i took your matches before fire could catch me so don’t look now, i’m shining like fireworks over your sad empty town

The other night Grey’s Anatomy premiered and that god forsaken show ruined me. i spent my evening fighting with demons that i thought i had conquered and gotten rid of. i spent the night battling and confronting and vying for victory against ghosts from my past. Ghosts of him. In the episode there was a patient who had tried to kill herself because her parents couldn’t accept that she was a lesbian and were going to send her away. As the show progressed the father realized what damage he had done and how all he really cares about is that his daughter is loved and is happy. The mother continued to abuse and bully everyone that tried to protect her daughter. And at the end of the show, the dad fought for her. He fought for his daughter. And because that is such a foreign concept, i just need to repeat it again. The father fought for his daughter. Because that’s what love is, fighting and protecting and standing up for each other. And dad’s are supposed to be the first shining knight that a little girl meets. And i don’t know about you, but that is just the most beautiful idea that i have ever entertained, that a little girl can be born into this world with a man who’s sole purpose is to protect her from all heartache and harm. But for me, my dad…he was the first villain i met. my first heartbreak. my first demon. But i forget that he was also my biggest teacher, my father with all his letdowns and disappointments, has taught me so much about life and love and fairytales.

What I learned about the world when he stopped loving me

i learned to finally let go of my Sanctuary. i learned that not all dads are hero’s when i was in the third grade, and by the time i was a sophomore in high school i started finding other boys to take my fathers place, putting down benches and hanging stained glass windows and calling them Sanctuary. And when that burned to the ground, i thought it would just get better if i took my pews and my stained glass and found somewhere else to put them. i ran from my house of hay to my house of twigs like a scared little pig, and convinced myself that they could stand. But my Sanctuary is not a place for pews or stained glass. my Sanctuary is filled with tears that have been pushed aside and neglected, ignored on the pretense of me being strong enough. It’s decorated with angry reds, blood red, the shades of red that cover my skin in goose bumps and sends chills down my spine. The shade of red that colors the memories of childhood. my Sanctuary is broken. It is glittered with broken glass, and hearts, and colored the red of lonely.

i learned how to live despite being broken . And there was a time when i swore that i would buy cheap plates from Walmart just so i could go out into the silence somewhere to hear their tiny, shattered pieces let out loud echoes that would validate the loneliness i so easily feel. Maybe part of me wanted to feel the control pulse through my hands and into my fingers as they slid off the plates as i threw them only when i was ready to throw them; to hear the loud clash of breaking glass only to feel the anger and the hurt and the insecurity break with them. Or maybe i needed to know that, if i so wanted to, i could go over and pick the pieces up just to put them back together; to see that all of the broken slivers still formed shapes that so perfectly complimented each other as to make a whole. i wanted to show myself that the broken parts of me had a chance of finding each other one day and making me whole. Whole. Such a deceiving and broken word. For years i wasn’t ready to start over and pretend that there weren’t pieces of us, of them left over. i wanted to take the broken pieces and make us whole, even in spite of ourselves. i wanted to rebuild my Sanctuary and i wanted to put him, put them, in the middle. To make my foundation full of family and forevers.

i learned the curves of the letters that make up the word frustrated because i cannot even begin to make him understand. Someone once said that if you fall in love with a writer, you can never die. All i know is that there’s already this burning in my chest to form words around him in order to trap him in this pain of mine just so that he can finally recognize the things i’ve been trying to say. And so much of me wants to clean up all of these words i’ve already bled out across this page, because i hate the thought of them being wasted. But i’ve also heard it said that we are all afraid to say the things worth saying. We’re all first in line when it comes to saying syllables coated in sugar and sweets but cower and hide when it comes time to spit out the secrets that hide deep down. The secrets that matter. We run when it comes time to talk about the disasters and those things that we cry about at night when our phone screens are black and our friends have gone home. And we say the dirty things like they mean nothing, when in that very moment they mean absolutely everything. But i want to be bold and i want to call him out, and i want him to know. He is not allowed to live in oblivion and bliss. Not when i am trudging through the tremors of his mistakes. i want him to know how he sucked at being a hero. How badly he failed me. And how everyday i was a second choice; how everyday i tried to better myself so that he would come back around, so that he would choose me. How often i tried to paint a picture with my words so that he knew how much it hurt, so that he wouldn’t look at my apparently empty hands and fading bruises and leave me to just “deal with it.”  But this isn’t about him, and it’s not about supposed to be and it is not about the demons that he built with his own hands and choices to leave me behind.

