So...that post about my husband has been brewing a while, no? "Anonymous" put up several comments regarding my choices and I found it all so intriguing that I decided it was worthy of a post. For future reference A-Non, just pop your name on your comment. I won't bite (unless asked) and I really don't mind if you don't agree with me. I am glad you feel strongly enough to leave a comment and all of it is food for thought.
The first part, the regret part I will freely admit that regret is a possibility. Not a likely one as I don't really live in that mindset, however, I will offer it up to you. To be honest the effect of this on my life and marriage has been immense. My husband and I separated for a time last year and our relationship has always been quite tenuous and volatile, the volatility spawned through apathy, rather than passionate outbursts. Having lived through both I can say with certainty that apathy is far more insidious, a beast. We do not live there anymore.
As for his self confidence, it was always something which concerned me, until I looked at him and truly saw who he was. He has no need to be needy or jealous. He knows everything that is going on for me and I him because we talk incessantly about every aspect we can possibly think of. He is quietly self assured. He would have to be, knowingly sending his wife out to be fucked by someone else. He knows I come home to him. He knows I love him. This process has done nothing but allow me to see more fully the man that he is.
This is not a whim of mine where I woke up and met someone and decided to see if we could open up our marriage so I could have a quick root. We (my husband and I) have been together more than seven years (seven-year-itch anyone?) and have known each other for more than fifteen. From the very start of our relationship my then boyfriend knew what he was getting himself in for. It was in part what he desired about me. We talked about adding additional people to our bedroom from the very start and eventually talked about opening up our relationship.
From the get go we both knew that one day it would be on the cards at some point in our future. We have both agreed to it many, many times.
I guess it has something to do with the way we view sex. I asked him what his comment was. He said "Gees, its just sex..."
In that respect I guess he is wrong because the D/s is not just about sex. That however is an added dynamic for him. He looks at me and says I could never have that sort of sex with you. I know he couldn't either - that is probably why I am married to him and not to a sadistic, dominating, prick (sorry, Sir). For him it is easier (yes we talk about all of this all the time) to know that I am going out to see Sir than it would be to think that I was going out to pick a random person up at a bar to just have some beige-vanilla-sex. That, he said, would be harder for him to deal with. He accepts that I have these desires and needs which he has no desire to participate in but still wishes for me to have them met - because he loves me.
I was terrified the other day on the way to see Sir. I messaged my husband. He messaged back, "All part of your life's journey. Enjoy it!".
This newness in our relationship has made it possible for me to see a future with him that I had doubt in before. I see his commitment to me every day. I know he sees it the same way. I am not asking for anyone to make the same choices but right now, for us, this is working beyond anything that either of us could possibly have foreseen. I accept that many people will not see what we choose as "right" but it is - for us.
I sat down and had a conversation with him where I said I was concerned about him agreeing to this because it was what I wanted, not what he wanted. He said to me that he admired me, that I was courageous, that it was what he wanted too, he just didn't know if he could follow through with it in the way I had and that he was glad I had done it because of what it has given us. Everyday we seek to prove ourselves to each other anew. To make sure the other loves and adores us. This has been the best thing we have done for our relationship.
Do not mistake me for being disrespectful - sitting having honest conversations with the people I love shows nothing but honour and respect. Do not mistake my husband for a weak man, so lacking in self-confidence he would agree to this despite loathing it. He is one of the strongest men I know.
Wednesday
Indulged
I had a dream last night that I was sleeping and someone came in and sucked my nipples, working his way down, sucking my treasured clit almost to the point of orgasm, slowing to start again, tucking his fingers into me, building up the perfect rhythm, tongue searching, fingers working, mouth hungry. I did not feel I would ever cum, but I was chasing it, he was chasing it and then I was there, back arching, eyes wide then rolling back, gasping, panting, shaking. On recounting it to Husband Dear this morning he assures me it was no dream...just another addition to the perfect day scenario. Apparently I rolled over and went to sleep, though I swear I never really woke up.
As far as perfection goes I am hitting pretty close to the mark at the moment. My cleaner came and worked her magic, I had a pedicure, washed and blowdryed my hair with my new fantastic hairdryer and I am waiting here with my kids working and my gorgeous dog doting on me, for a lovely woman to walk in the door and give me a full body massage....it really can't possibly get much better than this!
