Sudden tears in public

It’s official. I cried in a café yesterday. Maybe it was not such a wise thing to go around noon on a Saturday, but I really did not expect my reaction.

Everyone had a baby, a pregnant well-rounded shape or a couple of tumbling kids running around. Except for us. It came as a total surprise to me that I would take it so badly. I’ve been around kids and babies and strollers every day, I think, and it’s never made an impact before.

No thought can come between me and this sorrow. People keep telling me, how I should just think that I’ll have a baby one day. It doesn’t matter. Because I don’t think. I have no time to think. When I saw the children, I just felt so indescribably lacking. I didn’t think about having our own children, I didn’t have time to form a thought of us not getting a child. I just felt it. The void. I’m empty where the child should be.

I’m empty.

Wonderboy was wonderful as usual. He just took my hand over the table and said, I guess it’s time for us to leave. He held my hand as we walked through the blinding snow gazing on to the beautiful, frozen lake, where people were skiing. I was snifling back my tears, thinking of the bobbing head of the newborn who had been held by his mother’s friend, also very pregnant in the next table. I hadn’t realized, how grave is the need to hold my own. But I did now.

When we were walking down the road there was a lady with a stroller coming towards us. Wonderboy swiftly suggested we change to the other side of the road and I didn’t object. The tears welled up again.

This is what I get for stopping the anti-depressants. I have to face my feelings. And I guess so do a lot of complete strangers. If they only knew, how incredibly happy they are. Maybe some of them do.

Issues – resolved and new, some of them blue

I ovulated and we didn’t fuck. But we fucked yesterday. There are a lot of things he’s never done before, but does now with no problem. He sticks his fingers in my mouth while fucking me from behind and stretches my mouth like I’m a horse and I need to obey him. He hits me from behind, reaches and slaps my cheek, over and over. But this time he didn’t mold my butt as much, no ass remarks or compliments. I found out why after sex.

I’m way thinner now, because of my sickness. I’m trying not to eat excessively even now, because I like this shape. This thinner body makes me remember, how it used to be 5-6 years back, when I was a size 7, even though I still have a ways to go to that. I liked to be that size. I felt good in myself, then.

Wonderboy wasn’t happy after he came. I didn’t come, but I was content anyway. I came close two times and then it just disappeared. The meds are doing their thing no matter how low my dosage is. I contemplate on giving them up, but I haven’t yet. This has done me a world of good. To see what I’m like, when I can actually control my feelings – and not only control, but let go of some of them. The harming ones. The ones that make me try to make everything better no matter how. These are a much better fit than the ones I tried two years ago. It was this same time of the year. Huh. Could the darkness and cold have something to do with depression then? I never knew. (I’m kidding. I always knew.)

I asked him why he was discontent and he said because he came so quickly.

We haven’t had sex for such a long time, he said in a whining voice. Yes, because he wouldn’t fuck me, when I was ovulating, I thought, but kept it to myself. I wasn’t feeling sexual either at the time, so he would’ve just had to play rape me to make it work. It’s sometimes too much for him, broken and tired, and it’s not fair for him, when I’m not doing anything.

I wiggled my naked butt at him and tried to cheer him up. But you do like my thinner body, right? I asked and wiggled again.

Yeah, well. Your butt is smaller too, he said. Maybe you just need to add to your butt workout.

Talk about adding insult to injury. This is what was making him unhappy about the sex that just passed? What am I supposed to do about that? He wants me thin, likes me thinner, asks me to workout and eat less and when I do and end up getting really awesome results (with the help of a little stomach flu), he is looking down his nose, because my butt has also lost weight! It’s smaller! What a shock. And since I’m me and can never defend myself, I answer him with,

I am already mostly doing workouts for my butt. I have small hips. I can’t get a really big booty and be thin.

That’s the God awful truth. But you know what? I’m really beginning to be pissed off at him for making me feel this way. Is it really appropriate to brood – to me – about my body and what about it doesn’t fit his ideal? I would never do it to him – or anyone! He’s grown a bit of a belly and I always try to find ways to compliment him so he wouldn’t feel bad about it. I know that feeling insecure about your body doesn’t really help. Why is he being such an ass?

