it’s 4am when my alarm goes off – the first one. i’m one of those people, i regret to inform you. Five alarms to punctuate what i insist is a lie in, and Mx just thinks is deranged behaviour (“a lie in is when you sleep,” They say). At 5am i twist in the dark to see the faint silhouette of Their face and say “hey, Mx, i need to get up.” They give my butt a lazy squeeze, groan, then turn on Their phone light to find the padlock key. The air is cold on my feet, the chain warm from my body heat as the lock clicks, metal rattles, and slides loose. They give me permission to pee – after Them, of course – and They burrow back into bed as i begin my day.
Coffee in the kitchen, i hit my vape like my life depends on it – one week off the cigarettes and i’m still mad about it – and drag my stiff body into my running kit. Last night, Mx had me kneel while W/we watched TV. Chained to the coffee table, posture collar, rigid handcuffs, fishnets and a pig hood. my knees and lower back screamed in protest but of course i was wet – restrict and degrade me and i’m a feral mess. They weren’t immune either – before the planned two hours had passed They shoved me forward, face slamming painfully into the floor, neck twisted, my left shoulder shifting to take my full weight. They fucked me hard but it was my body that created its own pain in the position that put every muscle and joint to the test. Sobbing with pain, dripping with cum, i burrowed into Their thighs when They unlocked me. “Good pig.” Now my body is feeling it in a different way – dull aches, memories of Their hands, Their cock. A sweeter ache, too, from where They didn’t let me cum but – i hope – soon will.
Now i water my basil plants, i lace up my trainers, and mentally plan a route that keeps me close to the streetlights. my fear of the dark hasn’t left me – perhaps it never will – but it’s a pale ghost of the terror that ruled my life for so long. These shadows persist – the feeling of being watched when i’m alone, the prickling of old grief when i see a family who love each other, the whispered question “what if all this is taken away?” when i’m loved. Maybe the echo of my past will never truly die, but it’s weak today. It’s been weak all year.
i open the door into the lingering night, and run.
i don’t want to write out a detailed list of stuff i’ve done this year. i’m dragging my sluggish self out of a bit of a writer’s block so i’m only writing what my brain wants to, and also, W/we’ve got a podcast episode coming out tomorrow that does exactly that. i think what i want to write about is how i’ve changed this year.
Because i didn’t expect to. Oh, i expected to physically change – W/we started exploring bimbofication on January 1st and i’m almost unrecognisable now. But i didn’t think i had much – to be really cheesy – growing and healing left to do. i struggled to think of any New Year’s resolutions last year (apart from replying to my comments more consistently, which i think i’ve done quite well at). 2024 was pretty fucking awesome and i ended the year in a good place.
But now as i look back over 2025 i realise more has shifted – more than i knew could.
It starts last Christmas – multi-coloured fairy lights and mismatched decorations W/we bought just because W/we liked them, rediscovering festive joy my inner child needed and my bitter adult self had shut out for too long. It continues with makeup shopping and plastic hair and everything pink, finally shedding the last need to perform either femininity or masculinity to prove a point. Something feels different in March, when my elderly cat suddenly gets ill, then dies. The grief is awful, messy, inconsistent and disorienting. But there was a time i only stayed alive because i had to feed him. i realise i haven’t had to live for him – or anyone – for a long time. i’m alive now because i love my life. That sense of being right where i’m supposed to be doesn’t leave me, even in the worst times.
Summer comes – “free mum hugs” on a stranger’s shirt at Pride as i ugly cry in her arms, and feel a little lighter. A whipping in the woods that tears pieces of armour off my soul. A music festival – “i want to get closer to the squelchy noises” as i burrow through the crowds for The Prodigy.