This is about what I learned about the world when he stopped loving me

i learned that not many things are worth turning yourself around and going back for, and i used to think myself included. But people are always worth stopping and going back for, even if you can barely see the parts of them that you used to love. Even when you can not recognize them because their features are covered with the disappointment of letdowns and heartache. Turn around anyways. Because one day you’ll be the one, standing on the corner full of regret wishing you hadn’t broken that heart that meant so much to you. Dying to go back in time and tell him that it was him all along and that you never meant to break him, you were just scared. One day you’ll be the one that did the breaking, that did the leaving, you’ll be the one you hate and you’ll be struggling to swallow your pride long enough to ask your loved ones to turn back around, to come back for you.

i used to spend my days awake but not living. And i did not think of god, or the aching in my stomach, or the beautiful creature laying next to me. No. i woke up every morning and thought, “Does he love me at all today? Is he thinking about me right now?” i would sink my head back into my pillow, dreading facing the day because the only certain thing i knew, the only fact that i could grasp sturdily in my trembling hands is that when the day was done and i would lay back down, i will have spent my whole day loving him. And i will have changed myself and shaped myself to be more like her, more like the girl that somehow has the privilege to dance in his palm and capture his heart. i will have wasted those miserable minutes ticking by worrying and wondering and wishing useless wishes. And tomorrow, well tomorrow would just be me playing in this same sad game of his, a game that he forgot he was even playing once upon a time, a game that i got lost in, trapped, speeding past go with out getting my $200, dizzy from my scrambling to find a way out.

But then things changed, and someone started loving me. Hard.

And since He started loving me i have learned about second chances. And i have learned about true love, the kind of love that isn’t in halves. A love that shows no partiality. i have learned that i am worth more than a love that loves me in halves. And i have been forced to slow down and pay attention and to see all the mini fairytales that have been sparkling in my life this whole time.  i learned how to laugh again and how to smile and i learned how to appreciate those glimmers of happiness. And i learned to live for the moments – to spend my days leaving one joy just to jump on to another. Moments that make me stop and that make my soul warm, warm like that old sweater that fits me like an old lovers hug. Like moments after the day dies down when I am wrapped in my favorite blanket, tucked inside of my favorite arms, feeling His heart and my heart beat together in our own version of a love song. And the world melts away and its Him and it’s me and it’s magic. Moments when i am piled on the couch in sweats with the people who have made a place for themselves in this hardened heart of mine and in that moment i know that i will never know a home like them ever again. And these moments, these beautiful and bright and magical moments, have started taking me over, and they live in the parts of me that used to be haunted and terrified and they have showed me that despite what i had been made to believe, i am not alone. i do not deserve to be alone. i have worth. And this world is such a charming and delightful place. And even though he does not love me anymore, i have found that love in other places and i have built a Sanctuary that i can finally find solitude in.

xoxo

Harper

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This is the golden age of something good and right and real

i can’t believe i am about to type this, but it is fall…and i am in love! Never before in my life have i liked anything about fall, it always meant the end of sunshine and shorts and leaving your house barefoot and carefree. i love everything that summer signifies and always hated everything that fall represented: raking leaves, family parties (if you knew my family you’d understand), school, and my grandma’s disgusting pumpkin soup. But this year, this year it’s all different. i don’t know how to explain the change, but i can just feel it. The cooler weather has me feeling refreshed and renewed, like the next chapter in my life is about to begin and i just know that it is going to be my favorite chapter yet. The book of my life has been written by fear and anxiety all these years, but this chapter will be written with love and confidence. 

Since moving in with N my life has gotten significantly better. And not just because of all the love and romance that He brings into my life, but for selfish reasons too. Becoming a slave (or i would imagine becoming any part of a BDSM dynamic) really forces you to look deep inside of yourself to figure out what you want and what you need. And who you want to become. And not only are you forced into self discovery, but you’re given the freedom to revel and explore in what you discover. It’s this simple thing but so tragically rare; to be given the freedom to explore who you want to be. Growing up in such a religious and myopic community i was never given any sort of freedom and as a result i lacked confidence and maturity. i didn’t know how to be kind to the person that i was becoming because i was made to feel like such an outsider for becoming her. But the BDSM community, my little corner of it anyway, is filled with so much grace and acceptance and freedom that i am finally growing. And i think that’s what my summer was about; self discovery, acceptance, and grace. My summer was full of adventures both physically and metaphorically. i got to travel around the country and meet wonderful new people, and i also got to dig deep down in my heart and meet new sides of myself that i didn’t know were there. i have accepted the things about me that i do not like, and am working on changing these traits with patience and grace. i have discovered parts of my heart that i am proud of and in love with, and i am falling in love with that feeling. To let myself accept the love that, not only i have for who i am, but that others have for me as well.

