Some hopeful thoughts, some bad news and some thanking of lucky stars

I did the stupid thing and did a home pregnancy test. This is the first time in half a year I’ve actually felt the need to do it. I was already almost certain that my period is starting, but the signs have been wholly different – no spotting, no aching nipples or irritation. Maybe my hormonal balance has been positively affected by the hormones I took. I’m hopeful, still. Very hopeful. I’ve got new hormones that I’ll start next week, and they might help. There are a lot of stories about them helping.

But it felt like a giant red flag of “you’re never gonna get it, never never gonna get it” to see the oh so clear line, just one, on the test. No plus. No plusses for me. I had forgotten how bad proof feels like. The things, the normal things, that are supposed to be carriers of good and life changing news. The last test I did was last summer, after which I went to the doctor, who insisted I hadn’t been pregnant at all. No plusses then either. And never before.

The last time I went to my fertility doctor I had written down some questions. I had added the dates of my biochemical pregnancies on the paper, because I read that problems with progesterone can lead to them, and you need a certain hormone to help with that. She didn’t write it off this time. She only said that they couldn’t do the chromosome compability test I was asking for, because my biochemical pregnancies were without a proof.

Scientifically, she said, we can’t know. But don’t you worry, she added. If it takes much longer, we’ll do those tests too.

And after I’d asked all the terrifying questions, she wanted to hold on to the paper. She put it in our files. I felt I was being believed for the first time. They heard me.

Still, what I came out with is this: there is something wrong with my hormonal balance. The embryo isn’t implantating, because of that. It all makes sense now. All the hurting, the stabbing pains and the sudden cramps, the numb thud and the nausea. I’m experiencing the effects of early pregnancy hormones, but my body just can’t cling on to those little fuckers. It’s as I feared.

But then again: being proved right isn’t the worst thing that could happen. Being taken seriously, conversed with, and explained how these new hormones might help and have helped many in my situation. Well, it makes me hopeful.

Do you know what makes me even more hopeful?

The fact that I now know that if we aren’t pregnant by the end of August, we are starting IVF in the Fall. That is what the doctor told me. She said there was no use waiting any longer, and by golly, I think that 2 years is enough of waiting – don’t you? Enough of hormones, enough of home pregnancy tests, enough of sorrow, timed sex and crying and hoping in vain.

I am focused on the IVF. And after reading loads of infertility blogs and discussions – and I highly recommend this one: 999 ways to laugh – I realize, how incredibly, undeniably and more to the point undecervingly lucky I am to have been born into a country that offers infertility treatments as public healthcare. When I read that people were paying 10 000 dollars for just starting the treatments, and how poorly they are treated, it occured to me that I am one of the lucky ones. My country, my blessed homeland, has done one thing right. They don’t want that only the rich and famous get to reproduce. They think, or we think, that reproducing is a basic human right. I have to agree with that. Because I couldn’t do this, not even with loans of sky high interest rate – if I didn’t live here. The gods of probability didn’t make me wealthy, but they planted me here in Scandinavia.

Now I await for my IVF like a lady. I await for the needles and doctors in white coats. I await for my little, baby follicles to be washed with Wonderboy’s thoughtful sperm and placed into my uterus in a holy ritual called the IVF. I await for the plus to emerge in that little plastic thingy of scientific proof. I believe in the power of modern medicine. More than anything else. I don’t believe in God, but I believe in us. And I believe a little bit in the new hormones, too. But only secretly in my heart of hearts. Don’t you go telling anyone!

Happiness and feeling equal and not ashamed of what you want can do this to people

Being really sick has been eye opening as hell. In a good way. First Wonderboy had a really bad influenza for a whole week and stayed at home because of that. Then I got the same damn thing and I’m still in recovery.

With Wonderboy home we got time to mend our relationship. We’d spent the weeks leading to the sickness discussing our infertility and other personal issues in depth. It had been really important to me, but Wonderboy thought it was just wallowing.

You could probably see that I was pretty frustrated with our relationship and it culminated in me complaining about how Wonderboy takes part in housework? I believe that this is because of my therapy. I’ve begun to see, how I step over myself almost instinctively, which is stupid, because then the people I do stuff for don’t even realize I’m doing stuff for them.

