Category Archives: Musings

Personal post – hug tackling peer pressure

Hey everyone,

(This is another one of my intimate, personal posts. Yes, I am letting myself be vulnerable. And yes, I hope friends will reply with love. Thanks! ❤ )

So, I had a really interesting moment today…

Here’s a little background going in:

My eleven year old daughter has been bullied and shunned a bit by the neighborhood girls this past year and a half. It’s normal from what I have been told, for middle school girls to be jerks, so we have been (im)patiently awaiting her old friends to come back and accept M for her differences.

And we’re actually doing pretty well. M is highly creative, and has found a lot of joy in playing online games with different people every day; and has found new ways to express herself through her art and drama.

After a long summer of her asking if she could cut her hair, I acquiesced. (my thought was “it’s hair. It will grow back.” and “If this is something that makes her happy, okay.”)

We found a Sports Clips that does only males, and showed them the picture, and voila, my beautiful, little girl came out as the most angelic, prettiest little boy I have ever seen.

M then asked to get some “boy” clothes so she could strut her stuff as a Roblox-playing, Minecraft apparel-wearing, scooter-riding boy.

She spent the last few weeks enjoying the fun side of being a boy, and even opened doors for me on her own; grabbed grocery bags; helped her little sister walk across the parking lot safely…

I had a few moments of confliction- wondering if I was setting my child up for failure, sending her to hell (because of a few well-meaning remarks by a friend); potentially allowing her to be shunned even more…

(I cried a few times. The big yucky ones that come with lots of snot and hyperventilating and trying to talk while wheezing through stuttered, hard-to-get breaths)

And then my sister and my best friend both got onto me. (lovingly, the way a bestie and a sister should 😉 )

They reminded me that the jerks in the neighborhood had been jerks even before M started trying out her new looks and acting. They reminded me that M had been a vampire, a witch, a goth, a fairy, a unicorn and a mermaid over the past several years.

Her experimentation and creativity were what made her, HER. And she was beautiful because of that light inside her and out. And not because of what anyone else perceived as beautiful and normal.

(okay, that’s the first part. Here’s my small part 🙂 )

Last night, I accidentally got dragged into one of those fun facebook games because I “liked”  a friend’s post about getting out of a speeding ticket with their boobs, and another for winning a lottery. 😉

Even though I hate these games, I decided to follow through, because there was a chance it was legitimately for breast cancer. And hey, I’ll do almost anything fun for kids, animals, wounded vets and cancer.

So I decided to choose the craziest post I could-


Hehe, I could have chosen something like using my boobs to get out of a ticket, but a lot of other people had done that already, and I wanted to be unique. 😉

Then I regretted it for the next several hours-tossing and turning in bed, wondering if people were going to really believe the post. Was my mentor / friend going to email me and say, “Um, Kate, you know that is really unprofessional and inappropriate.”

(She hasn’t yet. But with our relationship, I would expect her to, and appreciate her looking out for me.) 😉

Anyway, I almost took it down today.

Then, I had an “it just clicked” moment with my daughter…

Today, she decided she wanted to pull out all the makeup, find her cute sparkly tennis shoes, dress up a bit differently; and be a “skater girl” sort of type.

(makeup, styled hair kind of like Anne Hathaway’s after Les Miserables, a Minecraft shirt, sparkly shoes, pink eye shadow, foundation, a little blush, and some light pink lipstick)

anne hathaway

To say she ROCKED IT, is understating how amazing she looked. She was absolutely adorable, and once again showed off her style and flair in a confident manner.

Until we got to her new class. (She had only been to this class twice)

M sat in the car, and cried, and tried to wipe off all the makeup. She said she was afraid these new girls would tease her for wearing makeup, like the neighbor girls did.

I was furious!

Not at her. Mostly those little girls and their mothers; at myself for not doing a better job of projecting confidence and a “Girls kick ass” aura a bit better.

I told her that. I kind of lost my temper a bit too. But I told her everything that was on my heart, while my other, younger daughter listened wide-eyed in the back of the car.

I told her not to take off that dang makeup. That it had made her feel pretty and happy up until the second we pulled into the parking lot of the class.

That she was letting other people, and the fear of even more people change her actions and perceptions of herself.

She is a beautiful, amazing, young woman, who is kind and loving; does amazing art; plays with little kids, tells other people the things that bless them. She is creative and fun and energetic.

She is able to pull off being a vampire, a mermaid, a fairy, a boy, a skater girl, goth chick, karate kick ass chick… You name it, she pulls it off with style.

I told her all of this, along with the fact, that if she decided to change her style, not because she wanted to , but because she was afraid of what someone else would think, then she was essentially saying everything that she is (that we can all see in her), is crap.

