I remember

I remember when Mistress taught me to behave at parties. The thing is,  want to be a social butterfly. I was forever working the room, mingling and making sure I wouldn’t miss anything. No matter who I was talking with I worried there were something more fun going on in another room. That I was missing out.

This drove Mistress crazy. She didn’t want to mingle, and didn’t care if she missed something.Nor did she want to sit alone all night while I talked to absolutely everybody for five minutes each. We bickered about it a bit, as I recall, and eventually she made me/persuaded me/told me to simply stick with her. Even if that meant I missed out.

And I remember this particular party, or bits and pieces from it anyway. This was before we got little S, so before 2009, but I don’t remember anymore about it. It was a theme party, some historical period - might have been the twenties maybe. I think a couple of people celebrated their birthdays together, and the venue were some sort of pub or something similar in Stockholm. There were a lot of people we knew a little bit and a lot of people we didn’t know at all. I remember this nervous feeling I had, that I always used to have at parties and gatherings, this mix of excitement and fear.

And Mistress made me sit with her at table in the middle of the room, close to the door, with our drinks, doing nothing. No mingling, no circulating, no going around saying hey to everybody. Just sit there.

Of course, what happened was that everybody came over and said hi to us instead. Turns out that if you sit at a table with available chairs looking friendly and relaxed a lot of people find that rather appealing and joins you. We had a great time, and if I missed out of something I didn’t notice it. There was this relief in this, in obeying Mistress, in taking this chance, and in noticing that she had been right all along

Mission: dressing gown

We've been talking a lot the last few days. Good talks, about what we can do to bring more of the magic back into our relationship. There's nothing wrong with the foundation, it's rock solid. But having the kid, me being sick, moving a couple of times; the stress of the last few years has made us trim away everything that isn't absolutely necessary. We have a good cake, but all the frosting is gone. And the filling. And also the spoon, platters and well everything except the cake part. And it's kind of boring.

One of the things we've talked about is the time each night when little S has fallen asleep and we have a couple of hours before bedtime. Usually we do some necessary things first, clean up in the kitchen, talk about household administration stuff, maybe take a shower  or prepare stuff for the next day. And then we usually make us some tea and sandwiches and snuggle on the couch in front of the telly. Without making any big changes this time could be used much more to reinforce our roles, to be us in a way we can't be in front of little S or other people.

So we discussed if it wouldn't be much better if I was naked. And yes, that would be a good way to reinforce my status in comparison to Mistress, and it would leave me vulnerable and make me feel more submissive. It would also, unfortunately, probably leave me with a cold. The house is usually around 17-18 degrees Celsius, and that's just below comfortable temperature if you don't have clothes. Actually we usually have a warm sweater on, sometimes long johns too, and always warm socks and slippers.

Okay then, but why not a nice dressing robe?

So I have an assignment - before January 6th I am to present three different alternatives for sexy, cosy dressing robes to Mistress.

Here they are:

Dressing gown Hemtex

Dressing gown Twilfit

Dressing gown Sova

A really low point

I guess from her perspective the whole thing looked different. But that's just it. When I'm ashamed and tired and sick and sad and feeling unappreciated, my ability to take someone elses perspective is almost gone. And so is my ability to formulate cohesive sentences, reflect over my feelings or say anything except answering straight questions.

I wanted to tell her how I was feeling and what I was thinking. I wanted that almost more than anything. But not more than I wanted her to actually want  to know those things. Since I was ashamed I couldn't stand the idea of telling her of my weakness and getting anger or rejection back. At the same time, I wanted her to know, and so I said that if she wanted to know something she could just ask me.

And, angrily and impatiently she growled "well, how do you feel about all this, then?". "It feels terrible, I feel sick and I'm really scared" I answered, filled with angst and shame and fear of rejection, a little relieved to finally get to say it, to share it, and deadly afraid I wouldn't be accepted, or loved anymore, when I couldn't live up to her demands.

And how did she react? She cursed in a loud voice, slammed the door she was holding, and stalked off, completely furious. I curled up on the sofa under a blanket, and cried. I was hyperaware of her every move, feeling like a mouse hiding in the grass, and trying to figure out what I would do if she would start yelling at me or hurt me. Nothing, I decided. There was nothing in me worth protecting anyway. There was nothing she could do that would make anything any worse.