And so, while summer was splendid, i can’t help but find excitement in what fall may be bringing. i imagine that it will be bold and bright and beautiful. i hope to learn how to be more outgoing and unabashed when meeting new people in the community. Of owning my kinks more fully and not letting myself find shame in them. i want my fall to be full of fireworks, of excitement, and of passion, and of unending enthusiasm. That’s what i really want. Explosions. i want something to shift and shake my atmosphere and turn my world upside down and cause me to be unable to sleep at night because i am “feeling all the feels.” i want fall to exhaust me. i want fall to be full of love, i want to love everyone i meet so hard that they remember me for that fact alone. You’ve been warned: i fully intend to love your face off. And i want to accept everyone’s love so that it can fill me and keep the fire in me glowing. i want fall to be a bright burning fire. i am learning that just because you’re afraid to be alone doesn’t give you reason enough to stop someone chasing your heart. So i am done stopping. And pausing. And second guessing. Fall is a season for clean plates and new Septembers, and fresh starts. For reprogramming yourself. i am diving, head first, into fall and all the adventures i can feel awaiting me. And i am so so excited!

Cause, baby, i could build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me

As much as I want to see the world as something that’s constantly shining and full of glitter sometimes I can’t help but feel like the glitter has dulled a bit and it’s really hard for me to find the sparkles. Don’t get me wrong, my life is the greatest ever and I really am so disgustingly happy pretty much all the time, but I can’t help but feel like there’s this dark cloud that is always close behind and ready to cover up everything. Like I have to work to find the glitter instead of just seeing it naturally. And today was one of those days where the dark cloud won. I had a session earlier this afternoon and it left me feeling used and empty. He made me feel cheap and worthless, but mainly I was just so disappointed in myself for letting this stranger affect my emotions at all. I have been working really hard with N and my mentor (we’ll call her A) on not letting the opinion of those who don’t add to my life deter me from finding myself and my happiness, and in ten minutes I gave this man permission to bring that dark cloud over my day. And it’s not like he was excessively rude or obnoxious, he just made it clear that he was a better human than I am because I escort and he has an “actual job” and that I “wasn’t as fun as I portrayed myself online.” Okay, maybe he was rude and obnoxious. But here’s the thing, some of these men who hire escorts think that they’re using us and that that makes them the”better” being somehow, that they’re taking advantage and getting away with it….but honestly, I feel like that’s just not the case. By choosing to escort, I am choosing to own my sexuality. I get to control who it is and what I get out of the experience. And I feel like society sees escorting as this dirty/disease ridden/gross sex/drug money escapade situation that encourages mysogny and increases the rates of STD’s, but they couldn’t be further from the truth. Escorting is so much more than that. It’s like minded people finding each other, it’s an outlet for the socially awkward or the lonely or the shut in’s. And in most sessions I spend more time in conversation than in anything else, whether it’s just a widower who is lonely and wants company, or it’s a woman who hasn’t yet figured out how to come out about her sexuality, or a transexual who just wants to talk to someone that wont judge them. I get to spend my life making others happy, giving them an outlet or someone that can relate to them, and at times, also helping them live out sexual fantasies they would otherwise be ashamed of.  I turned this visceral desire for sex and this personal desire to make people’s lives better into a way for me to make a living. I found something that I am passionate and excited about and turned it into a career. And what’s more, I overcame the stigma’s and the pressure that society placed on this type of living and had enough faith in myself and belief in who I am as a person that I chose to do it despite the judgement I knew would come. And that makes me proud. I am proud of myself and of who I am. And that’s why I got so mad at this man today, he attacked who I am. I don’t do escorting, I am an escort. I own it, I love it. And I let him make me forget that. I let him condemn that, and really, who the hell is he? I get to meet all kinds of different people, and fly to all these beautiful places, and experience all of these crazy things, and have orgasms, and all my sexual fantasies fulfilled, all while getting paid for it. Tell me how that’s not the worlds best job? I refuse to be humiliated or judged and disgraced because of the ignominy that is attached to what I chose to do with my life. Especially by someone who just financially supported that very thing.

And so, this is for, really anyone who cares to listen to this. You’re allowed to not be okay with escorting or not feel comfortable with breaking the law, that’s your prerogative. You have every right to not want to support it, but you have no right to judge or to shit all over the people who choose to take part in it. We might seem like a crazy different species, but we have feelings and emotions and deserve the same respect that you would give the CEO of Apple. So does the garbage man, and an elementary school teacher, and every other person in the land. Respect and being kind are just necessities, damnit. And that’s all I have to say about that.