It was probably a lot for an eleven year old to take in. But I wanted her to know that I love her so very much, and I don’t care how she dresses. And if it makes her happy, then she should continue doing it.

Be her.

Be M.

(not many people remember the unicorn picture from a few years ago. Sorry, I can’t post it on my public blog. But for those who haven’t seen it, picture an eight to nine year old prancing around Trader Joes, singing, “I’m a Unicorn.”)

That’s my baby.

I hope she knows how much she is loved, and how special she is.

I hope she never loses that light.

And I pray that she doesn’t let peer pressure affect her as badly as I have let it affect me.

So, I’m keeping the Facebook post.

Yep, folks. I have diarrhea. 😉

And I am going to make a really conscious effort to not worry about what my peers think of me before I do things.

I am going to write some books that make me happy without wondering about perception.

I’m going to continue wearing my Army boots with sun dresses (much to my poor hubby’s dismay 😉 )

I’m going to wear pigtails when I want to look cute.

I am going to remember to like myself, not for anyone else’s judgment or acceptance, but for me.

Because, not only do I have a little girl on my living room couch, wearing a long, red wig and minecraft clothes; and I want to be a good role model;

but also because I think it might be pretty dang good for me too.

Sorry for the long post.

Thanks for listening.

unoque quote

hugs and blessings

Dominance, Submission, and the Dentist

It’s time for some more personal musing. 🙂


I just got back from a pretty intense dentist visit, and am exhausted and a little sore all over. LOL, lying in a chair with your mouth stretched wide open for over three hours will do that to a person. (Five cavities in my upper left side 😦 )

So here are my thoughts, as jumbled as they might sound:

< I love nitrous oxide. (I think that’s what they call the “happy gas” they give you). At one point, I made the mistake of telling them how extra “floaty” I was, and that it might be a bit much. She turned it down 5%. Boo. Later, when I wasn’t as floaty, she turned it back up 2.5%.

Man, that stuff made me feel great. I was so relaxed and sleepy. Kind of like when you are having the most wonderful, deep sleep and dream, and you can’t wake up. You feel heavy and free from everything—it was probably a good thing she turned it down, LOL.


< I don’t hate my dentist, but I do hate being there. The loud noises scare me; the scraping, and polishing sets my nerves on edge; the pushing and prodding and shots, etc… hurt or make me uncomfortable; it’s like you don’t have any control—and for a type A personality specially, it’s difficult. The whole thing over-stimulates me.


< I LOVE my dentist! She is the kindest, most compassionate, sweetest lady, and she is quite nurturing, but not in a talk down you sort of way. That’s a gift right there. Her tone and demeanor when I would get upset, made me feel like not only did she care about my comfort, but that she also wanted me to be able to overcome on my own if possible. No talking down, and “sweetie” stuff. (Everyone knows how much I hate that). Yet, I still did get the feeling energetically that she was nurturing me through the whole process. It was an interesting dynamic to be able to let go with someone like that—especially another woman.


< Which leads me to the whole D/s sort of dynamic. Bear with me. I might still be loopy. 😉  She was the subject matter expert/ the professional. I gave her my trust and submitted to her work. And she allowed me to do so with grace and respect. I cried once toward the beginning, and she talked so soothing to me, and made sure I understood everything that was happening. It gave me a sense of control in a much uncontrolled environment.

She didn’t force me to use the big bite block thing (a piece of hard material placed in between my teeth on the opposite side), to give me a chance to stop holding my mouth open myself. I tried it for about twenty seconds before gagging and retching, and telling her I was sorry, but I couldn’t do it. (I have a huge gag reflex). She was fine with that. We just continued, and I made myself be a good girl and open oh so wide. She was so pleased with me, and kept telling me how great I was doing.

Like I said, it was a very different dynamic.

I did so well through most of it. Even past all the scary sounds, and digging and scraping and pushing and pulling. I even asked to try the bite block again when my mouth finally got too exhausted.

She reminded me that I was in control of this whole thing. When I wanted it out, I could take it out. If I needed swishing or suction, let them know. I was in control. It amazed me to think of it that way, and freed me so much so I could let go and try to relax through the rest of it.

It was over three hours of work, including a bathroom break (I had to take off the nitrous for that though 😦 ). When it got too loud (like that doggone polisher!) I cranked my Ella Enchanted soundtrack on my daughter’s IPOD and breathed in and out through my nose. I really was such a good girl. 😉

Then something happened. I literally broke down in the middle of a final tooth. My heart started racing, my gag reflex went berserk, I couldn’t breathe, I felt heavy, and I started crying. Hard. It was like a panic attack of the worst kind. And it came out of nowhere. I was so afraid I was going to choke to death on that thing in my mouth. I signaled and grunted and wept. I had just enough control in me though to not start flailing everywhere and yanking stuff out of my mouth. Another thirty seconds, I probably would have.