I guess – because I’m helping him. If I’d react like a normal person with indignation and start crying and calling him names, maybe he’d realize that he should keep those kind of thoughts to himself. That people are sensitive about their bodies and fitting the ideals and pleasing their partners and that it’s usually a good idea to not insult the body of a person you are sleeping with. Just a helpful hint. Doesn’t really make me want to hit the gym to be more fuckable for him. I mean what the fuck is he expressing his discontent about it to me? I’d maybe get it, if I’d put on like 10 kg in a short time. But I think I’ve actually lost 5 kg or more and also toned a lot. My little sister commented that I look just like I did, when I was size 7. Boy, did she make me happy.

I seem to remember this sort of thing happening before, when I’ve tried to change my body to feel better. And I seem to remember Wonderboy’s reaction discouraged me from trying.

Wellp, I’m not going to let him fuck with my head this time. I’m gonna strive for size 7, healthy and sensibly, and if my butt gets even smaller, I’ll just try to find solace in the fact that probably 80% of guys and girls out there would find it even more fuckable in its reclamed firmness.

I also wonder, not even just a little, how much my orgasmic challenges affect him – once again. Talking with him is much easier. I’m not defencive at all and can talk about my sadness in a new way – honestly and right away. He has learned to ask me, without defencive anger, why am I feeling sad or am I worried about something – like he did yesterday. It gives me a sense of him caring and also trying to resolve things. So that has become easier, the communicating. But I still feel that he doesn’t see me as a separate enough person from himself. That he still keeps on pouring his own bad feelings on me even though we’ve discussed it many times. Where can I hide from them, huh?

We did have an honest and non-hostile conversation about babies. When we didn’t have sex on my ovulation day or the day before, I made it a point to ask him about it. He said he’d lost his hope in us getting pregnant by normal means. He worried about my cervix being too tight and small for the sperm to swim in (I swear!) and dind’t quite understand or believe that the problem might actually not be on my end, even though he is the one whose sperm isn’t lively enough. He said he wanted to take a break from counting the days and forcing himself, as I had said we would, before I started to have these huge ovulation pains and had to count the days. So, I said okay then. Let’s do that. That sounds good. It was a relief of sorts for me too. Not having to wait and hope and try and fight. Just wait for the doctor and the next medications. Just relax a bit.

When he was hugging me, I asked him, maybe crying a teensy bit, did he think that he could at all consider having two kids. I told him, that him saying we would only have one had made me pretty sad.

And he answered yes. Yes he could.

The next doctor’s appointment is on Valentine’s day. Happy Valentine’s day to me!

Ps. I called him later today and we talked a bit on the phone. He said he likes how my body has changed and thinks I have a great ass and that I should keep working out and that he’s proud of me. So there. End of bitching. For today. But, oh, what tomorrow will bring?

Also, I know that he could never make me unhappy, so much so, that I didn’t think to blackmail him into agreeing to try for two children. That’s why I waited many, many years to even start trying and cried many a times secretly in the bathroom, when my period would eventually start. I don’t want to force him. I want him to want it too. Children aren’t a present and they are not my hobby or my thing. They’ll be ours, if there’ll be any.

Greedy

I’ve been really sick. I haven’t been able to eat anything in two days, and the two days that followed those I’ve been drinking juice. I’ve lost a dramatic amount of weight and I’m still not well. I’ve only had one stomach flu like this as an adult before. I don’t know where it came from, but I hope it’ll die away soon.

Because I’m ovulating.

I’ve been trying to write about this conversation we had with Wonderboy. A shocking conversation. But I haven’t had the strenght. How convenient that I’d fall ill in it’s wake.

On Thursday night, as we were curling up on the bed to talk about our day, I asked Wonderboy, how long we would wait before we started to try for another baby, when trying for the first has been so exhausting and taken so long. I mused that I’d really want to wait a long time, 5-6 years, but I don’t know, if we can since it’s so difficult for us to get pregnant.

He was taken aback and literally got angry at me. First I had no idea why.

I only want one kid, he said.

Silence. I was sitting on the bed still, shocked. This was no joke. He was serious.

I’ve always said I want kids, two kids, we’ve talked about this before.

And I’ve always said I want one kid. Just one.

What was I supposed to do with him informing me he didn’t want more than one kid? I tried to appeal to the past.

But you said, when we met, that you would start wanting them. Otherwise I wouldn’t have started a relationship with you.

