Christmas Bunny

Conversations Around Mental Health

November 22, 2020 By Christmas Bunny Leave a Comment

poly family, ethical non-monogamy — via stock.adobe.com

These times, am I right? If you’d asked me five years ago, I couldn’t have imagined the person I am today, let alone that this is what my daily life would look like. That’s a difficult thing for just about anyone, let alone overplanners like me.

I’ve always been someone who is pretty even-tempered. Most of my friends have never seen me angry, and I’m often the cheerful one. My partner and I don’t have many areas where friction is likely to occur, and on the off chance that some does, we have systems in our D/s that are designed to handle them.

It’s a good life.

I set this up not to brag, but to make it clear that my struggles with mental health issues since March have been unexpected and completely new territory for us as partners, and for us in the larger framework of our poly sphere. This isn’t to say that I haven’t had issues in my life which needed addressing, but anxiety, depression and other spectres which can be treated chemically were virtual unknowns.

The pandemic has been a learning experience for me, for us, in so many ways. I have the ability to work remotely. It limits my income and my hours, but I made that transition mid-March, shortly after spring break, when my partner also made the transition. We went from seeing one another a few hours every day to sharing office space every single day. That feels as though it requires emphasis. Every. Single. Day.

I’ve read articles that say part of our (as a society) difficulties in relationships are partly because of high stress levels which make people more agitated and partly because when we never leave one another, we can’t miss each other. We don’t have those times to reminisce about the good qualities our partners have, just the constant annoyances.

I’ve been lucky in that area. My nesting partner has few qualities I find obnoxious, so my main struggles have been with fear. I fear the unknown, I fear him contracting the virus and dying, I fear death, and I am afraid of what tomorrow will look like.

In the beginning, that made getting out of bed difficult. I found myself trying to sleep more, or burying my head in a mindless phone game to avoid having to think too much, since thinking always led back to the inevitable unknown. It was a pretty vicious cycle. I devoured news articles since for me, knowlege tends to help me feel more in-control. My partner saw that I was not okay. He began limiting my news intake by making me take time off from those things, hoping to help me find a more even keel. I was having small anxiety attacks when I grocery shopped, so he began finding delivery options that limited my interactions outside of the house. His other partner was isolating for weeks before coming to see him to make sure she wasn’t bringing deadly germs into the house. iMy anxiety levels were off the charts and I had no idea what to do. He saw that I was less productive, but it can be difficult enough to admit to ourselves when we’re not fine, let alone finding the words to admit it to someone else.

It wasn’t until the dam broke that I reached out for help. I had made it through a month and a half of the stormy seas of heightened anxiety when we learned that my daughter would have to return to work in a job which required her to come into physical contact with other people. I started crying and I couldn’t stop, and finally called my general practitioner seeking some kind of medicinal intervention. He prescribed a stopgap, and I finally had to sit down with my partner and try to put my feelings into words.

We moved out that weekend, into a living situation which better lent itself to isolating. We collected the vulnerable members of our family and shored up against outsiders. We left my daughter in our house, and I only had to take the anxiety meds when I left the house to collect groceries. We waited for any word that masks were effective, finally running across a test case of live exposure with the potential for superspread, only to have it bumped from the news. We searched for weeks for more information, relieved beyond measure when it came. It was finally safe to return home.

Going home didn’t mean my anxiety was gone. It meant my partner had to keep an eye on me for signs that I might need to medicate. I explored other possibilities, such as counseling, but talking about my anxieties only served to exacerbate them.

My partner began scheduling time for us in a friend’s pool. It was the most human interaction outside of one another that we’d had for months. We’d go swim, and it was like the stress and anxiety melted away, giving us back our humanity for just a little while. It was like lancing a wound – the poison seeped out. It wasn’t healed, but it improved dramatically.

We’ve had to find ways to steal pieces of “normal.” We’ve found that being able to do so safely has been hugely important to my mental health. As it got cold enough that the pool was less attractive, we moved to the occasional indoor game night with those friends, who were also isolating. We added two other friends to our QuaranTeam, our Perv Pod, and we made arrangements to attend our local dungeon together. The space seemed awfully empty, but before too long, the delicious sounds of four bottoms screeching at non-regular intervals and the cracks of whips and sounds of other impact filled the space in ways our physical presence could not.

Our vacation was cancelled, unsurprisingly. So we made plans with that same group to rent a house on the water down south, drove in a caravan, stopped for groceries, and spent a few days taking turns with cooking, playing board games, and fishing off of the back deck of the house. We are finding ways to regain our joy.

I still have to take my anxiety meds. My Dominant makes sure to keep track of how often I need them, and if it starts becoming more frequent, to check on my mental state more regularly. He’s relaxed some rules for the duration of this – I’m allowed more stuffies in the bed as long as the pile stays on my side, and he let me get a new wardrobe of super fluffy pajama pants to work in.