She calmly and quickly got everything out, and turned off, and held one hand, while the assistant gave me her arm (which I hugged to my chest tighter than my husband on our wedding night) then she just talked. Calm, sweet, kind words about how good I was doing, and how close to being done I was. Less than five minutes, LOL.

She affirmed that this was really hard, and I had been doing so well holding everything together, even being scared for such a very long time. And she reminded me again how great I was doing.

I laughed (a big snotty laugh, of course, with dribble running down my side of my cheek), kind of skeptical that I was indeed doing a good job. But hey, if she said so, then I believed her.

I started breathing in through my nose, closed my eyes and relaxed. She told me how great it was that I had gotten myself calmed down without any help, and that’s what I needed.

With only a few more tears, the whole thing was finished.

Ibuprofen taken, yucky oxygen administered (I would not have minded taking a nice rest with the blanket and mask still in place), and another huge bout of praise over how well I had done.


< This whole visit makes me think about dominance and submission. What I would look for in a dom. What I would expect from him, and what he could expect from me in return. If I had to choose a Dom, it would be someone like my dentist.

I won’t ever say I love going to get dental work one. But I do love my dentist.

And she has given me a whole new idea for a story.

Happy spanks!

Don’t forget to floss 😉

The Big Brother fantasy – another personal musing :)

It’s time for another personal post. 🙂

This one is not sexual, and I already know that the word “fantasy” conjures up quite a different image than what I really want, but for lack of better words, and coffee, I’m going with it for now.

The other day, I replied on a post, that I wasn’t really into Stepbrother stories. (for the record, once again, I am a firm believer in “Your kink may not be mine, and that’s okay.”).

I got to thinking about it this morning while washing dishes.  “What is the big emotional factor behind me not getting into a kink that so many of my other friends do get into?”

It’s the Big Brother fantasy.

captain america

(I even figured out who I want to be my big brother, LOL. Yes, it is most definitely a fantasy. 😉 )


I have a big brother “fantasy”, and have for almost all my life.

No sex here. None whatsoever.

In my dreams and fantasies, I have always longed for a big brother.

A big brother that would stick up for me, kick bullies’ asses for me.

Cuss me out if I came home late, and forgot to call.

But wash my mouth out with soap if I dared to use the same words, LOL.

Hold me on his lap, and let me cry over the latest stupid drama (probably Facebook induced).

Remind me that I am a good person, and deserve the best in life.

Spank me over his knee, if I am not doing the best for myself.


overprotectove big brother


There’s plenty more. But I think you get the picture.

This isn’t all child and teenage based, though. It’s an adult wish as well.

As an adult, he would back off at times, but always be that safety net. Big Brother, the one I could always count on when I needed him.

He would probably die a million times, watching me make mistakes, but he would never turn his back on me, would never leave me. Would always love me.

My protector, my big brother would be there, because his main existence in life would be to be THERE for me. LOL, that’s a little egoistical and selfish, but hey, it’s my fantasy.

And here’s the thing, a real big brother would not ever have sexual feelings towards me, nor I toward him. We would love each other unconditionally, and give each other the strength to make it through life.

I would be the annoying, yet adorable, but always there for him, little sister.

He would be the Good Lord, this big jerk has pissed me off again, but he always has my back, big brother.

big brother picture

That’s my fantasy.

I’ve always tried to make it come true, by dating older or more mature guys. But it never quite turned out the way I planned.

What I portrayed as a need for sibling intimacy and connection, was always taken as sexual connection. Men never understood that.

I’ve always been drawn to the big brother type. That guy with a little hint of what I was looking for. But unfortunately, it confuses men. They take flirting as an invitation for sexual activity.

And to be honest, all I really want is the snuggles. And the safety net, And the bond.

And the spankings.


Psychologically, there might be something deeper. Like an Electra complex sort of thing. I don’t know. But that’s the fun thing about thinking, reading, talking and growing.

But for now, at least I have enough information to get going.

I have a Big Brother fantasy. I am probably the only woman in the world that feels that way.

LOL, which will make it very difficult to sell the idea of a brother  / sister relationship to the publishers. But, it’s still pretty in my mind.

Thanks for listening.

Happy spanks ❤

Husband or Daddy – What’s the difference?