My baking yesterday was lovely. It makes me feel a little Martha Stewart. I think the brownies are my favorite. The recipe I use is pretty much chocolate. butter and brown sugar with just enough eggs and flour to stick it together. Again I use the salted butter because of the sweet/salty contrast - I know I shouldn't. I know the cooking books say unsalted but I can't help it. I am going to say that it is probably the asian influence - that flavour balance, sweet/salty/sour/hot must be hard-wired into my cells, so much so that it even permeates my baking.
I wonder at it, what creates in me my desires in the way that they manifest. The food, the sex, the way I walk through the world. As for the sexuality part, there have been no childhood triggers - of which I can attest. I can also say with some sort of certainty that I remember feeling this, knowing this about myself from very, very young. Maybe 4? I will draw the line at detailing the memories.
Occasionally I think about my ancestry and wonder at the link. Japanese, German, Spanish, English - especially with the German/Japanese. They are renowned for their weird control issues and proclivity for what would be considered in polite company, sexual deviancy. Then again perhaps this is just mine to wear. Blameless, it just is what it is.
It is interesting though.
I am going to make the panna cotta this afternoon. Hopefully Sir will desire for me to come and see him sometime soon. I am waiting, baking, indulging - but I cannot pretend at patience.
As far as perfection goes I am hitting pretty close to the mark at the moment. My cleaner came and worked her magic, I had a pedicure, washed and blowdryed my hair with my new fantastic hairdryer and I am waiting here with my kids working and my gorgeous dog doting on me, for a lovely woman to walk in the door and give me a full body massage....it really can't possibly get much better than this!
My baking yesterday was lovely. It makes me feel a little Martha Stewart. I think the brownies are my favorite. The recipe I use is pretty much chocolate. butter and brown sugar with just enough eggs and flour to stick it together. Again I use the salted butter because of the sweet/salty contrast - I know I shouldn't. I know the cooking books say unsalted but I can't help it. I am going to say that it is probably the asian influence - that flavour balance, sweet/salty/sour/hot must be hard-wired into my cells, so much so that it even permeates my baking.
I wonder at it, what creates in me my desires in the way that they manifest. The food, the sex, the way I walk through the world. As for the sexuality part, there have been no childhood triggers - of which I can attest. I can also say with some sort of certainty that I remember feeling this, knowing this about myself from very, very young. Maybe 4? I will draw the line at detailing the memories.
Occasionally I think about my ancestry and wonder at the link. Japanese, German, Spanish, English - especially with the German/Japanese. They are renowned for their weird control issues and proclivity for what would be considered in polite company, sexual deviancy. Then again perhaps this is just mine to wear. Blameless, it just is what it is.
It is interesting though.
I am going to make the panna cotta this afternoon. Hopefully Sir will desire for me to come and see him sometime soon. I am waiting, baking, indulging - but I cannot pretend at patience.
Tuesday
Smiles
My husband is divine. He walks through the door and I am so happy to see him, to have his meal ready, to hear about his day and tell him about mine. Mainly though I am just desperate to put the kids to bed and be ravished by him. He tells me he doesn't understand my desire for pain, for Sir, for submission. I look at him and smile.
The pain he puts himself through. He is a runner. He ran an ultra marathon at the weekend. I love to see him, sweaty and hurting. He staggers in the door having just run 50kms. Having pushed himself past where it is comfortable, past where it is pleasure, past what is possible, through to the other side. He traces the marks on my back and I rub his legs...I am sure he will understand one day.
I arranged for someone to come and massage him while I was out last night. They were just winding up as I walked in. It was gorgeous to see him luxuriating. It was almost erotic to see someone touch him as he lay back, blissed-out - not to mention his legs were too tight to contort themselves the way I needed. Now he is better able to serve my needs *insert grin here*.
The pain he puts himself through. He is a runner. He ran an ultra marathon at the weekend. I love to see him, sweaty and hurting. He staggers in the door having just run 50kms. Having pushed himself past where it is comfortable, past where it is pleasure, past what is possible, through to the other side. He traces the marks on my back and I rub his legs...I am sure he will understand one day.
I arranged for someone to come and massage him while I was out last night. They were just winding up as I walked in. It was gorgeous to see him luxuriating. It was almost erotic to see someone touch him as he lay back, blissed-out - not to mention his legs were too tight to contort themselves the way I needed. Now he is better able to serve my needs *insert grin here*.
So the Panna Cotta...Well I would love to tell you how it went but I plead sleep deprivation and did not make it.
I messaged Sir last night. I had not heard from him in two days. It is funny, you know. As I have said before, I get these games, the holding back, stepping up at the right times. I understand it. I have never experienced it from this side of the fence. I always imagined it to be awful and uncomfortable. It is. I never imagined I would enjoy it however - and I am.