A cold, a sandwich and being good enough

I never feel less like a slave then when I'm sick. I get all grumpy and touchy and angsty. Being sick triggers bad memories and brings out a lot of tjhe dysfunctionals sides of me. I've been down with a bad cold this whole week, and Mistress' has been a saint about it. I still can't shake the grumpiness though.

And I feel like a failure because I don't do anything useful at home. And she doesn't find me sexy (for some reason snot and a fever is not a turn on it seems) nor does she want to hurt me or play with me. She just manouveurs around me, where I'm slumped in a corner of the couch surrounded by used tissue papers.

Or well, I have been doing some things this week too, ironically a lot more than I ever did the whole of last year. I've vacuumed some of the floors, I've left and picked up the kid at pre-school, and I've managed to get dinner on the table for her and the kid (okay, once that was arranged by me calling ahead to the local pizza-place and she picking the pizzas up on her way home from the bus stop, but still - I orchestrated the process).

And I've made ice-cream two days in a row, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count since I only made it for myself because well, I don't really think anyone should eat something I make right now unless they intentionally want the cold virus from hell, and I also ate it all  both days. But then again, it meant I ate something, points for that.

This morning Mistress had made her usual heroic morning routine and served me tea and sandwich in the living room. This isn't even a special "oh my poor baby is sick" kind of thing, it's our standard morning routine (I'll blog about our mornings one of these days...). Anyway. The sandwich today was for some reason white bread with cold meatballs and mayo.

As the first thing in the morning. When I have a sore throat and no sense of smell nor appetite. And don't even like meatballs in the first place, if they're not homemade, and never cold and never ever on a sandwich.

We haven't had time to discuss it, and I'm honestly afraid to ask, but I guess she had some kind of idea behind it. If she was inclined that way I would have guessed it to be some sort of sadistic, hard-ass test of my obedience. But she doesn't have a habit of doing those kinds of things, and my being grumpy sick and sniffling doesn't really bring forth the creative sadist in her. I think she just had meatballs left over, wanted them eaten, and had one herself and made one for me.

Anyway, I had no idea what to do. I mean, there's no really recommended way to say to your Owner "Hey, I don't like this sandwich, make me another one!". The obvious would of course be to discreetly go and make another one myself. But there's a reason I get served breakfast on the couch, and that reason is four years old and grumpy and clingy in the morning.

Everything goes much easier if I serve as kid-anchor and make sure she gets something inside her, and in the meantime Mistress gets to eat breakfast in peace in the kitchen and usually works at the same time. The whole point of feeding us in the living room is so that she can have some uninterrupted peace and quite with her breakfast and her computer. Me going out there making noise and either having the kid in tow or having her yelling loudly to me from across the apartment would kind of negate that. 

I could have just eaten it of course. But no, really, I couldn't. I'm sure Mistress could have made me eat it, no doubts about that, but of my own volition, just because it was laying there beside my cup of tea? No. No way.

In the end Mistress popped her head in to check on us presumably when she had finished her breakfast, looked at me, looked at the sandwich, looked at me again in a way that made my inside kind of cringe, and said "I'll just go make you another one, should I?" And she did, and I happily ate the cheese sandwich she brought and felt more than usually sheepish.

And no, I don't think I'm much of a slave when I'm sick, nor much of a housewife or for that matter not all that great as a wife either, on any scale. But the good thing is that that doesn't matter. Because no matter what, I'm still her property, and that I'm amazingly awesome as. Even when my nose is running and I'm a picky eater. 

Broken down

I took the car today, to have lunch with a friend. I really didn't need to, I could have taken my bike, but it was raining and I was feeling tired and grumpy. Or the bus, but truth be told, I fell asleep and when I woke up I would just make it in time with the car.

I had a lovely lunch with an old friend I haven't seen in ages, and when it was time for her to return to work I offered to drive her. When we got there, I turned the engine off while we finished our conversation, we hugged and said good bye and I turned the ignition key, and got nothing.

The car wouldn't start. And that turned a so far good but a little low day in to a rather horrid one.

In the end, I got home again around six-thirty, and the worst part of the whole day was the look in Mistress' eyes. She looked so sad, and defeated, and tired and angry and well, just generally frazzled. Most of it has nothing to do with me, or with the car, but knowing that decisions I've made today, like taking the car at all for instance, made her day worse makes me hate myself a little.

