He leads my naked body from the living room to the bedroom, and in to the attached bathroom. He drops my hand near the shower, and reaches in to turn on the water.
He begins to guide me towards the shower stall, however I know better and come to a stop. It usually takes a couple of minutes for the water to warm up, and at the moment it’s freezing cold. He continues to push me into the shower.
“But it’s not warmed up yet!” I exclaim, to be met with another sharp spank.
“Stop talking. Don’t you think I realize that?” he responds matter-of-factly and pushes me under the cold stream. I shriek and suck in my breath as the icy spray hits my skin. My nipples immediately begin to rise and pucker as the gooseflesh covers my skin. I try to avoid the chilled water, but he disconnects the hand-held and aims it straight at me, at my breasts, smirking devilishly as his eyes take in my tight nipples now.
“Cup your breasts and fondle your nipples,” he commands gruffly, his eyes glinting. I obey with a smile, as I finally feel the warmth begin to flow into the water. I lean back onto the cool tile of the small stall, and close my eyes and let my mouth open as I inhale sharply when my fingers touch my sensitive nipples. A small moan escapes from my lips, and he aims the now warm jet of water towards my pelvis. I jump a little and open my eyes as he angles the stream towards my clit.
“Ahhh!” I cry out– it’s intense.
“Hold this–THERE…” he commands, passing off the shower head and stripping his clothing off quickly. I only have to hold it a moment until he steps into the shower and retrieves it again. He steps up to me, and with one hand pushes my hands above my head onto the wall, and leans down to take a nipple into his warm mouth, all the while aiming the pulsating stream at my clit. I begin to writhe under his ministrations, throwing my head back as I feel myself climbing, my knees weakening and my legs trembling. He pushes the water stream closer, bites down gently on my nipple and I convulse into my climax, my expletives echoing off the tile walls. He lowers his hand from mine and captures me around the waist, pulling me close into him. I shiver in my aftershocks, panting, my head lolling on his shoulder.
“The first of many more to come, sweet wife,” he murmurs as he kisses my temple.
He suddenly becomes all business again, replacing the shower head in it’s holder, and squirts my orange-ginger wash onto the shower sponge, and lathers up my back, down over my hips, to my feet, then back up inside my thighs and over my still sensitive clit. He works his sudsy fingers into my folds and inside of me, murmuring, “nice and clean…” as I squirm. He reaches around and finished the job on my breasts, arms, and under my arms. As the ends of my hair make ringlets over my breasts, I realize it is now damp from the shower spray and will soon become it’s natural wild, wavy halo.
He grabs the shower head again and rinses my body, taking extra time between my legs. Everything tightens as the spray hits me there again even for this brief moment. He shuts off the faucet, and exits the shower first, toweling off quickly and then holding my towel out to me. He wraps it around me and pulls me in for a deep kiss. His hand wanders down to my bottom and rubs teasingly.
“I think you need a few more spanks. Dry off, then go sit on the bed and wait for me.” “Yes sir,” I reply. My submissive has returned and is gratefully ready for more. I wring my damp hair out with the towel run my fingers through the waves and make my way to the bedroom.
DH opens up the toy chest, and approaches me with the blindfold. He puts it in place an I’m plunged into darkness. My ears perk up as I try to determine which toys he’s choosing.
“Stand up and turn to face the bed.” I do as I’m told. I feel his hand press my back down until my chest and face rest on the bedspread. I wait. And wait. I turn my head to tune my ears into the reason for the delay.
“Be still!” he orders, and punctuates it with a sharp leather swipe to my full cheeks. The flogger! We’ve only used this tool once, barely. Whoa, this has a very unique sting. He trails the strands teasingly from my shoulder blades to the small of my back, then sweeps it in a tickle across my buttocks, between my thighs. Suddenly it disappears and bites down sharply on my cheeks, once, twice, thrice… alternating.
“Count it out, you’ll have ten,” he breathes. I do as I’m told, my voice straining as we near 8. He hears the strain and pauses a moment. “Your color?”
“Um… green?” I reply unsurely.
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I hear the trace of concern. I know he doesn’t like hitting me, and certainly doesn’t want to hurt me.
“Absolutely green,” I say with more assurance. The last two strikes seem slightly lighter, much to my disappointment. I tell myself that I have to give him more verbal assurances along the way in the future.
He rubs my bottom, and I know I must be pink. I wish that he would enjoy that pink color as I do, but I realize that he’s not quite there yet. He does this for me.
“I hope I’m a pretty pink… Thank you sir,” I say. I drum up the nerve. “I’d be happy to be quite red… it would feel so good to me…” I suggest.
“You are pink,” he replies, a trace of regret in his voice.
“You are amazing, Sir. This is such a turn on…” I reassure. “More, please…” I ask.
