Saturday, August 30, 2014

Odalisques: Beauty: Repunzel, Repunzel...

"A principal reason for possessing an odalisque is to enjoy the beauty of women, and odalisques have the time and the duty to take care of their appearance, to cultivate grace, and to seek out clothes and cosmetics which present their bodies to their master as a frame presents a painting."
This is from March 2014. I have
since had my hair layered, but it is
the same length. 

I have had long hair for most of my life. The longest it ever got was just at the top of my thighs. It has wavered between blonde and golden brown through sun and age, but I have never dyed it. There was a period of about 8-10 years that I didn't cut it at all. It has been the one part of my appearance that I have never disliked (excluding the brief periods when it was short). I have always enjoyed the comments I get about my hair. People seem to be fascinated by extremely long hair.

When I started college, I cut larger bits of it off, trying to rid myself of all the dead ends. In summer of 2010, I had to drive a friend to the hospital for a case of heat stroke. I was wearing my hair in a braid wrapped around a clip, as I often do when it's hot. He informed me in a slurred, giggly, almost drunken way; "I like your hair like that. You look Amish."

This is roughly a year after the final 12
inches came off.

Two months later, I cut about 12 inches of hair off, leaving it just below my shoulders. Between January 2009 and July 2010, I had cut off nearly 2 feet of hair. It was an interesting experience. I didn't quite know what to do with it. For a decade I had braided it after washing it and clipped it up. Now there wasn't much to braid at all. I no longer had the defining feature of my Repunzel-like hair. I wasn't overly fond of the length. I had wanted it left longer, but I was donating the hair, and they had a required amount to take.

When I started delving into the world of dance, I saw belly dancers with long, gorgeous hair, and I immediately missed mine. I missed being able to reach behind me and tug on the ends without even having to stretch. After I saw this dancer, and her lovely hair swirling around her hips, I decided to grow my hair back out.

It's back at my hips now, although I now have it layered, because it looks so much better like that. Daddy absolutely adores long hair and wants me to grow it longer. We have discussed perhaps knee-length, but I may see if he can settle for the tops of the thighs like it was before simply to make it easier to manage and care for, and manipulate while dancing. I'm not allowed to cut it or dye it without permission. He also says if I do dye it, it can't be blonde. He grumbled a bit when I told him I'm technically blonde already, it's just a very dark blonde. At least, according to the stylists. 

I've been looking into natural/herbal healing and hygiene, and now that I have a series of oils, I'm going to attempt a regular hair mask. Today, we whipped up a mix of coconut oil, extra virgin olive oil, and a little vitamin E oil.

Hair mask ingredients. 

By the way, it's kind of difficult to oil up about 3 feet of hair. If I keep this up, I may need help with it eventually. Although, I told Daddy that if he wanted it that long, he'd have to help me take care of it.

Up to this point in my life, I've never done much with my hair. I haven't dyed it. I have never done anything particularly complicated with it. It's mostly a life of wash, brush, braid and wrap it around an octopus clip. Consequently, the infrequency of my haircuts and my lack of really doing anything with it has left it somewhat less than I would like.

So, I shall try this mask thing, and see what it does for my hair. I also kind of want to try some of those elaborate hairstyles from hundreds of years ago. Although, I'd probably need 3 people doing my hair to manage that. The last time I cut my hair, the stylist's arms were almost not long enough to manage it. Although, my hair has been the only way I've ever brought a man to his knees. Gave everyone in the salon a good giggle.  

Monday, August 18, 2014

Thought Crimes: Exploring Boundaries in LDRs

One of the big questions of a long distance relationship is how you discover limits and boundaries when you never see each other in the flesh. Physically, that's admittedly hard to ascertain, but recently, I've been thinking more about behavioral boundaries than anything.

Finding these is difficult, as you're far away and body language isn't there for you to read, and sometimes not even tone.  You never really know how they're going to react to something, and some stuff doesn't even come up if you're not in the physical.