I have a small but significant example from yesterday. Wonderboy had ordered us pizzas. This happens like once every three months. We were lying on the bed with his laptop ready to bust some myths (you know what show I’m talking about) and pizza boxes on our laps. Suddenly Wonderboy realized he wanted to add this chili ketchup on his (also seen in the Big Bang theory episodes!). Since he was holding the laptop he just assumed that when he’d say he wanted it, I’d jump up and get it. These kind of situations just open my eyes so much, because now I have no trouble drawing the line. I didn’t want the kethcup. There was really no reason that I should get it. Except the fact that I’ve been completely and utterly too nice my entire life and done things like that, because I’ve put other people’s situations, emotions and whatnot before my own. I didn’t have that trouble now!

Great idea, I said.

He gestured to the laptop in his lap.

Why don’t you get it? he said.

No! I laughed out. It was so clear. There was no doubt in my mind or my voice. It’s such a small but important thing. Why would I compromise my comfortability to get him something while he did nothing? It boggles the mind that I used to do this. What is also important, this being a d/s blog and partnership in some respects, is that I would totally do this, if it was a d/s thang. But it’s not as evidenced by his behaviour. I feel this attitude of his – and mine of course, I am also to blame for carrying the weight – impaires our d/s dynamic. What effectively changes, when he orders me, if I’d do it anyway?

I’ve actually been using this in a way to lure him to order me around. When he would ask me to give him the milk from the fridge, I’d just say no. He would ask nicely again and I would still say no. Then I’d add smiling, There’s one way you haven’t tried yet. He’d get it and command me to get the milk, smiling, and we’d both be a little happier for it. The small things. They just make the umph.

This can’t happen in the setting we’re set out for ourselves. For his dominance to be meaningful in our relationship – because I’m not trying to say that people can’t do these things differently – we need to be equal and feel equally responsible and cared for.

It all comes back to our sex life that has been through a shredder recently. This inequality and my eyes opening about it has had some serious consequences on our sex life. How could it not, when everything we love has so much to do with power play? I even uttered the words I thought I’d never hear from my cock loving lips: I don’t want to give you blowjobs for a while. Wonderboy tried to make fun of what I said by saying: Okay. So you will never, ever again give me a blowjob. Get used to it, he added mimicing my stern voice.

No, I just don’t want to give them right now.

And then we discussed what had happened, when I’d asked him to lick me and he didn’t. I said I felt that there was no way for me to communicate my needs, because while we were having sex, he just wouldn’t oblige because of the d/s. And when I brought the things I wanted and needed up later on, he would chastise me for not asking for them while we were sexy. Now I had the opportunity to show him, how I actually did ask for things I needed, but he wouldn’t oblige. And how that had actively harmed our sex life in the past, because I’d just given up on trying to get what I needed, if he wasn’t magically doing it right all along.

Then I politely asked him to think of ways I could communicate that I really mean what I say and really need those things, because there wasn’t one in my opinnion. This lead to him realizing the same thing and seeing my situation for the first time as it is. It’s not just my fault, it’s a problem with communication. So, effectively, also his problem. He suggested that I’d try the way of appealing to him.

Maybe if you’d say “if I’m good enough, will you do this thing for me? I am a really good girl, aren’t I?”

So, by incorporating it to our play, I could tell him that I really wanted something. This seemed like a good idea. Instinctively I used it yesterday, a couple weeks after the conversation.

He had lifted me on top of him and demanded that I grind myself against him in just the right way. He enjoys playing with my tits and especially licking and sucking on my nipples while we fuck with me on the top. I can’t actually feel much in the way of his tongue’s magic touch in the heat of the moment, and yesterday was the first time ever, I could utter the words: Bite them. Please? Pretty please. I could see him hesitate for a nanosecond before I added the very girly and innocent please. That was just what had happened before. How his brain works. He almost didn’t, because he’s in charge. But then when he did, he bit me like he wanted to. Viciously. I came instantly. It was ridicilous really, but also pretty nice to prove the point of d/s being a two way street. He could see straight away how hearing me affected me.

