No Longer Mine

2004-01-16T10:29:00.000-05:00

Since it has been nearly a week since I've written anything here, I'm sure you're all thinking that Danevah must have some serious consequences to face.

While I will certainly be spanked, just on principle if nothing else, I will not have to bear what I might have otherwise because both of us think there is a Very Good Reason for me to have been rather busy for the past week or so.

My parents (henceforth known as the Rents both to abbreviate and because I am here right now because the rents is free...) have decided to adopt a formally Anti-Jack position. There have been summit meetings and memos and all manner of policy established on the matter, all conveniently while I was away so that as soon as they had everything in order they held a press conference (well, called me into the living room for a chat) and announced their new anti-jack campaign.

I am trying, very hard, to understand this position and the reason it has come into being. Jack is almost a decade older than I am, so I can see how some anxiety would arise. Jack is also currently without a job, which worries the traditional, man-must-provide instinct both of them possess. These I can understand as typical parent-y concerns, and while they'll still annoy the hell out of me, I could deal with them.

What I cannot deal with is the ridiculous stuff. They don't think Jack's 'image' suits me. They're rather wealthy, social-appearance conscious people and don't think the house/car/clothes of my mate are worthy, apparently. They also attacked Jack's character, ascribing negative traits to him that don't exist. All of this was quite enough to put me right over the edge and consider 1) napalm, or 2) going on welfare and moving out.

Jack has been my anchor, as always, reminding me of option 3) wait out the last few months until I am accepted to grad school and can move to a province far, far away. I had been trying *not* to think of that time at all, as it means moving a 2-hour drive away from Jack for anywhere from a couple of month to 2 years (depending on if he can get a job and come with me). So looking forward to that and concentrating on my applications has had the unhappy side effect of reminding me of my coming departure, and triggered a panic attack.

So Danevah has been a bit of a wreck. Hopefully things will settle soon and I can stop freaking out and bonking off the walls long enough to become human again.

2004-01-10T19:53:00.000-05:00

My new Year's resolution that Jack is helping me with: blog here every day, even if it is just one line, or face "the consequences."

I have no idea what my fate will be if I fail to post, but it was delivered in a voice that made even my brattiest self swallow hard and suggest it was a rather good idea to obey this time.

Today I am still recovering. Pillows are still necessary for comfortable sitting, and my bruises are coming in nicely. Bruises are kind of like old fashioned photographs: they develop over time. I don't think mine will have fully 'set' until tomorrow or the next day. Today, I discovered that several of the long strap marks I had thought were surface welts have left faint yellowing trace bruises. I find them extremely attractive.

The severity of this experience has taught be a bit about what a painslut I really am. I am absolutely loving it. Jack had a hard time with it at first, this being the most extreme experience we've ever had together, and because of this show of vulnerability yesterday I think he wanted to assert his dominance again today. Despite my current marked state, I found myself bent over a chair while he "touched up" the work he'd done the day before. Mostly gentle, lightly stingy swats with his hand, and a few harder belt strokes to make his point.

I hollered. It hurt like hell. I was also practically purring the whole time, and have been in a state of absolute contentment ever since.

I'm such a hungry sub.

2004-01-10T01:10:00.000-05:00

It's about damn time, eh?

The Christmas holidays were as lovely as they could have been, but also probably the most stressful I have ever been through. My family, for all it's dysfunctional glory, managed to retain it's bizarro charm without any nuclear wars starting. I Got lots of good loot, saw Jack a lot and got to visit with many friends.

So why, you ask, has my stress level been through the roof?

I am applying for grad school. In additions to hating the bureaucratic bullshit that is the application process with the fire of a thousand suns, I am absolutely scared to death about getting in where I want to. I have been working my ass off for the past four years, paying my dues as an undergrad doing all the grunt work and scrounging up all the references I could, in addition to keeping some pretty damn good grades up. This is the big enchilada, folks. If I don't get in with money where I want to go, I haven't the foggiest idea what I am going to do with my life.

Hence, Danevah has been a ball of pure stress for weeks now.

Yesterday the fedex man came and took my application away. After agonizing over it for weeks, the thing was actually done. There is nothing more that I can possibly do to fix it up or amend it. It's done. All I can do it wait until I get a response in the spring.

As soon as the fedex man left, I started cooking. Keeping busy kept me from having a meltdown for a few hours. But after a while there was nothing left to scrub or tidy, nothing to keep my brain from avoiding the gut-wrenching feeling of fear. My future is uncertain, and there is NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT.