I feel him shift a little and I don’t know if this means it’s over. I’m disappointed if that’s the case. I do want more– I want him to have the confidence to take me to my limits and beyond.
“Oh, that is divine,” I manage to say.
“How many shall I give you, DD?” he teases. I know he’s unsure. He needs coaxing.
“At least ten? Please sir?” I ask.
“I think 12,” he counters and I smile to myself. He’s trying so hard to push my limits. Each subsequent strike truly tests me, but I thank him for each one. By ten I feel the tears welling in my eyes and I feel his hesitation. I thank him again, trying to keep my voice steady. At twelve I let out a small sob, and I feel his body drape over mine and pull me up and gather me into his arms.
“I’m sorry….” he begins with concern.
“No! Please don’t say that! I LOVE what you did. These tears are what I want, so please don’t feel bad about it. You were marvelous. Please don’t break your Dom. You are doing so well, you are turning me on incredibly, this is a good thing” I reply between my sniffles. I take his hand in mine and guide it between my legs.
“Ohhhh…” he responds as he finds me slick and wetter than ever. “You ARE turned on!” he says with pride.
“Yes, you did that. You turned me on with the flogger and the paddle and your hand! I hope we can keep playing– didn’t you say you had more in store for me? The rougher, the better, the more helpless, the better,” I encourage.
I can feel his smile on my forehead where he’s pressed his lips.
“Rough?” he affirms. I nod my head vigorously. He releases me a moment and returns to the bed, grasping my wrist. I suck in my breath with excitement as I feel the fur-lined velcro cuff being fastened around my right wrist, and then my left. “Scoot up to the center of the bed and put you head at the pillows,” he orders gruffly now, and I shiver with delighted anticipation and scramble into place, truly feeling my sore butt now.
He fastens each wrist cuff to the tethers at the corners of the bed, then applies the ankle cuffs and pulls me taut on the bed, completely restrained and wide open. Oh, damn, this is hot. My imagination begins to run wild with the possibilities.
As if sensing where my head is going, he speaks. “We have ALL night DD. Nowhere to go. Nothing else to do. You are mine tonight, and I’m going to play with your body until you give me ten orgasms.” I feel him leave the bed.
I frown a little beneath my blindfold. Ten? Have I ever had ten? I think so–somewhere in my past, but not with DH. Four, five tops has been our record. Although we have made such amazing strides in our last 2 years of renewal, orgasms are sometimes hard for me to give to him, for him to take from me–and not through penetration. I usually need to have some control over them, and I need to feel he is taking control. I need time. My head is spinning little. Is he setting the bar a little high, I wonder? Does the one I had count?
I try to calm my mind and relax my body. I feel him sit back on the bed, and this time it’s the fur glove he’s skimming over my eager flesh. I moan with delight over his soft touch, which I adore almost as much as the rough.
“How many different ways can I make you come?” he muses as he continues to skim the fur over sensitive skin. There was one in the shower; shall we have one or two with my fingers? My mouth? The wand? The bullet? Me behind you, AND the bullet?” I shiver at his words, and feel his hand cup my sex with confidence and promise. He smacks my sex lightly, and I arch. Oh yes! I’ve begged him for spanks there, but up until this time, he’s been reluctant.
“Umf…” I groan and sigh. “Again, please, sir…” I encourage.
“Nine more orgasms to go… shall we begin, DD?”
I’m lying down on the couch, in a lazy mood today. I remind myself that I can’t get too used to this retired life. I’ll turn into a vegetable, a chubby vegetable. But for now, it’s OK. My tight little shorts and tank top feel good. Daily yoga helps keep things in place and firm.
The house has been quiet with the kids gone, I muse. It was a good summer all things considered–they were pretty fruitfully occupied with jobs and summer classes, a smattering of social time with friends, no major blowouts, and some decent family time. I even managed not to spiral too badly with the lack of kink we had to put up with because of DH’s sensitivities. And now they’re all back at school, and here we are–an “old retired couple.”
As if on cue, the back door opens with DH returned from errands, and I fail to feel at all guilty that he catches me doing absolutely nothing. I smile up at him.
He pauses and his eyes rest on my reclining form. I’m somewhat confused by his look. Is something wrong? Did something happen?
“What are you doing?” he asks sternly.
I giggle a little to diffuse the serious tension emitting from him, surely he’s joking. What’s with him? “Nuthin,” I sass back challengingly. I challenge him all the time, try the bratty routine, and he doesn’t bite. Sigh.
“I want your clothes off, now.”
“Huh?” I frown a little. He has my full attention. No, I didn’t hear these words from him.
“What are you waiting for?” he approaches me with an arched eyebrow.
“Here?” I squeak. “In the living room?” Our living room is wide open, with windows all around. Granted, someone would have to walk onto our property to look in, but it’s not entirely private.