I didn’t want any kids! he exlaims and somehow it feels like he still means it.

I don’t see the difference between one and two. I’ve just been thinking, how happy you’ll be when we have a child. And we’ll nurture her and she will grow. Why would anyone need another one?

He’s an only child. I remind myself of that. Maybe he’s feeling jealous on behalf of the first child? He’s making me sound greedy. Like it’s wrong to want more than one child. In my head I blame him of being selfish. I blame him for not telling me, seriously. Not having this conversation before in a serious tone. I never believed him, when he would counter my thoughts by saying we would have only one small one.

It’s not right for the first one to want another! he exlaims and I think I know, how he thinks now.

The next one has the right to be wanted and loved just like the first one. She already had that!

Well, why do you need more than one child?

I don’t want them to be alone in the world.

Like your sisters are always so good to you and those relationships work.

That’s not the point.

Yeah, well, I only want one kid, he says like this is the end of the conversation. I don’t understand, how you don’t know that already, he adds.

I guess I never believed you.

I’ve said it like a thousand times!

But not like this! Not like you mean it!

People never really joke. They always secretly mean it.

I don’t understand, how you don’t know that I want two kids! I’ve always wanted two kids. That’s why I told you I want kidS, not A kid! If we even even have one. And it’s not just your decision!

I’m crying already, helplessly. All sorts of things are going through my head. If I’d only known, I could’ve chosen someone else. Someone who is capable of conceiving and wants children, would’ve wanted them from the get-go. What can I do now? I can’t leave him, because he only wants one kid and even that is only a slight possibility.

Do you realize what a sacrifice it is for me to make to only have one child?

He doesn’t answer. Then he asks, what now?

I don’t know, I sob to the pillow.

I love you and I don’t want to lose you, he says sounding resigned.

I love you too. And I don’t want to lose you, either, I answer him. So much is clear to me.

He takes me into his arms. He caresses my hair. I don’t think we kiss, we’re not ready for it yet. He confesses that he’s afraid that I’ll fall into post-natal depression. I see he’s thought about it. I try to explain that most of my depression now is because we can’t have children, but I don’t know if I do it only in my head.

Do you understand, how it feels like to want a child? More than anything? To need one? I ask him in a whisper.

He is silent for a while, tentatively, maybe he’s expecting an insult or an attack, if he says he doesn’t. I look into his eyes, serious, tears glinting in my eyes, waiting.

No, he answers.

It feels the same to want another one, I say.

But how can you know? he asks. I’ve never had even one child before and neither have you. How can you know, if it’s enough or not?

I just know.

But how?

Like I know I want one. The same way.

We are silent, but he’s holding me. I’m still crying, tears just roll into my hair and pillow and his chest and neck.

If we just try and see, how it feels like, he says. How it’ll be with one.

Okay, I say. We’ll try and see.

But now you know how I feel, I add.

And we leave it at that. Nothing really resolved.

When I go to him, sick and pale on Sunday night and tell him I’m ovulating, he just brushes it off. After brushing our teeth he says he’ll fuck me tomorrow.

It’ll be too late tomorrow.

No it won’t be.

And I immediately think about Saturday night when he came on my face. It was so hot and now it’s under attack. If he’d only come inside me I wouldn’t have to deal with this. But he hasn’t come inside me for a long time. Too long for this purpose. And I think that this is as good of an opportunity to conceive as any, because I’m not at fault here. He is. Why is he making my life so miserable?

Still. It takes a minute or two, but I tell him I love him. Because I do. And because he can’t help what’s wrong any more than I can. And he can’t help the way he feels about children, how scared he is, how defenceless. How he wants to make me happy and says so. I just want to make you happy.

But in the back of my mind, way back, I know I’ll have two children. One way or another.

How To Ask For Non-Sexual Things In Sexual Settings Or Sexual Things In Casual Settings?

On Saturday I asked to be collared while we were watching a movie. Wonderboy obliged after I explained that I just wanted to be his pet, watch the movie and feel I’m his. This is something that I really want and finally we’ve arrived to an emotional landscape where I can ask for it. We have the collar. We have done domestic things. He has ordered me around without a sexual context as such and has seen, how I react. Has seen how happy it makes me. And we have talked about it. I could just say that it would be nice, if he would put my collar on and we’d just keep doing what we were doing. And we did.