Jack was working on his computer, burning a CD for me. I perched, completely tense, on the edge of his bed. After a while he turned to me.

"How are you doing?"

"I don't feel well."

Without a word he came over, helped me out of my clothes and made me lie face down on the bed. He opened a bottle of the massage oil for Christmas, poured it over my back and started to knead.

I carry stress in my muscles. I'm sure my back felt like a mass of steel columns when he started, but somehow, after much whimpering and sighing and hard work, I was on the mend. I could move without felling like my back was full of ground glass, and I was paying attention to my body instead of my worries.

A hand crept up between my legs and my body jerked away. I was shocked at how negative my reaction was.

"What is it?"

"It doesn't feel right."

"Stress?"

"Yes."

"What do you need?"

"To cry, I think." There was a catch in my voice. I could feel all the destructive emotion he'd worked out of my muscles welling into my stomach and throat. My face felt sour with tears, but I knew they wouldn't come.

"Let it out then, baby."

"I can't."

He'd been gently rubbing my lower back. He quickly sat up, drew back his hand, and swatted my ass.

I have never before been spanked on an oiled bottom. Holy God, was I hypersensitive. Never before was the sensation so intense. This coupled with my aforementioned state of extreme emotional toxicity made for a shocking combination of outrage, fear, and delight.

After a few more relatively gentle spanks, he paused. I fear such pauses more than anything else. It means he's gotten an idea. I kept my head down, buried in a pillow, stretch out on the bed and scared out of my wits.

"Are you okay, baby?" His voice was so gentle. I wanted to cry and couldn't.

"No. I need this."

"Let me know when you've had enough."

I nodded.

I head the jingle of a buckle now as he doubled over the belt. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

I have never before been whipped like that. He started out much more gently than usual, sticking to the most padded parts of my bottom, love taps with just enough snap to sting. Somehow, over what seemed like hours of spanking, he progressed to nearly full-strength, standing leverage strokes that made me scream. He began to concentrate of the most sensitive places on my lower bottom and thighs, the outside of my hips, even a few strokes over my shoulder blades. He usually spanks slow, giving me a chance to catch my breath between hard swats or sets, but this time was just a constant barrage of pain. The leather started to feel like fire.

Finally, whatever mental barrier I had put up finally collapsed. I started to cry. It felt better than I can describe. He nearly stopped, and I managed to gasp to keep going, I needed whatever all of the stress completely spanked out of me. He obliged.

Eventually, I wasn't even feeling individual strokes. I was completely limp, sobbing my heart out, not even managing so much as a flinch to the hardest strokes. He stopped, actually threw the belt aside (he told me later he had gone beyond what was his own limit and just couldn't bare to keep going), crawled over to the bed next to me and held me until I calmed down. Once I was cuddled to a very happy, if extraordinarily sore, girl, he helped me downstairs and into a hot shower.

After very carefully helping me wash and dry myself, I was carried upstairs, dressed in my comfiest pajamas, and tucked into bed. He held me until I fell asleep, which despite the pain in my ass took mere minutes (amazing for a borderline insomniac).

Today, I feel fantastic. If I was anyone else, I'd say I was in a ridiculous amount of pain. My lower bottom and upper thighs are pretty well one massive bruise. I can barely sit. From hips to knees I am still displaying the most lovely set of stripes and ghost welts.

I am the luckiest woman in the world.

2003-12-25T20:52:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, Kinksters!

I'll be back early in the new year...in the meantime, may your holidays be red hot!

Love, Danevah

2003-12-04T19:31:00.000-05:00

Jack and I are trying something new.

I am quite the baby when I am being spanked. For someone who ultimately enjoys and revels in it as much as I do, I wiggle and sob and cry out like someone was trying to kill me. Part of it is just a mental release thing: I am letting go of everything while I am bent over Jack's lap, and the most natural and cleasingly thing for me to do is yelp and cry and kick.

Jack decided recently thast he's like me to learn to be quiter. Not silent, which both of us agree wouldn't be natural, but to teach my body to find it's release in...other ways.

When he touches my clit directly, lightly rubs the pad of a finger over that naked bundle of nerves, I have a certain kind iof involuntary shudder that I do. He loves it. He decided that there was no reason I couldn't have a similar pleasurable reaction while being spanked.