“Stop questioning, and obey!” he says gruffly, moving forward quickly and taking a handful of my hair into his fist, and pulling me up to sitting on the couch.
“Owww!” I complain as my hand moves to my tingling scalp, but the butterflies in my stomach begin their decent to the core of my sex. “OK, OK, give me a sec,” I reply flippantly. What the fuck?
Before I can respond, he turns me and pulls me to my feet, his face inches from mine and his hand still tangled in my hair.
“What part of ‘clothes off’ do you not understand, wife? Get them off, and then I want you on the floor, ready for my inspection. And watch your mouth, your tone, your attitude, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I gulp with disbelief, but this time I don’t hesitate. Under his piercing scrutiny, I shimmy my shorts down, pull the tank over my head, and stand for a moment in panties only, feeling so very naked in this large, open room.
His mouth sets in a line, and he doesn’t have to say another word. I quickly peel the panties off and drop to the floor on my knees, trying to make it to the softer area rug near the center of the room.
We’ve never done inspection before. I don’t know what he expects. I just know what I’ve read in FSOG. I lower my head and spread my thighs, and lay my hands on my knees.
I feel him circle me like a lion to its prey, I feel his eyes on me. Fuck, this is so damn sexy, but also scary. This is a big unknown for me, for us. My breathing quickens as I feel his hand run through the strands of my long blond hair, this time without grabbing it. My thoughts scamper to when he did grab it a moment ago–another first. I liked it. I think I’m wet over that… or was it the spanks?
“I prefer your hair to be up, I want to see your face,” he instructs, and before I can stammer that I don’t have a hair tie ready, he replies for me. “Next time.” I want to retort that I’ll need a little warning, but I bite my tongue and nod my head a little.
“Excuse me?” his voice is sort of scary now, his grip in my hair tightening again…
“Yes sir, next time I’ll have my hair up.”
“On you hands and knees, wife.” He pulls upon my hair, guiding me into place. This is a pose I know well from yoga, it’s called “cow.” I can tell he likes that my butt is thrust out and my neck is long, my spine curved. His hand lightly grazes over my skin starting from my shoulder, down the length of my back, and around and around my offered buttocks. He sinks to his knees and his other hand reaches for my breasts, fondling and pinching them.
Suddenly his hand leaves my buttocks, then returns with a sharp crack that resounds through our cavernous living room.
“Ah!” I moan in response, to be met with several more power smacks, then a moment of rubbing the sting. “Yes…” I encourage him with a sigh.
“Oh no, you won’t tell me how it’s going to be…”
“Green?” I try again, still wanting to encourage. He can’t help himself, I get several more smacks and my rear rises up higher to meet each one gratefully.
My breath takes a hitch when his fingers dive into my soaking folds without warning, two fingers I think. He pumps them rapidly and I wriggle.
“Still!” he commands, as he continues the lovely assault. My back begins to arch, and he pushes my head back to the floor again as he continues, bringing me to the brink. He suddenly stops, and I whine my disapproval. I’m met with several hard smacks.
“To your back now, grasp you heels, open your legs.”
Another sexy yoga pose. I think about him every time I do this “happy baby” pose. Everything is wide open for him. I wait patiently as I can to see where his inspection will go now. I’m taken by surprise when I feel his mouth come down on my sex where his fingers just left.
“Oh, oh, sirrrrr…. Soooo…. Nice….” I purr, as his tongue circles and teases.
But it’s short lived. He stands and stares down at panting, needy me.
“Up,” he commands and I stand, unsure on my feet. “Turn,” he says. I do as I’m asked, trying to control my quivering knees. I’ve come so close to orgasm, and I don’t know if I can stand it…
“You’ve passed inspection. Now, to the bedroom with you. I have plans, wife. I hope you are well rested for what I have in store for you…”
This fantasy to be continued…
This week’s yoga emphasis has been on legs. quads, gluts, balance, and strength moves. I’m exhausted!
Owwwwww!!! I am sooooo sore after 2 days of this. BUT, I know if I keep it up, my body will be amazing. Yoga is such an awesome practice–and these are the challenging poses. You can take it down a few notches, always, whatever works for you. It is also a fabulous mental practice. Working leg muscles was a great workout for me, as my abs still aren’t able to fully engage.
And this is why I deserved this:
Hoping my body continues to cooperate!
I’m promising myself to keep holding on to all the good that occurred this weekend, so that when Thursday comes along I’m not being a whiner (or a bitch).