I don't know if she's angry with me for any of it. I texted her as soon as it happened, and she was informed of every decision I made and I did as she told me to when she had any input, but in the end I still feel guilty. Like I should have done better. I know she hates it when unexpected things happen, and especially when she's not in control of them. I think she would much have preferred being the one waiting by the broken down car over having to leave work early and pick up the kid and fix dinner and play nice and be in a good mood with a cranky four-year-old.

And now her mother called. Today we know whether her dad has skeletal cancer or not. Today is not an easy day.

---------

Mistress is still on the phone with her mom, but she just gave me a thumbs up. The relief is immense. 

Getting the no

I wanted to go to a thing a couple of days ago, a "Fight Club" organised by our favourite club. I got all excited the first time I heard about it, and Mistress was very apprehensive already at that point. I understood that she wouldn't want to go, and I didn't think she would let me, but in the end I still asked if I could.

And she said, predictably, no. It doesn't happen that often. Partly because I think I usually know what the answer's going to be, and if I don't think it's something she'll approve of, I don't bother asking. But also, I think, because if there's no obvious thing in the way, like money or time, she likes to let me do fun stuff.

This time though, it was about our differing views of fun. "I wont let anyone hurt you" she said when we talked about it later. I had already yielded and didn't try to persuade her, but still couldn't help answering back "but I wouldn't get hurt. I would take anyone there down, and you know it."

Ah well. I guess this time was not the time to do a drag king act of "Gunther the Grunter" a la 80ies wrestler with big hair and moustache. Another day. But I really do think I would have won over anyone there. And as it seems, I will be allowed to keep thinking that, since I'm not going to be allowed to try that hypothesis out. 

Easter breakdown

We're on vacation at my in-laws place. Four days without school nor job, with actual free time together, and not the least, with mother-in-law taking care of the kid from the time she wakes up at six until the time we venture downstairs, around nine thirty.

This morning we used the morning in bed to have glorious sex. It took us a couple of days before we had slept enough and spent enough time together before we got around to it, but it was definitely worth the wait.

And then, this morning, we had planted a surprise for little S. We bought her a bike last week, and hid it in the basement yesterday, with a string going from it and out in the yard. The plan was for her to play outside after breakfast, discovering the string, follow it and get the bike as a surprise. I had planned this for months and was looking forward to it with great excitment.

There turned out to be a snag, though. I pretty big one as far as I was concerned. Mistress and  me had completely different time tables in mind, and had failed to communicate about it. Mostly, I think, because we both thought our own was so completely logical, it didn't dawn on either of us that the other one might have a different view.

Mistress wanted to spare the surprise to last. She appreciated the time spent outside, she was working on a project freeing the garage door from ice (it's still wintery around here) and was happy that little S was playing nicely with her doll and the snow and the gravel. She was oblivious to the fact that I was anxiously waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

At first it was okay. I was enjoying the sun and playing with the dog and everything was okay. But then I started to realise that things didn't go the way I had planned them. Why wasn't Mistress leading the kid towards the string? Why didn't she act?

Time went on, I got more and more fidgety and tried to ask Mistress about it, but it was hard to communicate about something that was a secret and a surprise when the kid was right next to us. Eventually little S got tired and started whining, and then I was a little bit more insistent, asking again about "when?". But I still don't think Mistress got how I was feeling or that we had strayed very far from the scenario I had envisioned.

At long last, Mistress signalled that okay, I might lead her to it, but I didn't want to lead her. I wanted her to find it, and the only way to do that was to make her play in that general area of the yard. But Mistress was busy with her project, and little S was playing by her, and when I tried to stir up some interest around the string-area, nothing happened. I asked Mistress to join me, and she answered me with a flat "no". And that was when I broke down.

I couldn't stand it anymore. My brain melted. I was overcome with despair and the only thing I could think of doing was fleeing, which I promptly did. I just left everything and walked away out on the street, and walked a 100 metres to where the postboxes were.

Eventually I calmed down, went back, Mistress and little S played around the string by then, she found it, and eventually the bicycle and everything happened as I'd planned it to. Except for me biting back sobs and blinking away tears, refusing to look at Mistress and talking to little S in a false cheerful tone of voice.

