the time. They were the baddest kids in class, and they got into plenty of trouble for it too.
There are so many politically correct lines that I'm unaware of or unsure of. I never want to offend anyone, and I hope if I do or say anything that does, that someone will tell me with love and understanding of how I was raised. I really want to overcome that. The school I went to was in a predominately black area. The school was well mixed with kids of all races, and nationalities. Thing is, even the black kids knew which areas of "town" they were welcomed, and us white kids did too. It's so sad to think about it now. I had black friends that I couldn't invite home, for reasons. I was never invited to their houses either for the exact same reasons. Our folks were all racist, even if they didn't think they were, and were still seriously self-segregating. It was just that way back then. Hopefully that area has progressed more, but I honestly doubt it. The fuckin' South, man.
There was a little boy in my class, who was so tiny, and skinny, that I called him Peanut, and he was potentially brutalized on a daily basis by me. I'd drag him around like a rag doll. I'm sure he felt like a cat in the clutches of an evil child, struggling to get away, but he was too small and weak. He probably developed a few of his own fetishes from this maltreatment. I feel horrible about it now. I was just a little girl though, and didn't understand how wrong it was to mistreat people smaller than me. I didn't think I was bullying him, as I liked him alot.
There was a little boy who lived near me too. We played together at home, and also at school. We played a game the kids called Kiss and Chase. He must have let me win, cause I was a chunky little monkey, and I know I couldn't outrun him. He was my first childhood crush. I had a girlfriend in that class with me too, that I am still friends with. We are even on each other's Facebook pages. We've been through alot together but are still friends after all these years. She's one of the few people who check up on me from time to time. I'll get a text from her, or phone call seeing how I'm doing. We share stories and a few laughs. I'll always love that girl.
Back to the situation with the teacher, she must have had her hands full with me, as well as everyone else. Everything was an adventure with me, and I was always so excited. I couldn't sit still to save my life. There were naptimes that I wouldn't even attempt to close my eyes, and I would try my best to get close enough to the toys so that I could sneak and play. In some sort of craft lesson I was acting up, and even cut a little girl's finger with the safety scissors we were using. I am still sad and sorry about that. My bad behavior hurt someone else. I still don't think I deserved what I got, and I don't know if it happened at that time, or another time when I was being naughty, but I still feel badly about it.
Basically, the teacher, being frustrated with me being talkative and not sitting still one day in class, taped me down, and taped my mouth shut. I was bound, helpless, and humiliated in front of the entire class, with whom I would be attending school with for many years to come. I truly think she could have handled it differently. Even pulling me into the hall and having a talk with me would have calmed me down immensely. I didn't even remember that this happened to me until recently. I remember it pretty damn clearly now, and I'm angry about it. I don't know if this had anything to do with some of my sexual quirks, but it sure didn't damper my proclivity for liking how it feels to be tied up tightly.
Bad teacher, bad. She was a pretty lady too. She had a nice face, she seemed tall, and athletic. She wore kind of baggy clothing but you could tell she had a nice shape. She had the prettiest long brown hair. It was sort of dirty blonde, or light brown I guess. I liked her. I don't think I like her so much now. I don't remember how long I was kept bound up, or what happened after that event, but I know it affected me in ways I probably won't understand without years of psychotherapy.
Enough about her, I bet y'all are just dying to read about that axe wielding, maniac stepfather.
He was actually a pretty cool guy, for the most part. I never didn't like him. I think there were times when I loved him. He was funny, handsome, and an interesting character. He rode a motorcycle. He had nice tanned muscles, and wavy golden blonde hair. He was smart too. I honestly had a crush on him, and rivaled my mother for his attention when I would visit on the weekends. I think I was 7 years old when they first started dating, and subsequently moved in together.
My mama was like me, in that she didn't waste anytime going deep into the love spiral. He had a baby daughter of his own from a previous marriage, and was in the middle of a divorce and custody suit at the time. He was 25, and I think my mom was around 30 when they met. They were fairly inseparable from the moment they met though.
