#pushing boundaries

 Part 1

Reaction Junkie leaned in close, his mouth against my ear, and started speaking in a low voice. He told me that over time, he will make me increasingly dependent on him. He will become the person I rely on for support. My social life will go through him. Our finances will be entangled, with him as the only one able to access the money. I’ll be living in his house. As he painted this picture, I realized how close this was to our actual situation. I spend a lot of time with him, the group of friends I have now mostly grew out of knowing him, and we’re planning to move in together once he buys a house. The future he was describing sounded extreme, perhaps, but not entirely unrealistic. It also wasn’t all that upsetting.

Then he continued. He told me that, after making me entirely dependent on him, emotionally, socially, physically, and financially, he will slowly withdraw from me. At first, he will just seem more distracted than usual when we’re together or having a conversation. Then he’ll start focusing more of his time and attention on other people, other partners. He’ll make time for them, but not for me. Initially, I’ll try to write it off, tell myself that I’m being irrational. I’ll think, “I must be imagining things. He wouldn’t just do that.” I’ll tell myself that, but his fade out will continue. And I’ll continue trying to pretend that it isn’t.

First, a text I send won’t get a response. I’ll try to ignore it, to counter that negative self-talk about him drifting away. Then, a whole weekend will go by without response. Even though we planned to spend time together. With this I’ll be so hurt that I’ll finally say something to him about it. He’ll apologize so profusely and sincerely, so genuinely, that I’ll believe him. But it will keep happening. He’ll keep fading out, giving me less and less, and I’ll keep trying to write it off, calling him out, and buying his apologies.

As Reaction Junkie spoke, telling me about my future, I started settling into a headspace where I opened myself up to what he was saying. I was ready to believe it, to accept what he was telling me as a real prediction of the path our relationship might take. I drew on memories of how it felt when people from my past faded out. That cold and lonely feeling in my chest, the hopelessness, that weird numbness in my fingertips I get during a really emotional cry, the desperate attempts to reconnect, to figure out what I did wrong, to bring them back to me.

I dredged up those feelings and linked them with Reaction Junkie’s words. It wasn’t hard. His description of slowly withdrawing and distancing himself hit home, and hit home hard. That’s a very real fear of mine. It’s happened in my relationships before, and I’ve been on both sides of it, really. You second-guess yourself, wondering if you’re just imagining it, just being irrational. You try to counter that negative self-talk, even while knowing deep down that it isn’t just your imagination, that it really is happening. The worst part is, you want to point out to the person that it’s happening, want to ask them about it, but you’re afraid of pushing them away. So you just sit and worry and wait, trying to hold the hurt in and ignore it. But you can’t. And it eats you up.

So, I opened myself up to what Reaction Junkie was saying, letting his words sink in and feel real. He told me that the slow withdrawal of attention, time, and affection will continue,getting worse and worse until, one day, he’ll be gone. I’ll frantically call him, email him, text him, anything to try to contact him. Finally, he’ll respond that he’s gone. He caught a cheap flight to start his round the the world trip. I’ll be stunned that he didn’t even bother to say goodbye or let me know what was going on, but I’m so far in by this point that I’ll just write it off again.

Reaction Junkie told me that as he travels, he be in contact less and less often. He said that he won’t respond because he’ll be busy “fucking some Polynesian chick.” In fact, he won’t even be able to be in contact because he’ll be somewhere without Internet access. It won’t matter to him because he won’t be prioritizing talking to me. He told me that “[his] blog will be less and less about [him and me] and more and more about the fun [he’s] having with other people.” I’ll feel rejected and abandoned and ignored. I’ll be incredibly hurt. And there won’t be a thing I can do about it. Hearing Reaction Junkie talk about fading away from me during his travels hit another real fear, and I curled up against him as he spoke, shaking a little.

He continued talking. By this point, I’ll be entirely dependent on him, including financially dependent. I’ll focus in on this, trying to take solace in the fact that he’s still taking care of me. Then, one day, something will slip. Maybe a mortgage payment, maybe a car payment. Something serious. I’ll send him a bunch of increasingly panicked emails and texts. When he finally responds, he’ll say, “I’ll take care of it, babe. Why are you getting so upset? Don’t you trust me?” What will I even be able to say to that? I won’t have a choice but to trust him. I’ll go on this way for a while, part of me telling me that it isn’t right, that I should get out, but by then I won’t be able to. As Reaction Junkie told me, “I’ll be your entire support system.” He’ll have isolated me from my friends and family. There won’t be anyone to turn to. I won’t have anyone else except him.