I still don’t know what tomorrow will look like. I try not to think too hard about that. We’re tentatively planning Thanksgiving with our Germ Pod. Even though I cried when I realized the rest of my family wouldn’t be able to join us, it’s better than it could be, and better than it was back in early June.

I know it can be hard to admit it, but it is so important to ccommunicate mental health challenges to partners. There are so many resources out there, help is available. It just takes sliding one foot forward for that very first step. ‘

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so. Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals. She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey. She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others. She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T In Polyamory

October 4, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

You don’t have to like your metamour, but ideally you should respect each other

Polyamory can have its ups and downs. One of the greatest external support functions I’ve found that generally tends to come into play when polycules start to grow has been some type of shared calendar. Some will swear by regular ol’ google calendar, others by shared OneNote files or Dropbox or Google Drive folders. Much like the practice of poly, there’s no one agreed-upon way to share schedules and facilitate polycule communication.
What does seem more of a common ground is a desire I often see individuals have for other members of their polycule to have respect for their relationship/s. The problem, as I see it, is how one defines the word respect. I heartily suggest that however one might define it, that the definition is shared amongst metas and partners. Understanding what a person considers to be respectful can often help others from crossing that boundary. That isn’t to say that misunderstandings won’t still occur, but firmly establishing personally held definitions of what disrespect looks like can be extraordinarily helpful.

Let’s play with some examples. I happen to feel that as my D-type’s nesting partner, it is my job to create space for his other partners. If I choose instead to monopolize his time and schedule things in such a manner that they have no space at all in which to attempt to squeeze their own schedules into the open spaces, I have neither respected their relationship with him, nor their needs within that framework. The way I see that, the path in that direction leads to poor relationships with my metas and strife in the general polycule due to my inability to respect their time.

Taking that a step further, if they schedule a specific day each week with him, say Thursday for ease of discussion, it is my responsibility to be respectful of that schedule.

Yes, I understand that life happens. However, if I consistently drag my time with him out and cause him to be late for plans with them or if I continuously reschedule plans that force their plans to adjust around me, I have not been respectful of their time together. If it were a work meeting I would not be so cavalier and dismissive of their scheduled event, so why does it being his romantic schedule make it any less worthy of my consideration?

If I want others to honor my time with partners, I have to give equal concern to my own behavior. If a regularly scheduled week isn’t working for some reason, that becomes an issue for the polycule as a whole. If others are amenable and have been respectful of relationships, often a solution can be found. When someone has shown me clear indifference of my time and energy over and over, I tend to be much less accommodating, as a rule. I find that sort of thing tends to be common. We have a tendency to want to treat others as they’ve treated us rather than extending gestures of care only to see them slapped down or taken advantage of.

It can be incredibly difficult to stand in someone else’s shoes. Quite naturally, we see things from our own viewpoint. When I accomodate someone’s constantly shifting schedule while feeling as though mine is not of concern to them, it has a hugely detrimental effect on our relationship.

Having many friends who practice poly, I have heard a meta or six referred to as ‘The Black Hole.’ Their partner will have plans with them, on said Thursday, while Wendesday was a meta’s turn. Yet fairly consistently, the partner will drop off of the map all day Wednesday, leaving Girl Thursday unable to confirm plans. As Thursday stretches on, it always become apparent that Girl Wednesday has had some sort of panic attack or began a serious relationship conversation or argument when their shared partner is due to leave. Once might be legitimate, but when that occurs every week for six months, GW’s lack of respect for Shared Partner’s time becomes only too apparent. When SP doesn’t see the manipulative behavior, that can leave GT feeling frustrated and unimportant, constantly at the mercy of her meta. Compounding that, I often see Girl Wednesday turn around and accuse GT of not being concerned about her relationship with SP. That’s a game with no winners, unfortunately.

Without a standard schedule those issues can be a bit trickier. Say I have a meta with an incredibly busy schedule which leaves her having to make plans a month out. If I text our shared partner with my weekend schedule, and my free time happens to coincide with their plans, I absolutely feel it is my duty to make it clear that my schedule is more flexible and that I can wait. I don’t get to make our Shared Partner feel guilty for keeping plans they’ve made, and I don’t get to try to schedule time before or after, forcing SP to cut time with one of us short. I am honor-bound to respect their time. Doing otherwise, quite frankly, would make me a rather shitty metamour, and honestly, not someone I’d recommend getting involved with.
We always have the option to be respectful of the relationships our partners have with others. I’d argue that if you want your own relationship to have longevity, it’s absolutely essential.

The Nesting Partner Doesn’t Always Win

September 19, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

We live in interesting times, which happens to be less than awesome for most of us. We’re experiencing levels of anxiety and stress that our bodies may not be accustomed to. We have uncertainty and fear, and some days it is a struggle for us to accomplish basic tasks.

