The things I don't want to talk about

This time I'm going to use the blog to write about something Mistress ordered me to write about. Sometimes, written indirect communication is a lot easier than saying things out loud. 

We had a talk the other day, about one of the areas were we function differently. We compliment each other a lot, and often that's a good thing. But in some ways it's problematic, because our basic ways of handling hings are very different.

If I get an idea or if something pops into my head, I act on it pretty immediately. I look it up, I examine it, I get interested and check it out. If it's something fun and doable, I do it. Pronto. If it's not, I drop it and don't think about it again. I'm either on or I'm not, there's no waiting and no in-between.

When Mistress gets an idea or hears about something, she goes "hmm...". She ponders it, I guess, and I also guess it is sorted into some sort of category of "interesting things to explore later". And there it sits, possibly forever. If she gets another impulse later on, it might be taken out and re-examined, perhaps with a little bit more interest, and then put back in the inner filing cabinet again. This can go on for some time, until one day the opportunity is exactly right, the cue comes at the right moment, and she tries whatever it is out. But she can wait for years, even for things she has a positive attitude towards.

If I haven't acted on something for years, or even a few weeks, it's very likely that I'm not into it. I don't have a filing cabinet. I'm a Just-In-Time sort of business.

So sometimes I forget that Mistress isn't like me. I can suggest something, maybe a little embarrassing, maybe a little kinky, and she goes "hmm...". And then I wait. And wait. And wait. And maybe, just maybe, I'll mention it again a little later. And then I wait. But if nothing has happened by then, if she hasn't acted on the idea after a short while, I draw the for me logical conclusion that she hated the idea, that it will never ever happen, and that I made a fool out of myself by nagging her about it. "I'm such a moron". Enter shame and self-loathing.

And then I do my very best to erase that desire from my mind, because obviously it's not something she's into, and very futile for me to be interested in all on my own. But that process makes me grieve a little, and feel bad and a little ashamed of my self.

It's not a good process, and it makes me reluctant to ever mention anything I find interesting, because I feel so stupid when it doesn't happen.

We talked about it, and I hinted that yes, there are things I've mentioned that I would like us to do, but that I can't bring myself to mention again, because I've convinced myself that she doesn't want it anyway and that I make a fool of myself if I admit to wanting it. Of course, that didn't fly and she wanted to know what things, but when I got all caught up in embarrassment and anxiety over it she relented. "Ok", she said, "you can write about it in your blog instead".

Actually, I think she said "the next time you write in your blog" but... it's hard.

But I did write about knifeplay. That's one of the things.

Figging is another. Sin at finding my submission just wrote a piece about it, and that inspired me to finally write this somewhat awkward post.

I like figging. And Mistress has done it to me, and she seemed very enthusiastic when she tried it, and she knows I love it. And then it just never happens, and with time the whole concept grows into an aching little thing in my heart and I shy away from any reminder of it. I don't want to think about or feel anything about it, because it hurts, and it makes me feel stupid.

I hate it when I want something she doesn't want. Often I can re-direct my wants to align with hers', and that makes the problem go away. But when I can't, or when I get mixed signals and can't really read what she wants, it hurts me. It makes me feel bad over being me, and I've yet to figure out anyway to deal with that in any constructive manner.

So yeah. Figging. I can write it here, reluctantly, but I can't say it out loud. I've said it to many times, from my perspective, and she knows it already.

Anything else? Well, anything to do with anal play, really. Something I like a lot, and she... likes sometimes. I think it's just to much bother most of the time, and she said once that when we're always in a hurry she likes to keep to the sure things, the things she knows can get us both off. And I get that, and it makes sense. I still can't bear to suggest any one thing more than once or twice though, no matter the circumstances. If I think she knows that I like something, I don't want to say it. I mean, she knows already. I can't give her any new information. 

Hmm... I seem to have a lending-fetish, I guess one can call it. This too she knows, and this I do talk about sometimes, because I don't have the feeling that she could have done it and has chosen not to. What with the kid and our very restricted social life the lack of opportunities are very evident. I don't have to think she's never done it (or seldom done it) because she doesn't want to. I still don't like the feeling that I'm nagging her, but yeah, it's one of those things I sometimes wish for.

I want to be lent out by her. I want to be used by other people. Not sexually necessarily, in the intercourse sort of way, it's really more the objectification-aspect of it all. I love to be openly hers when in company, because it makes it real to me in a way that makes me feel all kinds of good. I think this is mostly an extension of that. I want to be treated as an object, or as a submissive, by other people too.

She once, or maybe twice, have let someone other than her hold my leash in a club, and just thinking about that makes me tingly. Things like that. Being ordered around. Being made to submit. Being dominated openly in company. That's a fetish of mine, I think.

In fantasies, sure, sex plays a part, but being used sexually is not at the core of it. The core is being used, being seen as not-in-charge, being seen as hers more than an equal. I think it might be so simple as being seen as the person I really am, rather than the one society tells me to be.

Okay, that was all I think. It's mostly the figging-thing that's an issue. The rest is just as it is. I think the list is longer, probably, but this is what comes to my mind right now. I'll be an obedient slut and fill in missing pieces as they turn up.







 

Christmas break

We actually had a good Christmas. I'm a bit surprised, because this celebrating with family while having a little one haven't been all that fun the last couple of years. She's been sick, or just to tired, and also we've been exhausted to the point that any deviation from routine or extra demands on us has felt like a chore and nothing but a chore. This year though, we planned with all this in mind, didn't travel anywhere and didn't really have any expectations. And now she's three, which means she understands a lot more and had a lot more fun.

We celebrate on Christmas Eve (we're Swedes, we do that here) and on Christmas Day the kid was so tired and out of sorts that when it was lunch time she was laying on the floor with her favourite blanket and pacifier in her mouth, and I fed her laying down. Eventually she agreed to sit on my lap, and after a few more bites she wanted to sit on her own. But she was really spent after the excitement the day before. And so was I for that matter, and my parents and relatives. Mistress too, and she stayed at home while I was away with the kid socialising. I'm glad I can do that now, that I'm better and can do more things.

I'm taking two weeks off from school now, it's not official holidays (students don't get Christmas breaks) but I'm taking one anyway. And there's no lectures or anything planned, I'm thinking everyone is on an unofficial break. With the pressure from school off of me, I can do more with the kid and in the home, and take a little of the load off from Mistress. That feels really good.

We even had sex on Christmas Eve, after little S had gone to sleep. Mistress whipped me and then she apparently got inspired, because she fucked me too. It felt so good, and also, like a really good omen. If we could hang out with my parents a whole day, and spending all the time with little S, and not get on each others nerves and even have the energy to have sex in the evening - then things must really be better for us.

I bought Mistress a knife as a private Christmas present. Now, Mistress is the only one I know who once went to a LARP and played a knife-salesmen without having to borrow extra knifes - she has a few already, one can say. She likes knifes. But most of them are for LARPing, that is they have wood handles and are beautiful but not very... edgy. Or they're working knife, with bright red plastic handles and no sex appeal at all. We've talked about knife play, discussing whether or not it would be something to try, and Mistress once told me that the only thing that kept her from bringing a knife into our play was that none of the once she owned looked right. So I gave her one.

It's heavy but rather small, a pocket knife with a black handle and a blackened blade. It looks evil, even though it's just an ordinary workman's knife basically. She liked it, and used it on me a little bit, but only by stroking my naked body with it.

I'm not quite sure what she's going to do with it. I don't think she's really interested in making me bleed, or at least not a lot. She likes me more or less whole. She whips me bloody every now and then, but it's very shallow. So my guess is that she'll keep it shallow with the knife too. I wouldn't mind if she did cut me, honestly I would probably really like it if she made pretty marks on me. But I don't think neither of us finds a lot of blood or big gaping holes appealing. And also, the ER is such a boring place to spend an evening.

Mostly, the whole concept is just erotic and sexy in a scary kind of way.   

My friend I. reacted a bit funny when I mentioned knife play the other day, she was very apprehensive. She has a rather more exciting sex life than I have, and is into a lot of edgy stuff, so getting advice about caution from her threw me a little. It made me think, too. What is there to be afraid of?

I mean, really, what should I worry about? I have such a hard time seeing that bringing a knife in to the picture ups the stakes all that much. Yes, if Mistress went completely crazy she could do more damage with a knife than say with the rattan, but honestly, if I was calculating our actions on the basis of her going crazy, I wouldn't be with her at all. I mean, I leave my kid with her, for God's sake. I let her tie me up and gag me, without any possibility to get lose. She does all sorts of things. She runs our lifes. And honestly, she has kitchen drawers full of stuff to harm me with, not to mention her tool kit, if she was so inclined.

We discussed it a little, and one of the things I. brought up was skill. Knowing what you're doing. And if I look at it from the perspective of a casual play partner or someone you don't know all that well, a knife wouldn't be my first choice either. It can go so very wrong so very fast. But Mistress... I know her. And also, she's a hunter. She's been butchering animals for the last 20 years. If it's down to pure skill in knife handling, knowing how to cut, how hard to push, how to handle the blade, she does have that competence. It has nothing to do with kinky play and everything to do with working with a knife as a tool.