Gah! We had another rough morning  in the Deane household – getting the kids out to door for school.
My ten year old had a headache and slight nausea and wanted to stay home.
I’m the softy that will always accept the excuses, and told her,
“Okay, baby, let’s just rest, and we’ll do our school work from home.”
(she did have a slightly elevated temperature, though)
But The Heavy put his foot down.
Explained we don’t always feel well, but we still have to do our job.
Told her to do the best she could, but to have the teacher call us if she did actually puke.
Hubby is always good like that.
He enforces the 8:30 pm bed time rule, when I would happily keep watching Superhero cartoons with the kids til at least 9 pm.
(Young Justice, Lab Rats, Justice League Unlimited… they are so awesome!)
He doesn’t take “I don’t feel well” for an excuse to stay home.
And last night, he called out “Stranger Danger”, when I went to answer the door after dark.
LOL, who does that?
(But I hadn’t thought twice, thinking it could have been a neighbor.)
It was actually strangers, selling carpet cleaning. I’m glad I stopped and let him answer. 😉
Hubby also lets me know when big / bad things happen in the world, so I don’t have to listen to the news.
He’s a good daddy.
To all of us.
Even though we are not in an AP relationship, he definitely has the stern, matter of fact, right from wrong, easier isn’t always best attitude, down pat.
And that’s what a daddy does, right?
Yesterday, he even gave me a couple of swats for being a good girl and finishing a ton of laundry.
He’s a good hubby, and a good daddy, and very good at being The Heavy.
We complement each other.
Sometimes, I complain about him not getting me, and not having that much in common, but somehow, we fit.
We work together.
And that is a very good thing.
He’s Heavy.
I’m soft.
It’s just like chocolate and sea salt. You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. 🙂
I’m off to iron and catch up on some quick (much needed) housework, while both kids are at school.
Hopefully, my daughter won’t get sick at school. I don’t want to “I told you so” hubby that badly.
❤ Hugs and spanks

I’m Weird and I’m me – a personal post



I’m ME

I don’t know exactly where this post is going to take me, because I am thinking as I type.  I started musing while I was in the shower (it’s where most of my good ideas come from), about a conversation I had with my sister the other day.
She called me weird after I said something extremely “Kate” like. But it didn’t offend me.
We took the conversation further, and both agreed that my inability to sometimes fit in with “normal” society, is also what gives me my intense creative spark.
It also gives me a huge heart for love and the desire to create new things every day- whether they be in written form, sung, made with mod podge, glued, stitched, knitted, sewed…
For most of my life, I have been called names  and descriptions like
  • hyperactive
  • geek
  • dork
  • spaz
  • crazy
  • weird
and the worst…
  • not normal
and for most of my life (and in moments when I am feeling less secure), I have been hurt by those comments.
But now that I have my own children who exhibit a lot of my unique “Kateness”, I can see how unique and beautiful these differences make them.
And if I can see that beauty in them, it stands to reason, I should see it in my own self.
Sometimes, it’s hard.
Sometimes, I feel sad, unloved, misunderstood’ like I am on the outside looking in.
But those feelings don’t last long. 
By nature, I am a happy, energetic person. So I don’t stay down long. And I know how to ask for help.
I am blessed with a great online social network of friends who are always ready to send hugs and
❤ ‘s. (even better – kitten and puppy pictures!!! 🙂 )
I also have a small network of close friends who I can call or email and talk to.
So, here’s the thoughts for the day:
If I have friends like that…
  • I must not be that unlikable


If I like creating things, and it gives me pleasure, and sometimes, it blesses others…
  • then, my energy and “spazziness”, must be a good thing.


And finally, if I can accept those differences in my children, and see them for all their worth, and all the wonderful things they bring to others…
  • then, I need to accept them in myself.
Yes, sometimes the words hurt. But they don’t have to.
I’m proud to be weird.
I am proud to be different.
My unique “Kateness“, makes me special.
And I like that about me.
I might not always be able to let go of the words, and I might not always have the self confidence to be me,
but for now…
I accept that
I am weird
I am the only me I can be.
Someday soon, I might start a new blog (and maybe even a slightly autobiographical story about all the interesting things I have been through.)
It will be funny. (the story of me dancing in my undies to the Justice League theme song, is a pretty good start. 🙂 )
It might be a bit gross  ( picking lice from the kids’ hair, burping, yeah, lots of burping, gross cat stuff…..)
Then there’s Army training, running, my first Thanksgiving turkey….
And there might be some not so happy moments (the real stuff that still make me cry at night)
But most of all, it will be me.
So that’s me.
I will keep you all posted if / when I finally start the new series or blog.
-special hugs for each of you, my unique, gifted, wonderful friends.
blessings and hugs ❤

First Draft writing woes


(Since I have had a rough week of what I call my “first draft writing woes”, I decided to interview myself, and see if I could talk my way back into some forward action. My male character, the hunky, dominating coach from my current work in progress, came by to help) 😉


First draft woes –

An interview with Coach Jonathan from “Redemption” (Katherine’s current WIP)


Katherine Deane: Thanks for coming by today, Jonathan. I’m having a really tough time with your story, and since you are a coach and trainer for elite athletes, I was hoping you could help me talk out my issues.

