SpinSugar Scribbles

[SpinSpinSugar]

(I'm a writer by trade, and while I haven't been published in a while, I still have to blather on from time to time - so I'll put a few things here now and again. They might not be all little-ish, but even so, they're here, partly from Fetlife, or other spaces, all from my brainz)

 

I own a lot of dresses, which is pretty weird considering I never wear the bloody things. Most of the time I'm living in tunics and trousers, I've got kick flare jeans to go out in (that never fit, because Britain doesn't make clothes for plus sized sistahs with junk in the trunk), I've got boots and my beloved purple Converse shoes. I have flowy maxi dresses which I wear around the house, and that is about as close as I get. Wearing a dress, especially a dress which is knee height or just a bit higher, is a big NOPE. I feel like a farce, like I'm playing at being feminine when I'm anything but.

I collect dresses in knee lengths as if to challenge myself; to wear dresses on the rare times I go out and about, to challenge myself to feel feminine, is a big ask. Most of the time, all I do is just end up with more dresses, some with the tags still in place. And then I go buy another one, because I'm an idiot, apparently.

'Girly' was never on my radar growing up, for various reasons, and it hasn't been as an adult either. In my 20s, I was starting to figure out what being a sex kitten was all about (it was Rather Fun :3 ). My 30s, I packed my sexuality up into a box and became the Queen Mum From Hell to fight for my son's needs, and - when I could remember - for my own. In my 40s, feeling a bit bizarre as a lot of my compatriots on Tumblr and other places are fresh-faced teens and 20-somethings with perfectly winged eyeliner, I've started to loosen my grip on my sensuality. I've experimented with makeup, hair, and - as above - bought dress after dress, most of which I never wore.

I actually took out one of my dresses for the first time this week, with petticoats peeking out underneath. Above the knee, paired with boots and some tights - this is a style I've never worn in my life, but it felt right. I felt almost, dare I say it, pretty. And I also felt, almost, but not quite, little in it.

What's up with that?!

I took all the dresses on my rack down today and looked them over, trying to figure out pieces to the puzzle of me. They're all above the knee, not a one is what I'd consider to be a typical little-black-number; they're brightly coloured, or cream, or crochet; chiffon, lace, and scrunchy fabric lined with satin ribbons. Most of them, I bought to wear with petticoats. I never wore a single one; never got brave enough to walk outside my door in swing dresses with lace peeking out from under the hem. I didn't give myself permission to do what, clearly, I've been wanting to do for a while.

But this week I did, and I liked it. It didn't kill me. People didn't point and laugh (they stared, yes, but I'm a six foot tall mixed race chick in England where everyone else is roughly 5'6", they're going to stare - they've stared ever since I came off the plane a decade ago). No one whispered about mutton-dressed-as-lamb. No one snickered at my pathetic attempt to try and be pretty.

So, ok, maybe I actually can do it after all.

 

 

 

[SpinSpinSugar]

(Himself's response to this was 'my vase was broken ten years ago, and doesn't hold water anymore. Any flower you give me will just wilt and die.' And so, therefore, I know it's time to move on.  I don't give flowers to just anyone, and not to anyone who can't even try to tend them).

 

I once had a dream in which I was presented with a bouquet of flowers by a woman dressed in blue, timeless in the way only black woman of a certain age can look - black don’t crack, even though her face had a few lines in it. It had lilacs, roses, lavender, daisies and dahlias in it, a sumptuous display. I took the bouquet gratefully - it was really beautiful, and even though dreams are supposedly lacking in the sense of smell, I swear I could smell its heady perfume.

 

It was such a lovely bunch of flowers, but I didn’t have a vase, and I wasn’t sure where to put them. I was in mortal fear the flowers would die.

 

The Woman in Blue smiled at me and tapped my sternum. “The vase is here, child.” And she peeled back my skin over my heart, and cupped her hands until a glass vase formed in her palms. She filled it with water, and she gently arranged the bouquet in the vase between my ribs.

 

She told me these were the flowers of my heart. It was my job to tend them, so the flowers would never die. She told me sometimes people will come and add their own flowers to the bouquet. She also told me sometimes people would take a flower away, or two, or three. But only I had the power to give the flowers up, and no one would ever be able to take them all without my permission. She stared at me with eyes as blue as the sea. “Don’t you ever give anyone your entire bouquet of flowers. They’re yours.”

 

She told me to tend them now and again; change the water in the vase, trim the stems of the flowers so they could absorb more water, remove the wilted and dead flowers to replace with new ones.

 

“No, go do you.” She told me, and she shooed me away to walk around in the world with a bouquet of flowers sticking out from between my breasts, their perfume wafting up into my face.

 

I know most people can’t see it there. I know some people have added flowers, and some people have taken flowers away. The bouquet is always changing. But I’ll always water and tend it. I’ll always keep it fresh and wholesome. And no matter how deep I get into anything, into how intense I get into kink, I know that I will never, ever allow anyone to take all of the flowers from me. At best, I’ll let them arrange them suitably, trim them, water them.

 

But they’re mine. And the One who understands that will understand more about me than anything else in the world.

[SpinSpinSugar]

This is a new experience for me; involved as I was on the other side of the collar, I found most Dominants were lone wolves - there was a lot of egotism involved, and Dominants rarely sought out public advice from other Doms; no one wanted to be seen as weak or unknowledgeable. There was little support or commiseration, showing any emotions other than total control was seen as weakness. We fended for ourselves and that was how it was.

 

I used to watch how subs interacted with each other and, while there could definitely be infighting and dramatics, on the whole the support was huge. They compared notes, they'd gather around one of their own if s/he was hurting and comfort them, and defend each other fiercely against the predators hiding behind a leather vest. I envied the sub-comraderie; I secretly hankered for it, but I shoved that longing aside and chalked it up to weakness.

 

Now on the other side of things, I'm rather amazed; at least on the internet I can go to a group of people and confide in them when I'm shaky; I know quite a few Doms-turned-sub now who help me stumble forward through where my head is going being on the inner-side-of-the-collar. They're comforting and candid at turns, able to give me advice I might have been perfectly capable of giving to someone else, but currently seem utterly oblivious in giving myself. When recent experiences took a very wild turn, they rallied to me and gave me clarity in the situation, and courage to cut and run. As someone who is actually very wary of women as a general rule, this has been rather a pleasant surprise, and I like it.

 

Not that I'm completely naive; I know the infighting of who-isn't-speaking-to-who/who-stole-which-Dom-away/we-don't-like-so-and-so-because-they-said-something-about-me-on-Tumblr doesn't exist. I've been on the receiving end of some real nastiness from a sub who didn't like the fact I didn't treat her as the head-sub of a particular area, and it more or less got me blacklisted from play parties from thence onward. High school flashbacks, and gaggles of women making me nervous yet again. But I'm a bit better at spotting divas now, and I spend more time observing and gauging who to speak to, who to befriend and who will stab me in the back or just keep me around as the 'fat friend'.

 

But on the whole, I have found very welcoming, compassionate, supportive, delightful people welcoming me into the fold. It's rather nice.

[Guest Pouty Kitten]

I think it's great that you've shared your writing with us, but I'm going to have to lock this thread because topics are supposed to be for open discussion, and this is solely based on your own writing so people can't really contribute to this particular thread.