Anything else that may matter? Well, anatomy to some degree. But that only matters if she blade cuts through more than skin. If drawing blood and causing pain is the thing, then maybe it might be a good idea to know not to do that on say the jugular, or the inside of the thighs. Stay away from joints, and nerves. The basics. But there's nothing in that that is special for knifes - don't cut deep where you wouldn't hit with a rattan, and avoid the arteries. It's not rocket science. (Even though Mistress says that's not a good saying any more - rocket science isn't all that complicated...)

No matter what Mistress decides to do, I love that she has two weeks off her job too. She desperately needed a break. I've been trying to get little S out of her hair as much as I can, so that she'll get some actual rest and recovery, and not just switch from working and taking care of kid to taking care of kid full time. Yesterday when we were gone for several hours, she said she'd started to miss us. I liked that. That means I'm doing something right.
 

Everyday life

I wish I had more energy. I want to finish Mistress socks that I'm knitting, instead I just sit here. I'm waiting for her to finish working, but I'm a little afraid to. I'm afraid we'll start arguing, or that I'll disappoint her somehow, or I don't know - I'm probably afraid that she wont feel good and that I wont be able to make it better.

She was really tired and felt yucky this morning. I think we're both very aware of the fact that she's working a lot, she's been a superhero all fall, and really we've both been since I got pregnant. Sometimes I get the distinct feeling that the two of us simply isn't cut out for this life. Not for life in general, mind, just this one. In this society. With the specific demands placed on us, in this time and place.

I'm so worried that she'll end up were I am. Clinically depressed and burnt out. I need her not to be. And I can't help her, and it makes my stomach turn to knots.

But really, other then being tired right now, I've had a good day. My mom came over for dinner, so that Mistress could work late without me being alone with little S and fixing food. It was nice, the best part was that after dinner I actually hung out with them, I didn't retreat to my room and collapsed. I am getting better. I really am.

But then mom offered to take little S on Friday afternoon, and it wasn't until after awhile I realised her offer encompassed me being home alone with little S the whole morning and making lunch to the three of us. That made the offer a lot less tempting. "Oh, but I don't want to pick her up from pre-school, it'll take to long. It's only around three hours you'll be alone with her."

Yeah. I've been alone with little S around one hour tops this fall. I wish that was a reasonable thing to expect from me. But even more I wish that my own mom, that I see every week, would realise that it isn't. It makes me sad, and a little hurt, that she doesn't get it. But she doesn't. And she's 62 - she wont change. She'll never get it. I have no idea why, but for some reason, there is some things that just wont stick. One of them sees to be me not being able to do certain things.

---

Mistress actually liked the idea - we planned our Christmas shopping for Friday morning, and it's good for little S to start her Christmas break early. It's all fine. I just still wish I could have a little more tension-free relationship with my mother.

The good and the bad

Laying in a dark room without any input and no ability to do anything made wonderful things for my brain. My stomach tried to kill me (or at least it felt like it) and there was a period of six hours or so when that seemed like a good idea because I felt so horrible, but well, my brain obviously liked it. Nothing like a bout of calici virus to cure exhaustion and stress symptoms.

Mistress commented on it just now, and said something along the lines of that even if it had been hard on her, taking care of a first sick and then bored three year old, while tending her own stomach bug, if it was this good for me she might make me do it again. Not the calici part, just the "laying in a dark room for two days"-part.

I think that's a great idea, except that maybe it's not her and mine time together that should go to that, but my school/recuperating-time, that between nine and four when the little one is at preschool. I do try to do things I know will make me feel better, all the time, but usually I probably put to much active stuff into the schedule. That has it's reasons though, because if I was just laying in bed in a dark room without calici, my ruminations start. I have to balance the exhaustion part against the depression part of the problem - my brain is hyperactive, if I don't get any stimuli from the outside, it makes up it's own, and it's usually unpleasant.

One thing is that I'm consciously training the ability to be still without rumination, to be present and aware, by different exercises in mindfulness. I'm better at it now, but I have a life long training of doing the exact opposite, so results are so so at best.

Another thing is that Mistress can have the same effect on me that a severe stomach bug has... (Love you, darling!) She can make me present in the moment, focused on her and the here-and-now. Laying in the bed all by my self or laying in the bed because she ordered me to it, in a position she ordered me to, or bound by her physically, is two totally different experiences.

When she makes me do it, my focus is on obeying, and on her. My mind goes blank, or at least relaxes. The thoughts don't go away, usually, but they fade in to the background. It's not constant activity any more, it's just being there. I love it, but I can't achieve it on my own.

It's a state of awareness that can come when she ties me up, usually in the moment when I realise I can't get away, when the last knot is tied and I can see and feel that all the ends of the rope are out of my reach.  It's like my whole being relaxes - body and mind. It happens during beatings too, somewhere halfway when I stop struggling and relax in to the pain, and it usually lingers afterwards.

 I think it could probably happen at other times too, or I know it can, any time she exerts her power over me. In our day to day life that isn't to often, but sometimes on the couch when we watch television she'll grab my hair or put an arm or a hand around my throat, and I get that relaxed, aware, present feeling.

Right now I'm grateful our little family isn't puking our guts up any more, and that we seem to have a good chance of a relaxing weekend. There's a lot of misery around me, from the small stuff (our dog has chronic kidney problems we're trying to sort out) the personal impending doom-stuff (my father in law has prostate cancer, we'll know this Friday it it has spread to the skeleton, and we're all in different degrees of low-key terror) to the distant but unthinkable that happened in Connecticut.

But no. Right this minute I'm laying in bed with my beloved wife and Owner, we're going to have a whole night together for the first time in several days, and our daughter is thank God healthy and well looked-after downstairs by Grandma. This is good, and I'm going to let it be good, in this minute. That will have to be enough for now.

Ropes and relaxation

After a hard day home together all three of us, Mistress is doing some work at the computer in the bedroom, and I'm laying in the bed beside her. Tied up "like a mermaid" she said. Legs bound together all the way, and the torso to. My arms are free, but since feet and neck is tied to the bed and I can't reach the knots, I'm safely secured. Ingenuious, really. And very relaxing. We were supposed to go to a rope-meeting, but the babysitter, my dad, cancelled on us. This whole thing with being home with the kid a day without anything planned? Not relaxing. At all.

Marks and welts

Yesterday, Mistress tried out a new tool. Actually, it was my own fault, it was an old dressage riding crop with a broken tip. I tired of having it standing in a corner of our bedroom and figured if I cut off the broken tip maybe it could be used - and if it couldn't, we could throw it out.

Mistress decided to try it out, and it turned out it could be used. Very much so. Ouch!

The thing is, my buttocks are more or less covered in very thick skin. I guess having been spanked and paddled and whipped regularly for the last ten years or so can do that. It's one of my most erotic zones and I really like to be hit there, and it's the spot Mistress prefer to hit too. I think we both have got accustomed to my ability to take a beating there.

This time though, Mistress also targeted a bit of my outer thigh. And oh my God! There's a huge difference. Not only in pain level, but in actual skin sensitivity. With the last lash, she broke skin and there was a red bloody welt. And it hurt. A lot.

Afterwards, we were both kind of giddy and excited. This time, one can safely say she really did leave a mark. It still hurts actually, it stings quite a bit and I'm not particularly looking forward to taking a shower today. Also, it feels great.

When I got up this morning Mistress was in the kitchen, and when we said good morning she hugged me tight for a long time and kissed me. I felt so very very close to her. It makes me hope she'll whip me bloody more often...

Jinglebells, jinglebells

When we woke up this morning there was a snow storm outside. It has continued all day. Mistress took little S on her back in the ergo carrier and skiied to the pre-school. For real. I'm so in awe of her. I've been telling people about that all day in school and everybody has been duly impressed.

I mean, it makes perfect sense. Biking is out, since there's a half meter of snow everywhere. The car is covered in snow and freezing cold, so that's not practical either. That leaves walking, and why walk when there's a perfectly good pair of skis standing right by the door? So, skiing it was. I'm still impressed though. And she went and got her in the same way in the afternoon. I'm thinking I might volunteer to do it tomorrow morning.

Mistress wont be going to her work tomorrow though, most likely, since it's 1,5 hour with bus on a narrow road that is prone to accidents. I hope she stays home. I'll be going to school, I think, since I have an important seminar after lunch. But I think I'll call ahead and check that the tutor is actually there, and not stuck on a train somewhere. It's an on going joke that the train company acts surprised each year when the snow comes. It's always chaos. And I mean, it snows here every year, shouldn't they know that by now?

It's pretty, though. Cold, but pretty. From inside, I'm all for it.

This is what our neighbourhood looked like as I was going home from the bus station this afternoon.

We might have problems opening the front door in the morning. But since we live on the first floor, we can always jump out a window...

Tired, oh so tired.

I'm so so tired right now. So is Mistress, she didn't get home from work until seven, but she's sitting by the computer right now, doing something important for work.

And I get that it's important. I even know what it is she's doing and I agree that it's a good thing. But I'm worried about her. And about myself. I can't really separate between us, so when she's in a foul mood, I suffer. Not because she intends me to, God no, but because I can't... shield myself. There's nothing in the way between her bad mood and my discomfort.