We headed into the weekend after a blow-out on Thursday, where communications misfired. I was frustrated and upset. I have to confess. I pretended that I didn’t do this– but I technically said “no” to DH. He told me the next day. I had justified my denial because I was frustrated, it was “past his normal bedtime” and I was soooo out of the mood. I climbed into my side of the bed that night fully clothed, and said, “I’m tired, I’m frustrated, and I think I just need to go to sleep.” Well, what I meant was– “MAKE ME!” I was challenging him, I wanted DH to pull me back from that funk and pout I couldn’t pull back from on my own.
“You didn’t want sex at 10:30, kids almost home–it was your bedtime, you were tired…” I accused.
“Yes, I did. You said no.”
“You said no. You said not to touch you.”
“No, I didn’t say that… ” technically I didn’t utter those words. My body language did it quite loudly, thank you. I was turned away from him, curled in a ball, stiff. I looked up at him now. Time for some honesty.
“I wanted you to make me. I wanted you to take over, to spank me.” I admit quietly.
“I won’t do that. I won’t force you. That doesn’t make me feel good.”
Sigh. My polite Dom. “I want you to force me, show me you’re right… because you were…” Oh, I want him to know it’s OK to “Dom up” in these bratty moments. Why is he so afraid to do this? I’m his wife, I’m HIS, I’m his sub. I told him I’d always be available to him. He had to hold me to this promise, I would have respected that.
However, the situation of miscommunication was discussed, message received, and we both promised to be more straight-forward with our thoughts and expectations. I reiterated to him that I understand sometimes it’s not good timing for him– but that I need to hear him say that so that I don’t feel rejected by feeling undesirable. I told him that he never has to fear feeling rejected, because when he asks, I will always say yes (this is how that last conversation started–seriously, it’s the first time in 2 years I withheld, and yes I’m aware of the setback this could be. I’m sorry, my sub went MIA).
During the day on Friday, he called to confirm we were going dancing, and to dinner at my favorite place. Score one, DH! We had a great date night. As we were driving home, he tells me that he is very tired tonight (he’s been up since 5am), but that I should count on a 7:30 am wake-up boner. Yes sir!
BUT, we climbed into bed, night guards snuggly in place (we’re both grinder-clenchers), and he starts to nuzzle me… more than just a good-night cuddle here! Door closed and locked, strip down and–oh sir! Thanks for that surprise!
As I drifted off into blissful post-orgasmic slumber, my stupid brain wonders if 7:30 is still on, or if it has been preempted by tonight… and should I ask him, to help me temper my expectations? I told my brain to shut the F up and just go with whatever happens and be grateful!
Saturday errands ensued, tiring hot lawn work, and then a late matinee of an Indie, late dinner out with #3. I dared to ask on Saturday night as we fell asleep if there might be a Sunday morning wake up call… he paused a moment, realized we’d planned late church, and then answered in the affirmative! Wow!
By Sunday night, we’d had a full weekend–of good communication, sexy time, and fun. I went all out on a lovely family dinner for his folks and the kids. I KNEW he’d pulled all the stops out this weekend, and I wouldn’t have even thought of expecting another dance between the sheets as we both retired. He had to be up at 5 am. I had asked for a soothing backrub, completely guilelessly.
Within a few moments of his back rub, he was on me quite persistently. What? Really? Oh my gosh! I think we’re surpassing some personal records here! These sheets needed to be laundered big time!
DH also reminded me that in one more week, he’s fully retired. In less than 4 weeks we’re empty nesters again. Patience, DD, patience.
I am so many different people, more than someone who wears so many different hats.
I know that other subs and D/s people feel somewhat the same way. They live their D/s lives somewhat “privately,” especially when it involves kink or BDSM that “the world” may not be prepared to understand. The D/s may not be fully hidden as it eeks out in some wonderful ways publically, as a fabulous marriage; but there is that behind-closed-doors persona who isn’t showing up to children, family, or at your place of work or church. This is why blogging has been such a huge help to many of us “closeted” folks. It is gratifying that others read and wish to engage in the conversation of what drives this side to us.
I currently am running four blog spaces. Two the closet me, two the public me.
DesiringDiscipline is my main one, to which I devote most of my attention. I love the flow I feel in being able to express myself, and the feed back and appreciation I’ve gotten here. Anonymity has been a powerful tool for allow me free expression with little censor.
My second blog was to “test run” my novel, Omani Destiny, the one I keep saying I’ll e-publish. Initially it had some following, and there were a few who said they were anxiously awaiting the next installment… but the following wasn’t as much as I would have hoped, making me doubt whether it’s worth publishing. Still, the novel is racy, erotic and BDSM, and I don’t know that I could live in my “real world” of church, neighbors, family and be associated with those racy, erotic and BDSM thoughts (publishing under a pen name is even scary, I just know someone will figure out it’s me!).
The third blog was started in an attempt to write as the “real” me, about something I’m very passionate for. Still, it’s censored writing, for public consumption of anyone who knows me outside of blog land. I’ve had some weak following there, but I also haven’t written much there either.