After the movie was over, however, he ordered me to play by myself. I wasn’t exactly jumping out of my pants, but he did order it. I suspected that maybe he felt obliged to end things on a sexual note even though I’d said I didn’t need one. I wasn’t horny. I was tired.

As he left I tried to do his bidding (heh) like a good girl, but I was too tired from going to the gym and getting all cold in the snow. I fell asleep. After a few hours Wonderboy came back to check on me. It’s funny, how I react to his ownership, but I was actually very worried about disappointing him. I didn’t go through with his command, after all. He came to hug me and I came clean.

I was too tired. I fell asleep, I said in a small voice.

It’s okay, he said. You’re still my little baby girl.

I don’t know, if he got it, but I think so, because the next day he put the collar on me for the whole day. I just casually raised the subject of collaring once again and he put the collar on me with a smile on his face and without hesitation. I shivered and surrendered to his hands as always, when he puts it on me. Still, I didn’t await for anything. I had no plans. I just wanted to be his.

As the day went by I began to notice the irritating things about collars. They are clunky and in the way. When I tried to just lie around, it made me aware of it’s presence by choking me. I had to fight the urge to ask Wonderboy to take it off. I wanted to keep wearing it, but he wasn’t giving me anything. He didn’t treat me like his pet, talk to me in a way to insinuate it or grab me by the collar, all of which I’d very much have liked him to do to me. Just wearing the collar didn’t feel like such a thing after a while. It’s the same during sex. When he puts it on, I go limp and surrender completely, but after a while I forget it’s there, if he doesn’t treat me any differently.

He has a obligation too. If I’m collared, he’s the one who collared me. He needs to show me he owns me in small ways. He needs to remind me of what it means. Otherwise it’s just a piece of leather and a metal ring dangling from it.

Being collared and constantly grabbed and kissed through the day did lead to hot, steaming sex. He trained me to give him a blowjob of his life. Now he’s intentionally teaching me, not just asking for something. He lets me know what he likes and how, how he wants me to change things and how quickly. It’s easy to obey him, because I love him and I love to give pleasure to him. When I find a new way to give him pleasure, when I detect some little shift exciting him it stucks with me. I love it.

I don’t know why it’s sometimes hard for me to move on to sex after the blowjob. I’ve been so immersed in his experience, so intent on giving him pleasure, I actually have forgotten about myself. I’m usually really, really wet after sucking his cock, but I’m not prepared to be fucked. I don’t know how to explain it. Probably many of you wouldn’t expect a woman, any woman, to be done with foreplay after just giving head (that would be troubling in a vanilla setting), but it makes me more excited than anything else. I don’t much want anything for myself. I don’t want him to lick me or touch my pussy – for me it’s a cheap way to make the roads slicker, if you know what I mean? And still, I feel like I’m not ready to be penetrated.

Very often it hurts a bit no matter how wet I am. I don’t know if that’s emotional in a way or just plain physical and a result for not playing enough with me. I do sometimes feel… resentment towards Wonderboy for being very quick with hitting me and then expecting me to go down on him for the longest time. And then deciding to fuck me in the moment that’s best for him. I believe he only does it, because I love it too. And I think that if it was up to me we would never move on to penetrative sex, I would just keep on going at his cock forever.

I don’t know. Is that weird? I do want him to fuck me. Sometimes I even beg for it.

Sometimes I feel that I just get something. Not exactly what I need or as much as I need. But somehting. And I believe the problem is with me as much as it is with him. He just doesn’t really seem to view the things I need as sex or sexual so much, so performing them is really just performing to him. And he wants to get on with them and to the real sex, or so I sometimes feel.

We’ve talked about it. He said he needs to readjust his feelings and thoughts on what constitutes sex and he’s done so remarkably well. Especially since I’m still very poor at asking him for anything. But I think it’s me too, who needs readjusting. Just one day I realized I want him to hit my pussy. Real hard. Just one day I realized I actually want to be collared around the house. Just one day I realized I want him to treat me as his pet, sometimes. I want him to collar me and take me around in my leash, maybe feed me of the floor.

Do theses things fit into sex? What is it that I want in a sexual situation, after or before sucking his cock? Can I ask for these things? They seem so elaborate, so… Out of the box marked sex I have in my head.

But when he does collar me. When he keeps me like that. I know exactly what I need.