Today we started training my body a little bit. I had my legs spread and back arched while I was on all fours on the bed, as open and vulnerable a position as I could manage. Using the leather paddle I hate/love so much, he would swat me and immediately after, would toucvh my clit. Just a gentle little rubm enough to bring on the shudder. After a while, he tried spanking me a few times without the little shudder-rub, and lo and behold my body remembered and I moed the same way anyway.

My body was then rewarded for having such a good memory...

2003-11-25T21:22:00.000-05:00

It was freezing up here in Canadia today. I broke out my giant silver marshmallow of a winter coat, sighed a final goodbye to any hope of unseasonable warmth coming back, and have hooked myself up to an IV drip of hot chocolate for the next few months.

I arrived at Jack's place a little after noon -- my class ran late. He was scowling at his computer monitor, punching the keys in staccato frustration as he attempted to delete a friendly little virus paying a visit to his hard drive. From his expression, and the length of time it took him to purge the bug from his box, sank all my hopes of any kind of gentle treatment this afternoon.

He finally swivelled around in his chair to look at me, steepled his hands and regarded me thoughtfully.

"Get undressed."

I hopped to my feet, discarded all offending garments, and stood by the bed with my head down and my hands at my sides.

He looked at me for a full minute or two longer. The he rose slowly, ambled over, and sat on the bed. The new leather paddle had already been laid out on the bed. He picked it up, hefted it gently, considered it's balance and weight., studying the implement with a cool, deliberate academic *slowness* that had be trembling before he even touched me.

When it comes to don/sub headgames, the boy has a Ph.D.

He gently placed one hand on my back and guided me over his lap. I stretched out over his knees, arching my back and keeping my bottom high and vulnerable like he'd taught me. He pressed down, nudging me to relax, so I was just lying across his lap instead of in a proper position. He rubbed my back and bottom, trailed his fingers over the backs of my legs, helping me relax and also making me more tense and frightened inside with each gentle touch.

The first time I felt the paddle's stiff black leather against my ass, it was a gentle, caressing pat.

I started to cry.

He gave a slight, satisfied sound, lifted his arm and started to spank.

It was a relatively mild spanking, particularly compared to some of our session with the crop and his belt when I've been particularly mullish or difficult. But there was something about the exact combination of stiffness and give on the five-inch-wide piece of leather, the weight and the impact that just broke me. I lay over his lap and sobbed. My ass was just a sweet rosy pink when he stopped, pulled me into his arms and held me. Some wonderful, warm, rather wet and giggly lovemaking followed as soon as I swallowed my tears.

Despite being such an absolute wuss the first time this paddle was used on me, I think this might become one of my favourite implements of all time. There is something about the pain (and believe me, this sucker *hurts*) that is exactly the right kind of good pain. It feels absolutely delicious, especially in my head. The psychological impact is exhilarating.

It was so amazing a feeling, in fact, that I seem to have been unable to refrain from touching myself since I left Jack's place. I've come three times without him.

Something tells me he's not going to be pleased about that.

hee.

2003-11-24T22:01:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

Nope. Didn't happen.

This weekend was probably one of the tamest we'd had since the beginning of our relationship. THis was the last weekend that the musical Jack has a lead in was running, and after 4 shows in a row, cast parties every night, and visiting friends and relatives to entertain, we were both (but particularly Jack) completely and utterly exhausted.

The only chance we had to get frisky at all was after 2 on Friday. We both looked at eachother, tore our clothes off, hopped into bed and were snoring in 20 seconds flat. For two people as ridiculously horny as we are (who don't live together either! *whine*) this was truly a remarkable event.

Things are looking up for our poor, neglected Danevah, however. The paddle I'd prdered a couple of weeks ago arrived today in a neat, discreet little parcel with 'leather crafts' written on the front. That made me giggle. Alway a fan of early Christmas presents, I immediately unwrapped it, and squealed.

This implement genuinely frightens me. I called Jack immediately, quite 'horrified,' and described the scary (and wonderfully finely crafted=)) piece of leather. He dialed the gravel and the silk into his voice and chuckled.

"So when do i get to see you?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Tomorrow, for a few hours."

"Good. I do hope you don't have anything very important to do in the afternoon."

"I have a presentation to give."

"That's a shame. I just wait to try out my new toy..."

When I ordered this paddle, i had kind of hoped it would be *my* implement -- something used on me when I was good, something I'd like more than the crop.

I'm thinking now I may have just placed another object in Jack's hand that does not bode well for my backside in any way.

Pray for me, and hope I remember to be a Very Good Submissive indeed. =)

2003-11-20T23:14:00.000-05:00

Sorry for that brief bit of downtime, everyone...a friend of mine made a comment or two that mad me terrified into thinking he'd found this blog, and so I rather quickly hid it for a little while. Turns out, he was just a smart ass. *sighs* I do hope he has someone to put him over their knee for such behavior...

There is a big event coming up in the sexual life of Young Danevah: this weekend, Jack and I will be trying anal sex for the first time. We did some shopping and picked up some lube and a few other little romantic accoutrements to help celebrate the event.

Over at Sweetness Follows... Mike and Michelle have a wonderfully hilarious and loving first-time-going-anal kind of story...I'm not sure whether I want their luck or not. One way or the other, I'll have some serious kind of interesting material to share with you lovely kinksters in the next few days. Wish me luck, it's time for my last shred of virginity to be obliterated. I can't wait. =)

2003-11-15T21:12:00.000-05:00

SpankBoss comes to the rescue again!

I've just perused an absolutely wonderful site, Woodrage Paddles, which in addition to being reasonably priced offers free shipping to us kinky Canadian folk. Danevah's first leather paddle is on the way. Yeah! I might save it for Christmas as a present to myself and Jack, but I highly doubt I'd ever be able to wait that long.

All things bright and kinky have had to be laid aside again temporarily in my world. My incredibly talented Jack has just started the performance run of the musical he currently has a lead in (have I mentioned how ridiculously proud of him I ma yet?) and has had to conserve his energy. He des get a break in the middle of the week, during which time I intend to plant myself directly in the middle of his life and spoil him absolutely rotten.

Since this rather scattered entry began with one about toys, I think it is appropriate that I write about the very first toy I ever bought: a black leather and rubber riding crop.

I was spanked for the first time, erotically, less than a year ago. Mid-February, I think (Jack actually remembers the "anniversary" =)). It was not until the beginning of this year that I began to explore my sexuality at all; I was still a virgin in March. All that I do with jack is still new, ridiculously exciting, fresh and completely terrifying to me. Under his kind and firm guidance I feel I have blossomed, becoming more vibrant and passionate for all he has taught and opened in me.

This summer, I took a 3-week long course at a Shakespearian festival that was several hours away from Jack and home. A friend and I and I spotted Bell's Custom Leather our first day there. She made some crack about there probably being "secret S&M section" in the back and I giggled nervously. The next day I managed to steal a glance in the window and spotted a rack full of whips, floggers and riding crops. It took my most of the rest of my stay to work up the nerve to go in.

I did it properly; I didn't just run in, grab the first painful-looking implement and throw money at the counter without even making eye contact with the salesperson. I walked in and made myself browse for a while, looking at T-shirts with the names of different local stables on them. I wandered down an aisle containing belts and found one that smelled wonderful and also made me distinctly nervous to look at, but it was well out of my price range. It reminded me a lot of the belt I bought for my ex (when I was still an oblivious little vanilla girl) in Italy, a supple piece of brown leather I had completely forgotten about until recently and now fiercely regret giving up. Anyway.

Finally I ambled over to wall and began of implements, and commenced shopping. I took my time. I tested a few on my palm, considered their balance and feel. The one I ended up buying felt the nicest to hold, just seemed right against my skin and, quite frankly, scared me to death. So I handed the girl who'd been watching me browse a ten dollar bill, made small talk, asked for a bag so I'd at least have some privacy smuggling it into the residence, and escaped. The whole experience was excruciating, but I think I did it right. One of the reasons that crop scares me so badly is that *I* bought the damned thing. That kind of admission, that I actually wanted it used on me, drives me absolutely crazy. I start to shake every time I see it in Jack's hand, not just out of memory and anticipation, but that beautiful shame that I bought it, I claimed my desire to have it, and there is no way I can hide from that.

The deeper I fall into my own fantasy, the less I want to hide, anyway.

2003-11-12T21:28:00.000-05:00

Two small things: I've been linked! hurrah!

SpankBoss over at The Spanking Blog has already added me to his list of spanking journals. Isn't that cool? feel the love =)

On a slightly less-happy note, I just wanted to say it is really annoying to try and order any fun toys, being Canadian. I just tried to order a paddle, and was informed that I'd have to pay *over $20* to get is shipped, on top of exchange to get is shipped to my place.

Sigh. Pleasure somes at a price, I guess. =)

2003-11-12T21:21:00.000-05:00

One day late, here is the Jack and Danevah reunion entry. The tardiness is a result of a combination of procrastination and unexpected business. I know, I know, no excuses. I shall punish myself later. =)

After what seemed to be the longest Reformation history lecture in all Christendom, Jack came to pick me up. He takes such good care of me. On the drive back to his house, he let his fingers creep up under my skirt and brush my leg. In addition to simply feeling very nice, this is his way of testing if I'm in the mood ( I don't know why he bothers; generally, if he's around, I'm in the mood). When I'm feeling particularly frisky, I usually end up in the bathroom for a thorough self grooming session and some playing with myself, not necessarily in that order. If my legs are freshly shaven, it's usually a sure -fire sign I've been doing some rather active daydreaming.

Smooth as glass yesterday, folks.

Jack grinned in his wolfish way and turned on his Growly Dom voice. He's a semi-professional singer and has the most lovely baritone-bass voice, and when he dials a note of gravel into it, that alone is enough to make me start to puddle. By the time we pulled into his driveway, I was aching.

So, naturally, his roommate ToiletPaperEater (I'll explain that nickname sometime) was home. This gave Jack and extra hour to torture me, occasionally leaning over to whisper what he couldn't wait to do to my defenseless little body as soon as we were alone.

After a interminable period of time (during which I was not allowed to look at a clock) we finally heard a car pull away. While Jack poked around downstairs to make sure the house was clear, I took the opportunity to peel off my sweater, jeans and by now sodden undies, and take down my hair (I have natural light blond hair that hangs past my hips). An irrisistable sight, me naked and waiting for him, and one I hoped would make him attack me as soon as he opened the door.

He walked in, looked at me calmly, and said "Rather eager, are we? Just for that, you're not coming for at least an hour and a half."

Cue whining.

It started with a massage. I laid on my stomach, sighing and whimpering while he rubbed aloe lotion into my back and legs, lingering over my ass and inner thighs. He has the most beautiful long-fingered hands, and has a way of touching me that is almost beyond description. I let my body relax completely, closed my eyes and just basked in the way he was touching me. I was so wrapped up in my cocoon of tactile euphoria that I didn't;t even notice his hands leave me when he got up.

The crop came down hard across my ass.

"Get up," he ordered.

I snapped in to sub mode almost instantly and was on my feet halfway through a startled scream. I stood shivering a moments with my hands at my sides while he came up close behind me, kissing we and biting at my neck and should, trailing the crop across my stomach.

Then he grabbed a fistful of my hair and shove me forward and down. I caught myself on my hands on the bed, so I was bent over at the waist. He gently repositioned me so that my back was dipped and my legs spread, completely exposed and vulnerable to him.

"Now all you have to do," He growled, almost gently, "is maintain form. Be a good girl."

I like -- no, I am more comfortable with -- slow, gradual warm-ups. Jack likes to keep my off balance and deep in subspace by starting hard and fast, bringing me to the verge of tears then slowing, taking his time once I'm already sore and ready to beg. He brought the crop down again and again across my ass and thighs, making me yelp and buck. He had covered my ass with red triangular welts by the time tears welled up and I choked out a 'please.'

He paused, rubbed his hands gently over my sore flesh, kissed my back. He told me to crawl forward on the bed, so I was kneeling on all fours. He brought down the crop again, this time with stroked still sharp but a little less forceful, and little more sensual, paying particular attention to my inner thighs and the most sensitive spot on my bottom, the crease where I sit. I was sobbing, tears dripping into my hair, but also getting more wet that though possible.

Finally he laid the crop aside and ran his hands all over me. I could barely stay upright on all fours but he made me stand. He knelt down then between my legs and began to lick between my legs, fining my clit throbbing and so sensitive I was barely able to stand the touch of his tongue. He wrapped his arms around me and held me upright and I screamed and shuddered through my first orgasm.

I was still panting when he laid me down on the bed and picked up the crop again. This time he brought it down with quick little slaps against my pussy while I twitched and cried out. He held my pussy lips open and gently slapped against my clit, making me scream, and after a moment I came again.

This is only the second time he's ever made me come by hitting my clit with the crop, something that is still very difficult for me to handle emotionally. I'm still dealing with the implications of much of what we do in my own head. Making me come this way makes me cry. He laid beside me and held me, kissed my face and stroked my hair while I clung to him. I'm still very need in terms of aftercare, and it takes me a while to come down. This time he even sang quietly to me until I was quiet.

"I was very proud of you," he said, which made my heart feel like bursting for joy (I love and thrive on praise), "you almost stayed standing. Almost. There's always room for improvement.

He made me come three more times, one by slipping his fingers inside my and gently rocking against my g-spot, and twice by sucking on my nipples ( as there was just no way my clit was n any condition to be touched again for a little while). I'm hypersensitive and can come in some unconventional ways, but that's an entry for another time.

After that is was naptime. I told you he wears me out. Today I am still deliciously sore and sporting a few lingering marks, and one lovely little bruise on the inside of my right thigh. I may just be the luckiest and most spoiled sub in the world. I can't wait to see him again.

2003-11-10T21:59:00.000-05:00

To explain the title, No Longer Mine:

I've always been an extremely independent person. Independent learner, independent thinker; if I have one dominant feature that spills over into everything else it is a tendency to be different. I started university at 17 and hope to have a Ph.D. by 25 or 26. I'm energetic and loud and a bit of an iconoclast, not to mention just basically kind of odd. All of this has combined to make me a rather self-possessed individual, someone who is fiercely proud of my mental independence.

Then I met Jack. And I found, one day, that I was no longer my own. Somehow we'd made a slow transition, beginning with playful spankings that turned me on for foreplay, into a, exquisite benevolent dictatorship (a phrase Jack uses, and which I also stole from the fantastic site Taken in Hand) of a relationship. I had offered myself to him, and submitted to him. What an extraordinary idea.

I'm not always a very good submissive. I forget the higher kind of freedom submitting gives me, and can become small, and stubborn, and closed down again. Thankfully I have found the most fantastic man who cares for me enough to being me back under loving control and remind me just how good it feels to be on the bottom.

I'm a lucky little Princess, let me tell you.

Tonight I shaved my legs and my pussy. I'd let it go to peach fuzz, crisp yellow and amber-coloured down. Preparing my body for Jack is always the first step towards getting myself into a state. The way my skin feels, all sleek and smooth and clean, reminds me every time I move of how badly I want to be touching him. I'm finally feeling better, and taking fewer and fewer painkillers, and think I can risk a little play tomorrow with Jack when I see him. It's probably a little early, what with the stitches barely falling out, but I can't stand not being touched and fucked and loved for a whole other day.

Have I mentioned I'm a rather horny little creature, too?

Hopefully, I should have one heck of a story to tell tomorrow night to get this blog rolling properly. If I'm still conscious, of course. That boy does tend to wear me out...

2003-11-10T09:39:00.000-05:00

Well, it looks like blogger is going to be my new home. I'm terribly excited about this. Can you see me jumping up and down in peurile joy? Can you?

I have a public, vanilla blog somewhere, but as of late that seems to be functioning as little more than a replacement for mass email. My friends pop in to update themselves on what's going on in my life, what I'm whining about today. I've gotten into trouble for posting even the most mildly honest and confessional material there, and was feeling increasingly bogged down by the weight of trying to censor myself. And one thing you need to know about me right off the bat: that little barrier between 'think' and 'say' tends to be broken about 98.9% of the time. Needless to say, the censored vanilla blog wasn't working out for me overmuch.

So here I am with a brand new blogger, about to make my first leap into the great wide world of kinky blogging.

When do I choose to make this great leap? Oh yeah. A few days after I had my wisdom teeth out. That, my friends, is Bad Pain. And so here I sit, swollen and splotched with yellow bruises around my jaw, nothing kinky having happened to me in a week. A Week. At least the painkillers are good.

Enough complaining. A little intro: I am a 20-year-old English major finishing her last year as an undergrad and feverishly applying to grad schools all over the Big Cold Place you for'ners call Canada. I'm small (5'2", 125 lbs at the moment), blonde (carpet matches the drapes), wear thick glasses, and have far to much energy for one human being. I am also just discovering and beginning to explore, as I have been over the past year or so, my own sexuality and innate kink.

And here's the place I'm going to try and record it. So whaddaya think? Sound good to you?

Good. =)

welcome to the neighbourhood. =)