I’ve kept written journals sporadically since I was a teenager. I tended to write in them for months at a time, and then lose interest – it wasn’t until I found the social side of the internet, and a group journaling site called Addict back in 2000, that I really began to write autobiographically on a regular basis. From Addict to my own site (kept for a good four years, updated with FrontPage), from my own site to LiveJournal … and from LJ to blogger, where Curvaceous Dee was born!
But there’s something different about putting pen to paper. About letting out those thoughts when there isn’t an audience on the other side. Me, I love writing for an audience – I am an exhibitionist for both words and body! But when Tethys asked me last year to start keeping a psychosexual journal, just for myself – but also for hir to read sporadically as well – I found that it tapped a well I didn’t realise had been neglected.
*photographed by Apollo, February*
It’s a rare night that I don’t journal – usually because I’ve managed to do something truly horrible to myself, or left it in the wrong house (and even then I’m inclined to write on paper, and transfer it later), and I’ve grown to thoroughly appreciate the chance to just let flow with my thoughts. Despite the deliberate focus on the sexual side of things, my musings tend to run the gamut, as for me, sexuality is integrated with the majority of my life
*photographed by m’Lady, September*
A few entries from my time in Melbourne, as they were written:
Wednesday 05th September
So wonderful to be lying in the poly room with m’Lady, Ambrosia occasionally scampering across my legs, as I write. Feeling the gentle pressure and press of my collar into my skin (I’ve been wearing it since about 5:30am). Feeling the bruises, the tiredness, m’Lady’s skin touching mine, the ache of my jaw – most of all, feeling the utter peace that comes of being rejoined with my owner.
We found and used the disabled toilet at the airport after I arrived – definitely big enough for us and luggage and fucking my face (glorious). Wonderful, marvellous welcome! Oh, and the kissing – so good, so we did that lots too.
Found and wallowed in cow space this afternoon. Discovered I don’t talk – there are words in my head, but the connection with my mouth is just gone. m’Lady understood me wonderfully though; my nuzzling, licks; huffs and growls and bellows.
There has been LOTS of sex today. I am a well-used, well-fucked, very happy, utterly exhausted slut. Who loves her owner so damn much!
Saturday 08th September
Very late last night we ended up with m’Lady fisting my cunt. I was so needy, greedy, wanting, desiring of more fullness within. Even the occasional scrape of fingernail and catch of rings didn’t stop me aching and groaning for more, please, or m’Lady for offering more.
I now have ‘walnut’ in addition to ‘pistachio’. For when I’m hitting the wall, it’s too much, that particular action is overwhelming, but the play/scene itself is not. I have already used it, when I needed so much to come,but couldn’t/wouldn’t do so without m’Lady’s permission, but knew I was going to if it kept on, and I didn’t want to unless I had that permission. So I used it, and zie stopped, and I cried, and zie was proud of me,and all was good.
(I got my orgasm later. Orgasming utterly silently, in a restaurant, sill eating, triggered to do so by the use of the word ‘moreover’.)
I miss [Apollo]. And my bed. And the pointy felines. But I have so missed being here, being with my cherished owner. Missing home is the price to have this, and I pay it gladly.
Wednesday 12th September
Tagged! I can feel it rubbing, jingling, lightly pressing against my ear. The rook placement wasn’t feasible, so I am pierced through the outer upper cartilage instead, and the tag rests along the edge of my ear. (I think I shall take to pinning my hair back on the side.) It looks great. It feels wonderful - although I feel somewhat uneven at the moment. And I orgasmed twice during the piercing – once as the hole was made in my ear (toes curling and body subtly clenching), and again as the jewellery was slid home (with a ‘fuck’ from me). Walking home was very difficult!
I am so very, very, very happy to have the physical sign of my relationship with m’Lady permanently marking me. With a hole and a ring and a tag and a symbol – I am property, slut, cow, owned. And so at peace, relaxed, safe, comforted by that knowledge.
Do you journal? How do you find it different from blogging?