W/we fly to Dublin for a weekend, and go to another eye-wateringly expensive concert. Some time in the last two years i lost the need to eat expired food and always buy the value range and get anxious in my chest when i have an unexpected expense. i started budgeting in rounded numbers, not pennies. i have a savings account. W/we fly to Cyprus for a week. In between those two things, i end several long-term friendships over an irreconcilable difference in values i have been trying to ignore for years. It sucks. The friendships, i realise afterwards, sucked more. i cannot heal from my past surrounded by people who are incapable of understanding what was done to me, and i am not going to beg anyone to listen anymore.
And then it’s been two years since i had any contact with my parents. i only know it as an approximate time of year – this is rounded, too, to some time as the nights get longer but before my anniversary with Mx. i don’t think about it til it’s long passed, and then i think of it in passing. It’s not a wound anymore. It’s not a spiteful celebration either, a declaration of independence. It just is. It’s something i’ll feel, weak and distant like sunlight in deep water, drinking with Mx’s family in December. Like there’s a glimpse there of something i could have had, but didn’t, not ever, and then one of them says “you’re a [surname] now” even though i haven’t married in and it’s only the second time i’ve met this person and i realise, i have everything i need.
Two years with Mx, in November. W/we eat too much pasta to fuck and i remember last year when that happened i spiralled thinking that no anniversary sex was some sort of terrible omen. This year, it’s fine. my sanity isn’t governed by important dates and momentous occasions and the right things happening at the right time to tell the story i need to hold onto – life just happens in all its disorganised ways and it’s nice to eat too much pasta, actually. W/we make up for it the next day.
This year i stopped coping and started living. i didn’t really know i was doing that before – or i didn’t know more was an option. Last year i came out of survival mode, but there was still an edge to it, a what if this can’t last? What if i’m not good enough, what if my boundaries aren’t worth respecting, what if i’m just tricking people into valuing me and if i’m at all imperfect even for a second they’ll all notice? That’s faded – so gradually i didn’t notice it was happening.
Late December, in the car, i catch sight of something completely new – a thread of silver in my parting. i poke it loose with my fingertip and it stands on ends – new growth or breakage, hard to say (and, not to be too heavy with the point, but what are growth and breakage if not two parts of a whole?) but either way its short and wiry and fills me with joy.
“i’ve got a grey hair Mx!” i demand They look upon it, and fully appreciate it.
“i’m so excited!” i admire it some more.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” They say. They love and support – but don’t remotely understand – my positive outlook on ageing. But i didn’t expect to grow old, once. And i never expected to find someone i was so happy and proud to be growing old with. And now W/we’re here, gaining lines and greys and wisdom and experience. The future is coming for U/us, and W/we’re so ready for it.
So what’s next?
i’m gonna start writing again. This was fun, though i don’t think it’s my best work (for that check out Sixty-Five, or Not Friends (Ain’t That The Worst Thing You Ever Heard?) in my opinion). i wanna get really awesome at it again, and then maybe finally write a book? Who knows. This year i’m gonna work on replying to DMs more, have some kind of content strategy, keep up with friends better and form deeper connections, get to more kink events and especially classes, run 10k, and develop more audacity. Audacity made me start a podcast and run an event this year, so i think it’s good for me.
Wait, i started this with my morning routine. Let’s wrap up there.
i run. RØRY on the playlist first – back from the dead, breath in my lungs – and oh, no, that scene the night before this run was not well timed. my calves and thighs burn as i dodge wet leaves and mud and the early-hours dog walkers. Home by 6:45 and sticky, lungs burning, achy, but satisfied. i sort laundry, wash my hair in the shower (dry shampoo has carried me quite far enough for now), and get glam for the day ahead. i’ve been awake for four hours when i start work.
Is this what normal life feels like? A morning routine, a quiet mind? A kitchen with plants and laundry, a living room with Christmas lights, a bedroom with a sleepy Dominant and a coiled chain? W/we’ve got edges and quirks and by normal standards W/we’re not so normal at all, but W/we have a life i never thought i was capable of. Not lurching from crisis to crisis, just existing. Am i capable of that? i never thought i was, but as the moments of peace start to bleed out until they infuse every minute of my life, i realise i am capable of more than i thought.
kirizal talks kink 