Posts Tagged ‘change’


That’s right, I’ve moved to a new self hosted site stellakiink.com. This blog will remain active for now but will be closed and redirected to the new site soon. Even though I’ve posted on various social media accounts I know not everyone will be aware of the move until they come here to check in.

As part of this move I will be transferring current subscribers to the new site, hopefully. I’m not very technically inclined so there’s a realistic chance it won’t work. If you currently follow me here I want to thank you for all your support and urge you to go over to the new site, stellakiink.com, bookmark it and subscribe there. I’ve already made a couple posts today and I wouldn’t want you to miss anything. 🙂

I look forward to having you all by my side on this new adventure.


P.S. This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is “Try something new.” It’s been a while since I’ve posted to Wicked Wednesday, but I felt it apt to post this notice as I started posting for Wicked Wednesday from the very beginning of my very first blog. It somehow feels right that my last post here will be to the Wicked Wednesday meme as well.


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Just Smile

Sometimes a smile is all you need.20141122-151126.jpg

When we are happy we can’t help but smile. Big grins ear to ear. Or maybe a coy smile, the kind we make when thinking about a loved one, the kind we make when we think nobody is watching.

There is more to the smile than the the actual smile too. There are the eyes. They light up when you have a genuine smile. There is a twinkle, a glow. Even if you are one of those people who doesn’t have a big grin to show off, you still have eyes that portray the smile your lips don’t.

When we feel down and blue we don’t often smile, but a smile from somebody else can make our day. It doesn’t have to be from anyone in particular, a total stranger will do, but somehow that smile touches us and makes us feel we aren’t alone.

When I look back at times in my life when I have struggled it was the kindness of strangers that helped me through. Their smile and helping hand did more for me than and doctor or pill or therapist could. They did more for me because I could see the genuine desire they had to help. They weren’t helping because they would earn a dollar by doing so. They weren’t helping because they got a kick-back form some pharmaceutical company. They helped because it made them feel good, and that showed in their smile.

20141122-151110.jpgThe same holds true for our partners, whether they be strictly play partners or forever loves. There is a joy that shows thru when they are truly enjoying what they are doing. We can’t help but notice even if they don’t. Even the sadist has a smile. A wicked evil one that may leave you scared of what could be coming next, but still you can see the genuine pleasure they are experiencing in the moment.

For those times when you are alone, when there is no stranger or partner or friend to give you the smile you need, just smile yourself. I’m not sure if this is a “fake it ’till you make it” kind of thing, or if it’s the smile that makes you happy versus being happy that makes you smile, but either way it will work. Come on, try it. 🙂


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I yearn. I don’t just long for or want or desire, I yearn.

A friend of mine is a Jehovah’s Witness and she was telling me recently how they came out with a new bible in modern day language. I doubt there will be LOLing in it, or twerking for that matter, but it is updated to make it easier for the vast majority of people to understand. She was quite excited by this. I was doubtful, but after getting a look at one I think it is terrible.

Regardless of what anyone may think of god, faith, or religion (which aren’t one in the same), or even if you don’t believe in any of it, you have to admit that the bible is a masterpiece of writing. It contains 66 books, nearly 1200 chapters, written by more than 40 people in 3 languages over a span of 1500 years. The language, the style of it, varies throughout. There is poetry and prose, historical accounts and prophecy. There are idioms, similes, parables, metaphors, and paradoxes. There is imagery, symbolism, personification, and parallelism. You will find even more great wordplay in the original language of the texts that was lost when it was translated to English.

Not that I read it really but I used to and I will still occasionally read something if I am going to visit a certain family member. It makes her feel good that I know it and we have some great conversations. If I didn’t read it I couldn’t properly question or criticize, or even agree which does happen. The thing is, I like the “old fashioned” romantic language of the bible I am used to. I like the yearning and charity, the thou and unto. I like the revelries, the palaces, the long-suffering and the worthy. Now there is longing for, love, you, and to. There are parties and houses, there are the patient and the good. Ok, so you understand the new words better, but why can’t you learn the old words, the beautiful words? Why dumb it down rather than teach people to understand? I don’t think the bible is the be all end all, but it is a great piece of writing and I hate seeing it dumbed down. It loses so much. Yearning, for example, elicits much more urgency than mere want or desire.

