And I know the night is fading, and I know that time's gonna fly

 Writing without vaping is a bit more challenging than I expected. Well to be honest, I never really expected to be writing without vaping, so my expectations were skewed accordingly. Yet here we are. I've lost count of how long it has been. I am pretty certain it has been over 100 days now. Please note, when I say it is a challenge, I am not sure that's the best word for it. When I quit smoking cigarettes, I experienced moments of depression so intense that I felt unsafe. Writing without a vape feels like when a gnat is flying around you at the beach. It's not causing you any harm at all, but you can't seem to just not notice it even though you're at the beach, otherwise having a wonderful time. I am very aware that I am typing and that there isn't a cloud of strawberry scented vapor over my head. I'm not sad about it, not even stressed, I just can't seem to ignore that I am aware of it. 

Someone asked me recently how I quit smoking. I spared them the minutia. We all know the tools that are available, if you really want to a soup can will work as well as a hammer. The only part that matters is the part where you really want to. I quit because the version of me that lived in my top's imagination was somehow cooler than who I imagined myself to be. No easy feat, I think I'm the bees' knees. 

The other day I stumbled across some angry posts about the realness of porn. I don't wish to be shown more angry posts debating the realness of porn so I didn't engage. But of course, I have opinions, and it's your lucky day.   

In the quibbling twittering I eavesdropped on, the OP remarked that porn is fake. To which another little bird said that that's why they like amateur porn. Then many little blue birds chirped that amateur porn is fake too. If the scene when Alan Rickman plumets to his death makes me wet, does that mean Die Hard is porn and not a Christmas movie? 

I don't know why realness would be a component of factoring quality or value. And if it is to be a factor, what do you even mean when you say real? I have never heard of a porn star using a stunt pussy. I mean I make amateur movies, perhaps on big budget sets that's the norm, what do I know. I have heard people devalue porn because it doesn't showcase how people really have sex. I suppose that's pretty accurate. Lights off, wrapped in blankets and thrusting may or may not feel good but it definitely isn't visually stimulating. 

I think amateur porn, like any commercial art, is some imprecise ratio of this is what I enjoy creating, this is what I imagine my audience wants to consume, and I hope it pays the bills. 

I was curled up on and around my top. He had just paddled my feet, at my request, on camera.  I was crying hard. I was professing my love, confessing my fears; an uninitiated observer may have thought I was intoxicated. My top was stroking my hair, rubbing my back, I heard his light bulb spark and then he said this is what we should be recording, and he turned my camera back on. Then he started <censored> while reminding me to look at the camera. 

Our angry twittering friends probably have never had sexy time that looked or felt like this. Perhaps one can't miss what they have never had, and it's all for the best. But never have I ever faked an O or lived a life that wasn't authentic. 

And I Promisie that I'll Run Away with You

 Guess what?

 Do you give up? You should, it'll help keep the tempo if you give in quickly, k?

If we're blue-bird friends or insta-besties, if you pay me any attention at all, (and doesn't everyone?) you already know. 

Two more sleeps and this Goddess will be half a century! I've been saying I'm almost fifty since like I don't know 45. It seems appropriate to upgrade and call myself half a century now. 

Are you in your 30s? Terrified of aging? Listen, most grown-ups are liars, this shit rocks. 

Okay fine like 2% of this is bravado. Mostly because death terrifies me, not aging. I love my life; I want to do this for a wicked long time, and I notice the clock has likely half run out. But aside from that, aging is so fucking cool. Pay no mind to anyone who says otherwise. 

It's been on my agenda to post for weeks. I mean how else will I hear, I love your blog, if there isn't a new post to love? But I have been soooo busy. There was a vanilla vacation. A couple pictures of Cassidy braving the rope course crossed over, you may have seen them. I jetted up to NH to attend Ela-One's SW'ers Summit this weekend. Then drove home contemplating how fortunate I am to be part of such a vibrant community. Fiona Pup had an ouchie of unknown origin. She's healed but looks quite silly only rocking one bracelet now. I've teamed up with a new-to-me creator, Bailey Wilde. Some teasers have been shared in the usual spots, probably won't have a chance to post the good stuff until after my birthday. 