The fourth blog just recently started as a mechanism to promote my skills and share my knowledge, for contract jobs. My new business cards will have that web address. Again, very little writing has occurred on that last site.
The other day I was browsing the web for organization ideas and ended up on some other blogs. EVERYONE is blogging these days it seems, and quite a lot of the blogs are REALLY good! Free ideas that it seems people would pay money for. Some bloggers have advertisers and are quite slick and professional. There just aren’t enough hours in a day to read all that I’d want to read.
One blog had a post about the young woman’s journey back to her faith. I so wanted to reply with a really encouraging response, to tell her I would be praying for her. I drafted a nice response–then logged in with my “legit” blog identity. What popped up on the screen took me aback a little.
“You do not own that identity.”
After a tick, I realized that I must’ve currently been logged into DD (closet me), and had to log out and re-log in to the other identity (public me). I still kept getting blocked.
But whoa, how prophetic. I almost felt like it was the voice of God telling me that: “You do not own that identity–this is not who you are…” Here I am writing a blog about sex and BDSM and kink– and then giving spiritual encouragement?
However, I know that I can be sexy and kinky and even BDSM, and still spiritual. There’s nothing wrong with that, God and I are fine, but then again I don’t share this face-to-face with other Christians. So the sexy-kinky-BDSM blogger identity could not have posted with spiritual encouragement. It’s been haunting me ever since.
Although I may not always agree with everything I’m reading on the D/s blogs I follow, I have come to appreciate people– for their honesty, support, kindness and openness. I enjoy reading their viewpoints and their thoughts. We all offer nuggets of wisdom to each other, as different as we are. I actually feel like many are friends, people I may want to meet someday. Many friends agree to disagree, it’s OK if we’re not all in lock-step. The longer we all engage in this retrospection we call blogging, the more we learn and the more we can identify with a particular nuance of D/s. It certainly has a lot of levels and nuances, and the greatest pitfall of all is to think you have to have it all to make it right for your D/s. Still, your curiosity makes you want to know what works for others and to know if it might work to enhance your own relationship and experience.
My good friend Wild West Angel has been working on some posts lately with such introspection on her D/s. It’s been educational. As I’ve come to know her, we find we are on very similar levels in our “public lives” as well. One of her latest postings inspired me to respond about the nomenclature and nuances of D/s and in her case, Daddy/babygirl dynamic. She helped me to understand what it is for her, and it wasn’t as far-fetched as I had imagined. I know it feels good to identify with others who are similar to you. But just as Angel doesn’t identify with “slave” (nor do I), I don’t identify with “baby girl” (even though I think our D/s seems very similar).
So it set me to thinking, what am I if I had to attach a label to it? Little Kaninchen coined D/s-M (married) a while back, and I liked that. Monogamy was the only state I personally feel comfortable with, and I am eternally grateful for all the committed couples who have been willing to blog about their D/s in marriage, and how it continues to build up their marriage. There are a few others who follow me (but fewer still who blog about it) for whom their faith is a major identifier. I know some have been comforted by my blog because of this–they were worried a D/s lifestyle would be unpleasing to God. That question is settled in my head, and I feel I have a lot to back it up with. I know this doesn’t matter to all, but it does to me.
I might personally need to coin a term for what I am, and possibly for what others are. I think I’m a “Kinky Biblical Wife” or “Sexy Christian Wife” :-D The only problem is, that sounds so boring, possibly judgmental to some, and not very “sexy” or attractive. Religion and sex in the same sentence happens far too infrequently. However the reason I could continue on the road of D/s for my marriage was that I grew to understand and cherish some scriptural underpinnings:
- The biblically-described husband-wife relationship of leadership and submission mentioned in scripture (Ephesians 5:22; 1 Peter 3:1; Colossians 3:18)
- I love the one-flesh union command (Genesis 2:24 and Mark 10:8)–NO OTHER–I am HIS! It doesn’t get more “sub” than that;
- The Proverbs 31 wife, the wife of noble character, who is skilled, who’s husband has full confidence in her, she brings him good, is smart, industrious, hard-working, brings respect to her husband, appreciated by her children;
- The Titus 2 older woman who can “urge the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands.” (the word pure for me connotes that your special sexual union is between just you and your spouse–if it’s wild and kinky, that’s fine. It’s between you).
- I also know that God created sex as a wonderful, pleasurable gift, and Song of Solomon is awesome proof of that! You may not know the Bible says: “Let my lover into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” See other Biblical allusions to sex and pleasure: http://www.godrules.net/articles/songofsolomon.htm
Last, but not least, Genesis 3:16 tells me that my desire will be for my husband and he will rule over me, and I have found peace with that more now than ever before!