The language, even though translated, is beautiful. It takes some effort to work through some of the things the writers were trying to say, but that is what I like about it. It’s like breaking down a Robert Frost poem or a Shakespeare sonnet to understand its true meaning. The days of “See Spot. See Spot run” have long passed. If what I am reading doesn’t make me use my brain I’m not interested. And it has to be about more than the story. It has to be about the words and the way they are used, but it can also be about the story behind the story. I am a big fan of Edgar Allan Poe’s work but I am also intrigued by his life and the circumstances of his life when he wrote some of his works.

On to word porn. Now this is one of my favorite Facebook communities and Twitter handles. There seems to be a bit of repetition but I get something from it every single time they show up in my timelines. Some days it’s a quote or passage from a book, others it’s a new word. I finally found out want wonderwall means and how long ago did that song come out? I’m not going to do it here, but when I was in school and we’d have a list of new words to learn the meaning of each week I would always write a story with those words. We only had to use one or two words, but I have one I’ve kept that has a month’s worth  of words in it. Overachiever much? Yeah, that was me.

vocabularyThe quotes aren’t always thought provoking on their own, but the comments people make and the authors they introduce me to are. Take this post they put up last week. “Don’t underestimate the seductive power of a decent vocabulary.” Decent? That’s what they said. Decent. My first thought was how sad it is that a decent is something great. What ever happened to being well read? Then another follower posted this response, “just a ‘decent’ vocabulary? what about the power of an expansive vocabulary or a remarkable vocabulary or an idiosyncratic vocabulary or a deliberate vocabulary or an unrestricted vocabulary or a vocabulary that swims through the more elusive parts of what it means to communicate emotions?” Well said!

It is just another symptom of dumbing down for the masses, of being lazy, rather than teaching them to learn. I met a young man not too long ago who wants to be a pilot. Problem is he graduated high school not being able to read or write. He graduated! No teacher thought it was important for him to be able to read or write. They thought he was smart enough to pass, to graduate and go out into the world to find a job and make a living for himself and one day his family. Sure, he can put down on his job application that he is a high school graduate, or he could, if he knew what the application was asking and how to write it. He’s had to go back to school to learn how to read and write on his own dime because there is no way he will make it through to be a pilot without being able to read the manuals and study them. Even if he wanted to be something else, he would never make it through college or university with the education he received.

It scares me to think of what school will be like for my son. I will have to push and teach him the things they no longer teach in the schools. I will have to give him words to learn. I will have to teach him how to write with a pencil and paper. I will have to show him how to do math without a calculator. I will have to teach him deductive reasoning. I will have to introduce him to books, real books. I will have to get him involved in sports and outdoor activities to get him away from constantly sitting behind a computer screen. I will have to instill in him a desire to learn and to not accept decent as being good enough.

An intelligent heart acquires knowledge, and the ear of the wise seeks knowledge ~ Proverbs 18:15



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Trained Myself Well

This week’s prompt for Wicked Wednesday is training. It was meant to relate to sex but there is more I’d like to say on the topic.

There are many kinds of training we go through during our lives, right from the day we are born. Our parents train us to eat and sleep at certain times, to get up and walk, to talk and use our manners. They teach us, at least they should teach us, to have a sense of self worth that is not based on what others think of us or what possessions we may have. This is one lesson most of us find hard to learn and no matter how many people try to tell us these things don’t matter we can only train ourselves to get past it, to not let those things influence us. It isn’t something someone else can train you to do, it is something we have to figure out on our own. Yes, it does help to have some great role models and older women in our lives who exude that confidence so that we may see it and learn from them.

Aside from constantly having media bombard us with images of what beauty is supposed to be (and not all the “beauty is on the inside” stuff that we know really matters), they also tell us that without the perfect body and flawless skin nobody will want us. If nothing else, I know this isn’t true. I’ve never had any issue meeting men, potential sex or relationship partners, and aside from a select few I’ve always been the one to end things, not them. I touched on this topic in the Body Issue post I wrote when I first started blogging. Even now, a year and a half and more than 250 posts later, it is the most requested piece I’ve written. People want to hear that there isn’t something wrong with them. They want to know that they can have a fulfilling life, including sex, no matter what size and shape they may be.