And most importantly, I have been fully submerged in this lovefest with my top and his new pet/my new playmate, S2. Do you subscribe to that idea that'd be wicked hard to find a 3rd who you and your partner both like, who in turn likes both you and your partner? I did too, turns out, that's why you can't find one- cuz you're all whining about how they don't exist. Shut-up, go have fun and Ta Da, there's your unicorn. Ours rocks. She's a Gemini, of course. She gave me a book. She gave me a personalized book detailing my birth chart. Ya no, take it, I had no big plans for my heart, it's yours. I think you'll enjoy it; it's shown itself to be so resilient. Expect to see full dork moments like long distance dance parties, and for The Cure to be featured far too often in my insta posts.  

This probably needs a more thorough proof and edit. Definitely want to add some pics too. But know what? I have plans, life is short, posting is a top priority, editing is not. 

Kismet and Fate

I love the serendipitous nature of the universe. I find it fascinating, and humbling, to contemplate the precise points where it seems some random, insignificant event altered my path in a significant, life changing manner. 

Did you see the Alchemy post   on Fet? Have you been holding your breath ever since? Breathe silly, nice and slow, I want you fully present. 

So one day, oh I don't know probably 6 months ago, I was scrolling the gram. NBD, just mindlessly killing time. A post caught my eye and sparked my rage. 

It shouldn't have upset me.

A thing can only be truly upsetting if you care about the person saying it or if the insult they're throwing resonates with you, right? Like if you were to say I am the worst baseball player in the world, who cares? I give no fucks at all about baseball, and probably give no fucks about you. 

I didn't know the person who posted it. It was a multi-slide reel detailing why "Unicorn Hunters" suck. If you and your partner only wish to date hot, sane, non-toxic, employed, bi-bitches, you suck and you have "couple privilege".  

According to the poster's detailed checklist, I suck so hard. 

I didn't know the person who posted it. So why did it sting so sharply? 

It really wasn't quite the intended message, but the takeaway I heard the loudest was, I'm not going to find what I want in a new partner because I am too needy, my wishes are too obscure and really at the end of the day, I don't deserve a partner of the caliber I am aiming for. 

Did I quietly reflect on this? Fuck no, I recognized quickly it was a bunch nonsense and dismissed it. To make sure my subconscious was really clear that we were not co-signing such rubbish, I penned a post on Fetlife. The title was, "Un-Ethical Non-Mono Unicorn Hunters", and the vibe was a tongue in cheek post about why you should be flattered if you catch the eye of my top and I. 

How would I have spent last Tuesday if some c--- (oh we aren't saying that word again) on the internet hadn't hurt me in my feelings a little? I love you cantankerous internet stranger. I sincerely hope you are having the best day ever. Because how I did spend my Tuesday was getting to know a hot, sane, non-toxic, employed, bi cutie, with my top.  We were tucked into a little cabin, being watched over by squirrels and, oh it stings to write this, spiders without spinnerets, playing and giggling. Fully committing to following our bliss and living our best lives ever. 

My goals, wishes, fantasies are outrageously unrealistic. The universe delights in granting them all, because I deserve them all. 

Let's Over Share

One of the articles I read while Googling in the waiting room of the ER suggested letting go of being embarrassed, and to consider it a badge of honor.

Alright let’s do that.

Ms. Cassidy is such a badass, so committed to the exploration of pleasure, that she spent several hours in the Emergency Room. She officially earned her "Survived Mortification" badge. 