My mom sunk the hooks in deeply in the first few months of dating. She had that man whipped. haha They both worked construction, her daddy was THE Boss, as always. lol When they first started dating, I remember my visits weren't to her house anymore, but to his trailer. They would stay up front, talking, or whatever, and I was banished to the back room, where there were boxes of stuff, as well as a couple of boxes chock full of dirty magazines. This was where my mind was blown.
As the relationship progressed, they got a place together. I'd spend a lot of time in the bathroom, looking at adult mags like Hustler, Penthouse, Playboy, Club, and some other bizarre titles. There were also Easy Riders, and High Times. So I had an abundance of "notsafeforchildren" goodness to absorb. Later on when my teenage years set in, I spent less time looking at the magazines, and more time practicing in my mom's makeup, and hair stash. Good stuff man.
Those early years were about the time I discovered my clitoris...whoah! I spent lots of time in the bathtub too, scooched right up under the faucet giving my little love button the waterfall treatment. Awe I used to miss being a smaller chick sometimes, just for that sensation..and then I remembered they make shower massages now. Whoop whoop!
My mama never treated me like a child, even as a child. She never had to discipline me either. I always did as I was told. I kept my room clean. I cleaned the dishes, after helping to cook. I was always trying to please her, cause I didn't see her so regularly. It wasn't even every weekend. Sometimes she had too much stuff going on, and yeah...
When I was there, I was free to pretty much do what I wanted. If they needed to get in the bathroom, they'd shoo me out. I had privacy, and I could read baby. I could read. I read all the good stuff, all day long. There were also times I ended up having to stay in the back room there. Friends would be over, partying on various kinds of drugs, getting drunk. It was great when I was allowed to "be seen and not heard". I was a good girl. I think my mom's friends liked having me around sometimes. I was amusing, but not in a goofy little kid sort of way. I was "wise beyond my years". There were a few unfortunate events where I ended up eating a "hash brownie", or a quarter of a Quaalude that I wasn't supposed to. So there was that.
All this time, the new father figure is great. Some weekends we'd have his little girl over to visit too. She was pretty much a baby at this time, so we couldn't really play or anything. It was still nice to visit with her though. The only thing that makes me uncomfortable around the stepdad, is that he's very inappropriate. He's one of those people who makes the lude comments, and overtly sexual gestures. He'd talk about blow jobs, whores, and I heard the word cock sucker a lot.
People like that make me very uncomfortable to this day. They're usually charismatic and hypnotic personalities too, and tend to get away with that sort of sexual harassment. To the point where they can take it too far, into the realm of bad touch. Ass grabbing, nipple pinching, and things like that, when saying something that would make a nun cringe. It got progressively worse over the years too.
One day, my mom was at work while I was over for the weekend. He was home watching me. I forget what led up to the funny little game we started playing, but it got a bit intense at the end. We'd been listening to country music, and having a good time. He loved Hank Jr. and the song, A Country Boy Can Survive. I liked it too. We had things in common, and I was really starting to like him. He also made my body feel funny sometimes.
He liked to tease me, and fuck with my head. He'd trick me into saying things I didn't mean and agreeing to things I didn't understand. I think I liked that as well, the mind games. I wanted to play with him. When I felt like I was figuring something out, I felt more grown up. I wanted his attention. I loved my granddaddy. He was everything to me, but he wasn't my daddy. Even when he adopted me, I could never think of him as my dad. I wanted MY dad, but I couldn't have him, the boyfriend of my mother seemed like the next best thing to my young mind. I think a part of me wanted to be the perfect daughter for him. So that he'd want to keep us, and I played along with whatever, no questions.
The game that day was something like Cowboys and Indians. I wanted to be the cowboy, even though I would have identified more as an "injun", because of my native blood. We were running around the yard, and I had the rope. I was trying to lasso the "injun", and that's when shit started to get real.