What then of kink? And non-nesting partners? Is there any space for that in all of this?

I believe there is, but it can be difficult to achieve the head space for the first, or to have the additional energy required for the second.

Having relationships requires energy. We give up some of our energy reserves in order to invest in getting to know others or hearing about how their lives are. When we have high stress levels and we are hearing about high stress from partners, it can be a challenge to keep our heads above water.

Someone who does not live with a shared partner may be experiencing some feelings of jealousy or loss right now. It may seem desirable to have someone there for comfort, but we don’t always account for how these emotions can affect a relationship. It can be an odd shift to consider that partners who do not live together may have an easier time scheduling time for the fun things than those who do.

Partners at home have to push through those pulls of life, like dishes and children, dogs and laundry, and the little frustrations that pile up on any given day. We may have planned to do fun kinky things together, but the odds are good that when the time comes, one or both of us will be too tired to scrape up the interest. Because outside partners are getting a specifically scheduled time, energy is often fresh when they meet up. This means the likelihood of them being able to follow through with the fun kinky things is much higher. Watching that partner get the thing that is desired but rarely received can create feelings of inequity in a nesting partner, particularly one who does the laundry and finds oneself hanging the now-clean rope to dry that was likely used on a meta’s crotch.

What is the solution, though? Understanding the issue doesn’t make energy suddenly appear from nowhere, or stir up desire that has been tamped down by stress and fear. Perhaps the way to solve feelings of inequity in this area can be to schedule with nesting partners the way we schedule with partners outside of the home. When we were used to making kink time together by going out to a dungeon before, that option no longer exists, at least not in a way we personally feel is safe.

Perhaps reaching out to our local dungeon owners whose properties sit empty of patrons, monthly rent continuing to rack up, would be happy to allow a pair of patrons to borrow their location and equipment for an hour for a special night out. Perhaps, as a friend of our suggested, creatively scheduling an exotic meal out, by exploring recipes or takeout from a particular culture, creating ambiance with sounds or music from the same culture, and dining in Paris for a night before getting one’s kink on might be just the right touch.

It is important that we explore creative options to continue to show the people we love they are special. It isn’t always enough to just be the stressed out warm body in bed with them at night. At some point, this life of fear and uncertainty has to end, and it is the goal that our relationships haven’t ended before that.

Erotica: Photo Session

September 12, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

wet woman in white tank top — via stock.adobe.com

Mona shifted her bag nervously from hand to hand. She’d been crushing on this particular photographer since first seeing her work shared on Instagram. She did gorgeous erotic sessions as well as marketing shoots for local kink vendors, and their recent casual friendship had Mona hoping for more. They’d negotiated boundaries for this shoot more thoroughly than Mona ever recalled negotiating pick-up play scenes, but even so, she was nervous, and a tight ball of anticipation rested low in her stomach.

An assistant finally answered the door, escorting Mona back to the photographer’s lair in the back of the house. They had a partial water setup included today, and Mona’s steps quickened as she wondered how it would go.

Innocently was the best word for the first half hour. The assistant busied himself, occasionally disappearing for several minutes at a time, while the photographer set her equiment for a test shoot. Brusquely, she asked Mona to take her place to begin the session. “Panties?” she asked. Mona blushed a little and squeezed her knees together, shaking her head in the negative. “Good, you followed instructions,” came the distracted response as the shutter began to click, capturing the alluring combination of embarassment and arousal.

“Now flirt with me,” came the first instruction. Mona looked puzzled and began to open her mouth when the photographer stopped her. “With your body,” she clarified.

Mona leaned back onto her hands, dancing her knees slightly apart, flashing glimpses of bare cunt under an indecently short dress. The photographer clicked the shutter quickly, adjusting position around Mona as she worked.

“Harder nipples,” came the next command. Mona pinched them through her skater-style dress, but despite the coolness of the studio space, they didn’t harden.

“Can you help me?” Mona asked shyly. The photographer silently handed the camera to her assistant, who continued shooting photos as she kneeled next to Mona, pinching her nipples roughly and plucking at the bars in them. Mona found herself shifting with the beginnings of arousal, but her pierced nipples remained uncooperative.

With a small noise of frustration, the photographer bent her head and placed her mouth directly on the stubborn buds. The sucking came hard and immediate, and Mona’s nipples began to respond. The photographer bit solidly behind the bar, and that took Mona’s nipples the rest of the way to rock-hard. She moaned quietly into her closed mouth, trying to maintain some degrees of professionalism despite the hungry mouth on her nipple. She vaugely heard the shutter clicking as her head fell back and she wantonly pressed the nipple more firmly into the photographer’s mouth. “That ought to do it,” the photographer said, distantly, reclaiming the camera from the assistant, who had been shooting photos the whole time she’d worked up some decently sized wet patches on the font of Mona’s dress.