We managed to clear it up later, mostly by text. I don't think either one of us had known before how hard it is for me to wait for something. Or well, I know of course, but I'm so skilled by now at not putting myself in situations where I have to wait that it's rarely a problem. But this time I was powerless to prevent it, and what happens is total break down of my brain.

This is one of the aspects of ADHD for me. This is one of the things that makes me exhausted, why it is a disability. I can deal up to a point, like a damn filling with water, but past that point the damn brakes and there is a flood of rage and despair. I tried to hint at Mistress that I found it difficult, but I wasn't very clear, and she wasn't all that perceptive.

Now I'm more or less okay, a couple of hours later, but the tears are still about to well up every now and then and I feel exhausted and anxious. I don't know if I should take one of my anxiety-pills or if I should just hope it will pass on it's own. It's very apparent it wasn't a very beneficial exercise for my brain, that's for sure.

I wish I had a more normal brain. I wish I could wait, like most people. I wish normal everyday interaction wouldn't cause a nuclear breakdown in my head. But this is me, and this is how I function, and we'll just have to work around.

And little S loved her bike, and that makes it all a little better.

Three simple rules...

1) Shut up.
2) Listen.
3) Do as she says.

My god, how hard can it be???

Just do it.

Service?

The other night, Mistress granted me the privilege of going to a workshop about service. It really was a privilege,  since she let me go away rather late in the evening while she stayed at home working and being responsible adult at home while the kid was sleeping. Actually, I had to ditch her before the kid was sleeping, leaving her to do the whole bedtime ritual all by herself, while I gallivanted away in the car.

I was actually a bit nervous, since I had to drive 60 miles to get there and more importantly home again late at night. I recruited my friend I. and sneakily convinced her that even though it was very good and noble of her to stay at home studying for exams, it was a much better idea to go to BDSM-workshops with me.

And it really was (at least for me, but then again, I didn't have any exam-studying-plans). I'm never really been comfortable with the concept of "service", which is one reason I wanted to go, and I actually did come home with a few thoughts in my head that I didn't have before. I think I broadened the concept a lot.

When I've read others referring to service, I've always read it in the context of doing things above and beyond the usual. It's about keeping an extra eye on things, about doing things extra good, or in a special way. The "clean a toilet with a toothbrush"-example did occur yesterday too.

And... no. There's simply no room for that in our life. We're both working full tilt as it is, there's nothing more to give. I could "service" her right now of course, I'm sitting her writing a blog while she's paying bills, and I could be up vacuuming instead. Or I don't know... sort her sock drawer?

But I don't do that. Because there's no end to it. There's no point where the work ends. There's no point where I can sit down and relax and say that "yeah, now I've done enough! Now she'll be pleased with me!". She's pleased with me a lot of times for all kinds of reasons. But if I tried to outwork the workload and do above and beyond what she could wish for, I would break.

In fact, I did break. I broke down completely, that was kind of the deal with last year. I tried my absolute hardest to be the best mom, the best wife, the best student, and I didn't give my self any slack and I was constantly on my own case about not being good enough, and I tried and tried and tried, and the more I tried and the more I failed and the more I berated myself the more desperate I became and the less resources I had left to do anything with. And I didn't stop doing it that way until I was in so bad a shape that I couldn't lift a fork and eat lunch because I couldn't decide how to cut a sausage.

But the workshop yesterday gave me more faith in the belief that I do service Mistress. I do. Just not in the more common houseworky sort of way.

I'm devoted to her. I'm absolutely loyal to her. I'm completely invested in our relationship. She's the top of my priorities, if I have any alternative I always choose the one I think that she'd prefer. She's the centre of my life. I always want to be of service to her.

Sometimes she uses me in an outright manner, she exercises her authority and tells me to do things. I love that, that's easy. I love getting her tea or her slippers or go get the laundry. Sometimes my appallingly bad working memory fails me and I have to do a few false starts before I get it right, but that doesn't mean I don't want to do it. She doesn't do this all that often, honestly I think it doesn't occur to her mostly, but when she does I like it.

But there's also more subtle ways that I relate to her that might be called service, in a very broad definition of the term. I service her, one could say, by letting her control me. By gracefully and without a fuss constantly report my whereabouts and plans and actions and travels to her, so that she'll always know where to find me. By never making definite plans with anyone without checking in with her first. By presenting things to her in a manner that makes it clear that the decision is up to her, that I'm merely presenting alternatives.