Now, I've been a writer for most of my life. When I was 16, I started writing in online role play groups on MySpace. I was a multiparagraph roleplayer. I didn't do none of that one liner bullshit. These were some of my favorite experiences as a teen, writing these epic interactive stories with other people across the world. It was through this that I met my owner. Before I knew the actual him and not just the plethora of characters he played, all I had to go on was his writing. And, seriously, what that man can do with words is simply amazing. It can be intimidating at times to write with him like that.

But my point is, before sex was sex to me, sex only existed in the form of words for me. I've never been much one for porn, but I can read romance novels all damn day. Sex expressed in the right words can be more arousing than the act itself. I'm an unabashed language whore, which is part of the reason I find all the crass terminology used in porn to be an intense turn off.

Coming into the lifestyle with this background in literary roleplay, my idea of sexting is decidedly more elaborate than the crap I see touted in women's magazines as sexting. I suppose you might call it cybering over the phone, except no internet involved. This is something Daddy and I do a lot. We text actions at each other as if we are actually doing them.

And, oddly enough, it's a pretty efficient way to test certain boundaries, mostly on my end. Actions are often viewed through the lens of intention and that can alter the consequences. In this space where words are all you have, all you have is intent. It's a little bizarre to get into trouble for pure intention. Sometimes it's hard for me to not go "well, I didn't actually do it, I just thought it."

But in that moment, except with things that are obviously outlandish and not possible in actual reality, if you say it, then chances are, you fully intended to do it. So, why shouldn't you get in trouble for a premeditated infraction even if you can't physically commit the act?

Of course, I still think it's bullshit to go "It's okay." and then follow it up with "but you're in trouble anyway." Grumble.

But, bullshit aside, LDRs have this unfortunate quality of containing an ungodly amount of thought experiments. I think a lot of the derision people have toward the LDR is because of this existing in a world of hypotheticals. A lot of people don't like what ifs. They refuse to play that game. Right now, all I have are what ifs, but I think they're approached as practically as can be expected, and I think it adds an element of closeness that you might not otherwise get at a distance.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Wicked Wednesday: Daughter of the Stone King (Pt 1): Prinzessin

"Waken, dearest schwester."

Fygen snapped to attention as one of her brothers flicked her ear. She hissed at him, and there was a slight creak as his wine turned to ice in his goblet. Heinrich laughed at her and touched the rim of his cup to turn the ice back to wine with a tongue of flame. Fygen slouched in her chair, fighting not to cross her arms. The evening was progressing rather slowly, made even more agonizing that she was couched between two of her hulking elder brothers at the head table while their father mingled with the lords of the prominent houses. Their women sat meekly to one side of the room chattering to each other, wrapped in wolf pelts and wearing rich gowns of dyed elk hide. Their long hair was bound up intricate braids, wound around each other like works of art.

They had gone to great lengths for this evening in the king's hall, for tonight they were human, and humans had such lovely ways of styling themselves. Fygen felt rather plain, comparatively. Her gown was simple, the soft blue of the sky at midday, trimmed in black rabbit fur. An ornate iron girdle cinched her waist. A large stone of white quartz, polished smooth, was set in the disc in the middle of the girdle. She hadn't the patience to sit for all of the braiding, so her hair was simply contained in a long net, lined with more polished quartz, attached to an iron circlet similarly bejeweled.

Heinrich tapped her on the shoulder. "You should take the women to the balconies."

Fygen looked out at the hall as a bevy of slaves slipped into the room with fresh carafes of wine. Many of the men smiled as they approached, holding out their goblets. She delicately turned and eased herself off the bench, extricating herself from between Heinrich and Ulrich. She stepped down from the dais and headed toward the group of women, brushing lightly against her father's slave, Alaric, as she passed. He turned, startled, and gave a swift bow, his auburn falling over his shoulder in a thick braid. She gave him a shallow nod, as if the contact had been an accident. As she resumed her path, out of the corner of her eye, she watched the slave whisper to her father. The king looked at the groom, and then in her direction before indicating that Alaric should follow.

He fell into step behind her, following at a respectful distance as she came up to the women.

"Shall we adjourn to the balconies while the men bluster among themselves?" she said, sweeping a hand in the direction of the doors. There was a ripple of giggling before they stood and followed her out of the hall.