Reaction Junkie predicted that as more payments get missed, as he contacts me less and less, I’ll start going down hill. My physical and mental health will deteriorate. I’ll constantly worry about becoming destitute. I’ll lose my job, not that it will matter, since all of my paychecks will be going straight to his account. Eventually, once I’m as low as I think I can get, he’ll prove me wrong. He’ll send me a two word message, “We’re done.”

I gasped in dismay when he told me that, and Reaction Junkie held me tighter and continued whispering my future into my ear. When I receive that message, I’ll finally lose myself to panic. I won’t have anyone to ask for help or any way to get money. Finally, it will all be too much and I’ll kill myself. But not before writing a long, raging suicide note, blaming him for everything, cursing his name. Not content to tell me that I’ll commit suicide, Reaction Junkie added insult to injury “I won’t read it. Someone will probably send it to me, but I’ll see who it’s from and throw it in the trash.” He just won’t care. He’ll go on with his life. As told me, “You’ll be dead and I’ll be happy.”

Reaction Junkie and I arrived at the party and socialized separately for a while. Or, rather, he socialized and I half socialized, half felt socially anxious in a corner. Eventually, I wandered up to him talking to a couple people and joined in the conversation. I’d recently written a post about objectification in which I’d talked about my enjoyment of being used as an object in terms of being a demo bottom, and about having my limits regarding feeling replaceable and/or ignored pushed (by particular people). So, when someone asked him about his handcuffs, Reaction Junkie grabbed me and used me to show them off, not speaking to me, but about me. It was exactly the kind of objectification I enjoy.

After he was done showing the last pair of cuffs, Reaction Junkie didn’t remove them. He left them on me and, with me facing away from him and the rest of the conversation, put his arm around me and talked to the other people, completely ignoring me. A few times, he put his arm around my neck and squeezed, choking me, but continued to ignore me. I wasn’t bored, since I was facing out into the party, so I had plenty to look at. When I looked back to see that he was using his free hand to play with someone else’s tits while continuing to ignore me, I felt somewhat uncomfortable, maybe a little jealous, but it wasn’t unbearable.

Eventually, he let me go, and I started talking to Mort, one of the girls he’d been showing off his cuffs to. We were having a good conversation, enough that, when I noticed Reaction Junkie kissing someone else, I was able to focus in on Mort and get through the jealousy pings without much difficulty. I was so focused on our conversation, that I didn’t even watch where Reaction Junkie went when he left to go play. Mort and I talked for a good while, about all sorts of things, from death, to being submissive, to her time in the BDSM scene in Germany, to wanting to try being dommier and toppier, and more.

During our conversation, I did look around a few times to see where Reaction Junkie had gone, but I couldn’t find him. I laughed and told Mort that he was probably right behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but didn’t see him. Later I learned that yes, that’s exactly where he was. Mort and I continued talking for what felt like an hour or more. She eventually went off to find someone and I sat alone for a little while, thinking about the conversation and considering whether or not to go hunt down Reaction Junkie.

I didn’t have to consider for too long, because he walked up to me shortly after Mort left. We talked for a couple minutes, and then he sat behind me with his arm around my throat. I wondered if we were going to start playing. I’d asked him to make me cry, but requested that he not take the easy way out by slapping me in the face or something like that. What I’d meant was that stingy pain brings me to tears pretty quickly and without too much effort, so I wanted him to make me cry with thuddier, deeper pain, like punching and elbowing and kicking. Reaction Junkie interpreted what I’d said differently. He decided to use his words.

Note: Below the break there is a lot of discussion of piss play. 
It’s fairly gross.

As I said in my earlier post, I was not able to follow MLAM’s instructions for my first date with Former President.  I was told that I was not to piss until I got home from my date, and I pissed well before that.

When I left Former President’s apartment, I texted MLAM and told him that I hadn’t kept to his instructions. I’d tried very hard, but failed.  I told him that I felt terrible for disappointing him and that I understood I’d need to be punished. To be honest, the instruction to drink water and then not piss until I got back from my date was pretty emotionally taxing within the context of the play.  I wanted so badly to do what he said and to not be a disappointment, but I also wanted to be able to enjoy my time with Former President and not to have to cut it short. 

MLAM did tell me that I was a good girl and had the perfect response, which made me feel slightly better.  I tried to accurately express how I felt, and to do so the best way possible, since I had already failed once. 

When we had a Skype date the Monday after my date, MLAM told me that he had been thinking of a punishment for me. (While he was giving a presentation. Because obviously. I envy that boy’s brain, I swear) He told me that I needed to find a shot glass, and asked if I had any double-sized ones. I said I might not and asked if I could just use a paper bathroom cup.  He said no, since he wanted there to be more violation than that. He didn’t give any more information than that. I said I’d get a shot glass from where they were packed away and let him know when I had one. 

MLAM also informed me that I am now to do the same thing on all future first dates, drink a bottle of water before I go, and to not piss until I get home.

I told Legal Lolita and Breastie about what he had said and guessed with them that this punishment was that it was going to be having to drink a shot of piss, or something like that.  I was ready and willing to do so.  Boy, did I underestimate MLAM.

On Wednesday, I found my shot glasses and brought them up to my room.  I texted MLAM to tell him, but noted that I was going to be staying in a hotel with my parents from Thursday through Sunday.  He responded, “I don’t mind where you are, pisswhore.” and told me that I needed to keep the shot glass with me and drink at least 5 bottles of water a day.  Each time I peed for two days, starting the next day, I was to drink a shot glass full of it.  He said, “This is to remind you that I have control over what goes in AND out of your body, cunt.”

I said “Yes, sir.  Of course.” and told him that I did not have a double shot glass. I asked if I should use an espresso cup or if a normal shot glass was acceptable. And I told him that I assumed I should pick a shot glass with emotional significance.

He told me that I could use a normal shot glass, but that I’d need to do two shots each time, and that yes, he wanted me to feel as violated as possible while doing the punishment.

I picked this shot glass:

It’s one of my first shot glasses, I’m pretty sure I bought it while with close friends from undergrad, I used it throughout undergrad, and it’s definitely my favorite.  And of course, the idea of using a glass that praises vaginas while being punished and treated like a filthy pisswhore.

I woke up groggy the next morning and completely fucked up my very first chance to follow the punishment.  I texted MLAM and told him, apologizing and saying that I intended to do four shots the next time, unless he had something else he wanted me to do.  He did.  Now the punishment would be four days, not just two. That’s the whole time I was going to be in New York with family, which is always stressful.  I felt bad for being a dumb bitch and forgetting, but also was happy to have the punishment extended, as a distraction.  I thanked him for extending it and told him I both deserved it and appreciated the distraction. MLAM noted that the point was to have me drinking piss while with my parents, since “if we’re going to make you into a little fuck toy, might as well take away the sanctity of everything.”

The first time I actually abided by the punishment was when my dad and I stopped to get food on the way to New York. Luckily the bathroom was an individual one, because it was supa gross. I did the first shot quickly, without thinking, because I was worried about doing all four before I was done pissing.  The temperature and the taste threw me, but I did the second one without too much difficulty.  The third and the fourth ones were hard, though. I felt nauseated and spit up after the fourth one. Unsurprisingly, hot, bad tasting, salty liquids aren’t pleasant to do shots of. I noticed afterwards that I had spilled piss on myself and on my clothes, which made me feel even more disgusting. After that, I made sure to take off at least my shirt, or my entire dress. Doing four shots instead of two was definitely a good punishment for fucking up the first time I pissed, because it was almost too much.

I started drinking even more water after that, since it had been so disgusting that I was worried about vomiting. I talked with Legal Lolita and Breastie about how gross it was, and Legal Lolita suggested I think of it as broth. That actually did help, in a way, since I put it in a different mental category, which made the temperature less disconcerting. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat/drink broth again, though. Breastie thought I’d adjust to it, and actually, I did.  Fun fact: When you drink water almost constantly, your urine gets super dilute and almost tasteless. I don’t think I’ve ever been as hydrated as I was the four days of the punishment.

At the end of the first day of punishment, MLAM and I Skyped for a little while, which turned incredibly hot when I said that I wouldn’t be so slutty on first dates anymore, because of the punishment for pissing on them. He responded by doing this mean/derisive/dismissive laugh and saying this really fucking sexy thing about me being a slut with giving up all three holes to Former President and how I pretend to think that I have value, that women are equal, that I use the word heteronormativity without giggling, etc. but just get me near a guy and I spread my legs and undo everything other bitches have tried to accomplish. I was sitting in a public area in the hotel and I was so incredibly turned on and hot and hoooo does he know how to turn on this little feminist bitch. Skyping was also nice and reassuring, because I was feeling a bit uncomfortable and unsettled after a day of the punishment.

I didn’t fuck up again during the four days, and ended up drinking my own piss in my aunt’s bathroom, the hotel bathroom I shared with my parents, a bathroom at the DMV, at a restaurant I was at with my Aunt, a couple other restaurants, and once in a crowded rest stop bathroom. I did the best I could to make sure the shots were large enough, and if I noticed that the first one hadn’t been, I’d do an additional half a shot or more to make up for it.

At one point during the four days, MLAM asked me how I was enjoying drinking my own piss. I told him that that was a strong word for how I felt about drinking it. What I did enjoy, however, was the extreme invasiveness of the punishment.  I was worried about pissing long enough to do both shots and about the taste, so I stayed ultra hydrated the entire time. That meant that I carried my water bottle everywhere, and pissed every few hours (or even more often than that). I even woke up once or twice per night. I wasn’t able to forget for even a moment that I’m a disgusting pisswhore, or that I brought the punishment on myself because I didn’t follow simple instructions and pissed on my date.

Now that it’s basically over, I’m glad I didn’t balk and that I accepted a fitting and well-deserved punishment. This isn’t something I’d do with most partners, or maybe even any other partners, but pushing myself that far for MLAM makes me feel like a good little bitch. I’ve learned my lesson, and I will be changing my behavior on first dates/first-date-like situations. They might be shorter, and they will definitely be less sexual. Although I don’t know if he originally had that result in mind when he gave me that order, this kind of behavior change is a pretty major instance of me altering my life for and giving up control to MLAM. I’m willing to have my interactions with other potential partners be different than they otherwise would be. In deference to an instruction he’s given me. Because of the control that I’ve given up to him. Out of respect for the power he has over me. In order to please him. To be good for him.

It makes me feel owned and possessed. It’s a wonderful feeling.

Note: I wrote the beginning of this in the middle of trying to decide if I needed to safeword, and I only changed a couple of words afterwards. It’s a pretty good picture of my thought processes and patterns at the time. I was at work and my mind was a fucking mess, so I decided I needed to write something to figure things out. It’s not a super fun piece of writing in large part. 

SPOILER: A few hours after I wrote this, although I was still in a fucked up mental state, I did eventually ask, “I’ll still do the rubber bands and I guess the dildo tonight if you want, but is it okay if I say "Red. Pause until I’ve slept.?” Of course, he responded “It’s always OK to use your safewords.”

So, last night I was trying to finish the rest of the 30 minutes of fucking my ass with the dildo. I was dumb, and after my Skyping with MLAM ended, I was dumb and ate (I had barely eaten anything all day) and wrote my assigned post first. It was 5am before I started trying to fulfill my assignment. I was walking from my bedroom to grab the dildo from the kitchen, thinking about what I was going to be doing, when everything just hit me. The last week, the start of my new job, the bad shit from Monday, and most of all, the pure exhaustion from only sleeping 2 hours the night before, and the knowledge that I would be getting that little sleep yet again. I stopped mid-step and collapsed, choked out “I can’t do it.” and started sobbing hard. I eventually got up, still crying, got the dildo and went back to my room. I brushed my teeth and washed my face and kind of laughed at myself for being so silly and crying.