How far back should I rewind to share this story? Then he said after dark, no wait that may be much too far back. Yesterday my top and I were having a general check-in and catch-up conversation. It was lovely, relaxed and informal. My top has an expectation that I speak like a lady. It’s a reasonable request, not that it must be. I have agreed he can ask anything of me, reasonableness is not a prerequisite. But again, this one is reasonable. Mostly, in the real world and in the fantasy world where I exist, I prefer gentle language as well. Um, except for when I don’t, sometimes F-bombs, suggestions to choke on **** and C-words just rain down on everyone. So, while all relaxed, informal, and engaged in a lovely conversation I may have casually said, “…jaded, bitter, c***.” I don't know, it seemed appropriate in context at the time.

The punishment he assigned was, compared to past punishments, lighter. I had to write fifty times; I will talk like a lady when I am speaking to my master. These were to be penned while, see I’m embarrassed already. Badge of honor, written with a butt plug inside of his pet. Oh, that helped too, his pet. That’s a standard when I am punished. I sought out and bought plugs I believed safer for extended use. Those pretty, sparkly ones are cute but using one while sitting for an extended period seemed like it would lead to one’s sphincter- did I really just write that word in my blog? You did, keep typing. OK it seems to me that a little round button of a jewel might just push on one’s sphincter enough to just pop inside, and wouldn’t that be a nightmare? So I, wishing to avoid nightmares, bought a collection of little pink plugs with anchor-like bases. They were too cheap; I remember thinking that. But also, they’re just little silicone toys. I’m such an elitist snob to question the quality because they are fairly priced, right?

I took a picture of the toy and thought of a silly and teasing thing I would say to my top later. I prepared to carry out my punishment, and I snapped another picture. This one was all legs and ass, if I am being punished my top should get to enjoy it, right? Then I sat down and zoned out writing.  

I zone out so hard when I am writing lines. My thoughts become so fluid, and my body feels like it is vibrating. I really should mind my language. Crass is not the impression I ever wish to make. It is a reasonable request. Requests from a top are essentially the same as limits. Would I violate a sub if they said cursing was a hard limit? Master John has such a gentle vernacular. It conveys patience. I am so lucky to belong to such a patient, gentle natured yet hardcore sadist. Oh this hurts a little, punishments hurt, relax and finish writing.

I finished and emailed my top the completed assignment, the teasing comments, the xxx picture, and my sincere affirmation that I will curb my language. Then I spent a moment tuning in to the experience I was having, all of it. How sweet our conversation had been. How much I appreciate his thoughts on everything. What is the depth of gratitude? 

The toy started to feel a bit pinchy. I decided I had pondered these thoughts enough for the night and I should take it out. And as I am gripping on one wing of that anchor-like base, my fluid, flowing thoughts are snapping back to attention. What is happening here? This doesn’t feel right. Then all synapsis were screaming, get it right now, something is wrong, just as the wing tore off in my hand and the rest of the toy slid all the way inside.

Once I got the blinding panic under control, I called Master John who helped me relax further. Unfortunately, even after laughing and relaxing well, it was clear I wasn’t going to be able to retrieve it on my own. He helped me find my courage, strategize how to manage my embarrassment and sent me to the ER. I engaged with a triage nurse, a physician assistant, a radiologist and a doctor; each of them helped me laugh through my embarrassment, and each assured me they have seen this a dozen times before. It was able to be retrieved without surgery, thankfully.

Master John’s pet survived this mortifying ordeal without lasting injury or scars; and feels ever braver for having the experience.

I mean, probably not so brave as to ever say the C-word within earshot of Master John, but the rest of you, perhaps I’ll see you next Tuesday. 

Alright, hold tight, well I don't even know

If I'm doing this right 

My audience on OnlyFans is a different demographic than the submissives I engage with in person. I've allowed my OnlyFans to evolve into a space that serves my exhibitionist fantasies, with less exclusivity to BDSM. In that way it is exactly serving and meeting my needs as a dominant, alpha female; but it is more vanilla friendly.  

A fan messaged me the other day inquiring about in person sessions. I replied as I do, tell me your BDSM goals. They responded by saying that they had no idea, they had never considered exploring D/s but I make it seem like so much fun that they feel like they're missing out now. 