The balconies that encircled the palace were common features in the aerial mountain cities of the stone dragons. Expansive halls with wide arches that stood open against the sky. The mountain air made the balconies rather brisk, but they had little problem with heat in their dragon forms, and fur was rather popular when encased in human flesh. Tonight they played human for convenience. That, and the slaves, who were mostly all human or part human, were easier to enjoy in compatible bodies. In anticipation with this, the adjoining balcony had been furnished with couches furs and fire pits. Slaves stood around the room, holding carafes and platters of sweet meats and cheeses. Musicians sat along the wall. A harpist and a couple of men with staghorn flutes played softly, but joyfully into the night.

Fygen took a seat alone upon a small couch. She felt her rather large shadow take his place behind her. The women swept in and took their seats, holding out their cups to the waiting slaves.


Fygen looked to a golden-haired female wrapped in white wolf pelts. Her amber eyes glowed in the firelight, their vertical pupils almost slits as she faced Fygen through the flames of the elevated marble fire pit. She was lovely, narrow-faced and pale. She was a bit thin for a dragon woman, taken to the slenderness of the mountain ranges to the east. Her mate had stolen her from her homeland and brought her here to be Claimed. Her name was Sunneva, sun-gift.

Fygen could hear the name singing through her head at a moderate volume, as she could all of them.  Fygen released a deep breath, trying to quiet the chorus of their names knocking at her skull. She must remember to use their chosen names, not their birth gifts. She felt Alaric's hand brush the stones of her hair netting. It calmed her, allowing her to quiet the din.

"Ja, Sunna?"

Sunna giggled and took a sip of wine. "Are you always followed about by your father's slave? Your Highness is seldom to be found without such a shade. Although, I find I much prefer the image of the princes wandering these halls."

Fygen held up her cup and Alaric filled it with a carafe taken from the serving slaves. "I have not been permitted to roam unattended since I reached the age of Claiming. I must be attended by one of my brothers or by Alaric. My brothers have little patience for minding the nest, so I am often left with the slave. I find I much prefer his company to theirs. He does not find his guardianship so onerous a duty."

"Do you not find it tedious? To be followed about by a human like a hatchling with a wetnurse?"

Fygen looked at the female slowly, lifting her chin ever so slightly. Her gaze was frosty. "The men in the hall do not find their slaves so tedious, now do they?"

The hum of conversation around the room fell into a dead silence. Fygen could feel each of them bristling at the idea of their men with the human slaves in the hall. They were well-conditioned to find the thought of lying with a human disgusting, let alone a human slave. Fygen was not sure how such had been accomplished since the men of their people derived great pleasure from female body slaves, enough so that the higher ranking slaves in her father's palace were all mixed breeds. Alaric's blood was thick with that of House Garnet, as was obvious by the dark auburn hair pulled into a tight braid that fell down his back. Yet, the women still found a human male to be as appealing as the eunuchs that often served in their private quarters.

Although, these women had lived more violent lives than she, lacking the power or presence to combat the will or the claws of their men. It was a wonder that Fygen had not been beaten more as a child, or now for that matter. Some small part of her believed, or wanted to believe, that her father might fear her just a little, and had spared her because of this. Or perhaps he feared what she was and what her brother was not.

She handed off the goblet to Alaric, who in turn delivered to a waiting slave. "I find I feel fatigued after tonight's festivities. Forgive me if I choose to take my leave of you now. Enjoy the music and the sweet meats. I shall even send the fool to amuse you, but I will take myself to my chambers now."

Fygen stood, smoothing her skirts as she did so and walked away from the silent group of women, Alaric falling into step dutifully behind her.

As the sounds of the hall and music of the slaves faded behind them, Alaric stepped closer to her, hazarding a hand lightly upon her waste. "You make no friends when you eschew diplomacy."

Fygen felt herself lean into him. "Females have no power. I must seek my allies elsewhere. Beaten dogs do not bite. A flash of fang would serve me better."

Alaric scraped a fang across her neck, making her shiver.

"If you wish to keep your head, it would be advisable to contain yourself...slave."

His eyes flashed, but he removed himself to a respectful distance.

She had little doubt she would see the sharp end of that remark, and the thought send a thrill running down her spine.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked