The power of the power

One of the good things with being owned and not really have a say about sexual activities? It doesn't matter that the meds make my sexdrive go down. It doesn't matter if the depression makes me think noone would want me anyway, or that the fatigue makes taking any kind of initiative a dfficult task. It doesn't matter. Because it's not up to me anyway.

She takes me when she wants to, when she feels like it, and if nothing else this has once and for all showen me that no, our sexlife is not up to me. I can't ruin it. I can't fail at being interesting or sexy or engaging. Even in my most withdrawn state, she has sex with me if she wants to.

And the mere fact that she does as she likes, that it's out of my hands, that I don't have the right or the authority to decide whether I'm going to be fucked or not, makes me hot. My body always wants to be taken by her, no matter what my head is up to. I always surrender, and I always want it.

Isn't that amazing?

One more talent

I realised I forgot to mention some things I'm really really good at.

I'm really really good at loving. At feeling overwhelming, all compassing love for Mistress, and for little S. And not only do I love them both with all my heart and soul, I know they know that too, because I show it to them and tell them every day. That I'm good at.

And, in the big sheme of things, that's probably a more important contribution to our family than anything else I could have done, in the house or out of it.

Strengths, weaknesses and forgiveness

One of my main problems is that the responsibilities of a relatively poor thirty-something mother to a small child requires a skill-set is utterly unsuited to my strength and abilities. Kids and homes need structure, routine, predictability, order, the same things done at specific times at an even speed throughout the day. It's all about remembering time, keeping track of schedules, finding things, keeping things in order, focusing on several things at once, sorting information and keeping your calm.

I suck at all those things.

And since this is the work load I've got, I go through my days feeling constantly inadequate, with a never ending nagging feeling of not being good enough, of letting down my kid, and even worse, of letting down Mistress. I can't seem to shed the idea that she will look at me with disdain and cast me aside, seeing me unworthy as a partner and as a slave, since I'm so bad at the things I'm supposed by the circumstances and society to be doing.

And, since I spend a lot of times doing things I'm inherently bad at, I lose focus of the things I'm actually good at. I mean, I'm not useless. I just have some areas that I'm unusally weak at. But I also have some amazing strengths.

I'm full of life and laughter and fantasy. I'm imaginative and a good story-teller and an excellent mingler. I'm good at making friends and making people feel appreciated and at ease. I'm a good people person. I read very fast, and I learn very fast, and I have an intuitive nack for grokking systems, I can understand very complex things at a glance. I'm practical too, I'm good at carpentry and gardening and sewing and constructing things, and I'm good with animals. I'm physically strong, I can lift heavy things and work hard. I can take care of myself.

Actually, I'm good at almost everything that doesn't include paperwork, administration, order, routine, keeping an even speed at work or doing boring stuff for a long time.

I've been trying my hardest for the last year to be something that I'm not. To live up to a role, that of a classic mother and housewife, that is extremely illsuited for me. I've done this in part because I've thought it is what Mistress demandes of me. Because I thought that what she most needed was an equal partner in the house, or even more, a housewife, someone to take care of her home and her kid. I wanted to be that.

But what it got us was me being sick. In the end, I succumbed to exhaustion and eventually depression. I can't do it. Not that I don't want to, or am afraid to try it, what happened was that I broke down trying.

I have to rearrange my everyday life to get better and to stay better. I have to seek out and spend time at things that gives me energy and self-esteem, and accept and forgive myself for not being good at the things I'm weak at.

We've talked about it, and the thing is that Mistress has made it very clear that 1) she knew this about me since she met me fifteen years ago 2) she doesn't mind covering for my weak sides and complement my weaknesses with her strengths and 3) as long as I am myself I can't fail. She will never ever tire of me, abandon me or despise me, and I believe her.

And to her, she much prefer having a healthy slave that she has to tell to do the vacuuming and empty the dishwasher, to having a depressed, exhausted one who really really tries to remember but still forgets...

So right now, I'm scratching my creative writing itch by blogging, while she's busy playing with little S, much as she has all day. And I wish it was the other way around, but right now, I'm focusing on getting better, and instead of beating myself up about being a lousy slave, wife and mother I'm full of gratitude for the things she does for me, and proud of myself for taking care of me and making constructive choices in order to get better.

I'm never going to be a good housewife. But that doesn't mean I can't be a valuable partner, a good property and a good enough mother. But I do need to focus on my strength and allowing myself to do the things that comes naturally to me and is easy for me, instead of beating myself bloody over things that is near-impossible.

And yes, if I was a single mother, I would've been in debt, living in filth, having a child with dirty clothes that ate things out of boxes most days. Or, perhaps, getting help from society in various forms. That's my reality. That doesn't make me less valuable as a human, though, and since I'm blessed with a fantastic partner, our home is clean and our child is healthy and we have enough money. I just have to forgive myself for not being the one that makes it happen.

Tent-putting-upping

One more thing I'm good at; I'm actually good at assembling things. We put together a party-tent today, one of those with four legs and a white plastic roof and nothing else. It came in a sack with a million almost identical sticks, that should be put together in a specific way, according to a not to exact sketch. We layed everything out very methodically, and managed to construct it with a minimum of fuss.

Since almost all our furniture is bought at IKEA, we've both had a lot of practice. I'm still rather proud of it, though. I'm actually good at assembling things.

At least when grandma helps out and distracts the three-year-old from using all the carefully laid out sticks as swords or building her own little miniature tent from half of them, claiming her right to "have some too".

Birthday

Tomorrow is the little ones third birthday, and today we hosted a party, complete with balloons, strawberrycake and most importantly, gifts. Little S was mostly interested in the gifts, and playing with grandma. I think she had a good time. I'm exhausted, but must say it went pretty well, actually.

She got face-colors, so now she is painted as a tiger, and the she let loose with the brush on me and Mistress, and our faces has all the colors of the rainbow on them. According to little S I'm a butterfly and Mistress is a mouse. I don't think anyone but her can see that, though.

Depressed slut is depressed, but a bit better now. SSRI is good stuff. Oh, and vacation. I'm dreading the fall, though, and the start of school and job and pre-school. And housework and routine and stress and demands and all the things that made me sick in the first place.

But a little part of me is looking forward to it, too. It's not all bad. I'm fortunate enough to study something I'm genuinely interested in, that does count for something. And I know a lot more now about what is good and bad for me than I did before this summer. It doesn't have to go straight to hell, actually. I hope.

Oh, and yesterday was our five-year-old wedding anniversary. We've been married for five years! Yey us!

At medieval week

We're on one of the most beuatiful places I know, the town of Visby on the island of Gotland in the Baltic Sea. It's Medieval Week, a yearly event that gathers thousands of people, including most of my and Mistress' friends. I haven't been here for five years, and it's still magical.

The old part of town is surrounded by a city wall, built around the thirtenth century, and the surrounded area has countless ruins, churches and medieval buildings, and the streets have the same crazy layouts that all medieval cities had - the go in every direction, and are very narrow.

We haven't been all that much in medieval garb ourselves, it's been raining and we've been doing other stuff too. But tonight me and Mistress are going to a show, dressed up, and tomorrow we'll be at the market place and other event-related things all day. It's not the same to be here with a little kid, not to mention sharing a flat with my mother, but it's still good.

And it's been a great way to handle the depression. I haven't been this active in ages, and the somber thoughts are all but gone. They're there when I wake up, but then I get thrown into such a lot of fun activities that I get distracted. The city wall, the ocean, the smells and sounds, the people, and my family - it all makes me happy.

And two days ago we went to an ale-house in a medieval cellar after little S hade fallen asleep, and had some beer with a couple of friends, and listened to live musicians playing scabrous music, and I haven't laughed like that in a year or so. The day after I had a hangover, but I was still actually happier and less tired than I've been all summer. A hangover is apparently nothing compared to the continous dreariness of depression and fatigue.