By now, all those things are second nature to me - but seeing them in the light of "service" made me feel a little better about myself. After all, I could act in other ways. Those other ways would have consequences, bad once, but that doesn't mean I can't give myself credit for making wise decisions and behaving well. 

An even more convoluted way of looking at it is the things I don't do, and where the refraining in itself can be considered service, as sorts. I try very hard not to lash out at her when I'm upset. Sometimes I  fail, but nowadays I often succeed. Not because she'll punish me otherwise, but because I hurt and upset her, and I contribute much more to our relationship if I keep calm and, in all honesty, shut up.

I also refrain from second guessing her, barging in when she gives signs of insecurity and doubt, or trying to "help out" if I think she can't handle something. Again, not always, but most of the time, I succeed. Oddly enough, a lot of my "service" consists of not doing things. First, do no harm.


---

And then I had to go to bed. This continues therefore the day after.

Today, I had very clear orders to fix a few errands at the pharmacy and the bank, leave and pick up little S, and have lunch, and nothing else. When I asked, she agreed to me studying for no more than an hour. And when she left in the morning, she agreed in letting me clear the dishes after breakfast, since she was in a hurry. So today, I'm obeying her and servicing her by reading a new Kelley Armstrong-novel on the iPad, and drinking tea in front of the telly. The doing as she tells me to part is obedience. The doing it with grace and without fuss is service. In a way.

Making it easier

We had an interesting talk yesterday. We had finally gotten into bed at night, after Mistress had started answering work emails after brushing her teeth. I waited for her with a book on the sofa while she worked, and when I realised I was really tired I meekly asked her if it wasn't time for bed soon. She agreed and shut down the computer and we crawled in to bed. But then she commented on the fact that she'd started working late in the evening, and mentioned that I'd been sitting there and seemed to have had a good time too, or something similar.

And that made me freak.

Not that bad of a freaking, actually, I got a bad feeling in my stomach and a lingering panic, but I didn't do or say anything disrespectful or hasty. We explored together what it was that had made me uncomfortable, and after a while I realised it was mostly that the idea that she thought everything was "okay" with me (in the sense that I agreed on her decision to start working late at night) made me feel responsible for her.

Like if I didn't like it I should make sure to let her know that. While on the other hand she really doesn't want that from me, and I was going in the other direction - dutifully trying to accept Mistress' decision and doing the best of the situation instead of trying to control it or sway her in one way or another.

She admitted that yes, if I had seemed genuinely distressed she would have stopped, for my sake, because she didn't want me to suffer over it. But that wouldn't have been what she wanted. She reassured me that she had loved to be able to write those email without worrying about me, and that I had no responsibility whatsoever for whether she did it or not.

Somehow this made everything okay for me again. I wasn't responsible for her. She wasn't looking to me for approval. I didn't have a duty to her to approve or disapprove of her actions.

And the most important thing was something she said at the end of the conversation: "This time you did make my life easier."

It's something I've said that I don't do. Warmer, nicer, more loving, more interesting, more meaningful, yes, all of those, but not easier. I often perceive myself as a lot of work for Mistress, like a loved but somewhat annoying pet. I would dearly love to be of service, to be able to lighten her load, to be able to do just that - make her life easier. It's just that I know that I often isn't even close, and I'm okay with that. I know she loves me for me. But still. This one time I obviously did just that. And it feels so so good.

A snowy walk

We were going out for a walk after breakfast this morning, Mistress and me, with the dog and with little S in her plastic sledge. But when we were trying to get dressed, something went wrong. Suddenly, Mistress was pissed off and hectic, oozing irritation and frustration all over the place. I had no idea what had happened, and honestly hid upstairs with a happily playing little S for a while. The I poked my head down the stairs and tentatively asked if it was "safe to come down". Mistress' answer was definitely contra-indicating, but somehow, we all managed to get our warm clothes on. When Mistress and little S was outside, Mistress offered me the alternative to stay at home, and I said something grumpily that I wanted to come but that I wanted her to behave herself. She made no promises.

And so it continued. Mistress was seriously pissed off, I got more and more anxious, and the heavy weight in my stomach grew. Little S kept up a one person-choir for a while, but when she was met with stony silence, she lost her good temper too. After a while I couldn't take it any more, and when Mistress in an effort to sing with little S instead growled the words, I stopped dead in my tracks and said "This is not okay! Please stop being like this." I tried to hand her the rope to the sledge and said."I don't want to keep going. This is not okay. I want to go back.".