If she's stressed, I'm stressed. And if I'm stressed, not only do I worry about her, but I can't recuperate on my own either. And if I can't recuperate, my health problems get worse. And then I can do less things for us, and she has more to stress over. And the responsibility not to get stressed, to try to recharge my batteries, to think happy thoughts and not get bogged down in depressive rumination, makes me feel guilty and the only thing that happens is that I get stressed out and feel even guiltier...

Also, when she's grumpy I get scared. I get insecure and shaky and watch her every move, afraid of doing or saying anything wrong. This would probably be easier to fix if it was all down to my insecurities, but unfortunately, we have a long history of bitter arguments, and she's not always predictable.

Right now, though, she doesn't have that tense, far-away look any more, she seems present and calm, and my fears are coming to rest. I'm still dead tired, though.

I just want to sleep. Sometimes I don't want to wake up either, but I work hard not to dwell on that. I know that the world is a beautiful place, really. It's just really hard to remember that when I'm to exhausted.

What I did today that tired me so? Just a normal study day. I had a therapy session, wrote a rapport of that, had lunch with a friend, had a group discussion in preparation of a seminar on Thursday, and then took the bus home, shopping things for dinner on the way home. Just a normal day. It's just that that my brain isn't really normal.

Can someone shut it off now, please?

It's winter now

This morning, it was -23 degrees Celsius. That's freaking cold! It makes me very aware of how fragile we are, how lucky we are to have a warm home, and how dependent we are of that.

Little S. is healthy again, even though right now I hear scary coughs coming from her bedroom. I hope she'll keep on sleeping. It's a bad omen if she comes out of bed this early in the evening - it doesn't bode well for the night to come.

Now Mistress and I will curl up under our warm fleece blanket and watch the telly. And drink tea. A winter type evening, one might say.

Oh, and my butt hurts. There's band aids on it. Good things, all around.

Problem solved

But when there weren't anything good on at nine o'clock, I jokingly said "well, then you'll just have to tie me up and beat me" and she said "Yeah, I guess you're right." That kind of threw me. So she walked the dog and told me to use the bathroom and shut down the laptop in the meantime, and when she got back, she tied me down at the bed, and beat my ass with the tawse.

Really really hard.

Afterwards she rearranged the ropes to have me on my back, and while she did it I commented flippantly about a rope that wasn't secured around my ancle. Something in my tone of voice or choice of words made her draw the conclusion that I wasn't properly submissive yet, "only because I haven't beaten you enough" she said and something in her voice and demeanour made me really really scared.

I apologised over and over, but that didn't help. In the end she made me lay still while she whacked me really hard, between my legs and on each of my breasts, and then on the left side of my face. She demanded that I was perfectly still and looking at her for each of the strokes, and when it was over, I was not only sincerely regretful but also very very meek and submissive.

The she left me there for a while, with an order to first count to a thousand, and then start touching myself. I was allowed to come if I said "I'm you're slut!" loudly while doing it, but I never got that far before she came back and started fucking me with her hand instead.

So yeah. I'm not complaining any more. At least not about not being beaten enough.

More whine

Also, I want to be tied up and beaten. Hard. So hard I would want to scream, but with a gag in my mouth so it doesn't matter.

I want it. Badly. Unfortunately, Mistress doesn't get turned on and interested in beatings and stuff when she's all stressed out and exhausted.

I'm comforting myself with beer and chocolate in the mean time.

Whine and stuff.

When the baby is sick everyone's unhappy. This working full time/studying full time and then handle the kid when she gets a cold, is tough under any circumstances. Add in me being on the verge of going back into depression and still having nowhere near my usual capacity, and Mistress getting more and more rundown by the double burden of job, commute and housework - well it doesn't work.

We get exhausted and grumpy from the effort of simply trying to get our day-to-day life to work out some how. Bleeergh.

I wish we could get a vacation. Unfortunately, what we get is half a meter of snow and -20 degrees Celsius. Just what we needed.

The concept of service

I started a thread in a FetLife-group about service, and feel like I should write something in it, but every time I try it turns out way to long in my head. And if it's to long in my head, it will most probably be very much to long as a post in a discussion. It will have to be a blog post instead. Maybe I can distil some of it into something coherent later.

The thing is, I don't like service. I don't like the word, but it's not on a phonetic level, much like with responsibility I'm perfectly aware of what it means, and just plain don't like it. Actually, responsibility and service touch upon much of the same issues for me.

One of the posts in the discussion mentioned service as being "available for action" and that struck a chord. I can't do that. I can't be "available" for an unclear period of time. I can't wait on anyone, in either sense of the word. I can barely keep my focus in a conversation, and if my fellow conversationalist take to long a breathing pause between sentences, I'm likely to wander off and do something else in the meantime. I have a very short working memory and attention span, and honestly, waiting exhausts me.

So I can't sit by Mistress' feet and wait for a hand gesture or the right time to do something. I can't keep track of the water level in her drinking glass - I mean, I can barely keep track of my own head, and that's screwed on tight. I can't take responsibility for her comfort level, period. She'll have to do that herself. Not because I don't want to, but because I'm extremely bad at it, and get sick from stress and exhaustion when I try. And also, before I get sick, I get really really irritable and snarky.

What I can do is sit by her feet and rest. Not on stand by, not waiting, just sitting. I can be turned off and not do anything. That works perfectly fine. But I can't do that and also remember a steak in the oven, hanging the laundry when the cycle is done, or checking whether Mistress would like a refill on her coffee. If I'm off I'm off, and want get started again without some kind of cue.

That cue might very well be an order, there's no problems there, but it has to be a distinct order, something that is loud enough to get my attention, and a discreet hand signal or an empty coffee mug isn't enough. The cue might be an egg timer telling me to check the steak or the silence when the washing machine stops (actually, we have a community laundromat, and no machine of our own, but if we did have one) or something as internal as me needing to pee or getting a leg cramp. But there has to be something, something tangible and clear. Then I get going again, and do all those things I need to do, for a while, until I rest again. There's no middle ground. There's no waiting. There's no "being available".

Of course, this has to do with ADHD. I don't think this is true for everybody with the diagnosis, it can manifest in a thousand ways, but I do think that for me the deficit in working memory and attention span, as well as the tendency to only have two energy levels, full speed or full stop, makes "service" a difficult concept. It seems to require a kind of constant, low grade attention directed at the Owner and that persons needs and possible future needs, and I can't give anything that kind of attention. Not that I don't want to, but it takes a ridiculous amount of effort when I try, and I still do it badly.

I do better at obedience. Some people in the discussion implied that all kinds of obedience was a form of service, but for me it's easier to see it as two different things. I can be obedient. I might have trouble remembering rules, and sometimes my lack of inhibition and impulse control (ADHD again) gets the better of me, but I never intend to disobey. And a clear order face to face I always obey.

It's the forethought I can't do. Foreseeing needs and trying to fulfil them.Or doing something extra good, or whatever. I always do everything as good as I can - trying to increase that in the name of service makes me cry from performance anxiety.

I need to learn not to over-achieve, not to take responsibility for others needs, not to think my worth lies solely in performance. The concept of "service" seems to do nothing for me in that regard, it's more a hindrance than a help. Obedience and control, however, makes me peaceful and content and happy, and thus a much better slut and property and person to be around.

The funny thing though is that I love fetching stuff for Mistress. I love doing things that makes her happy, or more comfortable, or makes something she wants to achieve easier. I love helping her and I love it when she's happy with me. But it's better for both of us if I can do that when the opportunities presents themselves to me, or when she orders me to it, and not having me walking around with constant anxiety over whether or not I provide a high enough level of service. Because that's just draining.

I think it might matter that I'm naturally inclined to always do my best even if it kills me, to always take responsibility for everything including things I have no way of controlling, and to immediately be acutely aware of anyone else's discomfort and feel driven to make everything better. That fire really doesn't need any more fuel on it, such as me thinking I need to deliver "service". That fire needs some water and a good stomping, nothing else.

So I think I'll keep on feeling controlled and knowing I obey, and trust that Mistress will guide me where she wants me to go, without me going out of my way in making things more complicated then they already are. She wont get a service-slut this year either. Maybe some other year, if I can pick one up for her on any local fetish party. But it wont me.

Surrendering

We role-played yesterday. It's kind of funny, that it's the same word, but I'm really not meaning in the bedroom-sexy variety. We actually do very little role-play in the bedroom. Instead it was table-top role-playing, a rather new game called "Heroic Role-Playing", depicting the X-men 'verse.

All the characters are teenage mutants (though not ninja turtles) and have recently discovered their abilities and are now training at the "Xaviers' Institute of Higher Learning". In short, we play superhero wannabees, sitting around our friends living room table, eating big amounts of candy and laughing a lot. A role-playing fan fiction, one might say.

My character is a stereotypical cheerleader from North Cal, blonde with big boobs who likes skinny dipping and sleeping in peoples laps. She also turns in to a feral cat-like creature whenever she gets upset or angry.

This time the game actually did touch upon one of my kinks, though. My character, like all the others for that matter, struggles with controlling her power, and hers is mostly troublesome when in the same room as Wolverine. That character is a teacher at the school, so breaking out in claws and snarling every time he entered a room was becoming a problem. Also, she almost ripped the head off a random guy who was groping her at a night club.