I went back to my room and when I got down on the floor, I was about to stick the dildo down my throat when I started sobbing again. I let loose this time and just lay there, sobbing, curling in on myself like a fetus, and shaking. I thought I couldn’t control it, but then I tried and I did manage to push it down. I stuck the dildo in my mouth and the sobbing started again. Granted, that made everything all mucousy and I did get a fairly slippery dildo out of it. I kept crying, sometimes sobbing, sometimes not, and I started pushing the thing into my hole. The sobbing started up again, along with the fetus curling, so I let go and the dildo popped out. I started a text to MLAM, saying I couldn’t do it, wanting to make it clear that I’d tried hard. I stopped halfway through, not wanting to be a fucking disappointment. I decided to keep trying. I couldn’t put it in my mouth again to lubricate it more, because of fecal contamination. Not entirely sure what to do, I used my clean butt plug to get more, smeared it on, and pushed a couple fingers in and out of my ass a couple times. I pushed the dildo in and started fucking my ass with it. There wasn’t enough lubrication. I kept at it, but eventually stopped in less than a minute. The sobbing started again, this time exhaustion was mixed with fear and shame. Fear of the punishment for being a fuck up. Shame about failing so quickly. Fear that I’d never be able to get it right. Shame for not being able to do something so fucking simple. Fear of becoming unwanted and being tossed aside.

I tried a bit more, but just couldn’t. I’d start sobbing each time, push it down, try again, sob again. I finally finished the text I’d started. I said “I couldn’t do the other fifteen minutes. I got two hours of sleep last night and I’m going to get that tonight because I was doing things and all of a sudden it was 5am (that’s on me, but still) and I thought about doing the other fifteen and I just sort of started sobbing. I did get sputum and get it in my ass but I keep sobbing, mostly because I’m so tired, and it just is way past the point where it’s enjoyable at all. I tried really hard to push past that, but it’s not working. I even feel shitty because I’m not doing it, but I just can’t right now. I’m sorry, sir.” I thought maybe he’d be understanding. I didn’t put it in parentheses, say OOC or “Real talk” or safeword. I was tired, but I’m not sure if that’s the reason I didn’t do any of that. It was a large part of it, though. I cried myself to sleep, worried and scared, but thinking maybe it would be okay.

In the morning, I sent him another text, “So, now that I’m not quite as exhausted as I was last night, I think a big part of why I got overwhelmed last night, besides exhaustion, was a mental block about the sputum. I want to just use that, like you said to, but I also get upset/agitated thinking about using only that. Is there any way that I could please be allowed to do my best with the sputum and use lube as backup? Maybe just until I get the hang of it, like the first week? Please, sir? I so want to please you and do as I’m told, but I’m a disappointing little bitch and I have to work up to it.”

I headed to work, exhausted but not upset. Then his response came. I went to the bathroom to read it. I could tell from the part I could see that it was not the understanding text I’d hoped for. I got to the stall and read it.

He said, “Why is the lube such a sticking point for you? You’re clearly not even concerned about lubrication because sputum provides that, it’s the physical object of lube itself that you covet. Why? Also, I cannot believe, you little bitch, have once again failed to follow an order so quickly. You should have done the fucking before the post, as the length of the fucking was a known quantity, whereas writing could have been modified” and gave me a punishment involving snapping rubber bands on my tits and the soles of my feet.

I started to cry. Other people were in the stalls nearby, so I kept it quiet. I sat down and pissed, masturbated and cried. At work. I stole three rubber bands on my way back to my desk.

[Note: It was at this point that I started writing, so the rest is in present tense.]
I feel empty. To be honest, I’m not sure if I want to step out and safeword. Part of me knows that I can. Part of me feels like I can’t, not without consequences. Like if I safeworded, he’d decide I was boring and get rid of me, or at least play with me less. Phase me out. Maybe for a better model. Part of me just wants to say “No.” in response. Or
“Mental block. Like I said. And k.” Another part wants to do the thing he said, but just not respond. As I wrote this, the other part, the little feminist bitch part, got larger, and I fell back into that headspace somewhat. Still not sure what I’m going to do. For now, finish the workday.

————-

I wrote this next bit after I was feeling better/right before I posted this on the tumblr.

Part of the reason I did safeword was that I kept crying at work. Enough for my office mate to ask if I was getting the sniffles and offer tissues. After he left for the day, the tears and snot just started flowing (I do not cry cute.)

About an hour after MLAM told me that of course I could safeword, and I responded “Red. Pause until I’ve slept,” I followed up with a request for reassurance, since he hadn’t really given me any, and part of the reason I safeworded was because of the fact that I felt like I couldn’t safeword without consequences. I hesitated for a while before saying that, and even talked to Legal Lolita about it briefly. I didn’t want to be needy, or demanding, or annoying, which pairs nicely with those feelings of being tossed aside for being boring. Even the message I sent asking for reassurance was all hedging and “kind of” and “if that’s okay with you.”