“You do not own that identity…” Sorry, I beg to disagree. I am many things, and among them I am a sexy, kinky, biblical wife, submitted to my husband, desirous of his rule over me, one with Him and Him only–and proud of it.
We all know how important it is in a relationship, in a marriage.
I suppose that communication stands out as that one area that is never mastered and constantly evolving in relationships. Just when I think we’ve got it, something will come along to remind me we still need to work at it.
In real life, there are direct verbal communications, and there’s indirect communication or inference. Clearly, the former is best, if the person is good at using words to communicate wishes.
The D/s lifestyle begs an even stronger code and range of communication. A good Dom has to consider a lot of things when it comes to his submissive. He has to realize that she doesn’t want to demand, she wants to please him, and she doesn’t want to top from the bottom. She wants to await his clear communications: his demands, preferences, or even that he wants her to make a decision in a circumstance. During sex or scening, a Dom needs to read his sub’s body reactions. A sub needs to communicate what feels good (often with happy sounds, moans, gasps), what doesn’t, and employs safe words. I sort of am in the Miranda Hobbs camp of “Sex is not a time to chat. In fact, it’s one of the few instances in my overly articulate, exceedingly verbal life where it is perfectly appropriate – if not preferable – to shut up.” – Miranda Hobbes, Sex and the City. I don’t always want to be thinking of clever communication in sex, I want to allow my vocals to be more reaction/guttural. I can also go with a little dirty talk (although DH isn’t so fond of that… he still blanches at the F word or the P word), and a tantalizing threat of “what I’m going to do to you…” is a major turn on.
We never can assume. We never should believe we know what the other is “thinking.” However, when a couple has been together for a long time, there are certain codes that you understand. DH now lays his hand on my arm when I’m talking too much, spinning on too much, or trying to second guess him. Sometimes it’s accompanied by an admonishing “look” and sometimes a quiet, “I’ve got this.” It’s my signal to stop and chill out. When DH allows his foot to caress mine in bed, that means “I’m ready for sex.” When he shuts and locks the bedroom door, that means sexy time. When I’m feeling especially sex (well, always… but I try not to pressure him) I snuggle, I caress him, I wrap my legs over his, I try to deepen the kiss. I flirt, strike suggestive poses, give a sultry look, deepen my voice and lace it with sexy vibes. It’s an unmistakable signal that I’m ready to be sexed!
Over these past two years, he’s never had to wonder whether I’m up for sex. I have told him, anytime he asks, I’m available. His overtures will never, ever be rejected. On the very few occasions that I felt “meh” about it (usually because I was indisposed, gassy… not in good physical form), I still was available and afterwards so glad I didn’t say no. It always has been a good decision to submit to his initiations.
My overtures, however, are often rejected. I will just accept that, He’s my Dom. I’m definitely more “high-need” than he is, so I can’t force the issue. I have accepted that, because I love him and want us to be happy finding a middle ground. We are definitely so much better off than we were two years ago, and there is more sex.
There are certain clear-cut circumstances in our lives right now though that have sexy time written all over them. One is a guaranteed empty house. This event does not happen often, and since he’s more comfortable when we’re completely alone, I’ve again submitted to his preference and don’t expect anything if kids are home. This has admittedly been very hard for me. In the wee hours of the morning on a weekend, he will sometimes initiate vanilla sex, as I am guessing he feels the kids are in deep comatose slumber. Although morning isn’t my best time, I greet it with happiness and gratitude. I just need the connection with him.
I thought we were making really good progress in our communication. I wasn’t sulking or holding things in. I was trying very hard to work on “I” statements. According to DH, I still have to work on not assuming he feels a certain way or dislikes something (I may say, “I know you hate this type of movie…” and that pisses him off that I say that– ahem, even if it’s true…). We have started a weekly communication time (which incidentally, I’ve been guilty of letting lapse– this last Sunday we missed it although we did have lunch out after church and perhaps that counted? We didn’t talk about issues, maybe because at that time there were none?)
I have grand ideas, I have hopes and expectations, and sometimes when I verbalize them to him, already very organized and real in my own mind, it takes him by surprise and throws him into a tizzy. I am expecting a reaction of “Wow, what a great idea!” when he really needs time to chew on it before reacting. This comes off as negativity to me (because I do know how his brain works–he immediately thinks of all the possible negatives, booby traps, and obstacles in an idea–especially money and time), but I’m learning, he has to digest certain things sometimes for a period of 24 hours before rendering a decision or response. So I’ll preface my wonderful idea with “I’d love if you could think about this and let me know later what you think…” Usually this works well for us, and often he comes back with more enthusiasm and some suggestions for how to tweak it.
