In Pursuit of the Odalisque

An odalisque is female slave or concubine that lives in a Turkish harem.

In art, she is often portrayed nude and lying on her side, sometimes looking straight into the eyes of the spectator with an unflinching, unapologetic gaze. It’s as if she’s saying, “My body is his, he uses it for his pleasure and I am proud of my service and my charms.”

Jean_Auguste_Dominique_Ingres,_La_Grande_Odalisque,_1814

As a fine arts student, I was captivated by the odalisque paintings from Ingres, Goya, Boucher and Lefebvre. Though I never told anyone, I had a secret desire to be an odalisque. I wanted to be owned by a master that knew that I was put on this earth to be his erotic plaything. I wanted to stay naked all day and dance to the beat of primal drums.

I was also seduced by the idea of being kidnapped solely for my beauty and what my body could offer. I fantasized about it all the time. How wonderful to be a harem girl; spirited away from my banal existence and forced to live in a palace full of exotic color, music and sex.

I would bathe and eat and sleep and please. That would be my life.

While nestled on a bed of silk sheets, waiting for him to summon me, I would get wet and needy with anticipation.

I couldn’t think of anything more glorious than to know my only job was to please a man. No paper pushing or emails or phone calls, just your body, your mind, your creativity.

An odalisque is a woman distilled down to her primal essence.

Yet it wasn’t enough for me to be a sexual object. I needed more. My master would love me, he would favor me above all the other beautiful girls in his harem. We would kiss until our lips swelled.

Before long, he would forget any of them existed and we could sink into silk sheets until we melted into one.


Header Image: Odalisque by Jules Joseph Lefebvre (1874).

Image within Post: Grande Odalisque by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (1814)

Where the Light Enters

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi


I thought the wounds from my past were substantial until you left a hole in my heart so wide that its quivering walls began to crack open, revealing the vulnerable soul hidden inside.

Each cell in my body is on fire. I am pain and beauty and love.

Though I want to surrender to unending sleep, I continue on my journey. But how am I supposed to navigate life when my compass refuses to work?

My tears speak of my undying love for a man who has released me from his service. If two enter a D/s relationship together, it seems cruel that only one gets to decide when it ends.

But then again, in any relationship, one is all it takes. The moment a soul inches away from another, the ties that bind them together stretch and strain until they finally snap.

Though you let me go and I said goodbye, we forgot to tell my heart. She still believes, still hopes.

Once she yielded to your commands–tender and firm, loving and dominant–she never turned back. She transformed and now I can no longer control her.

You released me, but my heart is still in bondage.

I told her we’re not doing this again; love hurts too much. I told her to close and protect herself. She won’t listen. She just keeps opening like a rose welcoming the morning sun, leaving herself more and more exposed every day.

If Rumi was right, then I am about to burn as bright as the sun.


Expansion Sculpture by Paige Bradley

Is it so Easy to Let Me Go?

“There were many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts being broken by love, but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream-whatever that dream might be.”

Pearl Buck

Today was a cold, dark day, and not just because of the weather. I don’t know what it was that triggered it, but I was completely lost.

I had to run to the ladies’ room to cry, then I cried all the way home from work.

I reached out to you by getting back on WhatsApp. You haven’t read it yet. There’s a tiny shred of hope that you’ll reply, but I doubt it will make any difference.

I just don’t understand how you could excise me from your life with such surgical precision. We connected almost every single day for 16 months, James, and then nothing. It’s shocking to me and disturbing. It makes me wonder if you really loved me as much as you said you did.

I never loved anyone like I love you and being apart from you is tearing me to pieces. Yet not a word from you. Is it so easy to let me go?

I keep going through the past months in my head and how much love you said you had for me. But you never said I was the love of your life. You never said you had never loved anyone like you loved me. Even in my darkest days I cannot believe that you didn’t love me at all, but now I think you didn’t love me enough; certainly not as much as I loved you. That wound is going to leave a permanent mark in my psyche.

You said you were letting me go because you were becoming a burden to me. But that can’t be. I never said anything like that to you or made you feel that way. I have no idea where you got that from. God knows I have a lot going on in my life and maybe I was the one burdening you.

I can be a lot. I know that.

Or maybe you just stopped loving me. I hear there are people that can do that.

Guess what? I’m not one of them.

You’re a Hard Habit to Break

“Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.” Peter Ustinov

You’re supposed to be able to break a habit in three weeks. Well, it has been over three weeks, James, and you still have quite the hold on me. It’s like you’re in my blood, coursing through my veins.

I know that loving someone like that is a noble thing, but what good is nobility if its reward is pain?

You gave me wings. You were the first person who saw me as I truly was and accepted me. Or am I wrong? Because if you had truly seen me, you wouldn’t have left just because you were sick.

As I’ve tried to tell you, I would take you healthy or sick. If you had 30 hours or 30 years, I would have gladly gone along for the ride, no matter how bumpy or difficult it was. It would have been my honor.

The fact that you didn’t give me a chance to be with you at your darkest hour, especially if this illness takes your life, is cruel. You would never be a burden, James. Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you let me love you like that? Is it a Dom’s pride or do you really think it is the right thing to do?

All I know is that it feels completely wrong to me. You took something away from me; stole it. Now you’ll never know love’s full, healing power.


Painting: Cupid and Psyche by Eugene Medard (1878)

My First Release

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief… and unspeakable love.”

Washington Irving

Three weeks ago today, my Dom, the man I thought I would be with forever, released me. Since then I’ve been sinking slowly in to a dark vacuum of despair; questioning my place in this world.

In my heart I felt I was created to love him; to heal him. And he felt his mission was the same. At least that’s what he said. I’m questioning so many things now.

We were star-crossed from the start. I live in Austin, TX and he lives in London. In the 16 months of our relationship, Sir James and I never met. We Skyped, chatted and emailed almost every single day without fail. Though I never touched him, it was the most intense love affair I’ve ever had.

On February 15, 2014, Sir James and I entered a D/s relationship that would be one of the most fulfilling and beautiful things I’ve ever done in my life. A week shy of our one-year anniversary he ended it with a sad, heartfelt letter.

He did it for altruistic reasons, at least that’s his side of the story. I’m not so sure. I’ll tell you the story on this blog and you can be the judge.

Now that the spell is broken, though the love still has a hold on me, I can look back at all the unanswered questions. He was a mystery from the beginning and maybe I liked that, but mysteries are not always meant to be solved.

After he released me, I begged him several times to reconsider, but as of today I haven’t heard one single word from him. My messages, like many of my prayers, remain unanswered. My heart continues to disintegrate.

I don’t want to become the psycho ex-sub who can’t let go. So instead I’m going to tell him and whoever else wants to listen, exactly what he meant to me and where I am in my struggle to survive the biggest heartbreak of my life.

Everything on this blog is real. It comes from my gut, my heart and my soul.

This is my story.


Painting: Biblis by William Adolphe Bouguereau (1884).