I must have still been in a bit of a state, because of course he wasn’t going to be mad at me for being clear about my needs. He said “Sure, what’s up, gorgeous?” That made me start to cry again, this time from relief. I explained my feelings about being afraid he’d think I was boring if I safeworded, and he said “Nope. Everyone safe words. And if they don’t, then you’re not finding the edge. And if you don’t find it, how can you push boundaries? :)” Which is just so perfectly true and so him to say.

I read that a couple times and thought about it. I realized that the limit I hit here wasn’t about the dildo or anal or lube. It was about playing while sleep deprived. I lost much of my ability to separate roles from reality.

Having gone through that and out the other side, I’m really fascinated. I definitely want to push that boundary again with MLAM, just not while I have to be at work, and I’d much rather do it in person. I really like the fact that I truly felt like he was mad at me, disappointed in me, and that he might just drop me for not doing what he wanted, no matter what. That could be hella fun in person, and also I think being able to hug and cuddle and talk afterwards would be very important.

I think that my fear about being abandoned for being boring if I safeword is the much clearer articulation of a nagging feeling I’ve had in the back of my head. Like I couldn’t tell where my boundaries were or if I could have limits. It’s absolutely not the result of anything MLAM did. It’s just me up in my head with my insecurities. Now that I do believe that I’m attractive, they jumped to another quality for me to worry about. It’s probably why I kept apologizing for safewording for a while. I already talked about that one with MLAM and had him reiterate what I already know, which is that safewording doesn’t mean I’ve fucked up at all. It means we’ve found a boundary, and now we can play with it, which I really enjoy.

I still need to talk about all of this with MLAM, and talk theory and practice with some other people, as well, but now that it’s all over, I’m glad I had this experience. Also, I’m going to work on my sleep schedule. Good night.

Day 2 of travelling alone and I think my icy heart is melting…

I started my day by wondering the backstreets of Barcelona again, sweeping side to side through the hustle and bustle, searching for a cafe to have breakfast.  After failing to find the one I had vetted on Time Out last night, I found a quaint little cafe, Dulcinea.  Successfully ordering myself a latte and a croissant, I sat down for a short read of my body language book.  The croissant was very tasty (must have been homemade) but I took a little longer sipping the latte which came with no sugar and was borderline offensive to my taste buds.  I decided not to ask for sugar though, I’m trying new things this weekend after all.  Nevertheless, I finally finished my first (ever!) cup of coffee with no sugar and left to continue on…  There is hope for me yet!

Making my way in the general direction of the Sagrada Familia I eventually stumbled across it.  Despite the scaffolding and construction that was going on I was taken aback by the intricacy of the details in every element of the building which did not fail to amaze and inspire me.  What a beauty to behold!  (More to come in a later post). 

Taking a spot on a bench in the park opposite I sat there a while to take it all in until the sun dipped behind a tree, leaving a chill in the air in its wake.  Naturally I decided that was my queue to move on and proceeded to follow the sun back towards the Passeig de Gracia in search of the next architectural feat:  The Casa Batllo!

Wow.  Just wow.  The Casa Batllo is truly an exquisite piece of architectural engineering that does not stop with the exterior but winds and swirls through every room in the building.  In all honesty I was not familiar with Gaudi’s works before this trip but I have developed a fascination with the passion and intensity of his work which is evident in every small detail of this house.  (More to come in a later post!).

Having soaked up as much architecture as I could I headed back to the hotel for a siesta (it’d be rude not to surely?) and braved myself for the real task of today…

Dining alone.  Feeling fresh from my nap and starving hungry, I braced myself and marched in to the first welcoming and respectable looking restaurant I found, requested a table (for one!), browsed the menu, decided on a Seafood Paella with a glass of Rioja and placed my order.  It really wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.  The wifi probably helped though and it wasn’t overly busy tonight so I didn’t feel guilty taking up a whole table to myself either but I felt very proud of myself for finally doing it! 

Although as first times go, I did sink my glass of wine rather quickly so left very merry with a smile plastered across my face and a bit high on the success of pushing my own boundaries… and liking it!

Dare I say it I think I am warming to the idea of going solo in the name of wanderlust…