I realize we have one more area of communication to work on, and that is in the moment. We are both prevaricators, I think it’s because we want to be polite to a fault. “When is dinner?” “Well, usually I do dinner at 6:30. Why? Are you hungry now?” “Yea, kinda…” (or it could be “No, not really… I may not want much to eat tonight, I had a big lunch.” “So, should I make it earlier (or do you not want me to prepare dinner?”) “Maybe… I don’t know” I know he’s trying to be polite. I’m trying to be submissive and meet his need. And we end up in this limbo of no decision.
Flat-out asking for something almost seems rude to us. We feel we’re backing the other person into a corner. So we don’t do it too often. We do the polite dance. “What do YOU want to do?” “I don’t know, what do YOU want to do?” “I want to do whatever YOU want to do.” We’re getting better at him leading and suggesting specific plans. He always leaves the door open for my suggestions, but I’m learning to just say, “Yes, that sounds great!” to most of his suggestions because I want him to become more secure that he’s not going to get shot down.
I will be striving to just be more direct. “Can we have sex tonight, right now, in this window before us?” It came out more diplomatically last night as “what’s on the agenda, wink, wink.” His answer to this last night was “I think kid will be home soon.” I disagreed with this assessment of the situation, and did tell him, “No, I think kid is out for the next 3-4 hours. It’s a busy night at work. We’re have an open opportunity NOW.” Then he says 10 pm. I suppose I should have said, “This doesn’t make sense to me, you usually go to sleep by then,” but instead I gave him the escape clause, trying to help him just tell me “I’m not in the mood tonight.” Seriously people, I was just trying to be submissive. And what I got in the end was frustration and disappointment for hope deferred.
I also need to communicate to him that it’s better for him to be straight-forward rather than unclear and evasive. Yes, I will be disappointed at times, and while he may think “I don’t want to disappoint her,” he manages to do it 10 times worse with the prevaricating. And, gee, wouldn’t you hope for a little disappointment when someone who loves you wants to get intimate? If I didn’t seem to give a fig, that would be bad.
The post-script to all of this is I followed Angel’s advice. I didn’t sleep on the couch. I wrote him a little note basically saying I loved him, I was confused and frustrated, I hoped we’d talk about this later, but I love him. I didn’t hold a grudge, because I reminded myself that I love him. This morning his a.m. snuggle was extremely demonstrative, very forceful, and his hands stroked me firmly. He loudly and clearly said, “I love you,” and I said it back. It was forgiven, however we do need to use this to help us get better at avoiding the misfires.
(AND, he’s already called, he asked if we were going to go forward tonight on that optional fun event I had written on the calendar, and should we go to *my favorite place* for dinner before? Yes, sir!)
Lesson take away here: Just as I’ve learned that forgiveness is sometimes something we have to do every day, communication is something we need to practice and tweak every day. We may never get it 100% (that’s where grace and forgiveness comes in), but it’s unrealistic to think we’ll resolve all communication issues in one summit and then be fine forever. There will be addendums, corrections, amendments. We can’t stop trying to make it better, and we can’t ever expect it to be perfect. As much as I want to say, “we’ve got this! We’ve perfected this!” –Life just throws too much at you to have a cookie cutter solution that stands the test of time.
In the wake of a posting on gratitude, I feel so crappy right now about my negative thought process. But I am frustrated. So, so, so frustrated. It’s a momentary thing, it’s not big, and it’ll work out. I hope. When you’ve spent all your life waiting for things to crash down around you, especially when expectations are high, it’s hard not to revert to that fatalistic view of things. So, I need to vent.
I AM GOING TO COMPLAIN. Can’t make that 24 hours yet.
Yes, I am grateful for so much. But sometimes I don’t understand how DH thinks and acts. I wish he would just explain it to me, and when he doesn’t, then I feel he’s being so capricious or that there just isn’t any good explanation.
I had one of my RARE evenings out with a friend. After yoga, we sometimes grab a bite to eat and a wine and just have girl talk–share what’s going on in our lives. Turns out that kids also picked this evening to leave the house empty. I wasn’t out long, just 1 1/2 hours (not counting the 1 hours class). I was home by 7:30. DH had treated himself to pizza. I figure this also is a nice downtime for him–he does whatever he wants, naps, has control of the TV remote (well, he basically always does). So when I pull up and realize the empty house situation, and the fact that we’ve not seen any action since last Saturday… well, yes, my hopes were a little up. Not to mention he had already hinted it could be a “good night.”
After a few minutes of being home and idle chit-chat, I asked, “So, kids are out, what’s on the agenda tonight?” I didn’t even want to get on my computer, where I usually can get quite busy on evenings when he’s got his own nose in a book. I was 100% attentive and available to him.
“Well, #3 might be home soon, and I don’t know when #1 is coming back… so how about at 10 pm we retire to the room?”
