Unsocial Media and Other Stuff.

Why is Social Media so called when it is anything but social? I've just deactivated my Facebook account, and it feels like a burden lifted. To be honest I never participated  much on the site because it made me feel nervous. Most of the people seemed perfectly nice and kind, but invariably some nastiness would spring up. There is always someone who thinks their personal opinion is so important that they have to give it while not giving a shit about how much hurt they cause with their spiteful behaviour. They think they have the right to humiliate and embarrass other people, and they do it as if they're handing out a favour.  I despise people like that. They are bullies, and they spoil so much with their negative venom, often disguised as 'advice.' I'm done with Facebook now. I'm just not cut out for it. I have enough stress in my everyday life without having mythical 'friends' put me down online.

I'm still not able to write much these days as I struggle with health issues. I seem to spend much of my time either at hospital or travelling to and from it. I find it very hard to accept what is happening to me. All of a sudden I feel very mortal, and really rather old and tired.

I was thinking of serialising a story on my website, just to see if it helps me get back in the swing of writing. I've lost the pleasure I once had in writing for both my own and other peoples' entertainment. That's all I ever wanted to do, entertain like minded people with my brand of kinky fic, but somehow that has been lost. I thought that maybe writing a little at a time might be less daunting than trying to write a complete book. I'm not sure.

The Curse/Blessings of Kink

There are times when I wish I’d been cursed/blessed with an altogether different kind of kink. You know what I mean, something socially acceptable and possibly income accruing, such as a fetish for flower arranging. A subject you could openly discuss in front of your sisters without fear of being shunned or being locked away in a secure unit.

“And what did you do over the weekend L?”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, I just visited a special friend for a discipline session…would you like to see the cane marks on my bum?”

Loud thud as sisters keel over in a dead faint.

Honestly, they have no idea. No one in my real life has a clue about my interests. At school I was voted person least likely to be kinky. You can’t explain the spanking kink to someone who just doesn’t get it. If a person isn’t wired that way then no amount of explaining will make them understand. It’s a waste of breath. Leaving aside the ‘light hearted’ connotations of kink, it’s taken me a long time to come to terms with my predilection and I don’t feel guilty about it anymore. I embrace it in my fiction, and occasionally in real life.

I need discipline in a pure sense. It isn’t a prelude to sexual activity. It’s a psychological thing. Sometimes only extreme pain can give me the release and emotional peace that I crave. I have two Dominants that I meet with, maybe once or twice a year (separately I hasten to add, I don’t go in for group therapy) they’re both male, one is younger than I am, the other is older and they’re both gentleman. Both understand the need for discipline. Both are sane and responsible and neither one of them has ever tried to take advantage of me in a sexual sense. I trust them, and that’s important. They know when I’ve had enough, even when perhaps I don’t and that’s important too, in order to avoid serious injury. It’s not just the physical discipline that counts. I like the element of control, the structure and the sense of giving myself into the care of another person, relinquishing personal control. For me a successful discipline session is almost like detox and I feel on a high for a few days afterwards. My mind is brighter and I’m more alert and attuned to the world. The worst part for me is usually two to three days later, and that’s when I get the shakes as my body uses its energy to heal itself. I feel a bit depressed, as the endorphins fade away and all I’m left with is the physical discomfort. That’s when I’d really like to have someone around to cuddle me, to hold me, someone I can emotionally relate to, someone I suppose who will take care of me. That’s the appeal of the stories I write, the submissive characters have someone there 24/7, someone who understands their needs, someone who loves them (let me hear a romantic sigh)


I’ve been told that my stories don’t contain enough sex and they’re not erotic. For me discipline (and it doesn’t have to be physical) is the element of erotica; it’s the sensual, sexual, emotional and psychological feed to the relationship of my characters. That’s what interests me a writer, why people might have a need and desire for discipline, why they might choose to incorporate it into a relationship and what form it takes, and what needs it fulfils. It isn’t all about sex.