Coach Jonathan: I’m happy to help, Katherine. What seems to be the problem?

Katherine Deane: The first draft sucks! It sucks worse than rotten eggs from a Chinese restaurant’s dumpster – after a week of sitting in the hot sun!

Coach Jonathan: Nice analogy. I can almost smell it, based on that vivid description. Are you doing that in your writing?

Katherine Deane: Noooo. (Groans and covers her head) I’ve pretty much just written out everything from my original plan and character arc sheets.

Coach Jonathan: Foundation building, got it.

Katherine Deane: Aren’t you listening to me? It sucks! It’s terrible. I keep hyperventilating every time I try to read through it. (Wraps arms around her chest and sighs pitifully.) I just want to curl into a ball and go read someone else’s awesome story.

Coach Jonathan: (strides over and pushes her down over desk, and lays rapid swats across her bottom.)

Katherine Deane: Ow, ow, ow. What are you doing? Stop! That hurts.

Coach Jonathan: Are you ready to stop the pity party and listen to me?

Katherine Deane: Yes, coach. (Rubs her bottom and winces as she sits back down)

Coach Jonathan: You’re a runner, right? You used to compete a lot before having your children, correct?

Katherine Deane: Yes.

Coach Jonathan: Did you just decide one day, “Hey I’m going to go out for a run today, and see if I can qualify for the military world cross country championships, and then qualify for the Olympic Trials in the Marathon”?

Katherine Deane: No. That’s ridiculous. I put a ton of base building, strength training, and miles under my belt before I could even try something that difficult. It was a lot of work.

Coach Jonathan: Did you roll into a ball, and watch your favorite runners do their thing, instead? Did you give up?

Katherine Deane: No, sir! I am not a quitter!

Coach Jonathan: What did you do, sweetheart?

Katherine Deane: I created you, and you damn well know I hate being called words like that. Don’t call me “Sweetheart”. And in answer to your question, I worked my ass off every day, until I achieved my goal.

Coach Jonathan: There’s the fire I was looking for. (Winks and gives a huge smile with perfectly white teeth). You know how to build a foundation. You know it’s not going to be easy. And as you have just demonstrated, you are not a quitter. So what are you going to do now?

Katherine Deane: Um, remind myself that it’s first draft, and it’s supposed to suck?

Coach Jonathan: (nods)

Katherine Deane: Keep going; fix what I can; ask for a friend to read it through and give suggestions…

Coach Jonathan: And?

Katherine Deane: (stands and pulls herself to her full five foot two height and glares at him) I’m going to finish your story, and people are going to love Wren, and swoon over you and your dominating ways.

Coach Jonathan: Good girl. Remember, it’s just a foundation. You continue to build from there. I know you can do it. (Gives her a hug) But if you need any more incentive, let me know. I have a paddle, Benwa balls, ginger root, and a lot of experience motivating little rebels who need an extra push.

Katherine Deane: Thanks. I needed that. Okay, you get back to training Wren. I want her ready for the big gymnastics circuit next week.

Coach Jonathan: My little rebel was born ready. Keep up the great work. (Smiles and walks out Katherine’s office)

Katherine Deane: (winces as her bottom rubs against her not cushioned enough, office chair)  I have got to stop giving my heroes such hard, paddle like hands.

All right, first draft, let’s see what we can do with you…

*** (Thanks for stopping by!) *** 🙂


calvin first draft


beautiful poem



ernest hemingway first draft quote


mobydick first draft


sand castle quote


shit rough drafts hemingway












Why do I write?

Why do I write?


I’ve been pondering this question for a few months, while trying to work through some emotional issues and stressors.

My original premise was:

  • I write to work through life issues and desires
  • To daydream
  • Hehe, for lack of a better term, “to boldly go” where I have never gone before
  • To make the thousands of different voices and dreams and “stories”, quiet down. If I could just get them on paper, maybe my mind would feel a little less chaotic. Plus I like the idea of reading my crazy stories on paper. 😉
  • To tell a story no one has ever told

Hmmm, since this seems to be more and more difficult to do…

  • To retell a story with my own creative twists

And lastly,

  • To feel alive

fantasy book mage


Words, stories, music, drama (not the kind on social media, LOL. The kind where two opposing characters meet, and work through their differences in sometimes, the noisiest, yet most beautiful imagery.)…

It all awakens me. It gives me purpose. It builds me up. Words and music fill my cup, break me down, build me up.

Stories (both written and on screen) give me hope when I have none. They make me feel beautiful, even when I feel I am not. They give me strength to push through another day, and make that one count.

I think that’s why I prefer Disney stories and shows / movies with cheesy, sentimental endings.