The game master decided to resolve the issue by letting Wolvering lock himself in a room together with my character Cas, and attack her. Cas flew at him, and well, one can say we tried out the gaming system and practised the fighting-by-rolling-dices. Of course, my character got her butt royally kicked, not the least because Wolverine has rejuvenating powers and healed every injury immediately while Cas has a very human tendency to bruise and get exhausted. Eventually she was laying panting on the floor, gave up and her claws retracted. Problem solved by fisticuffs.

Now, let's not analyse this scene from a feminist perspective, because from that point of view, it's horrible. The woman who can't control herself, and need a stronger man to control her? Yeah, we've heard it before. But I can't help it. I like this scenario. It might even be called a theme of mine.

I love the idea of being forced to surrender. I love the insecurity in a power struggle, the idea of trying to hold my own and failing, and especially to someone who is "good", someone who doesn't really want to injure, just conquer. Having someone else take control, and keep control, by force of will or physical strength is... a good feeling.

I like submitting too. I like giving myself over. I like the real deal of a mutual relationship were every ones' needs are met and I'm respected as a person. I think I need that in real life. But in Fantasyland? I'm being held captive and wrestled to the ground, or stared down by a will stronger than my own. In Fantasyland, I'm freed from responsibility and choice, and I don't have to defeat my own inner turmoil and ambivalence, because someone stronger than me does it for me.

Of course, the problem is that most people who can do that is not people I really want should do that, because it's not safe. Nor does most people care to do it, because it's a hell of a lot of work. I like the idea of being forced to surrender to authority. The problem is that "authority" usually doesn't give a damn about me, and wouldn't want me afterwards.

One of the reasons I live a happier life now than ten years ago or so, is the security that comes with being owned. I've already been conquered. Our relationship isn't in the unsure, power-struggle phase of conquering and surrender, we're way past that. And while it would be nice to experience that excitement again, it was also a lot of angst and drama and arguing and crying and doubts, out here in real life with real people, and that I don't miss. What we have now, though, gives me a security and safety that means I don't have to defend myself all the time from authority. Also, it's a lot easier for other people to show me who's boss and let me know I'm not in charge, when I'm not fighting tooth and nail, with every available mean, to prove them wrong.

But that scenario, that little peace of interaction, always resonates within me. I seek it out when I can, and I enjoy it, even if it's just a game and a fantasy. It's not sexual as such, it's more... intriguing. It feels good, and fun, and a little tingly. It's not masturbation fodder, but I keep going over it in my mind, and it makes me feel good.

I don't think the tension and the dynamic went by unnoticed by the rest of the gang either. It was quite obvious that there was going to be a showdown, and I got the impression that everybody wanted that played out. And in the middle of the scene, while I and the game-master was story-telling what our respective characters was doing, one of my friends shoves her phone in my face and says. "Remember that it's this guy we're talking about!"

Yeah. Well... maybe a little masturbation fodder. Just a little bit. Hot damn!

Being a bitch

I hurt Mistress today, I was snarky and bitchy and said an offhand comment to her that made her really hurt and angry. It takes her awhile to process it, I noticed that she was pissed off about something but I didn't make the connection to what I had said, and ended up hurt and pissed off all on my own instead.

Eventually we managed to talk about it, and eventually eventually we also managed to actually communicate and I finally got what she was trying to say.

And felt horrible. Seen from her perspective, I can definitely see how what I said must have sounded terribly ungrateful, accusing and just plain bitchy.

I'm so so sorry I hurt her. All I ever want to do is make her life better. Saying nasty things that makes her cry and throw stuff around is not on my "to do"-list, on any day.

I did this a lot before the summer. We argued a lot, and it took a long while for me to get my head around my part of the issue. Then I stopped doing that, I stopped getting pissed off about everything she said and stopped snarking at her. I don't know what compelled me to start again today. Fatigue I guess. Stress, worry. Or just... I don't know. Bad manners?

I'm so glad we found each other again, that she forgave me, and that I understood what it was I had said that hurt her. And then, when we were cuddling and kissing each others tear wet faces, we discussed whether she had time to beat me or not, or if she really had to work. And I made a tentative suggestion:

"Well maybe we could you know, well... first let me use the bathroom, 'cause I need to, and then do another small thing, and then I can make you coffee and you could work."
"I guess that 'other small thing' is I beat you?"
"Well... yeah... but... maybe more punish me for being bad..." said in a very very small voice.
"You're right. That wouldn't take very long."

And then she did.

She had me lay on my stomach on the bed, pulled my pants down and said "This is going to hurt." and then she proceeded to hit me ten times with her cane. I almost cried, and even though I tried my best, I had a hard time laying still. She stroked me and petted me lovingly, but also said in a very stern voice that "this is supposed to hurt". And then she gave me ten more, because I belong to her. And finally three more, because, she said "I love you".

And then all was right in the world.

I was promised more in the evening, of the sexy sadistic variety. That's good too. (And Mistress' guess that my recent flare-up in bitchiness might be connected to lack of preventative beatings is not necessarily wrong.) The punishment, though, is a different kind of beating. It's loving too, and I can't say I don't find it hot, but most of all it's freeing. It's forgiving. It's righting a wrong.

Now I'm sitting on a rather sore butt on the sofa reading a paper on the necessity of inhibition for executive functioning, and finding it ironically apt. I could use some inhibition, undoubtedly.

A real dominant?

 Mistress took a test on OKCupid to see if she's really dominant. She was. The result read "You scored 95% on Dominance, higher than 100% of your peers." Yeah. I could've told her.

(Well, actually, I asked her to take it. It was fun.)

Playing hairdresser

I realised one more thing I do that I'm good at. I cut Mistress' and little S' hair. I've been training on Mistress since little S was an infant and the last time she was at the hairdresser resulted in her feeling hurt and upset. They never get how she wants it, and they always try to turn her into a girly girl. No matter how many times she says "classic mens look". Even when she brought me along for extra support could we manage to explain to the girl with the scissors that no, she did not want girly sideburns. Or hairspray. Or a nice feminine touch to her bangs.

So I've been practising, and shortening it gradually. Every time she reacts with an "Oh my God! What have you done!" and after an hour or so, she's used to it and likes it. Now I'm done to a 5mm buzz cut, and it's suits her perfectly.

Little S just gets her shortened at the neck and straight bangs at the front, so that the hair doesn't fall in her eyes. She's not overly found of combing, and her hair is kind of thin and flying all over the place, so it looks best a little shorter.

I guess cutting hair is a service, of sorts. I think that if I want to look for things I could be said to do specifically for Mistress, it makes much more sense to look at the specialised, once in a while-things, that takes guts and creativity. Those I'm good at. Routine stuff? Naaah. Not my thing.

Waiting game

When it's Friday night. And we have beer and cheese doodles, and the kid is asleep downstairs with grandma. And Mistress decides she wants to work for a little while, and we agree to quit working at eight and then cuddle on the sofa and have our beers.

And she works and works and works and I go take a shower. And wait. And turn on the telly. And it's eight thirty and she says "I'm almost done". Is this when I'm supposed to be a submissive, obedient, humble slave-type and meekly say "Yes Mistress" and be nice about it when she finally arrives, and not make a fuss and be grumpy all evening? It is, isn't it? Damn.

Different perspectives

Mistress went away over night in the beginning of the week, she had a job meeting in another town. Neither of us likes it. We do separate sometimes, either because life demands it of us, or because one of us want to do things the other doesn't. But if there is any way, we stay together.

I hated having her gone. When she's not around, my world gets... insecure. Shaky. Everything feels a little bit dangerous. It's as if I'm walking on a tightrope. When she's here I'm just walking around, nothing special, and the minute she leaves town, the road is a thin rope and under it is a gaping chasm, incredibly deep and filled with crocodiles. Nothing bad happens to me as long as I walk carefully, but the fear factor is way bigger.

My mother came over and had dinner with us and cleared the table and played with little S while I walked the dog. Clearing the table is one of those tasks I get really exhausted doing, it's way to many choices and clutter and stuff, so it meant a big deal that she did that.

But then we ended up on the sofa after little S had fallen asleep, and talked and talked and talked. Good talk, in many ways, but also heart wrenching. We talked about stuff we've never talked about before. The divorce when I was nine. Why she moved away then, why we didn't live full time with her. Why they separated. My childhood. If there was things that could have been done differently. If they should have been done differently. (Hell yeah.)

And about now. About how we keep walking in to each other, hurting each other. About why she's tip-toeing around me, afraid of saying things. And about little S. About why she tries so hard to convince me that our struggles, our pain, is common and natural and nothing not everybody with small children experiences. And she actually listened when I tried to tell her why I don't think that is so.

Apparently, when I try to evoke sympathy from her, when I want her comfort and her pity and her understanding, she things I blaim little S. She doesn't separate the experience of being a parent, and our experience of lacking basic necessities like sleep and sanity, from the love for the child. And from that point of view, of course she doesn't want to pity me. Because she said she would feel like she pitied me for having little S.

