Author: Ms. Dixie Wrecked

I'm a 30-something wife and a mother of two.


In the beginning of my blogging days it was about sharing my journey, the good and bad. Then, it evolved into learning about myself, finding a voice, being heard, and feeling like I was a part of something. Since I’ve started this blog… I guess it’s mostly been about ideas and my struggles. Looking back, I’m really not happy with it.

I have things going on in my life, new and old, that I could write about, but I don’t want to… or I don’t feel like I should… or I don’t feel like I need to… I dunno, maybe it is everything. Maybe this is the new me.

I’m going to take a break for a while and see what happens.




I Want a Puppet, Not Play

I didn’t find D/s through the BDSM community, I entered by way of blogs and my Dom was my husband of twelve years. I didn’t have to worry about predators and finding the right Dom. I didn’t have to build trust the same way people do with new partners. I haven’t had play partners (Dom or sub), therefore I have never had to follow the rules that go along with that. I have never been to a play party or anything other than a munch — and the only munch I’ve been to was this month, five years after finding D/s. What I’m trying to say is that my views were not formed by the scene. And now I’m (somewhat) stepping into it and I feel like I’m in a completely different world. Things are just not done the same way, and there are good reasons for it.

I completely understand the need for protecting new subs with a bunch of guidelines, spreading the word about what they should expect and what they should absolutely not put up with. There needs to be rules for play parties, dungeons, and all that. I also think new Dom/mes should be armed, as well. It is a crazy world out there to begin with, add BDSM and… you just need to be even more careful.

I think the BDSM scene will end up being a world I only visit. I can’t see myself submerging in it ’cause there’s this other world that is… my home. I am excited to meet kinky people, I am excited to learn, but when faced with play parters and such, I just can’t seem to get excited. It’s like… meh, that’s cool, but look over here! Look at this!

There’s a boi kneeling for me. I could pass over a million kneeling subs without a second glance, because they aren’t kneeling for me. This one doesn’t kneel because he is a sub, he kneels because he is my slave. He is there for me — to please me, obey me, endure for me. He is my puppet. He will be whatever I want him to be. My personal massage therapist, done. My sex toy, done. My crying, helpless bitch, done. We don’t negotiate, his limits are where I put them, I don’t need his consent because he is mine. It doesn’t end, the chains don’t disappear, we don’t part ways. He is mine, always.

That is what I am invested in. That’s what feeds me and calms my mind. I know there is a lot of surface I could scratch, but I want depth.

My Pieces of Darkness

I read this post and the comments over at Porn Girl’s place and it got me thinking about my own experiences with telling people about my past.

I have told many people bits of my past over the years. I keep it simple and only tell what is necessary for the situation. There are people that have been sheltered and telling them my history either opens their eyes or they shut it out. It seems like a lot of people do not want to see the bad in the world. I don’t blame them, there are days when I wish I couldn’t see it.

I hated it when people would look at me differently after they found out about my dad. It was almost like they forgot who I was and I suddenly became the girl with the convict dad (or whatever it was I decided to tell them). It seemed to define me. People pitied me, and I really hated that. I stopped talking about it because I didn’t want to be under that shadow.

I also hold these pieces close to me. I hoard them. They are my precious pieces of darkness. These are the path to my soul and I am not about to let just anyone in. No one has all my pieces, and I’m not sure if I will ever be able to share them all with the same person. They are mine, they are all I have. It is irrational, I know.

Having said that, I have taken the risk and shared some of them with B, a lot more than I normally share. It was worth it, but it was also really fucking scary because he saw more than what I shared, and that is totally unfair! And uncomfortable. And unbelievably nice.

Yesterday, I shared a little bit with a few people, and… I didn’t feel alienated. It was pretty amazing. Now that I think about it, I think it actually made me feel like I kinda fit in. Strange…


For the past couple of months, I have had someone on my mind. She was a friend from a lifetime ago. I made quite a few mistakes with her and it is coming back to haunt me.

This girl, let’s call her Kelly, looked up to me. I honestly have no idea why. She was older than me and, trust me when I say, I wasn’t someone to look up to. I was emotionally detached, I took risks for the thrill, I was a mess.

I can remember the first time I met her. Kelly had ran away from home, after going from friend to friend she ended up at my boyfriends house, where I happened to be. I don’t remember if I noticed at the time, but I can clearly see it now, she thought I was awesome. Kelly lied about some things to make herself look cooler — kids do that. I knew she was lying but I didn’t care, she was nice and troubled, just like myself.

I had the power to set her life in a different direction. I’m not joking, I had that power. I knew her for years. She loved me. She wanted to name her kid after me, but after being persuaded by her (crackhead) family, decided to use my middle name for her daughter’s middle name — still a huge honor for me. Kelly’s eyes would light up when she saw me… I never really noticed. I mean, I knew how she felt, I wasn’t that blind. I was too caught up in myself to see what I could have done for her, or what she could have done for me.

I was really young, though. I didn’t know the power I had.

I turned her to drugs and let her go.

At some point, after I let her go, she started using needles and got Hep C.

She died eight years ago.

And I have no way to say I’m sorry.

Nude Knitting and Seeing Change

I had my second weekend without the kiddos. It is strange not having them around. The house is so quiet. There is no one to look after, no reason to hurry, no one to feed and water, no interruptions, which is relaxing. On the other side, I miss them. I miss their laughter and hugs. They are my art buddies. I miss them telling how to do things on Minecraft (that I will never actually do) — I think they just like telling me things I don’t already know. I miss their company, even though it comes with a lot of extra work.

It is all so new, I’m not sure what to do with myself.

So I left my vibrators out. I watched tv. I played a video game. I knitted. I spent quite a bit of time naked. You know, just because. This is me slowly spreading my wings.

I did chores around the house, as well, but that’s boring to talk about.

I really want to get to a place where I am comfortable being alone. I want to figure out who I am with out all the distractions that pull me in different directions. I can’t recall ever having the opportunity to do this, or giving myself the opportunity.

I also have done some self-reflecting (I know, totally surprising). I have a list of things that I want to change about myself and have wanted to change for a while now. I get so frustrated because it feels like I’m not changing, at all. However, given what I have been through the past few years, and my whole life for that matter, I probably shouldn’t be too hard on myself. And, after looking back, I have come so far.

I read some posts from my old blog. I was so sad back then. I hated myself in all ways, I didn’t feel like I mattered or deserved better. I was broken. My place was being used because that’s all I was good for, that’s all I could do right.

I am not that person anymore. I am so much more… I was so much more.

Sure, I still have bad moments and I fall. It hurts. And it is ugly. However, I don’t feel helpless anymore. I hate that I fall, but I don’t hate myself. I don’t feel guilty all the time. I fight harder. I see clearer. I have goals. I am changing.


So, I got what I wanted. I am divorced and he is out of the house. The air isn’t so heavy anymore. I have room to spread my wings.

Not that I’ve done any spreading.

I have a lot of envy flowing through me right now. I want a lot that I don’t have. I really don’t want to feel this way, I wish there was an off switch. The most logical thing to do would be to go get what I want. The problem with that is, what I want is too far out of my reach, at the moment. I have all these excuses not to reach for anything else and I’m probably just scared. But maybe not. Maybe I’ve lived too much to waste my time with reaching for things that won’t be there.

Yeah, I’m probably just scared. But, jaded, too. Not a great combination.

It has only been two weeks, though.

I just want friendship. That’s it. Someone to celebrate with. To have a drink with. Someone to say, “You did it! You’re so amazing and strong!”

But, I am who I am, and I am here, alone, by no fault other than my own, so I’ll raise my glass to myself.

Cheers. You did it.