The Princess Bride, Ella Enchanted, Never Ending Story, Frozen, Chronicles of Narnia, Seventh Heaven, High School Musical, pretty much all Cinderella movies, Maleficent…

They all bring me joy. ‘Happily ever afters’ make me feel like anything is possible.

This is why I write. I write to connect with my soul, my passion, my energies, and hopefully, with others.



It’s 9:30 am, Sunday morning, and this is the first time I have felt clear minded enough to articulate my thoughts in a good while, so I’m typing them down as quickly as I can, before I lose my clear moment.

For those who don’t know; I am staying away from social media for a while until I can get my emotions and life back in control.

A good friend blessed me by suggesting I craft and do what made me happy. So I’m knitting and making scrabble tile jewelry. (And as crazy as it sounds, I am cleaning!) I’m also purging the house, little by little, to get rid of all the “junk” we don’t need.

I’m hoping to start writing again soon.

Good Lord, you would not believe the killer stories I have mostly written, plus the new ones that are floating through my head!

They are so different and amazingly crazy- LOL, I know, I should probably try for a few less “out there” stories. But these are the ones my creative side keeps bringing to the table.

And this is one of the reasons I write.

  • I write to embrace my crazy, creative side.

Anyone else? Why do you write?


Thanks for stopping by. I’m off to knit. (I’m almost finished with my daughter’s birthday blanket. I started it in September. Hehe, her birthday was in October 🙂 )



Are we still playing? (Anal play vs punishment)


Ok, I know I am not officially part of SRR’s Round Table Discussion. But I had so many thoughts on this, and really wanted to say something. (I just got really busy with life stuff; bikeathons, Roman diorama’s…) 🙂

Corinne Alexander posted a fantastic topic. Anal play and punishment.

Wow, I certainly have some conflicting views on this topic. (Sometimes it depends on the mood I am in)

But mostly, it depends on the wording.

  • Punishment
  • Consent

The two most meaningful words for me in this discussion.



First of all, I’ll just say that I find anal play in stories I read, to be highly erotic and arousing.

Holy cow, it’s hot! Especially when done in that grey area between consent and non-consent. (Like I said, it depends on the mood I am in, and whether or not the MC actually enjoys the receiving.)

Don’t get me wrong, I like the whole “No, I don’t want to… Mmmm, well, okay, maybe… yes! Yes! Yes!” dynamic. I know it is grey. If the character is written as concluding with a wonderfully drawn out happy climax, then I like it.

I like consent.

It doesn’t have to be verbal. It can be done physically, like a shifting of the hips, or a groan of approval, or a POV shift to show her transition to enjoyment.

So that’s where I stand with the word “consent”.



Punishment might mean something very different for me than for others. And that’s okay. We all have our own terms and definitions.

Some talk about playful punishment and the façade of domination and humiliation. Now that, for me is HOT. Definitely hot.

I love the idea of that fine line between pretend and reality, where my HOH is reacting so harshly, I have to stop for a second and ask, “Are you actually mad at me?”

Once he has winked and affirmed that we are in fact playing, I’m good to go.

Remember, I’m a people pleaser. The thought of someone close to me actually being that angry with me, hurts far worse than any punishment ever could.

So play – is hot!

But we don’t play as often as I would like. 😦

I’m not in a BDSM or playful relationship.

Our relationship is more along the lines of Domestic Discipline. (I’m going to stop labeling us, because our relationship is evolving and shifting.)

My husband is my HOH- my leader, my protector, sometimes, my teacher.


Our real punishments are not done for play. They are done to teach, correct, and help me release the guilt over a transgression.

Play, fun and pleasure are not a part of it.

I have given my blanket consent, by agreeing to be in this relationship.

So there really is no safe word, and the consent is there.

I just have to trust that he won’t abuse my vulnerable position.


I can see very good teaching points in some anal punishments:

  • Butt plug – holy cow, the humiliation and fear of being discovered, not to mention, the extreme discomfort… (Okay, we have not tried our set of plugs yet, but after trying some other penetration, I know I would not care for the feeling  :))
  •  Ginger root – Okay, been there done that! Yikes! That sucker gets so hot! I’ll admit, I was also extremely aroused by this play. But I can see how this would be an excellent punishment.

I’m good with each of those.


But when the terms punishment and pleasure come together- that’s where I have to draw the line in my relationship.


When my HOH delivers a punishment, it is about loving direction and guidance. It is about firmly teaching a value, or imprinting a necessary consequence.

(I’m about to get a little graphic. Be forewarned)


If my husband were to punish me for something we had previously agreed on – let’s use overspending as an example – I would submit to it, trusting he was punishing me for my own good.

If he chose to have me wear a butt plug during the day as a reminder to not overspend, I would understand, and wriggle around in my very tight jeans, and regret that stupid mishap at the Disney store.