That hurt me. It hurt me that she obviously doesn't see how I feel for my kid. That the love I hold for her doesn't shine through. Two things comfort me though. One is that I do think little S sees it. I hold her, I hug her, I comfort her, I play with her, I tell her I love her and that she's the finest person there is, and most importantly I don't tell her a lot of other stuff. I don't take my irritation or fatigue or frustration out on her. I really don't. But I do show it to my own mother, and I do get hurt when she shuts me down or tell me my experience isn't valid.

The other comforting thing is that I think she lets her own experience get in the way when she interprets mine. She and dad got two kids very close together, and they lived far from their own parents, in a house in bad condition, working hard and having very little money, and my big brother was hyper allergic. I don't think she remembers much from that time, but I do think it's important for her to think that they made it al right. And from that follows that if they managed that situation, of course me and Mistress can manage our situation, and there's no need for her to pity us, or sympathise, or help out.

The ironic part is that she does help out. Quite a lot. It's not really the practical side of things that's my problem. It's the attitude. The snide comments. The clearly stated idea that we could make it easier and practical for ourselves, without asking if her solutions have been tried already or if we have any particular reasons we're not trying them (they always have and we always have reasons). And the absolutely adamant attitude that our kid is like everybody else's kids, that all kids are the same and that we don't have it any more difficult than anybody else, and therefore have nothing to complain about.

That I have a problem with.

All this talk was inspired by me getting an ADHD-diagnosis, of course. Somehow, it made it possible to talk about. And to me, it's an opening to say "hey, look, we do have it harder than many others. Could you stop moralising and brushing me off and just feel for me for a moment?". I wish I wouldn't have to have a diagnosis of a life long cognitive impairment just to get sympathy. I wish she would have seen me as I am, in the situation I am in, without the glasses provided by the diagnosis. I wish me suffering would have been enough. But somehow, it wasn't. Now she can't deny it any more at least, and that does make it feel better.

I don't know what her problem is about the diagnosis. For me, it explains a lot. It makes things make sense that before didn't. But for her... I think she now has to go back and change her whole impression of me. Or maybe I just hope she will?

Every time she criticised me, every time she yelled at me, every time I went without lunch or warm clothes and she scoffed at me and made it into my own fault for forgetting, every time she gave me to much responsibility and then scolded me for not living up to it, she now has to re-interpret. I was never lazy. I was never un-ambitious. I did care, a lot. I just couldn't do it. And I think realising that has made her change her point of view a little, or at least starting to change it.

Her main issue however is our suspicion that little S might have something similar that I have. Every time we hint at little S being more energetic, having more temper, or being more sensitive than the average child, she shoot it down. She just doesn't want to hear it. And now, when we talked, I realised she thinks we're blaming the kid. That we're angry or resentful or something at her for being how she is.

We're not. In our eyes, she's perfect. But the things demanded from us in taking care of her often exceeds our  resources. To the point of me finally breaking down and becoming really sick. We simply can't do it. That doesn't mean we love her one iota less, it just means we're sometimes very frustrated and tired, and often angry at society and the people around us for not helping us out. For letting us drown and standing by watching, shrugging. That frustrates us. That makes us angry. Not the kid. She's who she is, and she deserves the best. But when we can't give her what she needs, even when we literary work ourself into the ground, being told "well, being a parent is hard" and "you're no worse off than anyone else" is not what we need to hear.

"I'm so sorry for you, I hope it gets better soon" is what I want to hear. "Poor you, I know it must be hard, I feel for you". Not "poor you for having such a bad child" which I think is what my mom think I mean, but "poor you for not being allowed to sleep nearly as much as you need" or something similar. The love for a child doesn't take away basic needs like sleep or food.

I don't know if it's any harder to take care of little S than of any three-year old. I do know that kids are different from each other, because I know a bunch of them. And I do know that parenting can be  very different experiences. I also do know that for us, it has been really really challenging. And that some of the things that we have had to do and live through has been suffering, for real. And I want that to be mirrored by those I'm close to.

Mom and I stayed up to eleven talking, and then I slept lousy, waiting for little S to call to me in the night. We went up early, and when I'd finally dropped little S off at pre-school I went to the University and had a therapy session with a patient. When the patient left the room after an hour, I shut the door and just sat there. My brain couldn't take anymore.

And it's interesting to see how it works. All our sessions is on camera, and on the recording nothing shows of my fatigue, I'm doing a good session. But I can't keep that up. Afterwards, my brain just shut down. I had to sit for a long while before I could go get coffee, and then I had to go lie down for almost and hour in a completely dark room before I could muster enough energy to go write my rapport about the session.

I have been shaky ever since. I got through a busy Wednesday on coffee and calming pills, suffering through repeated panic attacks all day brought on by the fatigue, and then I slept and went around like a zombie all Thursday. Today I'm still affected, but I'm getting better. I'm counting on being back up on my usual base-line around Monday, but it gets very obvious that even if the immediate effect of  getting exhausted as I did on Tuesday goes away after a few hours, the lingering effects last for days. I can't afford it. I can fake it in the moment, it doesn't effect patients or my performance, but I suffer from it.

I'm glad I know to rest now. I don't try to force myself forward anymore, I don't get angry with myself. I just have to accept that this is how I function. I can stretch my resources a great deal, but if I don't stop in time, I will take a long time afterwards to recover. And if I don't the end result is the state I was in this summer, something I would very much prefer never to experience again.

Today I'm going to eat lunch, and fill the car with our pre-packed bags for a weekend with my in-laws. And walk the dog. That's about it. And that's perfect.

How it is.

Mistress worked from home today, but was away between breakfast and lunch time. When she was on her way back, she called me, and among other things she asked me to make her a cup of coffee for when she returned. I dutifully said "Yes Mistress!" and then promptly forgot about it. I finished my own coffee, changed clothes, managed to corner the dog so that I could get his little jacket on, and then went out on a run with him. Five minutes later I remembered the coffee.

I turned around, jogged all the way home (with a confused doggy jumping beside me) and made coffee. When I was finally done and had made it out of the house again, Mistress arrived. She completely agreed on my prioritising, and kissed me good bye as I went out on a second try at getting some exercise.

Anyway. The point is that this is what happens when you've bad working memory. I was officially diagnosed with ADHD a week ago. This is who I am. This is how I function. I can absolutely be meaning to do something, and then completely lose track of it for a while. And I spent the whole last year fighting this, trying my absolutely hardest to change, to do better, to straighten up and manage life like everybody else does. The only thing that got me was a complete, clinical burn-out, depression  and a lot of anger and arguments.

I can't make this go away.

I can compensate. I can use things to make me remember. I can live a life where nothing catastrophic occurs if I don't remember. But most of all, the most important thing, is that I can forgive myself.

Before, I would have berated myself all the way home, I would have had a furious monologue in my head about what a terrible person I am, what a disappointment and burden for Mistress, how stupid and worthless of me to not even be able to remember a direct order for five minutes. It's a strategy of sorts - emotions help memory, fear and anger can help to motivate actions, and it probably would raise my ability to remember a similar order in a similar situation a little bit. But only a little bit. And to a monstrous cost.

It was so good to realise I don't do that any more. Now I actively try not to be ashamed, not to be angry. When the inner monologue start I identify it and ignore it. It's not true. I'm not bad. I'm not disrespectful. It's not a matter of not trying.

This is just how I'm wired. I'm impulsive. I've got a bad working memory. I have problem concentrating. I need more sleep than most people. I have strong feelings, strong impulses, fast reflexes, intense energy. This is just me. The only thing that happens if I hate myself over it is that I have less energy left to other things.

Luckily, it's me Mistress wants. She did say I was an "epic failure" at being a house wife a while ago, but added that I was a very good slut. And I guess that's how it is. If she wants someone to manage her house work, she'll have to get another slave.

(That would be kind of cute. She could get some pretty submissive boy who could walk around here half naked, help us out with little S, and keep things clean. I bet that when I've graduated and have a job we could support a third person together.)

If she sticks with me, what she'll get is a devoted mother to her child, a loving partner, a obedient slut and an understanding friend. But she wont get someone who remembers a lot of things or has any sense of order and structure. That's just how it is.

The best laid plans...

Last Sunday we were going to rope-thing, people meeting and playing around with tying each other up. We've gone once before, but haven't been able to since, so I was looking forward to it. The meeting was moved from day time to night time, so we asked my dad to babysit after little S had fallen asleep, all he had to do was watch the whodunit on our TV instead of his own. He was all for it, and eventually little S was sleeping quietly in her bed in her room, Mistress had done the ten minutes of last minute work she suddenly decided she had to do, and we were off.

And then we drove through town and around in a suburb looking for the right address. Both yawning desperately. When we realised we had parked the car in the wrong area and decided to move it, Mistress commented on how tired she was and how she really only was doing this so that I could meet some people. For a second I was furious, and when I looked closer at the anger I realised that I was absolutely exhausted too, and more or less did this because I wanted Mistress to get out and meet some people. And the anger fell away and I confessed that well, I wasn't really feeling like it either.

So we drove home again. And surprised my dad in front of the TV, shared some candy and a cup of tea with him, and then spent the rest of the evening cuddled on the sofa just the two of us. I don't remember what we said to dad, probably something resembling the truth. I think we only left out that bit about tying people up...

There's no way around it, we really don't have the energy to have an active social life. Maybe we never will. Hopefully people will have patience with us, and appreciate the rare occasions when we actually do turn up. They do happen, from time to time.