There was an article I came across on Facebook a couple of days ago, I’m Fat, 40 and Single—And I’ve Been Getting Laid Like Crazy, that made me think of my earlier post again. It also made me think about the real life things I post here now, the pictures and pieces about my submission and sex life in general. The personal things I never thought I would share when I first started blogging. I could have written that article. I’m fat, I’m 41, having a non-monogamous relationship with my Sir, and I’ve been getting a lot of darn good sex in the past few years. I’ve not had an abundance of different sexual partners though, less than ten in the past three years. I did the big casual sex thing twenty years ago. In fact, I had more sexual partners during my first five years of having sex than I have in the past twenty years.

Ok, back on track…

One of the things I found interesting about the I’m Fat, 40 and Single—And I’ve Been Getting Laid Like Crazy article is that she was surprised by the great sex life she is having. She was surprised by the number of men who genuinely found her attractive, even though she described herself as “reasonably pretty, in a natural, low-maintenance, naughty librarian kind of way… fiercely intelligent, deeply hilarious, casually stylish, utterly unselfconscious and really, genuinely nice.” I am not surprised in the least that she has been having this great sexual adventure. Even though she believes these things of herself, she doubted others would see past the not so perfect, not up to media standards, woman she is. She let others influence how she thought she would be seen.

I don’t much care what others think usually.  I’m a big girl, I have the caesarian pooch, a scar down the middle of my chest and another on my breast. I have plenty of cellulite and tree-trunk legs. I am soft and have a substantial sized arse. I know these things, am keenly aware of them at times, yet completely oblivious at others. That doesn’t mean that I let them define me, that I let the media and ignorant comments from strangers get to me. I used to. I used to be so very self conscious of all my flaws, especially that big heart surgery scar I’ve been carrying around with me for more than thirty-five years. Now I flaunt them. I flaunt the fact that I am still alive after all I’ve been through and celebrate the life I do have. It took a long time to be able to that. It took a lot of hard work, a lot of effort and practice, to have a sense of self worth based on, well, myself. I think I’ve trained myself well.

Wicked Wednesday

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need / nēd
verb: need; 3rd person present: needs; past tense: needed; past participle: needed; gerund or present participle: needing; modal verb: need
  1. 1.
    require (something) because it is essential or very important. “I need help now”
    not want to be subjected to something. “I don’t need your sarcasm”
  2. 2.
    expressing necessity or obligation. “need I say more?”
  3. 3.
    archaic be necessary. “lest you, even more than needs, embitter our parting”
noun: need; plural noun: needs
  1. 1.
    circumstances in which something is necessary, or that require some course of action; necessity. “the basic human need for food”
  2. 2.
    a thing that is required. “his day-to-day needs”


    “I want you to hold me, to hurt me, and to comfort me when you are done.”

    That is what I told Him today. I lied. I don’t want it, I need it.

    Just as He needs to give a beating, I need to take one.

    I need to be spanked or flogged or beaten, maybe all three, maybe more.

    I need to feel pain beyond the pleasure, until it subsides and sends me off into peaceful subspace.

    I need my brain to shut down, to reset itself.

    I need to fight and cry and scream.

    I need to release what has built up, what I have held on to for far too long.

    I need to be punished, for something, I don’t even know what.

    I can’t do it myself.

    I try, but there is only so much one can inflict on oneself before self preservation kicks in and it stops.

    I can’t hurt myself the way I need to be hurt.

    I can’t cause the pain that needs to be felt.

    I can’t let go without being forced to, without knowing there will be comfort once I do.

    I can’t explain it, rationalize it.

    I just know, innately, this is something that I need.

    I don’t want you to hold me, to hurt me, or to comfort me when you are done.

    I need you to.

    I need you to hold me.

    I need you to hurt me, to bring tears, to have me beg.

    I need you to comfort me, to make a safe space for me.

    I need you to make me do what I can not do myself.

