Moving Day!

Well, I got packed quicker than I thought. Rusty Nale has a new address. These doors on this blog will remain open for those who can't find their way.

However, my new lodging is at:



Please don't forsake me - come to my new digs, and bring your friends ... there's room!

And, THANK YOU all for your patience and dedication. Always, Rusty!


Review and/or Purchase Your Copy of My New Book

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Standing in My Corner

This is Sunday Morning. It's bleak and foggy, and I am standing in a corner of my bedroom, staring back into the room ... no one has sent me here; its not a punishment or lesson of any kind; I am merely looking back into my life through the eyes of an outsider.

Life changes everything - we all know that. My year has been incredibly horrific on so many levels, yet I am acutely aware of my blessings and my fortune, i.e., to still have a pulse. My thoughts race constantly these days. What am I doing? What do I seek? Why am I not reaching anything I reach for? Last year, I chose to divorce my spouse of 17 years to be free in order to get free. One thing that had not even been on the back burner, but tossed to the back of the closet with old boots and hair pieces, was my submission - watching me accusingly every time I opened the door, never daring to step out and embrace me, and I it ... just watching me, glaring, hating me for hiding it there - banished to the land of misfit desires. It cannot help but notice my shame and sadness for having done this, by sending it away for so long - un-nurtured, not cared for, wasted ...

So, I let it out unleashed, out of control, with no direction or purpose. I thought it was only physical - never knowing or understanding the depth of its being, and its need to be part of me. My submission. Like a spoiled brat, it taunts and teases me, daring me at every turn in life.

Last year I met a man online who is a spanker. He's not a dom or at least, he never professes to be so, he just likes to spank. We talked a bit, and one day I chose to meet him and see if we were comfortable with each other. He asked me questions I had no answers for. Why? Why are you here? What is it you want from me? What would you have me to do you and for you? What do you expect to feel and take away from this. Suddenly, in the complete opposite of what most submissives say, I broke down in his arms and cried like an infant -- he had not yet spanked me at all -- my emotions came forth up front. I always thought it came in a flooded release after I submitted myself for discipline, etc.

The moment was so unusual, and shaken, I stood up to go, but he pulled me back; his eyes and his hand on my arm forceful, gentle, firm. He advised that I had come there to be spanked, and spanked I would be. But ... but, I'm okay now, its not necessary any more. I was going home. Not so. Swift as lightning, I was across his lap and to my shock I received a long, hard spanking from him that took my breath away. Again, with the questions, louder now, covering my shrieks, sobs and howls, "Why? Why are you here? What is it you want from me? Why do you wish to be spanked?" And again, with the tears, the flood, the newer, more forceful emotions, surging through me from my gut through my mouth. In agony I sobbed all the things banging in my head, tearing through my heart -- the guilt, the bitterness, the sadness, despair and lonely, lonely cancer-like mites eating through my soul.

This time, he consoled and held me and rocked me for a good hour - I let it go, let it all go, and he was so tender and sweet, and exceedingly gentle.

I met with him once more before suffering a fall that had me laid up for a while. I missed him and wanted to share myself with him again and again, but he refused, not wanting to hurt me until my injuries from the fall had healed. Well, they'll never heal, and my needs are still there -- emotions surge constantly, and its my only release.

So, I'm still looking ... always looking. The vanilla gentleman I'd met last month wanted to pursue something more with me, and I'd considered it - even though he knew of my needs, and I knew he was not "there" with me ... Again, I've moved on ... and on ... and on ... and on ...

My mother is very ill, and my life is now in a suspended state where I just roam from room to room without purpose, without production. The world appears (to me) to have left me, standing here in this corner, waiting and waiting, along with my submission. We stand here together, glaring out into the room, the street, the world ... waiting ... angry and bitter that I have put us both here -- hating me for hiding us there - banished to the land of misfit desires. We cannot help but notice my shame and sadness for having done this ... how long will we have to endure this? How long - un-nurtured, not cared for, wasted ... ?