Hehe, no worries. 🙂

If he were to embarrass me, and cause me extreme discomfort through figging, once again, no worries. I believe that would be within my realm of acceptance for a punishment.



If he we to decide to have anal sex with me as part of my punishment…

In other words, part of my punishment would be the act of his large penis penetrating my very tight and hurting, bottom hole.


He were to become not only aroused by this act, but would also take pleasure in it, by climaxing…


Then in my mind, he would be taking pleasure in my punishment. He would be climaxing and enjoying hurting me.


My punishment is about learning and repenting.

My punishment should not give him pleasure.

If he takes pleasure from hurting me, then it will hurt me more than anything in the world.

Remember, I am a woman with high emotional needs.

So punishment with pleasure could not work for me without scarring me, and taking away something very important from our relationship.

My trust.


I have to trust that he will impart wisdom and strength in his leadership of me.


I know my view, and definition and needs are different than everyone else’s. So I choose not to judge my friends and their fetish. Whatever turns them on, and is agreed upon- hey, I won’t judge. 🙂


But for me and my relationship, it all comes down to the wording and the moment.


Anal play – HOT!

Anal play in fiction, when done in a way that shows some form of consent? – Whoa, momma! Definitely hot!


Anal punishment in real life – not necessarily hot. But acknowledged as a good device.


Anal sex in real life punishment – NOT! Not hot for me, not acceptable in my relationship. Hurtful to me and the relationship.


Ok, there’s my take.


Please be kind with your responses. It’s okay to respectfully agree to disagree. But I feel pretty vulnerable right now, having been so open.



(I included the round table link at the top. There are a ton of other fantastic posts. Feel free to stop by and see the other viewpoints 🙂 )


The Alpha Man and His Dirty Wife

Hehe, I had to use the fun play on words for this one. Enjoy!


shovel in dirt

Ok, I know I complain (whine?) every once in a while about my husband not being empathetic enough to my emotions, not being “Spanko” enough, not appreciating Disney movies for their beauty and great story lines, and catchy lyrics and tunes. (I love kids’ movies. I happily admit it.)

Hubby doesn’t quite share my joyful exuberance when the evil step mother gets her just desserts, and the heroine wins (with or without a hero by her side); he doesn’t understand my need to cry when I emote, and he does not yet understand how to “stroke” me. (Hehe, not that kind of stroking.)

My ego and my emotions are very closely dependent on his affirmations.

For example, the other day, I greeted him at the door and proudly exclaimed (for the whole neighborhood to hear),

“Look honey, I vacuumed the welcome mat.”

(The really super awesomely mud caked mat outside our front door.)

He hugged me, took a quick look, and replied,

“I can’t tell.”

To be perfectly honest, the carpet still looked dirty, because of the clay and mud stains. But what he hadn’t seen was how dirty it was BEFORE I cleaned it.


Seriously, it hurt my feelings.  😦

He was supposed to gently stroke my ego, and tell me how proud he was of my efforts; and if he absolutely felt the need to give constructive criticism, it should have been something along the lines of,

Oh, my sweet girl. You make me so happy. I’m so proud of you. Would you like a nice back massage and spanking later? Oh, and by the way my dear little domestic engineer, did you miss a few spots, or was it just extra dirty, and I can’t tell? Either way, I love you and appreciate you. Now, how about that good girl spanking?”


See, that would have been more in tune with my emotional needs at the time.

But no, I am married to a logical, intelligent, less emotive man who takes things at face value.

He’s my opposite.

LOL, it usually means I have a few hurt feelings, and he gets confused by my emotions.


But these past two weekends have been eye openers for me. Maybe I am married to the right man after all.

It all began with a little dirt…

Hubby decided to level the ground in our front yard. This means, he worked up a brilliant plan to dig out a bunch of dirt, place 4×4’s (or were they 4×6’s? I don’t know. They were big, long pieces of wood. J ), in the dirt, making a square around our tree, hammer them down into some sort of concrete dirt, and then fill everything back in with dirt and mulch.

He measured and cut, and dug, and used a cool little thing on a rope that told us how far off the levelling was, based on where the cute bubble landed. He even explained the whole engineering process to me.

Something about,

Bleh, bleh, back face… higher by 12 inches to accommodate the 2 inches in the front… bleh bleh, dig… bleh bleh… make it all even.”

I thought I was in a Charlie Brown show. Wah wah, wah

After ten minutes of him trying to explain the overall process to me, with me still not getting it, I finally told him where he was going wrong.

I am not a long term visualizer. I can’t just see things out of nothing. I am more of a recognizer than a re-caller, and I don’t understand mechanical or engineering terms.