A night out

Yesterday, I took my collar for a walk. That is, there was a meeting of poly folks at a nice pub down town and Mistress gave me permission to attend. I think she would very much have liked to come too, but someone had to stay home with little S, and in regards to who of us will most enjoy an outing mingling alone in a new social context, it's not even a competition. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have want to go alone, but I missed here there with me.

Mistress is an introvert, in that she needs to have energy to have any fun meeting people. When she does, she's funny and outgoing and a good conversationalist. But if she's not feeling her best, she doesn't want to meet people. I on the other hand need to meet people to feel my best. I get energy from things like yesterday. If I don't get to do it, I wilt.

The problem is that neither of us likes to be separated. I like to meet new people, but I prefer to have Mistress there with me. And Mistress likes me to meet new people, but want to be there with me or have me stay at home and keep her company if she doesn't feel like it. This wouldn't really be a problem if it wasn't for the fact that we're parents and more or less work shifts and rarely can do stuff together outside of the home. And that we're constantly exhausted, which makes the conditions needed for Mistress to feel sociable very rare.

So I'm glad I was allowed to go alone. Because I need things like this to feel happy and stay healthy. Depression is a bitch, and one of the ways for me to fight it is to laugh among friends and talk with other people. If I feel lonely or cut off or isolated, the dark and heavy thoughts take over.

I had a really good time. My friend I. was there, and well, basically all the people she has sex with, wants to have sex with or have had sex with. And around 25 other people, but I didn't talk to them. A good friend from my program at the university was there too, with her boyfriend and their two year old. I felt safe and appreciated and accepted. It was great to be able to meet people and really feel like myself.

Anyone who noticed my collar said something nice about it. My friend I. and another friend who I've known for ten years or so, D., got to read the back side of the tablet too, that felt special and a bit embarrassing, but not in a bad way. I declared that I would never ever read it out loud, after which D. claimed to be unable to read it at all and tried to cajole me into reading it out loud.

It turned out that even though I feel secure and safe and liked, I still get mouthy and uppity if anyone tries to dominate me or order me around. It's not that I don't like it. I do like it, actually. But I'm not sure if anyone would think I do, because I can't seem to help myself, I always have a witty comeback and a way of getting the upper hand. Or at least not allowing anyone else to get the upper hand. But at least it's nice when I don't feel threatened or afraid, when it's done in humour and when I know that it's not impossible that I would yield and that nothing bad would happen if I did.

I told I. and D. about the ceremony Mistress and me would like to have, to formally collar me in front of witnesses, and both seemed to understand the idea and said that they would be honoured to attend. That warmed my heart. I feel much more secure now in actually going through with it. It has felt a little daunting trying to explain to people what it is we're doing, and of course some part of me always worry that either no one will want to come, or that we'll be laughed at or misunderstood. But those fears are pretty much laid to rest now.

Before we always thought that we would do it at a kink-event, most probably at the girls only BDSM-club we go to sometimes. But now when I feel bolder, I've been thinking that maybe we should just do it here in our apartment. That has the advantage of us being able to set the date more freely, and also not have to hassle about our male friends. That's the biggest drawback to the club plan - that there's a handful of guys that we would probably want to have on the guest list.

Aaaah! Guest list! Now I'm getting all nervous....

Being collared?

Mistress got me a collar a few months ago. A permanent collar, from http://wyredslave.com/. It's shiny and pretty and has a beautiful tablet with an inscription on it reading "Amor vincit omnia" on one side and "This slut is the property of X X" on the other. (Well, not XX - but Mistress' initials and last name.)

She got it meaning she ordered it and paid for it and tried it on me and then put it in a box awaiting... something.

Well, first awaiting a good opportunity to hold a small ceremony with us exchanging vows in the presence of a few of our friends. But then, when the opportunities went by without us doing anything about it, it turned out to be a wait for my mood to stabilise. Depression and starting up life long commitments doesn't really mesh, in Mistress opinion, and I found it hard to disagree. (Or at least to disagree on any reasonable grounds.)

But as my mood has lightened this waiting thing has gotten old. I want a date! I want something, something to hang on to, something to make me believe that it's really going to happen.

We talked about it, and Mistress took out the box and looked at the pretty, shiny necklace, and we realised that one reason for the waiting game is the collar itself. It's shiny. And big. And stiff. And not even remotely discreet. I think both me and Mistress feels a little bit hesitant about the comments and looks I'll get, especially from our parents.

But now she has tried it on me. We skipped the part of keeping it secret and sacred until the ceremony, and  decided that a more gradual approach works better for us. She put it on me yesterday in front of the TV in the evening, and it was wonderful. I slept in it, which worked just fine, and now she's put it on me again and spanked and fucked me while I was wearing it - non-surprisingly, it didn't interfere with either.

And most of all, I think we both get a chance to get used to the look of it, the feel of it. Once we're sure that we like it, I don't think others comments will affect us at all. But it takes a little bit of getting used to.

Still tired

Yesterday was a hard day. The clock was set back this weekend, and the change in schedule messes with all of us in the family. I think that was one of the reasons I was really really tired. And we had a busy week before that, a fun week but a busy one. We only had the one night in together, for the rest there was me going do the dojo for ju-jutsu, Mistress being a work event, me going to a party and so on.

And yesterday I started my week with four hours of lecture, from 8 to 12. Then I had a therapy client at four thirty and in between I had to get down town to leave my bike off for service. All of these things were essential, non-negotiable. Usually I would skip an hour or two from a four hour lecture, because my head really can't take that, but this was the first and only lecture in a five-week course, and we're only eight people there. Me leaving would have been noticed, one might say.

I was dead tired already when I got up, and took two of my anxiety pills even before leaving the apartment. It's no fun bicycling through the town and especially up the big hill in the middle during an anxiety attack. I didn't start to feel better until half way through the first hour, and then I got exhausted instead, and was about to fall asleep throughout the lecture.

The anxiety stayed with me all day, and it was raining and the cycle repair shop was closed and everything seemed to go wrong. And eventually Mistress sent me a text asking if I was angry or unsure of her or what was the problem because I was addressing her in an unusual manner. I looked through my texts from the day and realised I hadn't called her "Mistress" once. There were a lot of "Kiss!" and one "I love you!" but no "yes Mistress" or "thank you Mistress".

Sometimes she's very perceptive. And yes, there was something wrong. Not between her and me, but between my ears. I was all caught up in angst and exhaustion, and in order to get through the day I shut down. I do that sometimes, when I'm overwhelmed. And apparently calling her "Mistress" is not something I do just because, or without thinking. It's a conscious act of submitting and connecting, and when I'm shut down I'm neither submissive nor connecting. I'm on autopilot, and not very nice at all.

I'm glad she caught me. I'm glad she gave me the opportunity to feel inside and to explain and to fall into her arms once I got home. And then I ditched the ju-jutsu and crawled in to her lap and spent the evening collared and with my head on her chest watching teve.

Today all I've got is a client in the afternoon. The rest of the day is spent on the sofa. I was out running for a short spell too, and now it's lunchtime.

I think it's safe to say that I'm not well yet, and that I have a long way to go before my capacity is back up to normal. And even then my normal doesn't really look like anyone else's normal.

Me and my persona

I went my friend I.s place yesterday, she and her room mate had a house warming party, about four months after moving in together. My friend I. used to live there with her husband/Master, and kept the apartment after their divorce went through this spring.

He was there, actually, and so was a lot of people. Friends of I. and friends of her room mate. My friend I. has been hanging with a lot of poly folks for a while now, and BDSM people of course. Some where from that crowd, others were other acquaintances, some LARPers and a bunch of people I didn't know anything about.

It was a good party, and I enjoyed it, but I found myself spacing out now and then, even in the middle of conversations. It was like my energy level was to low or something. It was a crowded place, the volume was high and I think all the stimuli overwhelmed me a little.

It was also very strange to be there without Mistress. I talked to a friend about that, I joked that I hadn't been to a party without Mistress for the last ten years, but now that I think about it, I think it's an accurate description. The easy explanation is that we prefer to do things together, which is perfectly true.

But also, that we don't like to do things apart. If she'd been there, I could have taken a rest in her presence. Merely her being there would have made it easier for me, easier to sift through the crowd to the people I really liked to talk to, easier to sit tight and wait and not necessarily mingle every second, easier to have someone to focus on to make the noise and the chaos less distracting. I could have buried my face in her lap or her arms for a short spell and then continued to party with new found energy.

And when I got home she was completely awake and waiting for me in bed, even though it was late. Because she has trouble going to sleep without me. It's not that she mind that I'm doing fun stuff and she's not there - but I do think she mind going to bed without me there to cuddle with.

Another thing happened too, at the party. A guy there, slightly younger than me, tall, with his head shaved in a funny pattern, deliberately pushed all my submissive buttons. I can't describe it in any other way. When he introduced himself to me, he gave me his name, took my hand, stared down in to my eyes and said "But you can call me Master... I think." Such a cheesy line, such a stupid thing to say. But combined with the eye contact and his general charisma, sure, it worked. He got to me.