What an affirmation that I am doing my job well. What an affirmation that I am living my life well. I can no longer tell where one stops and the other begins. They embrace each other, blend and bleed into each other. 

I've wanted to do a day in the life sort of entry for so long. It's challenging, so many of the very best parts just can't be shared here. 

Every morning I greet my top. I am dressed, my makeup is on, and I look my best. If it's a morning that is bending to my will, as most do, I have meditated and reflected on my gratitude for at least 5 minutes. If it is a challenging morning, some are, I re-order time and space so I can spend at least 20 minutes reflecting on my gratitude. I won't have my whole day undone by a little morning glitch. 

Every day I thank my top with sincerity. It is my most favorite part of my morning. It is this ever-growing, positive feedback loop that just continues to grow through infinity. I am finding it challenging to share, but I really want to. A person I hold in the highest regard is happy to know that I do, he wishes to hear that I do, I am more than happy to affirm because it makes me feel so good to do so. 

Rinse and repeat. 

I bought a new daily planner recently, a pretty aquamarine book with ribbons. Have we met? You know how much I love it, don't you. There's a section for goal setting. Like most similar journal-planner combos, it's just basic Goal Setting 101.  So, in one prompting section it asks you to imagine and describe in detail what a perfect day would look like. I might just ink right on it, which one? One night about a month ago I went to an invite only cfnm* party. I unexpectedly saw a scene friend I haven't seen in years. Like obviously not my nearest and dearest, just a person whose company I enjoy, but hadn't in such a long time. A small gift, but one that shouldn't be overlooked. Then I shared an engaging conversation with a new, naked, kinkster. Later in the evening he let me lock him in a cage and poke him with a stick. A stranger let me torment him just to have the experience, the expectation was nothing more than I wouldn't cause him great harm. Monday, I took Fiona for a walk in the rain. It was Monday, it was raining, and I have a poodle, I am pretty sure that's the proper way to spell perfect.  My world traveling, life-long friend came to visit recently. We saw Esther Hicks together. Yes, The Esther, and no, I didn't get the chance to tell her nor would I. For days we indulged in the most decedent foods and stimulating conversations. Oh wait, there was more, we played on a swing in the middle of the city while pigeons strutted around stealing snacks. Quintessential perfection. 

Are those D/s, BDSM, lifestyle experiences? Are they my work? This is how I, a lifestyle Domme, my top's submissive, spend my time. This is how I, as a creator, as a professional dominatrix, earn. This is why I pause, for as long as I need to, to connect with my gratitude, every day. 

A perfect day looks like each of those. It looks just like today.

*cfnm: clothed females, nude males 

You Have to Learn to Pace Yourself

My grandmother use to say that people don't value what they don't earn. As a child I chalked this up to another of the many things my grandmother just didn't understand about how the world worked. Then, quite regularly as an adult, I have seen it prove true.

 Don't you hate that? 

My top recently introduced a new punishment. I am feeling so bashful about sharing it. I had to write lines. I love writing. I love repetitive writing. Hello, have we met? Each time, the statements he made me write were similar to thoughts that often cross my mind and make me smile when they do. The first began with I am my owner’s_____, you don’t need to know the rest. The second time began with I belong to Master John. 

I'm feeling bashful because even now, a week later, it caused such a profound feeling of submission. It was hypnotic to write over and over again, I belong to Master John. To contemplate, what does that mean? You know how if you repeat a thing over and over it comes to sound like meaningless collection of sounds? This was exactly the opposite. 

The first time it was a three-part statement, written 250 times. The second was also a three-part statement, written 500 times. I'm pretty efficient. I can write a page, 25 lines, in about 12 minutes. When I pushed I trimmed it down to 8, but my hand actually cramped more, and legibility was greatly lost. 

It was, without question, my favorite punishment and also, I hope to never again experience it. 