Just A Bitch In Heat

Guess what? I seduced him again! He said I did so by being such a bitch in heat. Rowr.

And guess what else? I got my first official tit bruise from slapping! It’s dainty and I love it!

I asked him yesterday how come he was so much more harsh and hardhanded with me than before. I made it clear that I had liked it by grinding myself against him, kissing him, caressing him and looking at him dreamily.

He answered, Well, I realized you’re not so fragile after all. I can’t break you that easily.

That was it. His new found certainty and assertiveness.

Today whilst fucking me hard from behind and ripping me by the hair he said,

I don’t care if you hurt. The more you hurt, the better.

He said such rude but true things to me all the while he fingerfucked my mouth, fucked me from behind and hurt me. Did I already mention that I came for the longest time? I just love it, when he roughly fucks my mouth with his fingers, suffocates me with them even, stretches my mouth.

Look at me. I love your mouth. It’s so sexy. You just know it’s going to feel so good to put something in there, he said when he forced me to go down on him after he’d made me go do some housework. When he sent me to do housework, I remembered to ask, if I was to call him sir or not, and obviously that was my duty. I was more than happy to oblige and used it instead of yeah all the time I could without embarrassing myself completely.

When we were good and really done we still kissed and cuddled. I had asked for him to put my collar on, when we switched from the forced blowjob to fucking and he obliged immediately. I lay there on all fours, held my hair up and felt it sweep from my neck through my whole body, when he clicked the buckle. True happiness and also true desire springs from him putting the collar on me. And it also happens when he takes it off. It’s a sign I need, I crave. He shook me from it a little to see if it was tight enough and I fell so hard.

It’s important to put the collar on, I said when we cuddled.

That’s good of you to notice, he answered and smiled hiw owner’s smile.

It’s really important to me.

I’ll put the leash on next time too.

And then – and then! – he promised me he’d lead me around from the leash one day! I hope it’s not tomorrow, because my little sis is coming to visit. But he promised to forcefully fuck and suffocate me in total silence, when she goes to bed. We’ll see what happens tomorrow…

Maybe I’ll get a pony!

Surrenderer’s High

Just when you think there’s a long and winding road ahead of you… a miracle happens. Yesterday I turned down Wonderboy’s advances just by not actively showing my desire for him. Today I did the complete opposite. I asked him to disrobe. I asked him to engage. At first he said that maybe his cock was a little depressed and had left – for Timbuktu, I added and we laughed and hugged and went on with things.

The happiness rose in us like a tidal wave with each kiss and caress as they got more aggressive. I thought I couldn’t even get that excited with the anti-depressant. Turns out – I can, if I’m dominated enough. And I was.

He started by hitting my ass. Just giving me a little taste. I moaned and approached sub space the minute his hand hit my ass cheek. He turned away from me to the goody nightstand and took out – the collar. He didn’t ask me a thing, didn’t give me options. It was going on and he was rough about it. Even when he dropped the strap of it a couple of times, he didn’t waver. Shit, he exclaimed and put it on me. I was immediately week at the knees. I drop real hard, when the collar goes on. I wither and my eyes flutter. I lose some control over my muscles for a time. I’m his to command now.

Then he ordered me to put on the fishnet stockings with a little bow down at the ankle – and seams! pretty seams – while he went to the bathroom. I could hear him washing up, so I knew what I was in for. And I was excited to get his cock into my mouth. I was also happy to notice that although he’d not been expecting sex, he did go and wash up for my benefit. A very cavalrious thing to do. I liked that.

When he came back he stood by the futon and I positioned myself so I could take his cock in my mouth. His new favorite position for a blowjob. A position of power – over me like that. It’s really pleasing to my eye as well as his. And I do love to hold him by the buttocks when I take him down my throat. I love to spit on his cock, mostly on his command, and then jerk the slippery, veiny, big, fat dick with the most tender hands. I lick and I tease and then he tells me what to do. He compliments me a lot, but adds my little whore to the end. I like that. It reminds me I’m wearing a collar. His collar. I go under again and again. He has but to say it to me.