There is a tiny part of me that wonders maybe if he forgot about me. I relish it as much, perhaps more, than the part which knows he was just waiting. Waiting for me to come to him. We both know where I am at now. Helpless. Owned. Whether it would take two days or a month of Sundays I am tied here. I will think about it, about him, every day. It is all a matter of how well I can hold myself in feigned nonchalance and for how long I would wish to.
The terror of going there, being with him is gone now. I feel the difference in my flesh. Now it is just pure hunger. Of course as I shower, dress, kiss my husband, hug my children goodbye and get in the car to see him it may arise again.
It is interesting, this process.
He reads me from afar. I am fascinated by his capacity to know what makes me tick, what makes me squirm, what I hate, what I want. I message him and that (almost) desperation to hear a "Good Girl" or "I am so proud of you" is never lost on me no matter how many times I feel it. It makes me blush, hot and wet. Knowing that, he pushes further. My Achilles heel. I don't know how he knew. I didn't know. I should expect that by now. "Good Girl" makes me needy and cutesy and sweet and wanting but when he tells me I made him smile I am reduced to a pliant mess. He has said it several times recently, "smiling" or "smiles". I have not spoken with him about it. He has not seen me swoon. I do not know how, through the medium of text he is able to unravel me so unerringly.
Today is a baking day. Kisses and brownies, macaroons and jam-drops, a few muffins and some cookies.
Today I will be thinking about Sir and cooking to assuage my desperate need to see him. I will whip and beat and fold and taste in a vain attempt to stay present to my life and not drown in my desire.
Saturday
Panna Cotta Ramblings
Words curl from your lips as
smokey ribbons of nothing. Binding me to you,
possessing me,
tying me down
and up
and down.
I fear this moment like no other.
To look at you wholly and unafraid.
That you chance to see me, I could not suffer;
That you do not see me,
I would not
conquer.
So here sit I of the blogisphere tapping away as the sun comes up. I have not slept all night. I think I was tired at some point but can't remember. I am not sure of its importance anyway. I tend to get a little philosophical and poetic after reading too much and sleeping too little so I shall make you no promises of quality or coherence but will persevere nonetheless.
I have decided that on Saturdays I will post about food. I may on other days too. However, since Saturdays are slow and lazy and mainly filled with cooking for me it seems to fit well. **Watch this space** Gorgeous food to come! Am thinking of Vanilla Panna Cotta (Saturdays must be vanilla days - well as vanilla as I get) with a tart Raspberry Jelly....unless sleep finds me first!
I am working on taking some pics of the food and have decided to go back and re-create all previous recipes to take photos just for you! As well *I* am doing a bit of re-co on the blog layout (read into that Dear-Husband, who is much more handy on the blessed electrical contraption than myself, is going to make it look how I want it) WITH a separate recipe page!
*SIGH* I know it will be tough, but someone is going to have to eat all the recipe-re-dos!
Wednesday
Breathing It In
My body burns like fire. I sit here trying to think of what to write but the words don't come. I can only feel the emotion coursing through me as I try to remember yesterday. It is framed as if far off in the distance, too long ago to recreate. All I am left with are shining shards of pain and bliss.
I left Sir and picked up my children, collecting on my way a friend to come for dinner. More people arrived and I cooked and drank tea. I felt quiet. I felt all of a sudden as though I were falling through the floor. I needed him. I wanted Sir. I messaged him, he replied. I was all at once okay. I felt needy and awful - both unfamiliar to me.
My husband came in. He brushed his lips on mine, looked down, deep into me and smiled a half smile, questioning wordlessly whether I was okay. We sat and ate and drank, laughed and talked. I could see him burning to know, to see, to understand. Eventually our guests departed, children bathed and in bed. I lay on the couch, half sleeping, he rubbed my feet and asked me to recount my afternoon. I was not in the frame of mind.
I showered while he worked for a while. I lay face down on our bed and called him in. He was horrified. He tells me he doesn't understand. Softly I explain to him small pieces as he rubs arnica (which I highly recommend for bruises) and calendula (for healing) into my back and arse.
I tell him fragments. I tell him that I cried.
Sir said yesterday that I love crying. That it turns me on. I thought about it. It does not. What turns me on is that he can take me to that space where I cry and hold me there. The crying itself I do not like.
There was a moment yesterday where I was crying, sobbing actually. He was whipping my back. He has a knack for hitting right in the same spot, over and over. He leaned down and rubbed my back, soothed it. Then he started again. I loved it. I loved in the moments where it was not so hard but hard enough and I felt I could just go on forever, breathing it in.