Mona rubbed her bare thighs together slightly, immagining that mouth a little lower. Another command came, “Turn over and offer me sex without speaking a word.” Mona shyly raised to her knees, dress still ruffled from her earlier shifting. She played with the hem of her dress, teasingly flashing even longer glimpses of bare pussy than before. Mona dropped to hands and knees, the skirt hitching up over bare ass, totally exposing her. She arched her back and slid her knees slightly apart, teasing with what she had heard was quite a lovely bare cunt. She reached a hand back and covered it briefly, glancing flirtatiously at the photographer from over her shoulder, then took a slap of opportunity, the sound of bare skin being slapped ruined by moisture already pooling under her hand. With a flush, she quickly withdrew the hand, sitting back on her heels and letting her knees slide outwards until she rested her pussy almost on the floor, still glancing back over her shouder every so often. The shutter clicked furiously as the photographer recorded each moment.

“Such a wet little pussy,” she murmured. “I can see it from here. Take the dress off and show me that body, naughty girl.”

Fuck. Mona had already been turned on, but being called a naughty girl just hit the accelerator on her excitement. She slowly pulled the dress off over her head, the flush of arousal evident between her legs. The photographer shot photos from all the angles, being sure to capture Mona’s swollen cunt.

She handed the camera off again. “Are you ready for the fun part?” she asked. Mona nodded her continued consent as the photographer held one finger up menacingly, then dropped it down to touch Mona’s clit lightly. The whirr of the shutter continued as the photographer expertly rubbed wetness into every crevice of Mona’s wet little slit, and she rocked her hips against the finger in response. “Lay back,” came the next command, and she obeyed with haste. A tongue began firmly probing Mona’s clit, and she began to see stars. The photographer began adding spanks and slaps, creating ripples of flesh. She reached a hand out as if demanding something, and didn’t stop what she was doing until an object was placed there. She began using a crop on Mona’s ass and thighs, mouth still pleasuring the wet little nub at her core.

The crop must have had a special handle. Its direction was reversed and slid into Mona, and in that manner she was alternately spanked and fucked with the handle until she was crying for release. Mona trembled and made glorious sounds at her treatment, not daring to believe she was finally in the hands of her idol, with hours left to come.

Erotica: Through The Door

August 30, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 3 Comments

sexy female submissive getting blindfolded — via stock.adobe.com

Candy pressed light fingertips against the door. The sounds were unmistakable. She knew exactly what this was.

Still without touching anything but her fingertips to the wood, she imagined the scene inside.

That sharp clap with no echo or repeats – it was definitely a face slap. The muffled moan following was sure to indicate its recipient was on their knees sobbing a bit. The squeal directly on the heels of the sobbing would be when the insistent demand of fisted hair yanked her out of her shocked self-indulgence.

Candy lightly pressed her ear to the wood, hoping the echoing sounds would become clearer with more contact.

The next loud grunt suddenly muffled was Ms. Shocked being unceremoniously tipped onto her face via the gripped hair. Ass in the air, the beating would commence. Floggers would rain their many tails down upon their hapless victim. Canes would leave distinct impressions in their wake. Weighted gloves would replace tools, since Candy knew he preferred to use a more hands-on method to achieve his full satisfaction.

Slaps would drag texture across Ms. Shocked’s body. Punches would solidly sink into areas cushioned by fat, bounce slightly in more muscular sections of the targeted zones.

Candy hovered, ear and hands barely pressed to the door. She squeezed her thighs together as her breathing quickened slightly. She was living the experience in unison with its object. She didn’t allow herself to imagine the bottom inside as anything other than a vessel.

What sounded like a grunt followed by wet slapping was him sliding his cock inside that naughty cunt, dripping excitement from its rough treatment.

Candy struggled to hear more, dropping to the ground to listen at the crack umder the door. The smacking sounds intensified and she felt her nipples harden. They pressed against the floor as she quietly contorted against the door frame, struggling to catch every nuance.

It grew quiet and she unsteadily rose to her knees, wondering how to end this awkwardness and march in, moist pussy betraying the angry words she planned.

As she kneeled at the door, hand upon the wall to balance her rise, the door opened suddenly at her nose. A hand gripped her hair, tilting her head back and obscuring her view into the room and any other possible occupant. A cock worked its way into her shocked mouth, effectively silencing her half-formed protest, echoing her imagined fantasy as eerily as if it had all happened before.

It began again.

The Power Of Power Exchange

August 16, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 3 Comments

sexy, muscular male submissive bound — via stock.abobe.com

Power exchange is one of those terms which is classified under kink, but often carries no clear visible representation. Impact leaves marks, and is something you can see someone perform. Needles, rope, knives, even exhibitionism, these are all things the eye can see. Power exchange, in contrast, is a quiet kink, and one which does not leave visible reminders of its presence in a relationship.