At first, Mistress didn't answer, and then she said "I know this was STUPID, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..." in that horrible, strangled voice she has when she gets like that. I refused to move and kept holding the rope out to her. "I want to go back." "No" she said, "keep going. I want us to continue." And therefore, we did.

If she hadn't said that, I would have gone home alone and she would have taken little S to the store. It would have worked out. She would have calmed down, eventually, and I would have forgiven her and gotten over it, after a while. I hate it when she gets like that, I hate that I can't predict it, that I can't protect myself, that it scares me and that I think it makes little S world more unpredictable than it should have to be. And most of all, I hate that I never have any idea what brought it on. It's like at these occasions, we live in different worlds, and I miss her.

But this time, she didn't let me leave. And we talked. Quietly, in front of the sledge, with a firm grip on the dogs leash. And she finally told me that it was little S complaining over stomach ache that set her off, that she had a catastrophic view of sickness and disease in her mind, and that it was fighting this off that made her crazy and strange. And she listened to me, and eventually came back to the here-and-now, to us walking as a happy family through the snow on a beautiful Saturday morning. She accepted the catastrophic view, somehow, and could let it be and still be with us.

And then, after we kissed, we knelt by little S in the sledge, were she sat and looked at us with tired, sad eyes. And I asked it it felt bad for her when her moms argued, and she nodded her head, and we kissed her face and said that it was over now, we had made up, and everybody was okay again. And then we all started singing.

We had a great walk, actually. We ran with little S in the sledge, and after a while we tied the dog to it, since we had him in a harness anyway. And before long we were shopping candy in the store and  walking all the way back again, singing and running and playing.

I wish Mistress never got like that. But since that ain't happening (at least anytime soon) I'm glad we're getting better at dealing with it. I'm glad I didn't explode, and I'm glad she didn't let me go, and I'm glad she talked to me and came back to me. And I'm very glad we could make it a nice morning walk for little S.

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.







 

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.

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.

This gift-thing

I've been reading a lot on FetLife, my constant source of amusement and food for thought (mostly about how strange people are) that it's obviously not okay to say that submission is a gift. Or at least that a lot of people seem to think a lot of other people say that all the time, and are tired of it. Because it is so dumb, for some reason.

I've never actually read anyone claiming that submission is a gift, only the rant people have over those who allegedly claim that. It seems that even on Fet I run in strange circles. Anyway.

Obviously I started to think contrary that "hey! my submission is a gift! Isn't it?" but no, mine isn't either (which doesn't mean that not someone elses submission is. There's might be all gift-wrapped and sparkly, as far as I know). It's not a gift anymore than her control is, and that makes the whole thing kind of meaningless. Also, it's not really something I do voluntarily.

I don't have my submission and hold it out to her and say "I may give this to you, if you're good enough...". I don't give it to her out of the kindness of my heart, or because she's proven her self worthy.

The thing is I love her. And submit is the thing I want to do when I love someone. Not submitting is painful. Granted, I can withhold it if I don't feel safe enough, or I can at least try, but withholding submission means to also withhold love. And intimacy. And a relationship, more or less.

In the beginning, when I actually didn't really trust her to want my submission, when I was full of doubt about if a submissive girlfriend really was what she wanted and if I would actually be safe and appreciated by her, I did try to not submit to her. Several times. And each and every time it ended with me broken down in tears because I couldn't imagine a life without loving her, and I couldn't do that, I couldn't be with her, if she didn't want my submission too.

So it wasn't so much of a gift. More like a package-deal thing. With me, submission comes in the bargain if I happen to fall in love with you.

I have fallen in love once with a man who didn't want that part of me. He didn't want me at all actually, as far as I know, (except as a friend) even if there was an agonising period of mixed signals and misunderstandings. He might just not have been that into me. But he definitely didn't want my submission, and it's equally evident to me that that's simply how I love.

So a big thing for me when it became just Mistress and me was if she really wanted me, the whole me, if she wanted my love as it is, even though it's a bit twisted and unique sort of love that means she has to step up to the plate and accept the role as the dominant partner. It was very easy for me to imagine her wanting me as a partner, but an equal partner, wanting my love but not my submission, wanting a relationship but not wanting to be the leader in that relationship. And I tried to anticipate that, I tried to be ready and okay with that, I tried - and failed.