Huh? This makes NO SENSE WHATSOEVER! He is fast asleep at 10:00 most nights. #3 started her work shift at 6 and more than likely wouldn’t be home at least until 10. #1 maybe later. IT IS AN OPEN WINDOW!!!! Two, three hours even! We rarely need more than 30 minutes to 1 hour (meow). I look at his face, trying to fathom his thought process. Maybe he’s just trying to say no agenda tonight, no sex, don’t expect anything.
“Well, I know you must be tired, so please don’t think there is any pressure or expectations, I understand if tonight’s not a good night,” I begin generously. Please, DH, tell me tonight’s not a good night for you– that you’re tired, preoccupied, WHATEVER. Don’t leave me guessing with this nonsensical “plan.”
“No, it’s OK. I had a nap while you were out.” Yeah, I think, you ALWAYS have a nap, sometimes 2, every single evening– right before you go to bed at 9:30 or 10. Why is tonight any different? I know you get up at 5 tomorrow…
The hours tick by, and we basically sit silently in our living room, a tiny chit-chat here and there. He seems sprawled on the couch, not welcoming at all of my physical presence near him. So I sit in “my” chair, checking my laptop–blogs, facebook, etc. The TV is on some news show drivel. We are fucking doing NOTHING. NOTHING! The house is empty, it is early, and we are sitting in the frickin living room with clothes on watching Fox news. I want to scream!
At 10:30, I’m near my limit of patience and frustration is building. He rises and says, “do you want to meet me in the bedroom?” I really want to say NO! but I obediently follow him. There are no romantic overtures from him, no sexy moves, no grabbing my hand to lead me, no pat on the rear, no kiss…. nothing at all. Just getting ready for bed as usual. Two roommates getting ready for bed. What the hell am I supposed to think? Well, what I thought all along, it’s late, he’s tired, and nothing will happen at 10:30. It was a nonsensical plan. And, stupid, stupid me for having a hope. I think I get more mad at myself, but there’s enough frustration for him too. I’m especially mad because he’s shut the bedroom door, his “trademark move” that we might have sex. But now?
“You know, I am so very, very frustrated right now, and I think all I want to do is just go to sleep. I just don’t understand you. Sorry, that’s just how I feel now. “
“Don’t be frustrated,” he says as he climbs in bed.
“Well, I am! We just spent the last 3 hours doing absolutely nothing. Now it’s late and yes, the kids ARE going to be home any minute now… I don’t get you? We had this wide open window… I just don’t get what you want…”
“Come on, I want to cuddle with you, I want to scratch your back.”
“No thank you,” I respond sulkily. “It’s 10:30, you’re tired, you’re mentally drained from being at your parents’ earlier, you have to get up early, the kids home any minute.” You built me up and then let me down… not nice. Really, it’s all I can do not to push him away from me as he spoons in to me. I’m hot. I’m irritated. I’m frustrated. Almost more with me than him.
As we lie there silently, what I want more than sex right now, is an explanation of sorts. If he didn’t want “us” time tonight, could he not have had a way to let me know that? “I’m exhausted honey? I’m drained? I have a headache? That pizza is wrecking havoc with my stomach? Could I have a raincheck?” Fuck, even if he just made up an excuse!
But not this… this… silent rejection. No explanations. No helping me temper my expectations. It feels like before. No sex, no explanation= I don’t want you.
I reach to the bedside table and slip my night guard in my mouth, sealing the deal, WE ARE DONE, and remain stiff as he tries to cuddle me. I’m getting beyond frustrated, and into major pissed.
And what I really want him to do is just Dom up at least. Say something like, “You know, I make the decisions and if I decide tonight’s not the night, then you accept that…” Spank, spank. No, maybe that wouldn’t work. If tonight’s not the night, don’t even give me a glimmer of hope that it is! I want to shout, “this is NOT FAIR!!!”
You know, orgasm denial is a sadistic act some use in BDSM. I think intimacy denial is right up there. Ha. Maybe this is his form of BDSM.
Instead I simmer and seethe and remain unyielding and stiff and silent. He finally gives up, turns over to the other side of the bed to go to sleep. I lay there a few more moments getting darker and darker and then I realize I need to write. Get it off my chest. Step back and try to understand it.
All I wanted was for him to give me some sort of reasonable explanation. An excuse. Maybe even a “mea culpa” that “gee, I changed my mind… sorry.” Is that too much to expect? This isn’t a game. He’s not playing Dom either. I’m trying so hard to submit, so hard to not be expectational (yes, I know I was but he started it!), follow his lead. He’s not leading.
I. AM. PISSED. I can’t even go back to the bed. The couch is looking mighty tempting right now.
But grateful. I love him, I know he loves me… but geez, could he please just help me out a little here? Help me not feel so rejected?