Once you delve into the world of power exchange, there are a myriad of ways it can be incorporated into a relationship, whether casual or more intense. On the less invasive side of things, it can be reserved for scene or bedroom time, and can be present without involving other things typically thought of as “kink.” It doesn’t require sadism to be present, and doesn’t have to interfere with outside life. On the other end of things, a relationship can be fully immersed in power exchange, to the point of Total Power Exchange, or TPE. It is also completely possible to achieve something in the middle which is a negotiation of which situations will include some type of agreed-upon power exchange between individuals. I have seen these referred to as levels, and more specifically, broken down into five levels: conditional compliance; restricted ongoing acquiescence; provisional submission; the covenant of dominance and submission; and absolute ownership.

Starting at power level one (I jest), it isn’t difficult to incorporate some power exchange into individual scenes. Conditional compliance is associated with a single session or brief period of time and would only include negotiated activities within the scope of the exchange. It could include everything from following commands to kneel, stay still, or even to ask permission for boons such as orgasms, or be limited to specifically negotiated areas.

With restricted ongoing acquiescence, power exchange negotiations may be put into effect as with conditional compliance, but only be in play during specified sessions, such as with ongoing play partners who have power exchange elements in their regular time together. Those elements may be in effect during scene time only without requiring renegotiation, due to an agreement that those elements be in effect during their scene time together.

Provisional submission involves one partner giving greater control to the other, well, provisionally. This may be the stage wherein partners experiment with different aspects of control over various areas in order to determine what is working for them and what is not. These areas may have time limits, such as “we’ll try me choosing all of your clothing for the next two weeks to see if that is something we’d like to incorporate into our permanent relationship negotiations.” It may also refer to a longer term power exchange which exists outside of scene time, and yet remains fundamentally a play partner arrangement at its core.

A covenant of dominance and submission may involve a contract or may be a verbal agreement. It generally refers to a long-term agreement which exists outside of scene time, and involves other aspects of daily life, as negotiated. It could be control in areas of finance, social relationships, or daily activities, in addition to agreements surrounding any scenes which may occur. The participants may want a 1950’s style household and be disinclined to participate in other forms of kink play, or they may have a female-led relationship with an entire trunk full of kink implements, or whatever relationship format works for the participants.

Absolute ownership may also be referred to as a TPE. While the title generally speaks for itself and includes truly invested participants, it does not necessarily mean one party has to actively be in control over every aspect of their partner. Even TPE relationships often include negotiated areas which do not require permissions be granted, mostly because to be required every time another human needs to make a decision would be a full-time occupation, not practical for working humans who may not be available to make those at the drop of a hat. Some of it is about convenience. If you want to negotiate a power exchange with a partner which includes always being required to have permission for certain activities, say bathroom usage since everyone has to do that, then unless you are available every time they need to, such as in the middle of a work day, or even in the middle of the night if they drank too much tea at dinner, then you may need to reserve certain times which do not require permission. For example, the rule may be “I am available at all times to grant permission to use the bathroom, other than between the hours of 11 pm and 7 am. You will request and wait for the request to be granted at any other time of day,” or whatnot. Most of the power exchanges I have encountered, both my own and that of others, rarely want to deal with that sort of micromanagement, and only require that permission be granted if it interrupts an in-progress activity or conversation, as that is considered a matter of courtesy rather than a rule about requiring permission for bathroom usage. A better way to think of it may be as having underlying functions which occur quietly in the background. A rule has been established, and in the absence of a change to that rule, it will continue to run just as lungs continue to breathe in the absence of efforts to resist their regular behavior.

To reiterate, absolutely none of the above requires that the participants delve into other aspects of kink. While many we see in our local organizations do participate in things like impact or bondage in addition to their power exchange, one does not require the other to function. It is completely possible to negotiate kink scenes in which power exchange does not occur, all the way up to having kink relationships without the inclusion of PE. However, I will say, as a power exchange aficionado, seeing two individuals attempt to impose their will upon one another in the context of a relationship seems messy, as it often becomes some type of power struggle with no clear winner in any given battle. I personally prefer the reassurance that having those things clearly outlined gives me, while also understanding that it isn’t for everyone.

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The touch that triggers panic

July 12, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 3 Comments

choke neck squeeze of submissive woman by dom — via stock.adobe.com

I have a trigger. I hate using that word, since it brings to mind the watered-down version of today’s culture, which seems to mean I got uncomfortable or had my feelings hurt.

No.

I mean the word as it meant to be used. A series of specific physical stimuli can create a panic response in me, to the point of a legitimate panic attack. We discovered it by accident, as one often does with this sort of thing.