Then there are the moments when I back my car out of the driveway and I know I am never going back. I know for that second that I do not want this, that I will not be back here. Then it shifts to won't be back for a long time, or at least a while and before I am home I am ready to turn around drive back.
My husband does not understand. He tries. I am amazed at him, so in love with him. I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have someone love me enough to give me this, without understanding it, because I want it.
Today I relish the pain, I love it. I love that every movement, every stretch and turn I feel it. In my bound nipples Sir makes himself known to me. Stops me from falling through to desperation, holding me up through my pain and obedience.
My phone sounds and I jump, literally running to the other end of the house to get it. I know it is Sir. I am waiting for his message. In that moment I forget the pain in my breasts, the bruised assault on my back, the tenderness in my arse. I run like a child runs to a sprinkler on a hot summer day, with joy and forgetting and in that moment there is nothing else.
I think somehow that my husband is amused by all of this, perhaps morbidly fascinated is a more accurate turn of phrase. The most glorious moments are coming home to him. Him caring for me, loving me and the exquisite pain of him rubbing - firmly - into the whip marks left by Sir only hours before.
I left Sir and picked up my children, collecting on my way a friend to come for dinner. More people arrived and I cooked and drank tea. I felt quiet. I felt all of a sudden as though I were falling through the floor. I needed him. I wanted Sir. I messaged him, he replied. I was all at once okay. I felt needy and awful - both unfamiliar to me.
My husband came in. He brushed his lips on mine, looked down, deep into me and smiled a half smile, questioning wordlessly whether I was okay. We sat and ate and drank, laughed and talked. I could see him burning to know, to see, to understand. Eventually our guests departed, children bathed and in bed. I lay on the couch, half sleeping, he rubbed my feet and asked me to recount my afternoon. I was not in the frame of mind.
I showered while he worked for a while. I lay face down on our bed and called him in. He was horrified. He tells me he doesn't understand. Softly I explain to him small pieces as he rubs arnica (which I highly recommend for bruises) and calendula (for healing) into my back and arse.
I tell him fragments. I tell him that I cried.
Sir said yesterday that I love crying. That it turns me on. I thought about it. It does not. What turns me on is that he can take me to that space where I cry and hold me there. The crying itself I do not like.
There was a moment yesterday where I was crying, sobbing actually. He was whipping my back. He has a knack for hitting right in the same spot, over and over. He leaned down and rubbed my back, soothed it. Then he started again. I loved it. I loved in the moments where it was not so hard but hard enough and I felt I could just go on forever, breathing it in.
Then there are the moments when I back my car out of the driveway and I know I am never going back. I know for that second that I do not want this, that I will not be back here. Then it shifts to won't be back for a long time, or at least a while and before I am home I am ready to turn around drive back.
My husband does not understand. He tries. I am amazed at him, so in love with him. I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have someone love me enough to give me this, without understanding it, because I want it.
Today I relish the pain, I love it. I love that every movement, every stretch and turn I feel it. In my bound nipples Sir makes himself known to me. Stops me from falling through to desperation, holding me up through my pain and obedience.
My phone sounds and I jump, literally running to the other end of the house to get it. I know it is Sir. I am waiting for his message. In that moment I forget the pain in my breasts, the bruised assault on my back, the tenderness in my arse. I run like a child runs to a sprinkler on a hot summer day, with joy and forgetting and in that moment there is nothing else.
I think somehow that my husband is amused by all of this, perhaps morbidly fascinated is a more accurate turn of phrase. The most glorious moments are coming home to him. Him caring for me, loving me and the exquisite pain of him rubbing - firmly - into the whip marks left by Sir only hours before.
Tuesday
Running With The Big Kids
So, I am heading over there this afternoon. I am heading over because I begged to. Just sitting here I can picture the look on his face when I asked. He has won and he knows it. Friday night's scene was good but fairly tame. I thought I would get off a bit and then come home and be fine for a week or two. I am pretty sure he knew otherwise. I feel all at once out of my depth - WAY out of my depth - and I love it.
I do not have a safe word. It has been bothering me a little. I have not sat down and had that conversation with him. I have tried really hard not to sit and have that conversation with him, in fact. Yesterday (in the midst of my begging for him to see me) I decided I was going to step up and demand to have that conversation.
I don't know what I expected from him, but his immediate agreement turned me inside out.
I knew going there, always, that I was safe. I knew that it would be difficult but I trusted - always - that he knew what he was doing, how far to push me, when to ease up. I was right.
