On Tasting “Other”

It’s been a long time coming, a long time waiting patiently. So much discernment.

We’ve opened up our doors, our home, our hearts. 

Our pants.

Well, “we” have in theory. But in application? 

He’s opened his pants. I’ve only had the opportunity to open my mind.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to move from a monogamous relationship to an ethically non-monogamous one? Shit.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to do so when once opened your partner is the first to find another? Holy shit.

How about seeking other partners when you’re an owned slave? When any potential partner needs to meet not just your high standards but also assure your Owner that you won’t be damaged? Holy fucking shit.

Years of the option on the table. Nary a single taker. 

You taste different. You smell different, look different, feel different under my fingertips. Feel different in my presence.

It’s not better or worse or even comparable.

That’s not the point.

That’s not what it’s about for me, for us, for this.

It’s about not writing off the chance to taste “other.” Other life, other experience, other challenges. Other opportunity for growth, for lust, for curiosity, for people.

It’s about welcoming in new energy. A connection.

A connection sometimes so brief. A fleeting memory of walking past a stranger and feeling as if the universe is pushing you towards them.

Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s a mental connection. You find yourself completing the sentence of a stranger-turning-not-stranger. 

Or maybe it’s a physical pull and it’s all you can do to not close that six inch gap and feel new lips. My hands itch to unbutton you, to reveal more of you, so I fidget and blush instead. 

That connection (any new connection) would be left undiscovered if we weren’t open to “other.”

 I finally understand it now, after tasting you. 

After tasting new.

You tasted different. Not better or worse or comparable. 
 And you tasted incredible.

So, I Wrote A Book


Over the past 18 months, my life has changed in a drastic way. Many here have paid witness and given me the strength and encouragement to keep on going, even in times of doubt, even when I wanted to throw in the towel.

Over the past 18 months I wrote a book. It is the story of us.

It was about picking an unclimbable mountain in the beginning. See, I am the chick who never finishes anything. I have had a million hare-brained ideas in my lifetime and the moment shit gets hard, I give up. I wanted to tell our tale but knew nothing of writing, of crafting a story line. Shit. Of how to even begin. But Master believed in me and as I sat down in front of a laptop with His collar upon my neck I began to type surrounded by His Presence.

The catharsis came next. The purging of our history; the freeing of the tale. I had so much more to say than time to sit and say it. I am sure I was absent a lot, particularly in spirit. There were times the pain was too raw but my friends believed in me and rooted me on.

“I’m not a writer though!” a thousand times over. A simple slave girl afraid of being found out; scared that people would think I could ever believe that I could actually write an entire book.

Well I did.

Two months ago, with a draft as close to finished and clean as I could personally get it (edit…7? God life has been a blur…) I entered a BDSM writers contest.

Despite the serious competition in today’s writing world, I found out Monday I am a finalist. One of three in my category.

The simple little slave girl. Her first go at writing anything.

The world has seemed to stand still these past few days and I am inundated by the belief in me. It’s overwhelming and magical and inspiring. I am beginning to believe in myself.

I will be headed to BDSM Writer’s Con in New York City in August to learn more about writing and find out the results of the contest.

I want to say a big thank you to all of you who have impacted me in the past year and a half. I couldn’t have done it if you didn’t believe in me because I wasn’t strong enough to believe in myself yet. I am sure I have missed correspondence or forgotten to attend an event as promised or been distracted when listening. I’m sorry for that. I miss so many of you and can’t wait until the dust settles and I can be back focused on what is most important to me: serving Master first and the community second.

And thank you MR for the tale to tell.

If anybody is capable to attend the conference it looks like an incredible opportunity for anybody who either reads or writes about D/s . http://bdsmwriterscon.com/

Watch out big city. The beach is headed your way.

Thank you and kind regards,
Mrs. Darling