When I was younger, I was deadly afraid of anyone finding that button. I had a more or less rational fear of being made a fool of, of being taking advantage of, of being pushed in to do something embarrassing. Most of all I think I was afraid that some charismatic girl or guy would come along, make me submit, not want me and laugh at me. It was not a fear of being raped or used, but a fear of losing face, of revealing my true self and then being shunned and mocked.

So I put up a very brave, very strong and very tiresome façade. I don't think that many who met me at that time would have pegged me as submissive. I fought that side of me tooth and nail.

Later on, I admitted my submissive side, entered into a power exchange relationship, went to clubs and admitted the truth to a few select friends. But I was still very careful about my public persona, and I didn't let my guard down in public.

Nowadays it's a very deliberate process for me to let that guard down. I feel so much better and more whole and authentic if that side of me is mirrored in others behaviour towards me. I don't want to come through as strong, capable, self-sufficient any more. I'm happy if I can relax enough for my submissive side to shine through, if that part of me can be seen and validated.

So in a way I have opened up for the possibility of people doing what that guy did yesterday. It can be interpreted as a sign that I'm making progress in the process of being less guarded, less safe, less off-putting. That's a good thing, mostly. And I'm proud of myself that I'm not thinking "oh no, oh no, I have to change and put the guard up again immediately!". I'm not thinking that. If getting hit on in cheesy and not-so-subtle-ways by people with a dominant leaning is the price I have to pay, I consider that a bargain.

But it was unsettling. It was a bit fascinating to realise that the thing I've always feared could come true - some random guy could walk up to me, stare me down and have me yield to him. Because that was exactly what happened.

He didn't have much to show for his trouble, though. The only thing that happened was that I avoided him like the plague the rest of the evening. In the beginning he tried to talk to me a little, I answered politely but without eye-contact, and then I stayed clear of him. Whenever I looked around the room his eyes were on me, and that was really unsettling, but he laid off after a while.

I asked my friend I. about it, about what his deal was and she answered along the lines of "he does that to everyone, he's super-flirty and doesn't always know when to stop" and that made me feel better. More like he was simply doing his usual pick up-thing, than that he was interested in me as such. And I really didn't want him to be especially interested in me - the domination aspect aside, he really wasn't my type.

I actually like to be allowed to feel submissive, to be dominated by other people. That's the thing, I've realised that I appreciate being seen in that light. And, as I've always suspected, I am rather easy in that respect. But. I don't like being hit on and being demanded things from strangers, who hasn't yet found the way into my "good person" category. The rule is: First you show yourself as a sane, nice person with a winning personality, and then  you start to boss me around in a light, caring way. And then you lay off and do not demand titles from me, or anything else from me, before checking with my Owner first (no one has ever done that, I'm not sure how that would be done in real life actually. But I would love for someone to try it. I bet Mistress would agree to almost anything just for the fun in seeing me go beet-red and want to run and hide out of sheer embarrassment).

I missed Mistress there. If she'd been with me, he wouldn't have done that, and if he had, I could have taken comfort with her. I think the being owned-part is a big part of why I dare to let my guard down more often now. I'm owned. No one is going to take me away or make me do things I don't want to or make me lose control, because that control is handed over to another. It doesn't matter how dominant or persuasive or charismatic someone else is, because I'm already taken.

I have a leash, and even though it allows me to submit if that is what I'm comfortable doing, it will be yanked the moment Mistress doesn't like what's going in. That's my safety net. That's my guard now. I don't have to show how big and strong and capable I am to keep myself safe - I can be weak and yielding and submissive, and trust that she protects me.

And if I look at the events yesterday, it did work. Yes that guy pushed my buttons, and he did manage to show himself dominant over me. Then I ignored him for the rest of the evening and had a good time talking with my friends. So even when something like that does happen, it doesn't have to be a problem besides me feeling uncomfortable for a while, and I really don't have to fear it. That's good to know.

Trust and things

The thing is, I'm deadly afraid to lose her. That's the fear that drives me when I get angsty. That she'll leave me, that I wont be good enough for her, that she'll decide she doesn't want me any more. Being sick makes me more of a burden, at the same time as this particular sickness (depression) makes thoughts like that seem real and plausible. That's kind of what depression does.

But I fear too that I'll lose her to illness. That the burden of taking care of me and little S and her job and not having enough fun things in her life will make her depressed too, or exhausted. That she'll drift away from me, not by intention but because of fatigue. That the sheer effort to put one foot before the other will take all her energy and there will be nothing left to me. Like I was this summer.

So when she express thoughts about being unhappy, about not getting enough of the things she needs (like sleep, or time for herself, or time and energy to exercise) it makes me really really afraid, and really really motivated to do something about it. And when she doesn't respond to all my helpful suggestions and doesn't follow through on my excellent (in my view) plans, I get frantic and frustrated.

And there I go again, taking responsibility for things that's not mine. I don't own that. She does.

If she tells me what's going on with her, it will ease my worries and make me feel more in control, and it will also let her take advantage of my perspective and experience. So that's generally a good thing. But she doesn't have to do that. She has every right to solve this problem the way she sees fit, involving me as much or as little as she likes.

And even though the depression keeps screaming other things in my ears, as long as she doesn't say anything else, my primary job is still 1) manage school and 2) get better. "Overseeing and managing Mistress health and make her tell everything so that I can have control" is not even on the list. It's on a different list. A black one. Crossed out.

I just have to trust her.I don't get why that's so god damn hard.

Fighting again.

I just went off the phone with Mistress, she hung up on me. Right after I declared that I didn't want to talk with her anymore, because everything felt wrong and bad and unfair. I'm crying and I have been for awhile.

Turns out that she refuses to share things with me because she claims that leads to catastrophe and negative consequences she can't deal with, and that she's sorry she ever showed me that she was unhappy.

And I feel that if she can't share things with me, if I can't support her and be allowed to be there for her when she's in trouble, what kind of relationship is this? What good am I, if I'm so horrible at supporting her that she'd rather lie than tell me things?

And what kind of relationship can we have when she's deliberately lying to me, and claims that is the responsible choice? I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with her being unhappy, knowing full well that she is unhappy, and having her tell me to my face that it's not the case? All the while seeing her unhappiness manifesting itself in a thousand ways.

Most of all I'm pissed off that she thinks she can hide things from me. She can't. She's a terrible lier. I know when something is wrong, and knowing it and not being told about it turns me in to a nervous wreck. I can't understand how she thinks that is better for me or would be less harmful to my health than her simply telling me straight out.

I get that she's in a tight spot. I know, I know very well, that she does a lot more than her share around here, and that time and resources are limited. I know that our decision that I should continue in school despite being sick and instead leave off responsibility for home and kid has left a big burden on her, and now that I'm starting to feel better it is gnawing on me that I get to do things; rest, be creative, exercise, meet friends, that she rarely gets to do.

But the thing is, the infuriating things is, that I know this! It's no secret. She's not protecting me or her pretending that all is fine, especially when no one buys the act. There is nothing I want more in this world than for her to be happy, and I would gnaw off my left foot if that could make it happen. I want to support her, help her, be there for her in any way I can, and I could do that a lot more and a lot easier if only she would talk to me.

But she doesn't. She lies and hides. And when something slips, like it did yesterday, she actually apologised to me for letting it slip. I think that classifies as around top ten of least wanted apology in the history of apologies.

I don't want to be open and honest and vulnerable and straightforward to someone who isn't the same to me. The idea makes me frantic.


---

We skipped that whole talking-in-the-phone-part and went to emails instead. Actually a good medium for us - we're so damn emotional and reactive that a IRL-conversation very easily spins out of hand.

No, she didn't mean she would or should lie to me. Yes there are things I can do for her. Yes, I'm a valuable part of her life and having me is a lot more on the pro-side than on the con-side. Yes, I shall back off and give her space and we'll talk about it in good time, together and unstressed.

Crisis averted. Or well, the actual problem of us having much to small resources and her being exhausted and me being sick and our support-network totally bailing on us still exists. Those wont go away by writing emails about it. But now it feels like we're on the same side again, and that's the most important part. The rest of life will sort itself out, one way or another. 

Being punished?

Late at evening yesterday while Mistress brushed her teeth, I crawled in to the bed, and only halfway remembered that I hadn't asked permission to do so. When she stepped in to the room I was sitting up, legs covered by the duvet, naked. "May I go to bed, Mistress?" I asked, the right wording, but totally wrong position.

"No, you may not" she answered, and I got my self up a little grudgingly and went over to her so that she could put the dog collar around my neck. "Bend over" she said and had me standing by the end of the bed with my hands on the mattress, and my butt sticking up. I stood with my feet firmly together and looked down on my toes. She pulled my panties upwards, and started to whip my ass cheeks with a belt she'd found hanging over the wardrobe door.

And I guess this was a punishment. There's some discussions going on on FetLife on punishments and what type of punishment people use and what differentiate punishment from "funishment" and some people say things like "I can't be punished with pain because I'm a masochist" or "I'm a masochist but the punishments are way more than I like" or, the all time favorite "I don't get punished because I'm not a child"... Love that one.

Anyway, nothing of that fits when it comes to us. I'm a masochist and a painslut and pain and corporeal punishment works just fine as a deterrent for me. But that doesn't mean I get overly harsh corrections. The things Mistress does to show me my place is typically less severe than what we do in a more playful mood.