He grouches and slaps my breasts as I’m licking his cock. He suffocates me, he holds me there longer than I thought I could be held. I start to spasm involuntarily, I feel an orgasm building. He shakes me by the neck. I’m under his grasp. I’m not even holding myself up on the bed anymore. He is. He slaps me hard on the left cheek as he holds me there. I look at him, fluttering, gasping, gurgling. I go under. I look at him again. My filthy little whore, he says. Then he shakes me again and pushes me to meet his cock. He fucks my cheek, hitting my face, telling me what I whore I am. He positions me straight against him and pushes his cock down my throat as far as it will go. He strangles me at the same time. I’m oblivious to fear. I feel but his power. He holds me up. I’m floating.

He doesn’t fuck my face. He ends it when I gag the second time and spit salty slime on him and on the floor. He’s oozing precum by now and his cock jumps happily every time he strangles me hard or slaps my face. It makes me so hot. He’s never hit me as hard as he’s hitting me today. He’s never strangled me as hard as today. And because life is funny I actually feel more relaxed and trusting. I surrender to his touch. It makes me believe he owns me. My whole soul believes.

The he fucks me and tells me that he doesn’t care, if I enjoy. He’s just going to fuck me quickly and come. And he doesn’t even care, if I hurt. He kind of likes to hurt me.I can’t believe, how slippery I am, when he descends upon me. I’m so wet he slides right in. And I’m on my period.

You’re my whore and I can do anything to you.

Yes sir.

Say what I can do to you.

Anything. You can do anything to me, sir.

Yes I can. Because you’re my filthy little whore.

And then I come. I come like rockets and moonlandings and space and stars and black holes.

He rises up a bit, pushes my arms to hold up my tits in a way he likes and kisses and bites on my nipples. He starts fucking me so it hurts. It really hurts and I get hot flashes every time his cock hits my cervix. Ouch, I yell after every hit and pulse inside. It doesn’t take long for him to start coming – but it takes over a minute for him to come. He pulses, he twitches, he spasms and moans and holds me closer and pushes into me, way into me. We hug and we kiss. He asks me,

Did my little whore have fun?

Yes, sir, I answer. Or do I still have to say sir? I ask.

Yes you do. Very good of you to ask.

Yes sir.

Shall we take the collar away?

Yes, sir.

Now you don’t have to say sir anymore.

Because the collar’s not on. It’s good you set strict limits, I say.

But other times you might have to.

You just have to order me.

I will.

And I believe him. I truly, truly believe him.

To Be Owned Again

Therapy’s back in session. (I accidently first wrote sexon. Whatever could that mean…) What a relief! I think I detected some disappointment over the fact that I didn’t call her, but opted to try new anti-depressants, when shit hit the fan. She was surprised that I should’ve felt that bad.

But I did.

So, on to the subject of the shit and the fan on the ceiling. There has been serious sex sessions happening here over the weekend. I’ve been complemented on giving the best head of his life (and he’s real picky and hurty!) and also the best sex of his life in the course of a week. Nipple clamps made an appearence more than once, but collar wasn’t presented these times. I think we are still too fragile to go there. Owning is different from d/s sex. It means so much more. And I have to be ready for it to work. Same goes for Wonderboy.

So, about what this “being ready” means. There was some discussion about the anxiety disorder affecting our relationship and sex life in the earlier post. It’s spesifically affecting the d/s dynamic, but you know. There really is no sex without it. With me on the anti-depressants Wonderboy has yet again built his courage to own me more… But I don’t trust this courage, when it’s based on my feelings and not his.

Perverse Cowgirls says that WB’s skills as a lover aren’t relevant unless you’re keen to fuck in public, and I don’t see how dominance is relevant either unless one is in a 24/7 arrangement.

I feel I need to address this since I was the one who brought up the anxiety disorder label, used it and even constructed highly likely theories of it affecting us.

Wonderboy’s anxiety disorder isn’t solely confined to the scary outside world. He is sometimes inexplicably scared to interact normally, even with me, especially in sexy situations. This affects everything. It especially affects our wonderful d/s dynamic, because when he gets scared, he can’t trust me and himself enough to dominate me. This is not a thing that happens in my mind by the way. He just won’t. I have to coerce some of it out of him, but it’s not the same as being taken, owned and disgraced now is it?

For you to grasp the magnitude of his anxiety, here’s an example.