Just put me to work. Tell me what to do – exactly how you want it done, and I will happily do it. But please don’t explain the process to me. I won’t get it until it is done,” I told him.

So he put me to work. I dug dirt, held the bubble measuring thingy, and told him when it was off; I hauled bags of mulch; I stained the wood.

I even got tools for him – after he specifically told me which ones.

FYI, the circular saw with the GREEN handle is much different than the round looking saw that is attached to a huge piece of heavy metal.

(Like I would have known that. Hehe. They were both round!)


It took us two long weekends. But we did it, and I actually enjoyed it.

I preferred to submit to his direction. Heaven knows what I would have done if left to my own devices.

The reason I am bringing all of this up, is because during our fun, dirty weekend together, I also got a chance to watch the neighbor’s husband do some yard work.

He complained the whole time, about wanting a condo, washed his hands every few minutes, and here’s the funniest part.

He squealed and backed away when I offered to show him the new worms and caterpillar his daughter had dug up while playing in the dirt with me and my daughters.

I thought it was hilarious when he almost turned green and bolted for his house.

But hubby swatted me on the booty, and quietly reminded me,

Not everyone enjoys the outdoors”.

“All husbands are different, but will attempt to give their wives what they want and need.”


I retorted,” I bet HE would tell me how clean the welcome mat looked.”


Hubby agreed, and also pointed out that neighbor hubby would probably hire someone to do the landscaping.

But I wanted to help,” I whined. “I like getting dirty! I like it when you tell me what to


light bulb

This led me to my final realization.

I can’t always have it both ways.

I still need emotional affirmation and support. But if it comes down to a choice between

flowery words of empathy and love


manual labor, getting dirty, and Alpha man taking charge

I’ll take the Alpha man.

Besides, I can still go to my girlfriends for emotional stroking.

Here’s the newly landscaped tree.

I helped!

yard work leveling, close-up

Am I a Candidate for Age Play?

young at heart

LOL, this question has been bugging me for a few months now.

It’s not that I am don’t have the potential to be an AP’er.

Actually, I am one of the youngest people in every group I belong in- either by age or by actions.

I have always been a child at heart. I delight in dancing and singing, skipping, jumping, and climbing trees. I love playing, and I love the freedom that comes from just being me.

My good friends, Corinne and Renee confirmed for me last year, that my spirit animal is the otter.

Some of the associations with the otter are:

  • Creativity
  • Imagination
  • Laughter
  • playfulness
  • curiosity
  • joy
  • love of the young

This fits me perfectly!

But I also live in the conflicting reality that I am a 41 year old wife, SAHM, and mother to two children. (whom I love with all my heart!)

My responsible side tells me

“there is no room for such frivolities or foolishness.

“You are in charge. Stop playing. Mold these little minds. Clean the house. Put on some cool clothes and jewelry (and Heaven forbid, some makeup!) like the other moms.

Stand on the side and watch the children play. Catch up on the gossip. Compete with the other mommies, and make sure they know how much better you are at your job.”

And for the last time, please do something with your unpainted toe nails- jeesh!

Grow up already!”


But the truth is:

I like playing with the kids.

I prefer to not listen to the drama and gossip.

I like not competing- unless it’s a sport. If you want to go for a run, I will toast your *ss! 🙂

Oh, and I love charades!

The problem is that I haven’t found a way to explore this new dynamic yet. I know, because of my responsibilities, I need to find a happy medium between play and work.

I think my husband may even be starting to get the picture that I need some “little” time.

He spanked me, the other night, for “acting like a brat”. His words EXACTLY!

This is a story for another time, because there is a lot that came from that one word. But I’ll tell you. It did something to me. It opened up a need that I have been pushing down for a very long time.

I still don’t quite understand what this need is, or what it entails, or even if we will explore. But I know it is there. And my husband is getting the picture.


So guess what I am doing today?

In honor of the movie “Frozen” coming out on DVD, I am hosting a (very last minute!) viewing party for my daughters’ friends.

We will eat pizza and cupcakes.

We will watch the movie and laugh and giggle.

We will dance and sing at the top of our lungs to songs like “Let it go.” *****

And you know what? I won’t be embarrassed to be myself. Because the kids don’t judge me. They accept me for who I am.

A child at heart.

And hopefully after today, the coolest mom in the neighborhood! 😉

(If you have never heard this song, please go listen to it. It is amazing! The words are so meaningful. They are what inspired me to write this post this morning. And if I have more time later, I will write more. I’m not sure if I am allowed to post the link here. So if anyone sees a problem with this, please let me know, and I will delete it.

But here are some of the words that touched me the most. 


I don’t want to get into any trouble for posting lyrics, so I’m going to have to delete this next section.  But you can see the lyrics if you do a google search. 🙂

They are beautiful!

Thanks! 🙂