I think I am exceptionally good at managing my time, and I swear I did appreciate time before this punishment. But perhaps time management had become an auto-pilot sort of thing for me. I have one responsibility daily that is due at a specific, set-in-stone time. Every other thing on my agenda can be wiggled around however I see fit. And I wiggle it just a little bit. What, wait sorry dance party distraction. I do that too. For real. 

It was important that my punishment not compromise my vanilla responsibilities, and my top would agree that's how it should be. It was also important to me that I meet my top's expectation.  I spent the day calling out, Alexa set a timer for 10 minutes. Then I would sit and ink a page with 25 lines of I belong to Master John... while picturing what I had to accomplish during the 20 minutes of vanilla that would follow. Alexa set a timer for 20 minutes, and play Billy Joel Pressure. No wiggling today, focus. I did my promo posts on the socials, I did not get sucked into watching reels of this song will sync right up to the third video in your phone. I did workout, I did not scroll through 100s of 20-minute workouts before deciding which one I would do. I outlined this post in my head, I didn't make repetitive outlines to be thrown away because the spacing just isn't right. I decide what was for dinner and got that fucker in the oven. Not one minute was wasted on hmm, chicken or beef. I gave my attention 100% to what mattered, and not one millisecond to what did not. 

I earned an ever-deeper appreciation for time, and for my top. 

And if you say run...

Ages ago I sought my top’s help with a rather volatile matter. The details are unimportant, but his advice included an observation that people will do anything to avoid being humiliated. I remember I disagreed with him. Well, that’s a bit like saying I remember it was a day that ended in a Y. I bet I said, are you sure Sir? People pay me to humiliate them. They tell me the special words that push their secret buttons, and they lean right in to being humiliated.

It came up again recently. Humiliation, it came up repeatedly recently.

Pathetic. Sad. Ridiculous. Delusional. He doesn’t even like you. He doesn’t want to spend time with you. He’s using you. He doesn’t care about you. 

Red, red, red. I revoke my consent. 

People will do anything to avoid feeling humiliated. Your success highlights their stagnation. No one wants to be reminded of their failures. 

My top has exquisite taste. He is cultured, world traveled. He has an eye for quality, and he is a true Taurus with an appreciation for luxury. I was thoroughly out of line to have ever spoken to his pet that way. There will be no ANTs here. Oh, I must remind him, he said we would revisit ANT stomping and nutrition in July.

I had to quit smoking. I am not allowed to drink Diet Pepsi. I can have an orgasm every time I have completed 3 moderate or intense workouts. I think I am supposed to get 6 hours sleep a night. He only said that once, we haven’t revisited it- shh don’t tell him my FitBit keeps track of my 4-hour average. I am to pay my bills on time. Every time I have a string of nightmares, he makes a new suggestion. First it was to stop smoking pot before bed. Then to stop eating 3 hours before bedtime. A year ago, he suggested it might be EMFs. I bought shungite. 

He has some strong opinions about how I should care for myself, and none of it directly benefits him. Perhaps I am delusional, but it does seem like he is pretty invested in my well-being. Personally, when I don’t care about someone, I do nothing. I give exactly no attention to their nightmares, or their intake of harmful things. 

Maybe he doesn’t like me. I mean I am a joy to be around, humble as fuck too. But maybe he just doesn't like charming, quick witted, dorks. Oh well, I’m still going to aim for being delightful.

I have this fantasy, I have imagined it 1000s of times, easily. I’m house sitting for my top. Well now it’s my top, it’s been both Alton Brown and Johnny Depp in the past. Anyway, I am house sitting for my top and he catches me watching his private, homemade movies. He gives me a choice; he can call my parents to deal with me however they see fit or I can become his sex slave. There’s an extensive list of the things he requires me to do, but one of them is that I come to his house every morning. I let myself in, and undress, and I wait. There’s a camera, and I know that sometimes he is watching me and sometimes he is not. My fantasy always includes imaging that I am waiting, not knowing if he is going to use me that day. On days that he engages with me, he makes me say why I am there. He makes me say, that I am there so he can _____, if he wishes. There is a direct correlation between how horny I am and how explicit, and derogatory the language in the censored space is. 