This added piece of the puzzle, this conversation, is serious business. This is running with the big kids. I am now invested, committed and tied into this in ways that I can't even begin to fathom yet. I cannot explain the complexity of emotion that arises in me. Terror and thrill and desire consumes me. I feel the fullness of what I am asking cascade down upon me. I am giving myself over.
Sir has played well. He has been patient and sat back, waiting, knowing, watching me struggle against the bonds I did not realise were already present. Waiting for the calm. Waiting for me to come to him. He was quiet when it was needed, firm when required but the whole time, every second of every minute from our very first conversation he has coaxed, solicited, persuaded and baited me - all to bring me here.
I got up this morning, made lunches, dropped my husband at work, tended the kids, threw up, packed my bag of things that Sir has requested and now, once again, I sit waiting.
I do not have a safe word. It has been bothering me a little. I have not sat down and had that conversation with him. I have tried really hard not to sit and have that conversation with him, in fact. Yesterday (in the midst of my begging for him to see me) I decided I was going to step up and demand to have that conversation.
I don't know what I expected from him, but his immediate agreement turned me inside out.
I knew going there, always, that I was safe. I knew that it would be difficult but I trusted - always - that he knew what he was doing, how far to push me, when to ease up. I was right.
This added piece of the puzzle, this conversation, is serious business. This is running with the big kids. I am now invested, committed and tied into this in ways that I can't even begin to fathom yet. I cannot explain the complexity of emotion that arises in me. Terror and thrill and desire consumes me. I feel the fullness of what I am asking cascade down upon me. I am giving myself over.
Sir has played well. He has been patient and sat back, waiting, knowing, watching me struggle against the bonds I did not realise were already present. Waiting for the calm. Waiting for me to come to him. He was quiet when it was needed, firm when required but the whole time, every second of every minute from our very first conversation he has coaxed, solicited, persuaded and baited me - all to bring me here.
I got up this morning, made lunches, dropped my husband at work, tended the kids, threw up, packed my bag of things that Sir has requested and now, once again, I sit waiting.
Monday
Once Upon a Time...firsts
Once upon a time there was a sweet young girl. All the parents of her friends knew she was trouble. All her friends knew not to let her around their boyfriends. All her boyfriends knew not to trust her with their friends...
When I was 13 I went away for several weeks to stay at my friends farm. We were having a really great time until her brother came back from uni. Then I started having a REALLY good time.
We flirted, I flirted. Looking back I didn't really know I was, it was just how I had always been but now the responses I was getting were so much more. Being the kindly young man he was, he all of a sudden started offering to drive us everywhere, take us for day trips, picnics, whatever we wanted.
We drove to a secluded area. A beautiful gully with torrents of rushing water and massive boulders. There were a few waterholes for swimming. My girlfriend and her other sister made themselves scarce. He and I swam and played in the water, touching, stealing kisses. He lay sprawled on his back on the rock, me straddling his waist - kissing, touching. He pulled off my bathers top and sucked my nipples. It was the first time anyone had done that to me. I was in heaven.
He pulled my briefs aside and dove his tongue into my flesh. I squirmed, feeling self conscious and said no while thrusting myself towards his face. I came quickly. I still do.
It was the first time I had cum with a man.
My girlfriend didn't talk to me for two years after that but she does now. She reminds me about it occasionally. She reminds me in great detail because her and her sister were watching. I think I knew that. That is why I came so fast.
When I was 13 I went away for several weeks to stay at my friends farm. We were having a really great time until her brother came back from uni. Then I started having a REALLY good time.
We flirted, I flirted. Looking back I didn't really know I was, it was just how I had always been but now the responses I was getting were so much more. Being the kindly young man he was, he all of a sudden started offering to drive us everywhere, take us for day trips, picnics, whatever we wanted.
We drove to a secluded area. A beautiful gully with torrents of rushing water and massive boulders. There were a few waterholes for swimming. My girlfriend and her other sister made themselves scarce. He and I swam and played in the water, touching, stealing kisses. He lay sprawled on his back on the rock, me straddling his waist - kissing, touching. He pulled off my bathers top and sucked my nipples. It was the first time anyone had done that to me. I was in heaven.
He pulled my briefs aside and dove his tongue into my flesh. I squirmed, feeling self conscious and said no while thrusting myself towards his face. I came quickly. I still do.
It was the first time I had cum with a man.
My girlfriend didn't talk to me for two years after that but she does now. She reminds me about it occasionally. She reminds me in great detail because her and her sister were watching. I think I knew that. That is why I came so fast.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)