I’ve had an issue with having my neck touched for a very long time. In fact, it is solidly on my hard limit list. It was from a bad experience 10+ years ago. Not long after that, I had a partner come up behind me and loop an arm around my neck and he found himself dangling across my back, the only thing keeping him from a judo throw and a potential back injury was that my blind response no longer had hold of me once the pressure on my neck was gone. Not so when combined with other sensations. Better to just not provoke my body’s fight response.

Early on with my current partner, I informed him of my issue. We made the decision together to attempt to soften the aversion I held for that touch.

I want to be really clear for a moment. None of what we attempted or accomplished was with the assistance of a counselor or therapist, and other than a basic idea of the concept of immersion therapy, and have little to no actual educational basis for our actions. We were lucky to find some modicum of success. Not everyone who attempts to overcome their own stuff will have the same result. Hell, perhaps no one else will. I cannot speak for anyone else.

We began slowly. Over an extended period of time – days, not hours, he touched my collarbone non-threateningly for just a moment. The next time it was a moment longer. Once I gained some comfort with that action, we moved his hand slightly and repeated the process. After concerted effort, we succeeded in him being able to rest his hand upon my neck fully. After additional time had passed we were able to explore some mild breath play.

The trouble came when it combined with other sensations which could potentially be interpreted as negative. The first time it happened I was not in a position to communicate effectively regarding my distress. Having no idea I had a hidden landmine, we tripped it and I discovered what a panic attack was.

Well. After a little distance and some self-analysis, I decided it was a combination of sensations which pushed me over the edge. Having newly recognized and super fun trauma to overcome in the context of our D/s dynamic meant there were times we were going to work on it when it killed any sexual enjoyment I had been experiencing. It was like a light switch, and where once the light shone warmly, the moment effectively flipped the switch to anxiety and a desire to flee.

But we continued. We set up an emergency signal to indicate emotional anxiety during times when I couldn’t speak the words. We added those individual elements back into our sexual repertoire, albeit individually and in small increments. As we worked on those things separately, over time, we we able to get to the point of recombining them. It took possibly a year or so by my estimation, clearly not a quick process or one without risk of explosion.

I celebrated mightily the day we were able to do those things again. I don’t remember how – perhaps I sang some Queen and took a lap. It wasn’t so much that I enjoyed the experience as it was the triumph of regaining the ability to do them without falling apart. Most of my enjoyment came from that victory rather than from the ability to take pleasure in the act itself. I hoped in time that would change and I would have my freedom from those chains.

Of course it did, just not as I hoped. It was one thing to say the words that this would always be with me, a completely different thing to actually understand the magnitude of them. We went through a period of time when the things which had comprised that emotional land mine were less present for us. We avoided touching my throat because I got sick and it was swollen. It just fell away a bit. Somewhere along the way I backslid. I lost some of the progress I’d made, and things we’d been able to do six months ago bring anxiety and the first rushes of panic again. It was a hard realization that this really will be with me forever, in some sense.

I celebrate that I made progress in this battle, and I will overcome again. I don’t have to think about it the way it stole my thoughts before, since it only rears up on occasion anymore. I hope some day it will lie dormant, an emotional cancer finally eliminated by radiation.

Whether I get there or not, I will continue to fight for myself and my mental well-being, and I will continue to encourage others to find the paths they need in order to face their own landmines with courage. In solidarity, we can all become better versions of ourselves, one day at a time, whatever the method of achievement may be.

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Feelings in Poly & BDSM

July 5, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

submissive poly woman is looks sad while experiencing some feelings — via stock.adobe.com

Feelings are a funny thing.

Sometimes we have them and aren’t really sure why, or can’t put it into words. It can take some introspection to thoughtfully realize a root cause and then some work to find the right words to express those feels in a way that doesn’t assign blame to another.

Let’s all say it together: “Feelings aren’t right or wrong, good or bad. Feelings just are. The part that really matters is how we each choose to respond to those feelings, since that’s the only part we can truly control.”

It’s true, though, as much as it may sound like a platitude. I think of it more like my mantra. When I have unexpected or confusing feelings, I remind myself that they are an automatic response to a set of stimuli rather than something I can control. In my case, often the response is initially rooted in my abandonment issues. Any time they have an opportunity to rear their heads, they generally take it, and quite gleefully, I’d suspect, if they could.

*You aren’t good enough,* they whisper. *You’ll never be good enough.* *He’s going to leave you, the only question is when, not if.*

They have a litany of my flaws, which they collect on a scroll and delight in reading to me at random moments. They try to push me to run as a first response to any sign that someone is displeased with me, or that conflict is imminent. They will take hiding as a second choice when I push back against running, which has meant Santa has once or twice found me curled up in a corner or tucked in a nook in the closet.

