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

Fuck you. Middle fingers blazing at you today poly life. Poly ideas. Poly everything.

I’ve been wrecked by you, by your pain, by the hurt of true honesty. You’ve put a spotlight on my most hidden fears, on my greatest insecurities. Insecurities that I had all but conquered in a monogamous marriage.

Fuck that. Fuck you.

I used to be his only. Now He’s divided Himself. Now there are times that He’s distracted. His time’s divided. His heart’s divided. His attention’s divided.

He can go elsewhere.

Fuck. You.

I’m sick of crying. I’m sick of always fucking growing. I’m sick of being a big person. I’m sick of the talking.

Fuck you and your fucking emotional processing. sniffle

But as I stomp my feet and spew it out (sob it out, let’s be real here) the idiosyncrasies of my own poly modality mocks me.

Fuck…. what exactly? What am I so fucking angry at?

A relationship that is true and honest and real despite it being hard? Being married to a man who I know will never lie to me?

Hidden fears are fears after all. I’ve been afraid of losing Him, afraid of not being enough, afraid of getting old, afraid of becoming commonplace all along. Poly didn’t create that. Poly simply required a conversation about it.

Same with the insecurities. Not pretty enough. Not sensual enough. Not smart enough. Not new enough. Not enough…. to what? Keep Him? That shit has played out forever; the tale as old as time. Even if I could control Him staying with me, would I want that control? Me? The one who desires no control? At least in non-monogamy I have the reassurance that every day He wakes up and shows up because He wants to. He has every other choice in the world to not, but He still does. He chooses me.

And c’mon darlin. Get over yourself. Get over the notion that you were ever His “only.” It’s just that in monogamy He was lying to you and Himself, convincing the world that He was happy that way. And ho ho, little lady, have you forgotten that you want this for yourself too?

On what planet can you have that cake and eat it too?

Sure He’s divided. You are too. That’s life. That’s reality. That’s marriage. Do you really want to live in a relationship mutually exclusive of other people? Nah. Course not.

Crying means you’re living.
Growing means you’re improving.
Being a big person means you’re being true to yourself.
Talking means you’re communicating.
Emotionally processing means you’re caring.

So cry it out. But then buck up. Remember that it’s worth it.

Give one last fuck YOU polyamory.

Then say thank you polyamory. And go back about your business of loving your life and your partner.

Kind Regards,
Mrs. Darling