He once blamed me for not taking him into consideration, because I didn’t ask him, if he wanted to play the computer, when I played for a long time. He had been playing guitar in the other room for the whole time. The discussion was positively absurd to me and in the end Wonderboy had the guts to say, in a really small voice, that he didn’t know, why he couldn’t ask me, if he could play. (I think I even wrote about the fight?) But when I asked him, if he wanted to play, pretty late into the night, he snapped at me and started yelling, how I was bad and selfish for not doing so earlier.

This is the way he handles his anxiety now. He’s accustomed to lash it out on me. I’m an easy target, I try to understand him and make him feel better. He can get rid of the anger his anxiety builds in him, and get a cuddle to boot. But as I said recently, I won’t be doing any more of that. I won’t coddle him anymore. If he hurts my feelings, I will act upset. I will show my hurt feelings and will not condone them to relieve his. I also will not submit myself to his disorder anymore.

He has the same responsibilities in this family than I have.

If he can’t handle them, he needs to get help.

I am not his mother.

This might sound absurd or cold depending where you’re coming from. But I’m prone to take care of everything. One of the advances of living your childhood in a broken home(s) with alcoholics and people with anger management issues to say the least. You learn to be quiet about your own bad feelings. You learn to try to solve any sign of discontent, any problem with any means possible right away before it escalates into something dangerous and possibly life threatening.

It’s hard to let that go. Hard to start listening to myself again and start understanding that my hurt feelings matter as much as his. Or anyone’s for that matter. And it’s really hard to let him battle the anxiety by himself. I see how it suffocates him. But he’ll never learn to deal with it, if I’m always acting as his buffer. And I can’t anymore. I don’t have the strenght. I’m so angry at him for making me do it. He’s trying to force me back into my role, because we’re both so used to it.

Today I didn’t feel like sex. I don’t much feel like it now. My period is starting and I’m sedated for my pain. (By the anti-depressants.) He ordered me to disrobe and bed him. We had a fun time cuddling naked with his cock poking me and his hands and teeth torturing my nipples… But it didn’t go anywhere. Finally he asked, if I wanted to have sex at all. I didn’t know and he didn’t know anymore either. And then he asked me the best question to solve it:

Would you feel discontent, if we didn’t have sex now?

No, not really, I answered.

I’m happily non-sexual and it’s such a relief. Now I can let him fight it out with his Anxiety. I don’t need him as much, as desperately to fill in the role I have for him.

To be my owner again.

Work Thing

This is also a post left unfinished while Wonderboy was still taking the anti-depressants – right before he stopped.

I’m in a work related bind and it’s making me totally anxious. There’s been a lot of sackings and leavings, and I’m really worried about my future. We’ve also been discussing the possibility of moving back from where we came from, because Wonderboy still hasn’t managed to get a job here. And my period started today.

There’s so many things to worry about! My professional life? God, I need to be better and even more productive and initiative and creative and – and! Everything. If we move, what will happen to the fertility treatments? Will we have to stop them and wait for a doctor in the new place? Will we have to give up our beautiful own apartment and rent again? How will it feel?

What’s been better is Wonderboy. The medication is clearly working for him and he’s been more loving and happy than in a long while. It makes me hopeful that one day he’ll be like this for good. And it would be hard, if not impossible, if we already had kids. His medication has interesting side effects. Like the note says they do induce ejaculation difficulties. But Wonderboy has informed me of more intense pleasurable feelings. He’s also a lot more relaxed with the d/s stuff and brings it into situations all the time. Which makes me happy. It must have been just too scary for him before.

A Day Before New Year’s

This was left unfinished right before New Year’s Eve.

I was trying out dresses for tomorrow night’s party. We’re going to head out to the big city to meet some friends, one from abroads, and I really want to dance and be a little shallow butterfly for the night. I was wearing my latex leggins and a shirt and started to shake my ass in front of Wonderboy.

What do you think? I’m gonna dance like this – I shake a little booty – and then I’m gonna dance like this – I shake more booty – the whoole night.

You can’t wear that! he exclaims. It’s too much.

I know what he means. That’s what I wanted to ask. Latex leggins are kind of show off wear. So I change it up and add a glitter dress on top of them. It hides the booty.

Am I beautiful now? I ask and tilt my head and throw my hair.

You’re always beautiful, he answers.

Sex!

…two days in a row. Seems that someone has decided to change things. More on it later. For now, let’s just say that we are both relieved.