Yesterday she whipped me hard, but not extremely in any way, I might gotten slightly reddish but nothing more than that. It hurt, a lot, but I liked it. It was dominant. It was sexy. It made me feel owned and cared for and appreciated. I made me feel sexy. It reminded me of her power, and of our respective places in our relationships. And it reminded me not to get in to the bed without asking permission first.

That's the thing. I might very well actually in some ways enjoy the things she does to remind me and correct me, even while she's doing them. I might appreciate the dominance and the sexiness and the safety that gives me. That, however, doesn't take away from the fact that it also serves to remind me of a rule and ensure that I keep following it. The same action might have several functions, that do not diminish each other.

Afterwards she told me to get up and did give me permission to go to bed, and I thanked her, first immediately while I curtsied and respectfully said "thank you, Mistress" but also later, in bed, while we were spooning and about to go to sleep. I thank her for taking care of me, for caring about me, for caring about us and, maybe, simply for being who she is and doing what she wants to do. I love that she can beat me whenever she want to, and when she thinks I deserve it and when she doesn't care if I've deserved it or not, simply because she likes it. I love belonging to her. Maybe that's the part I like about punishment, even if I at the same time try to avoid it as best as I can. 

A nice evening in

Bliss!

If I was a smoker I'd be having a cigarette by now.

We watched the first episode of True Blood season two, with cheese doodles and beer, and when Sookie and Bill started getting it on, her hand moved to my breast and begun to fondle it. When the show was over, we went in to the bedroom, and she ordered me on to the bed. She tied me down, feet together and arms spread wide apart, and secured the ropes in the bed.

And then she proceeded to beat me, hard, with the leather tawse. It was really difficult to relax, and I couldn't stop squirming until I started to really focus on the pain, on every stroke. By then she had one of her feet on the small of my back, pushing me down, and a rope around my neck, holding it tight. I was bound, pushed, strangled and beaten, and could finally drift away into the sensations. I know my breathing slows then, and my pulse too. She said she had to check on me now and then, to see that I was okay, but I didn't notice that. I just was, existed.

When she was done, she told me that for once she hadn't kept going until I started to bleed, but instead had kept going even though I was bleeding. That idea made me inexplicably happy. I hesitantly told her (or more whispered in to the pillows) that I would like to stay were I was for a while, and that I had this idea in my head that maybe she would go and do something else. I guess I pictured her going in to the other room and look up porn on the computer or something. Instead she said yes, she would leave me - and go walk the dog.

Which she did. I stayed, obviously, feeling completely at ease and safe on the one hand, and longing for her to come back on the other. She came back, not long after, slowly untied me and then we cuddled, kissed and eventually fucked until I saw stars flying around in the room.

Now I'm really really tired and looking forward to crawling in to bed with the one I love most in the whole world.

A good talk

Yesterday, as Mistress was tying me to the bed we discussed the appropriateness of me getting a massage and being slightly dominated by anyone else than her. And I get her point, which was "this sounds very much like when you and I started to fall in love."

And it does, in a way. Because it is what I do with friends I really like, when I finally let the guards down and dares to let someone in. I get all cuddly and a tad submissive. In Mistress case, it happened to be with my soulmate, my life-partner, the one who eventually came to own me and who I have given myself to completely. That doesn't mean that is destined to happen with any one I get close to or like, or for that matter cuddle with.

And I don't think she thinks that either. But I do thinks there's a sense of karma here, a sense of "how do I know it wont happen to me like it happened to him". Him, in this case, being my ex. Our ex. The boyfriend we shared (kinda) for two-and-a-half-year. I did leave him, eventually, and I did end up with her, and for a while there they were involved in a sort of tug-of-war over me, that was excruciating for all people involved.

I guess the most calming response would have been something along the lines of "How can you even think I would ever want anything to do with anyone but you?". And I did give that, in a way. She is my true love. And no matter any possible feelings for anyone else, I belong to her. I obey her, and I follow her, and she gets to decide what I do with anyone else, no matter the content of the relationship. I have no intention of ever leaving her - on the contrary, I don't think I would be capable even if I in some weird alternate universe would want to.

But I could easily picture having sex with someone else. Doing it by myself, purely on a whim or an infatuation, I can imagine, but I have to admit that the idea is immediately followed with feelings of dread and thoughts of her being hurt and of how it would eventually be extremely complicated (and this is even though this fantasy requires her consent - I can't imagine doing anything without that (literary, I can't. I know it sounds cheesy, but it's true. Disobedience and deceit is not my thing)).

Most of my thoughts regarding poly or sharing involves her, of her lending me to someone else (that would be hot!) or her being with someone other than me (also hot, though a little more disturbing). Or of me being used or forced to submit in front of people, or with other people. But all these thoughts has her as the centre, as the driving force. Me alone going out and hooking up with someone else? Not so much.

And still I like cuddles. I like to be close. I like to be handled by others. In short, in safe and loving company, I like to feel that I'm appreciated, I like hugs and cuddles, and I like to be seen and treated as the person I am. Which more resembles a happy labrador than a grown-up professional. The labrador part of me, the submissive, happy, touchy-feely, vulnerable, non-thinking part, doesn't get out much, as opposed to the competent grown-up part, so when the occasion arise I get happy tingly feelings.

Eventually, she laid down the rules: I get to cuddle as much as I want, and have anyone do whatever to me, (as long as it feels good to me and doesn't hurt anyone, I assume was taken for granted in this) but I'm not allowed to let anyone turn me on without her present. That, actually, felt like a very clear cut rule to me, with the great aspect of me monitoring my own feelings and experience, and not making me responsible for others feelings and behaviours. If I'm not turned on, and someone does something inappropriate, I wont like it and remove myself. If I am turned on, I can notice that and remove myself before anyone does anything inappropriate.

And I still don't have to walk on eggshells, constantly wondering if what I do is okay or not, or if I'm doing something she wouldn't like.

When we had finished talking I was tied up and told to lie still, and she sat down at her computer and worked for an hour or so. I don't really know, because I fell asleep. When I woke up it was time for lunch, and while the water for the pasta was starting to boil, she fucked me senseless. Then we had tortellini.

Not a very good plan

When Mistress met me and little S outside the pre-school after work and she asked how I was I had to admit to feeling like crap. A lot of angst, very tired. This made me ashamed, because I had a vague sense of guilt about it. “Is that why you didn’t text me?” she asked and I denied it.

On the way home I realized she was right (of course). I didn’t text her when I’d dropped off little S in the morning, nor did I when I left home in the afternoon to go get her. Both corresponding to times when I felt wiped and angsty, probably forgetting to text because I was dissociating and simply going through the basic motions of getting were I was supposed to go – with no energy left to direct outward.

And that’s not ok. If something is that hard for me to do that I can’t even text Mistress, then I shouldn’t do it. I most definitely should text Mistress, or call her, and ask for help.

Since I didn’t, I continued to have a too high tempo that day. I went to my friend I. a bit late, because I had a hard time getting off the couch, and then I stayed there longer than I’d planned, because I was exhausted. And also because I ended up with my head in her lap while she was massaging my head with a funny wirey head-massage-tingy. It was cuddly and a bit dominant of her, and very very relaxing for me, and definitely one of the best parts of the entire day.

But when I left, it was lunch time, I was still really tired, and again, I should have called Mistress. But I didn’t, I texted her and told her I was getting lunch and doing some shopping that was pre-planned, and didn’t mentioned the parts of feeling exhausted and confused. 

I did get lunch at a crowded sandwich-place and found what I was looking for, but when I finally got home my mind was all over the place, and I still had studying to do. Which I did, and then went to get little S and couldn’t understand why I was feeling so bad. 

I texted Mistress that she was right and about my day, a short version, and when I’d finally gotten little S to sleep at night I went to her and kneeled and apologized. We backtracked the whole thing, and while talking I realized that the real problem actually wasn’t that day at all, but the day before. When I asked my friend I. about lunch and she preferred earlier, and I didn’t think twice about it.

I should have thought twice. It’s one thing booking in a lunch, it’s always good for me to have company then, but it’s another thing to make a plan that involves me being out of the home and in company for the whole day. When it didn’t go as I thought, I should have asked Mistress. Instead I decided, presented it for Mistress as a done deal, and refrained from getting in touch during the day.

I’m horrible at time management. Unfortunately, I’m great at selling in ideas an presenting things in a way that makes Mistress semi-accept them at first glance. It always comes back and bites me in the ass in the end, and it’s not an acceptable behavior from me towards Mistress.

In short, I screwed up. Not by being angsty, and not by wanting to meet with a friend, but by trying to manipulate Mistress and not asking for her input in my plans. That’s a real screw up.

We were cuddling on the sofa the whole time we discussed this, my head on her chest, and now and then during the talk she slapped my face as the more damning aspects of my actions came up.  But in the end, when all was said and done, I asked her for punishment. “Haven’t I already done that?” she asked, and stroked my cheek with the palm of her hand. “Obviously not enough” she concluded, and looked me in the eyes while she lifted her hand up and delivered a stinging slap to my face. For a moment my head was ringing and the world turned around a little.

 

And then everything was well in the world again.