I’ve never told him that fantasy. I’ve never told anyone that fantasy. I have subtly offered my encouragement when he has incidentally done a thing that invokes a similar feeling. He often does things that feel similar. But what are the feelings I am really aiming for? I feel so proud when he makes me say that I am his sub, and that he owns me. I feel like I have earned that, and that I waited a long time to have it. When I am waiting for him to arrive, when the time he said he would be there has come and gone, I feel so anxious. He might have been in an accident, he might have changed his mind, or you know his meeting may have run over time. When my face was covered in sweat and spit, both his and mine, the tears were all mine and things I just can’t bring myself to type, when he said that I existed to suck his cock, time stopped. What? Did he say that to me? Is that really what he said? It isn’t enough that I am on my knees, that my make up is destroyed and my hair is tangled. I am covered in marks from our play earlier.  I should be reminded right now, in this moment, that I reordered time and space, that I flew here, to suck his cock, to be humiliated, to be used. Lean into this, lean in hard. Fuck ya I did. I literally wrapped my arms around his knees and pulled him as deep as I could as time started back up. I did reorder time and space, because that is a thing in my command. I flew halfway across the country, again, with very little notice to give someone I love a fantasy that includes a beautiful woman, his beautiful woman, jumps on a plane to suck his cock when he snaps his fingers. I am on my knees, at his feet, living out a fantasy I have imagined 1000s of times, easily. I am safely living out several, rather elaborate, hard-wired, deeply nuanced and costly fantasies with someone who adores me. Someone who tries to quiet my nightmares even when he is 1000s of miles away. 

Yes Sir, as always you were spot-on and right. Most people will do anything to avoid feeling humiliated. They'll deflect. They’ll be cruel to people they love, real cruelty, outside of fantasy time, in real life. The things they imagine that might end in humiliation will be avoided like the plague. They will stay stagnant, living a life they hate, rather than risk failing. They will deny themselves their goals and fantasies, even simple easily attainable ones. They will allow resentment and jealousy to fester inside of them. 

I am, thankfully, not most people. 

No One Else in the Whole Universe will ever Compare

For in the distance, 12 souls from now, 

you and me will still be here

I saw an article recently, it read: blah-blah-blah, legends New Edition to do something. What? Ronnie, Bobbie, Ricky and Mike, weren't we sorting out if you like the girl like just last weekend? Legends? Decades, not years, have to pass before one can be declared a legend, right? 

Decades have passed. 

Fuck it, looks like we will have to be legends now. 

I have needed to order new business cards for at least a year. I mean it's terribly less pressing now that I rarely engage with new-to-me subbies. Also, we live here in the future, calling cards are so very dated. 

Clock me, I love business cards, and I have to return some videotapes. 

Fuck that's probably a classic now. Peeps prolly think it was released around the same time as Taxi Driver, and Casablanca. Note to self: find new movie quotes. 

I need to order business cards. NBD. One of my nearest and dearest, our Goth Barbie, owns a printing shop even.

So I need a new landing page here to Q. 

A new all about me page, you're soaking in it now, for all the information that's too wordy for a card.  

Seven times seven, not one cell of the innumerable gathered to create this me that I am remains from the original collection. 

How weird is that? 

Who am I? 

I should put a link to my first entry here. Maybe I will when I edit, prolly won't. I am still a professional dominatrix. I am still never, ever going to sleep with you. In the years since I wrote that the scene has become an ever-bigger presence in my personal life as well. It has grown to include becoming my Top's submissive. Four years now, it still feels surreal. I maintain that I am not a submissive or a switch, but this dynamic is very much a primary part of my identity now. I have discovered some of the best parts of me, rediscovered some of my favorite parts of me, through becoming my top's property.  