But how do I handle unknown things? Particularly when I’ve spent a day and a half both actively trying to ascertain the root of said feelings and also quietly avoiding thinking by loudly singing along with the Dave Matthews Band station on iHeartRadio while cutting deliciously supple bullhide at my work station.

I find emotion a hindrance when attempting to find the root of feelings. Being emotional has never given me a boost when it comes to attempting rational thought. The first thing I have to do is set them aside, as clinically as possible. Yes, I can still feel them if I allow myself to dwell, but that isn’t a helpful exercise. Rather, I need to be able to form them into a lump and examine them from the outside in order to work my way to their core.

Let’s take a simple but real scenario and break it down. It’s one that happened recently and required a lot of dissection for me to understand it. My partner was unable to make plans with his other partner because of a statewide shutdown, so she made arrangements to spend time with him at our shared residence. I was happy to see her when she arrived, lingered downstairs for a popsicle, then wandered to my workroom to avoid intruding on their time together. Except I realized I had left my phone charging in the room they were in, and me barging in to get it might very well ruin an intimate moment at that point. So I dug out my laptop, messaged my partner there (since he’d be unlikely to be looking at his phone during any fun stuff), and asked that when he had a moment, could he toss my phone out.

Whew! Awkwardness averted. About half an hour later, he popped out with my phone, gave me a kiss, and returned to the room. I had been totally fine the entire time.

Then he shut the door behind him. My stomach twisted into a knot and I felt sick. Why on earth was I upset? It wasn’t at all rational. I wasn’t jealous of their time together. I knew I needed to poke at it, but in the moment was exactly the worst time to attempt to do so. Knowing I was emotional, but unsure why, I held my tongue. I continued to work and listen to music, deciding there would be time.

After a time, the door opened and I was invited to come hang with them for a while, so I gave them space on the couch and pulled up a spot on the bed that wasn’t between them. We had a lovely rest of the afternoon, just chatting and enjoying one another’s company. I waited to share my feelings with my partner until after the visit, not wanting to create a dark cloud over their limited time together.

I explained that I’d had some feelings. I also stated that the feeling didn’t seem, on the surface, to be jealousy, but that I’d need some time to poke at it before I was really sure what the root was. I planned to reach out to her once I had worked through it, so I wasn’t coming at her from a place of emotion, but just keeping lines of communication open so there would be no falsehood between us, either as friends or as metamours.

Over the next two days I poked at that strange emotion I’d experienced. Was I wrong? Could it be jealousy? I examined it carefully before again discarding that conclusion. Jealous is a fear of loss, and that wasn’t an accurate assessment of my feeling in that moment. I spent some time journaling for myself in an attempt to understand. It was something about that door. That was the moment.

I explored that some more. Why would a door closing bother me so? Well, past experience has taught me about slamming doors. I thought back upon my relationship with my partner. Had there been a door slammed between us before? I couldn’t recall even one. In fact, pursing that thought process, I couldn’t recall any door other than one for a bathroom which had been closed between us for anything other than work or necessity. Even when we’ve had other partners, often the relationships intertwined in ways that would mean even when a door was closed, it could still be opened at any time. This was the first moment I could recall when I was not welcomed into a room with him, and in fact, actively shut out.

New things can be difficult. However, understanding myself and my response was important, rather than becoming emotional and creating pain for him or his other partner. I took the time to explore my feelings without needing to resolve them immediately. For this particular example, the only real resolution was for me to understand myself. I wasn’t seeking a change in his behavior, I just needed him to be aware that I had discovered something about myself. Once I’d figured it out, we discussed it again, and I told him how I felt. He gave me some affection, and the incident was over.

I addressed it with her afterwards, explaining that I’d had the feeling, and wanted her to know, but that it didn’t require any action on her part. Submissives can sometimes be fixers, though, and she offered some compromise solutions that I knew would actually make her uncomfortable. It was sweet, but I declined and reiterated that no action was necessary, but that I believe hiding things like these moments from partners, and even peripheral partners, such as my meta, is practicing dishonesty. Those things can eat away at us, and become larger and more out of control the more we push them aside.

Feelings aren’t good or bad. They just are. Spend some time with yourself when you’ve experienced a strong emotion and do the work to understand why you respond the way you do. It is important we have healthy responses to the way we handle possible conflict in our kink relationships.

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The Inking

July 5, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 3 Comments

submissive woman gets tattoo on ribs — via stock.adobe.com

She could feel the nerves set in the moment her eyes opened.

Yes, He owns me, she told herself. Yes, He has married me as part of His claiming. Yes, He has had this body pierced because it pleases Him.

But she had always felt that ink was different. Legal contracts can be dissolved, albeit with some difficulty. Piercings can grow in. Tattoo removal is a lot more challenging.