Before I knew it, the dang "injun" had the rope, and my sorry cowboy ass was tied up to a tree. I couldn't move, or do anything. Parts of this is still a blur. I believe in my heart that it all started out as good "clean" fun, but when I was tied up, it got scary really quickly. His face changed. It seemed to turn ominous, and frightening. He had me where he wanted me, and I was about to get scalped or something even more awful. He said things to me to make me feel this way. I don't remember the words, I just remember his face very close to mine. His hand was gripping my plump little chin tightly, and I knew I was about to die.
Then he left me there. I don't know how long. It felt like forever. I guess because I was such an active and hyper child, being forced to remain completely still for more than a few minutes must have been torture. I couldn't speak, because he'd shoved a handkerchief in my mouth. Remember, I'm a seven year old little girl here, and I'm tied to a tree in the fenced-in backyard, of a trailer park-style subdivision, with a handkerchief in my mouth. I know you're picturing this. I was terrified.
When he came back, he was carrying an axe. He came closer and closer, with this look on his face that was nothing short of ghoulish. At about 10 yards away from me, he stops. He says another something I can't remember, or I was too frightened to comprehend, but I see he's holding the axe up, and waving it at me while he speaks. He's holding over his head now. It's moving behind his head, and he's taking aim. He launches that fucking axe right at me, and it sticks into the tree a few feet above my head...fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Tears are streaming down my face. I'm twitching, and out of my mind with fear, and he's laughing his ass off at me.
Now he seems to realize that I don't understand that this is just a game and he gets worried. He starts talking to me calmly, and unties me, comforting me, and making me feel safe again. He removes the handkerchief from my mouth and apologizes, hugging me. Before long, we're sharing food, and it's all water under the bridge. It never even comes up when mama comes home. We're friends again, and he never would ever try to hurt me for realz.
I didn't recall this event until recently as well, amongst other gems from that time in my life. My grandparents end up moving to Shreveport the following year. Both mama, and the stepfather, house sit/babysit me, for about 6 months while I finish the end of that school year, and the folks can get things settled. If you're wondering how living with this man and my mother full time for 6 months went, tune in tomorrow.
Whew, this stuff takes a lot out of you. I believe it's also giving back. Being able to recall how that felt, to be that helpless, and at someone's mercy is a real eye opener. I was only truly frightened because I didn't know if I could trust him. I'm ...almost positive the stepfather would never have thrown that axe if he thought he would have hurt me. He COULD have, and accidents happen, but still. It never should have happened.
I don't believe I'd ever want my Dominant person to threaten me with an axe, per se, but I think something called "edge play" might be up my alley. I guess I'd have to believe myself in real danger, or I don't think I would get off on it. A part of me would be too afraid to give up that kind of control though. So that would probably qualify as one of those things best left in the old noggin. It's all very confusing, the range of emotions I feel when considering this. Bound, gagged, helpless, fearing for my life, torture even....unf. Then the sexual aspect of it, orgasm denial, endless teasing, and final release. Come on...
So yeah, I get it twisted from time to time. I'm fucking clueless as to just how kinky I could be. Vanilla, or mostly vanilla, has been satisfactory all these years. I like a lick it and stick it kind of guy just fine, but someday I'd really enjoy getting a little neapolitan with my bad self. Or...whatever you want to call it. lol I'd like to test these theories. I can imagine myself at both ends of the spectrum as well. It's a lot to think about. I'm lucky I don't obsess over things long. Thoughts come and go. Tomorrow I finish up with the step father's relevance to my story, and from there on, we'll be dealing with a lot of the other unsavory people that have passed through my life.
Till next time, thank you for sharing my journey. I'm sending you my love. I am the healing. I am becoming a better person daily. I am improving and growing. I thank you all for your love, and I appreciate all of your support. Feel free to comment, add anything personal as well, or ask me anything. I will respond to all. <3
CandyKisses Always,
xxoo
Wow, just wow! Thanks for sharing Candy. Healing will come.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Paul, one day at a time.
ReplyDelete