I'm a creator now. Well, I mean, I have always been a creator, but I create porn now. Ha. Dude, let's pause here for a minute. I am having a second opportunity to live out my exhibitionist fantasies, and this time the internet is a thing. When I was your age, I had to walk uphill, through the snow, in my Pleasers to get to the club, or something like that. 

Whatev, welcome to Cassatopia. Can I tell you a secret? Lean in close, bonus you'll end up covered in my pheromones. I started this post a month ago. I was going to give some thought to exactly what I wished to convey, come back in a few minutes and bang it out. In my defense I did also squeeze in a magical vacation since I paused, I haven't only been sitting around contemplating my navel. But also, my belly button is hella deep, I did spend much time investigating it. 

Still, I don't have an outline I'm bouncing off, we're just winging this. It's on today's list, "Finish the post", and as a fail-safe, today's primary goal is: a well completed To Do List. 

So I'm Mistress Cassidy, lifestyle and professional dominatrix, content creator, BDSM consultant, and event hostess.  Sometimes I'm just Cassidy, cougar, Gen X, MILF and Master John's pet. This is my blog. It's pretty sweet. One time Master John said, I love your blog. And I'm this dork who will glow about that every time I recall it. There's typically song lyric titles, Prince or Bowie most often. I reference astrology and tarot far more often than reasonable. I write here with the knowledge that my literature teacher from 1986 sometimes pops by, as does 100s of my vanilla friends, so I censor a little bit. But only a little bit. They choose to be my friend, they know what they signed up for. I try to post my travel and event schedule here, but it's too full to keep it current really. Besides it's less than safe to just put here where any muggle might trip over it. 

Pop by Fetlife @MistressCassidy, if I am attending a fetish event it'll be noted there. 

Subscribe to my VIP OnlyFans: Cassidy Cream OnlyFans for uncensored content, or the soon to be active free follow version: https://onlyfans.com/cassidycream 

Expect to see a revamp of colors and layouts on all my pages soon, I asked the universe to send me a new assistant and I trust the universe is, as always, twisting itself inside out to grant my wish. 

Think you're new assistant worthy? Submit your resume to cassidycream15@gmail.com 

It's a paid gig, but also one must agree to a little impropriety, k? Muggles need not apply. 

My Hands are Tied, My Body Bruised

 Sleight of hand and twist fate, on a bed of nails she makes me wait. 

Do you know how many not just good, but truly amazing things have come to be as a direct result of me choosing to do a thing I knew I shouldn't do? How many times I have thought, this could really be a mistake, a big one, a wicked big one, but let's see what happens. I don't mean illegal things, or really even immoral things. I mean things that everyone knows you are supposed to do this way. Everyone agrees that way is best, and I swear I'm not trying to be difficult. I can see, yes it probably is best to do X this way; but fuckingA it sounds boring as fuck. And I just can't. I can't do it that way. Let's do it the way that's fastest, or the way that's scariest, or the way with the biggest potential to just, well just anything that isn't boring. We're going to start calling those moments Big D Moments, and you with your dirty mind are going to think I am referring to The D, I'm not. And those who know me, are going to think I am referring to my vanilla self, and I am not. If ya really knew me, you'd remember I am the Little D, there are things we never outgrow. 

This is not a Big D Moment, this moment is the amazing one, the direct result part. This is me, 49 years and 4 days. I was trying to take pictures of my bum, it's covered in bruises. Fiona is on the other side of the bed, I'll share that picture in a minute. She's chewing on her caterpillar toy, as happy with her lot in life as I am. I'm trying to take pictures because that's what I do. I'm 49 and 4 days, and I earn a living by, along with other things, taking pictures of my bum. Earlier in the day, Master John and I were just kicked back, basking after the activities that lead to the bruising mentioned above and catching up. And I said a thing, the verbatim is lost, the essence was that I have been a professional domme for over 20 years, and on a regular I am still, what? You want me to do what? Pinch me, I'm dreaming, this is what I get paid for Sir. And we shared a giggle that echoed back to the intersections of all the Big D Moments that lead and landed me right there.