So as permanent as those things are, she had both longed for and dreaded ink since He claimed her.

Yes, there was a sense of dread. Will this ink be bad luck? Am I etching what could become a painful daily reminder of loss onto my skin? What if He changes His mind? She questioned herself unmercifully.

People do that, after all. Leave.

So up until the moment the ink touched her skin, there was a sense that there was time to turn back. There was time to ask Him four more times if He is sure He wants her forever before we arrived at the deserted shop for the appointment.

He didn’t disappoint her, though. He reassured her like it was His profession. In a way, perhaps it is.

Warm thumb brushing across her knuckles, He drew her hand to His lips. The exhale of breath contained the quietest words, the weight of Atlas in their echo.

Mine. Forever.

All that in a breath.

Inside, she had to pee four times while He and the artist finalized the design and put the stencil on twice. She knew it was just nerves and wished she’d had something to calm them, but nothing that would have helped would have been good for the process of inking.

Because of health issues, the ink was just for her. I carry this art for both of us, he had said. It is a weighty thought.

She tucked one hand into the small of her back, feeling the texture beneath her fingers as thoughts raced. There is still plenty of time to change my mind. The thought comforted her.

Suddenly, breasts bared to the empty room, the needle was on her skin. Her exhale was shaky as she groped for purchase with her free hand, finding Him beneath her palm. He lovingly lifted the hand and entwined her fingers with His own.

For the next hour, her eyes seldom left His face. There were moments of conversation she tried to focus on, but she was mostly far away. She found her happy place until the artist reached her floating ribs, and her vision swam a little as the pain that had been humming along at endorphin-triggering levels suddenly spiked.

“Just breathe normally,” she heard in her ear. Then a few minutes later, “Are you going pass out?”

He laughed. He knew her pain face well. “She’s fine,” He responded, her glazed eyes meeting His. The artist, understanding the collar, smiled and continued.

Her eyes roamed His face. His lips whispered for her, but she struggled to make sense of them.

Good girl and then Mine a few minutes later. Something in His proprietous gaze made her suspect the next sex they had would be full of rough hair pulling and urgent biting, ankles held captive so He could see His new mark.

A pause came in the buzzing, and something cold touching her skin. She mositened her lips. “Are you done?” she asked.

The artist laughed. “Men don’t generally like it when you ask that,” he responded.

The buzzing began again, catching the tender spots he wasn’t pleased with. After cleaning, he gently pressed a bandage to her skin and she absently slid her soft shirt over her head, piercings obvious in its thin, draped fabric.

He took care of the details as she floated along, awash in the endorphins that made the hour bearable.

They got in the car. “Show me,” He commanded.

She lifted her shirt obediently.

He made a sound close to growling. He crushed her mouth to His, rough in His passion. Mine, she heard again, only this time she felt it between her breasts and tasted it on His lips.

Reconciling After Bad Behavior

June 28, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

Writing a journal in a kinky world — via stock.adobe.com

Being part of a community with all kinds of kinks means I am bound to come into contact with people who are less than savory. I will also, sadly, likely give someone untrustworthy my trust.

Have, actually. More than once. Which presents a dilemma.

I am not responsible for someone else’s actions. My warning or lack thereof is unlikely to change anything other than the way the object of warning sees me – as suddenly a meddlesome shittalker, determined to undermine some innocent person for my own reasons, to satisfy my own agenda.

Yet if I have had a notably negative experience with a person in the community, who am I to approach others about it?

The thing is, I often see two roads when it comes to things we see as consent violations. The first is denial or dismissal. The second is scorched earth. We really have no community consensus on how to proceed.

Is that the best way to handle things? The first is problematic, as by not speaking up, this person who doesn’t have the ability to comprehend that their actions caused pain is likely to repeat those actions (as I’ve seen), with the unspoken blessing of all those who turn a blind eye. Such as me.

The second solution is problematic as it drives this person out of the scene, leaving them to prey upon members who may be less connected or outside of it, often leaving those other people without the resources or support that could have helped them.

How do we find a middle ground?

How do we implement a system that will identify people who are potentially dangerous and keep people safe while also allowing them to learn from their mistakes and become better aware of others, better negotiators, better people?

Can we genuinely help people understand and rehabilitate and where do we draw the line if they cannot acknowlege the damage they do or if it seems they don’t care?

Are there cases where we can see people benefiting from community involvement as learners, participants, but being careful to exclude them from leadership and the hazards that can bring?

Even after people behave badly, isn’t the goal to help them learn from their mistakes and become better people? It seems we are often very long on memory and very short on forgiveness. While I don’t have the answers to these questions, I believe we have to consider them within our own communities, have the hard conversations, and make decisions about how to handle these situations. Sadly, we never know when we may need to have already done so.

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Christmas Bunny

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