And for those who are wondering: I found the glitter again this evening in a bouquet of sunflowers and a pumpkin spice latte 😉

xoxo

Harper

It’s a roller coaster kind of rush, and i never knew that i could feel that much

Let me tell you the three things i hate most in all the world. 1. waking up early  2. closed minded people and 3. doing anything domestic. Anything at all. But today i made N a full legitimate dinner (like bread and an appetizer and a main course and sides) for when He got home from school. And while i suck, and i mean SUCK at cooking, and really actually kind of hate it, lately it’s become something that i really enjoy doing for Him. So, i set up the living room to look like a restaurant and got all dressed up, and made a menu that was filled with all sorts of adorable comments (He had to pay in kisses) and cooked a dinner that was actually edible and served it all awkwardly, and totally crushed it. And i am proud, i feel like i have purpose tonight. i still can’t believe it but i feel this rush. He is happy, and content, and relaxed and for me, that’s the whole idea. i mean this is what i always imagined being a slave is all about. It’s not always about the rough sex and the collars and the rules and the scenes, sometimes it’s as simple as just going out of your way to make His day a little easier. And don’t get me wrong, i really enjoy servicing Him with my body or with bondage and i totally get into letting Him use my body as He wishes, but i feel the same sense of purpose, the same rush, when i do vanilla things for N too. Whether that’s cooking Him a meal or remembering to stock up on His favorite beer, or even just cleaning up the house. i like the idea that His life is easier because i am around. It makes me feel like i am winning at this whole servitude thing.

And i think the most shocking part about all of it is that it comes so easy. The cleaning, and the cooking, and the errand running….it is so easy to do for Him. Which might not sound like anything much, but if you ever talked to anybody that i have ever existed with. i am THE messiest and laziest human that has ever roamed this earth. i hate laundry, my closet always looks like it threw up…not all over just my room but the entire house, and i never ever remember to pick things up for the house, ever. my idea of a well balanced meal is fruity pebbles with bacon as a side, my idea of cleaning is shoving things out of sight, and my idea of laundry is going out and just buying new clothes. But with N it’s different. Now i am buying lysol and swifters and actually picking things up to vacuum under them. And what’s more, i delight in these things because i know that He appreciates them and they make Him feel good. And that makes me feel good. It makes me feel 10 feet tall. And tonight, after dinner when He was paying His “bill” (aka laying kisses all over my face) N whispered in my ear that He wanted to cherish me forever, and just like that everything came into focus. my life, the serving Him, and all the sacrifices that i made to be here with Him, they were all worth it.

i often let me insecurities and doubts distract me from the simple fact that N cherishes me. That i am a His possession and that He loves me as such. i see other girls on fetlife that have sexier photos or do dirtier things and i see the porn that He downloads on His computer and i let it distract me from what’s important. N has chosen me, He has built a life that i am an essential part of, and He cherishes me. N cherishes me. And maybe i am not doing a good job of explaining to you the peace that that fact brings me, but if i knew every word in the english language i still probably wouldn’t be able to put it into words. It’s like, if Taylor Swift (or i suppose if you have another artist you like more) just walked off stage in the middle of a performance and walked right up to you and started singing you one of her love songs. If she totally ignored the thousands of other screaming fans in the audience and just sang to you. How special would that make you feel? N, who is this outrageously kind, compassionate, intellectual, handsome, patient man, He chose me out of the crowd. He chose to cherish me. And that is why slaving over a stupid stove that hardly works, and burning my hand so bad i laid on the floor and cried for a solid half hour, and forgetting half of my grocery list at home so having to make 5 different runs to the grocery store, it was all worth it. And i would do it all over again to hear Him tell me how cherished i am. Annnnd if He lets me give a blow job by the end of the night 😉

xoxo

Harper

Nice to meet you, where you been? i could show you incredible things.

Hi, i’m Harper (some of you know me by other names) and i know that you don’t know me very well and i don’t know you at all but i am kind of hoping that changes. i am starting this blog because i want there to be a place for the sexually adventurous to be able to come and find safety to ask questions or even just see what BDSM is all about.  i am an escort and a slave full time, and a bit of an emotional rollercoaster half of the time. i plan on posting about my adventures and excursions and giving those who are inquiring a look into the life that i lead. i come from a religious, conservative, pretty judgmental family and have found my way into a community full of love and compassion and grace. i have an undying love affair going on with tequila and bad decisions, and always have Taylor Swift playing in the background. i am obsessed with my Dominant, N, and am trying to figure out where i fit in His life and how to be okay with that status. i like to think that despite all the corrupted sides of me i am still a good person and that people will learn to love them just as i have.  i chase glitter and sparkles like the ADD infected kitten that i am. i have a shattered heart, but somehow it’s full and overflowing with love and happiness. And while it goes without saying, this blog is NSFW which while i’m not totally sure what that stands for, i know it means it’s dirty and inappropriate so don’t look if you’re not allowed. Or if you’re going to be mean.

xoxo,

H