    I don’t want you to.

    I need you to.

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This is a continuation of the Life With Victor (LWV) series. You can catch up here if you have not been following along.


I love you baby. Everything is going to be ok. I am here, I have you, I won’t ever let you go. It’s ok baby. Let it out, let it go. I’m here…

And he was there, every moment of every day. He even took time from work so I wouldn’t be alone. I honestly didn’t even realize, I was so caught up in my own little world, processing my thoughts, emotions. It is funny, in a really not so funny kind of way, how things from so long ago can affect one so deeply. It shook me to my core.

I don’t know how long we were there, in that field, me crashing and him supporting me while I did. The rain, unnoticed, had started at some point and had drenched us both. There are fuzzy memories of him leading me back to the rental house, undressing me, bathing me, and putting me to bed. There may have been some aspirin involved, or a sleeping aid of some sort, I don’t quite recall.

The next week would be filled with little more than fuzzy memories. Even the weeks at home following it were little more than what amounted to sleep walking, going through the motions. He went back to work and eventually, so had I.

We still hadn’t talked about it, but I knew. I knew ending up there was no coincidence. I never talked about my Mother, rarely ever speak of my family at all. How did he know that was the place? I had never told him about it, had I? Yet somehow, he knew not only the place but that I needed it. I needed to remember that moment, to bring it to the now, to let it go. It had been such a burden on my soul. It’s one of those things you don’t even realize until you actually do something about it. I was thankful he had led me there, still, I was pained.

When Victor came home from work today I greeted him with a cool drink, a hot meal, and a kiss. The first I had initiated since that day. He looked at me, concern still present, searching my face, my eyes, to see what was going on inside. I could see the question in his eyes, he wasn’t sure if I had begun to move forward or back to denial. He should have known denial was no longer an option. I smiled and nodded, my eyes closing for the briefest moment, and in that moment I was relieved of all the pain, the angst, the questions, the weight that had held me down for so long. It was magic. When I opened my eyes again I saw in him the recognition of that, the relief that spread almost instantly across his face.

He leaned down and kissed me gently, tentatively, still unsure if he should press further. I realized then just how hard it had been for him, watching me suffer and struggle and not being able to help in the ways he was used to. He could not force me to process more quickly. He could not beat it out of me. He could not control any of it. He was left helpless, at my mercy. Knowing he was doing what was best for me in the long term had left him in complete turmoil and unknown standing in the short term. How could I have not noticed? How could I have not seen the pain my pain was causing him?


I moved into him, into that safe warm place under his chin and against his chest. I held him. I squeezed him. I stroked him. I told him I loved him. I thanked him for doing that for me, for releasing me from a past that held me back for far too long. I told him it was the most loving, unselfish thing anyone had ever done for me. I told him I would never, could never, leave him. I told him he had my heart, that I was his alone and always would me.

He told me that he loved me more than he ever thought possible to love another human being. He told me that he would always do what was best for me. He told me I was forever his and he would be forever mine. We belong to each other, he said. Then he led me by the hand upstairs to our room and we made love, gently, tenderly, as if for the first time. There were no commands, no toys, no whips or gags or binding. There was no protocol, no Master, no little whore. There was just us.

I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
~ Pablo Neruda


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The prompt for Wicked Wednesday this week is Envelope. I considered submitting a piece I was already working on, or writing another piece, but something else was calling me. An envelope tucked away in a drawer.


What does this envelope contain? Pictures of course. Polaroid pictures.
(Come on everyone.. you got to shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture, shake it like a Polaroid picture… heeeyyy… yaaaaaaa..)


I wasn’t sure which pics were in this envelope as there have been a few over the years. I was hoping this was the one I started after I moved into my first apartment. Every man who came in to that apartment was required to pose for a dick pic. Yeah, it’s true what they say, beware of the quiet girls.


This wasn’t the dick pics envelope. It was a pack from a play night during the early Dreaded Whistler days.


The good thing about unearthing these pics was realizing that they didn’t affect me anymore. It was time to let them go, dispose of them.


Up in flames


Click the below to see how others are being wicked this Wednesday…


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