Luckily, she wanted it. I think she wanted it from the beginning, but it took us a while to figure the whole thing out. I think that the love came first, for us, and the control and the submission and the power exchange followed inexorably from that, and a long time after that, after a lot of heart wrenching arguments, drama and quite a lot of therapy for both of us, came trust.

So no, it's not a gift. It's more of a condition. It's what I do when I'm in love, and she has my undying love, and so she has my submission whether she likes it or not. Her accepting it, her wanting it, feels like a gift to me. But I don't really think it is, either. I just think that she couldn't stand living with me if she didn't have the right to slap me around every now and then...

Responsibility

As I mentioned earlier, I was involved in a discussion about responsibility, were I most of all realised that I was rather alone in my view of it. "Slaves must be responsible!" and "I get punished if I don't do what I'm supposed to, so I'm definitely responsible" was the gist of the answers.

For me, that's not how it works. I was also told several times that I meant something else than I did, that I meant authority maybe, or something else, not responsibility. But I meant exactly what I wrote (I honestly don't think the Swedish word "ansvar" and the English word "responsibility" is that far apart, the translation is rather straight forward).

The point, for me, is that Mistress stands between me and the rest of reality in a lot of cases. She has not only the power and the authority but the direct control. If I'm bad at something or isn't performing as I'm supposed to, she doesn't let me fail. She steps in and handles it, gives me whatever help and guidance I need, or rearrange the situation so that I don't have to deal with it. In either way the end result is that the real life consequences doesn't happen.

I might very well get a painful correction. But that's not the same thing as me being responsible, because that is not the real life consequences of the action. If I don't water the flowers and that's important to her, she will talk to me, motivate me, control me, correct me, punish me, remind me or whatever else she needs to do to get me to water them. She will not watch me fail and let me live with the consequence of her flowers being dead and her being disappointed.

Yesterday I wanted an egg to my coffee, put it on the stove, forgot about it and left the home. When I returned home my egg was a black mess and the apartment stank of burnt egg. When Mistress heard about it, she didn't say much, but the next morning she boiled me an egg. So that I wouldn't have to do it again.

When I forgot my meds the other morning, for the first time since I started taking them a couple of months ago, her reaction was pity, and then saying "it was a really stressfull morning - I'm sorry I didn't remind you to take them!".

And so on and so forth. I don't usually run the risk of failure, and that is what makes me feel not responsible. She will not let me fail - she will help me and make sure I can do what she wants me to do, because that's how she is. 

I don't have to worry about failing, not in life and not to her, because I'm hers and she wont let me. I might have to worry about a slap or a spanking, or stricter rules, but that's something completely different. In my situation being accountable to her is exactly why I'm not responsible for most things in my life.

(I used to be. I've let go of one thing at a time, the last bits I think was my relationship with my parents, my school work and parenting. Not until I could stand the idea of failing, of that belonging to her was more important to me than doing the right things, could I give those up. When I finally did, it was with a feeling of great relief. I have setbacks sometimes, and that always starts an argument and gets me in trouble. But usually I'm a good girl and doesn't make a fuss about it.)

A reflection about punishment

I just got to think about punishment. We do have "punishment dynamic", that is, Mistress punishes me if I break a rule. And I like that. I need that.

It's rather light punishments, though. Nothing compared to the things she does to me in play. It's more of a correction, a symbolic act, unpleasent but not excrucating. It's usually a slap to my face, of varying harshness, or maybe two or three. Sometimes it's something else, but she rarely hurts me.

I think part of it is making things clear for me. I don't have to worry, because if she doesn't like something she lets me know, first by setting up a rule about it and then by enforcing that rule. It usually takes me four or five times before I start doing things right - in some ways, I'm a slow learner. If she didn't punish me, I would feel bad and still keep doing it wrong, that would be way worse.

But then again, if she uses harsh punishment, things that in itself would make me sorry I misbehaved, if she used severe beatings or humiliation, it would take energy from me. I don't have that to spare, and neither does she. She doesn't want me to suffer or feel bad about myself, she just wants me to behave and obey her. Beat me up she can do in better ways than as punishment.