With mother in the same apartment, everything kinky or remotely sexual or looking like power excange is kept to a minimum. But I'm hers as much as always, and I feel that in my heart every day.

Making me bleed

The day before yesterday, when little S had gone to sleep, I was out in the kitchen sewing. Mistress came out to me, and told me to finish what I was doing, and then report to her. I finished that part of my project and went to the bedroom. She was laying on the bed reading, and when I stepped in, she told me to undress and get down on the bed.

The thing is, written like this, it sound so somber, so dangerous, stern. In actualitie, it's not. It's warm and cute and full of laughter. There's no doubt that she's the boss and that I will obey her, and that is easy to convey in writing. The underlaying love and humor and general warmth is harder to get through. But it's there, always.

She told me that she was going to give me a hundred strokes with the rattan, in segments of 25; the first ones easy, and then harder and harder. And then, if she felt like it, she would just continue to beat me. "But I think I'll have to restrain you first" she said, and I answered "Yes please Mistress!". It's so much easier and less scary to be beaten when I'm bound up, especially if it's hard.

And when I was laying naked and chained to the bed, she proceeded to beat me on the ass with the rattan, and I breathed in to the pillow and tried not to move. At the end the strokes came hard and fast, and eventually she switched to the smaller rattan and just kept on hitting. By then I was gone, floating on the pain, having no desire for it to ever stop. And then, after a particular stroke, she said "Finally!", and put down the rattan. She turned me around and fucked me until we both came.

Afterwards, on her arm, I asked what the "Finally!" had been all about. "Well" she answered "I wanted to make you bleed, so I beat you until you did. I took awhile, though, and I wanted to do other stuff too." I nodded, and sighed happily.

There's something in her very calculated, deliberat way of handling me that just makes my heart melt. A true romantic!

Reading

I'm good at reading really fast. I'm not in the extreme super-league, I'm not sure if I'm a "fast-reader" by definition, but I get through books at an amazing speed. It's easy for me to remember what I read, too, and reading about stuff is a good way for me to learn.

When it comes to textbooks however, I have another skill, that's a bit paradoxical; I'm good at not reading the whole book. I never read a textbook from the first page to the last. Instead, I start by browsing through the book, starting with the last chapter. I notice headlines, image texts, and the general outlay. Then I check out the list of contents. After that I browse again, reading parts that stands out to me, getting hooked here and there, changing page when I lose interest. Sometimes there's parts I really need to know, and then I might underline a few things.

And then I'm done. That's it. After that, I add what I've read to what is said on lectures and seminars, cataloguing it in my mental library, and when the exam comes up, I usually pass without fuss. To me, this technique works, and it's something I'm good at.

Party!

It's Stockholm Pride this week, and even though we haven't got the money or the energy to do it all week, we went to a party yesterday. Or rather, mother-in-law arrived in the morning, and we took off in the car before lunch, and arrived in time for an interesting seminar on BDSM and the law, held by a professor at Stockholm University. There we hooked up with some friends, and were invited to a pre-party were we ate sushi and talked before going to the actually club.

I loved it. We spent some time alone too, just drinking the at a café and looking through a book store.

But today my fever was back and I have been exhausted all day. It was so worth it - and hopefully Mistress feels the same way, even though she was landed with little S all day more or less by her self. I'm not well yet, apparently. But sitting home alone every day doing nothing fun wont make me better either.

Things I'm good at.

I've decided to start writing a small thing every day, mentioning something I'm good at, in some way. There is way to much self-blame going on in my head, it needs counteracting.

So, for the first installment: I'm good at getting avocado out of the avocado peel, both in orderly cubes and in segments. I have this system, were I cut it in half, remove the seed, and then make cuts in the flesh of the avocado before hollowing it out with a spoon. I'm good at that.