I fantasize about it though, sometimes. About harsh punishment, about torment and torture. But I think for me there's a problem with combining that type of activities with for-real failures on my part. It hurts my self-esteem, and makes my life harder, and I really don't need that. I'm glad she saves the torment and torture for the times when she simply wants to do such things to me, and not for when I've messed up.

No limits - yeah, I guess so.

Because of my anxiety and depression and fatigue, I was really really afraid of what going to my summer job would mean for my mental health. Mistress made me go anyway, even though I was really sure this would make my issues way worse. She litterary made me, she looked me in the eye and said "suffer for me!" and I did. I got predictably really sick, and am now trying to recuperate, eating meds and waiting for treatment.

Whether this was a wise move or not we don't really know - I would have preferred to rest at home and hope it would pass on its own, but Mistress preferred provoking it so that the doctor would have something to examine and we would have a better shot at getting the right treatment. She made a decision in my best interest, but one that scared the shit out of me, hurt a lot, and that I wouldn't have made.

The thing is that I realised that this, for me, answers the question "But what would you do if your Owner told you to cut off an arm/jump off a cliff/murder someone?" You know, those aimed at showing that one can't really promise to obey someone in all things, because there will always be limits, there will always be things one ultimately will refuse. For me, this was one thing that showed that no, I will obey. I conciously and deliberatly did things that hurt my mind, that more or less destroyed what was left of my mental health, that put me at risk of making me unable to be a good enough mother to my child, because she told me to.

Hacking off an arm on demand? Pfft! Any day!

Not because I'm such a tough little slave that always obeys, but because I trust her judgment, and have made the choice of following her, even when I don't agree or when I don't see were we're going. I trust her. I believe she has good reasons for what she's doing. And with that, I don't think there's any one specific act that I can't imagine a scenario where she would order me and I would obey - if she told me to jump off a cliff, it would probably be for a damn good reason.

Depressed

So now I'm on anti-depressants. Because I need them. Bleeergh bleeeergh and double-bleeerrrrgh.

It's really really hard to be a decent mother, not to mention wife or owned slut, when all you want to do all day is sleep, and most of the things you're able to do involves weeping or sighing. Or sleeping.

Bleeerggh. If I haven't mentioned it before.

Stress test of the brain

My brain is broken. Or maybe in the process of breaking. Or maybe just a bit tarnished. Whether or not the damage is longlasting still remains to be seen - as it is now, we're experimenting with how much pressure it can take and what interesting things it does in the meantime.

I've started my summerjob. It's not a bad job at all, and not a lot either - this week there's only two day-shifts for me. Between them I have plenty of time to sit around recuperating. Unfortunately, that's not enough.

I have anxiety attacks. I have trouble sleeping. I'm deadly tired. My head feels constantly as if I'm stepping out from a five-hour lecture, without coffee breaks. That was about math. Sadly enough, it feels like that when I wake up. If I'm forced to make decisions, I panic, and everything I hear starts to hurt, and I can't stand looking at things, so I close my eyes.

"Don't close your eyes, mommy!" my little kid says. And I stumble like a zombie to the bed and want to be buried and never resurface, because everything hurts so much. And I'm feeling the depression taking hold again, and I'm fighting it, but I'm steadily losing.

This is pretty much what I thought would happen when I started working. I'm not sure if Mistress really believed me, but I do know it was a calculated risk from her side. "Suffer for me", she says, and makes me go anyway.

And I go, and I work, and I'm great at it (because that's not the problem) and I suffer and I feel my brain cracking up. For her. For her, I dare to do this. For her, I take this risk, with my health and my future, and my mental state. Because I trust her. Because she says this is the way forward. Because she's convinced me that she knows enough about how I feel and how I function to be able to make informed decisions, and this is her decision. And also, I do it for her because I belong to her, and I obey her, and she tells me to do it.

But getting up at six in the morning and driving to work tomorrow will probably be the single most risky, most painful and most difficult thing I've ever done for her. 

(Next week, I have a doctors appointment. She wants me to do my shifts until then in order for the doc to be able to see me as I am when I actually do try to function, so that he can make a realistic diagnoses, and not only see me as I am when I get to rest all day. This make perfectly logical sense. It just hurts a lot, and scares the shit out of me. I prefer my brain functioning, thank you very much.)