Sometimes even a submissive knows exactly what they want and it can be imperative to fulfill those needs. I am not a machine and even though I enjoy the submissive role thoroughly, there’s also the very real, corporeal (heh) responses and needs that just can’t be walked over.

So, anyway. Baby steps maybe, but things are improving how ever slightly or slowly. Wonderboy’s been washing the laundry like there’s no tomorrow and doing chores he never used to. (And I never realized!) He’s also begun to talk about his anxieties in a lot more open way, and so have I!

Wonderboy just called to let me know that he’s heading back home from work. He’s still sick. Funnily enough this is almost good news. We get a little vacation with us both home sick. There’s been a lot more sex now that he’s home all the time. A lot more honest talk about wanting it too. And I? Well, my engine’s been running like crazy and I’ve been having orgasms alone and with him many a time every day. I just don’t feel guilty about it anymore. As I don’t feel guilty about not fantasizing about him, if he’s going down on me or while masturbating.I don’t feel guilty for wanting him to do things for me that might be uncomfortable for him or that he might actually not enjoy doing. I’m not worried about that anymore.

This, my new un-worrisome attitude, realized in me having three or was it four orgasms last night while we fucked. One was for him biting my nipples while I was riding him. One was from him dominating me with his eyes and overpowering me with his hand in my hair, hard, unforgivable. I just felt hot waves and shivers run through my scalp, back and ass, when I fell and fell in to the submission, in his rough hands. He spanked my ass and unlike recently I was able to fully take the hits, enjoy the pain that went through me like a wave of electricity. I made a small whining noise that wouldn’t stop. I was his little pet, waiting for it, not wanting it, craving for it. One, I think, was from him fucking me really fucking hard and explaining how he really didn’t give a fuck if I enjoyed or not. His eyes. His eyes locked on mine. His lips. Parted so enticingly. My submission was so overwhelming that after the sex was over and we were done, laughing and hugging and tangling on the bed, he took me by my hair, pushed me against his chest and shook me from my hair. I came once more.

Happiness and feeling equal and not ashamed of what you want and enjoy can do that to people.

Also. I have found Rocco Siffredi. <3 This guy moans and boy do I love the way he dominates those chics. I just wish the chics could be a little less noisy.

My share

I’ve had a lot to think about. I’ve had a lot of emotions to wade through.

After I stopped taking the hormones, and now stopped taking the anti-depressants too, I haven’t felt like I want sex. I haven’t even been able to masturbate. A couple of times I’ve felt the rare urge to come, but it’s been muted somehow. When I tried touching myself, it felt repulsive. I mean literally, the feeling of my fingers caressing my pussy was just all bad. It made me want to puke. So I haven’t done, well, almost anything.

We fucked last week once so that I came. The other time I just lay there, trying to connect and enjoy, but didn’t. When Wonderboy had come, I didn’t feel like I needed an orgasm. I felt like I hadn’t had sex. I felt… not numb, but detatched somehow. I was okay and I didn’t even have to try to convince Wonderboy about it. I was so mellow and okay that he knew I was fine. He asked me, if I liked, when he uses me like that and I said yes. I made sure, when he seemed so chipper about it all, that he did realize I hadn’t come. It’s important to me that he knows, if that happens. I like it when he uses me or hurts me, but he has to do it knowing what he’s doing. He answered gently,

There will be a time for orgasms, and caressed my head and pulled me close, gently.

It had the same effect as a child. He was convincing me that it’ll happen. It wasn’t meant to happen now. I felt safe.

What I have been feeling, though, hasn’t been safe or loved. It’s been angry. After all the medication of both kinds had left my body I felt positively angry. I saw things I hadn’t let myself see before.

I was angry at Wonderboy, because I realized even though we’ve decided to be totally equal and do all the housework 50/50, I end up doing a lot more. He just doesn’t do it and at some point I get fed up, working from home now I see all the shit every hour of every day, and then I do most of the stuff. I realized this, when I fell really, dramatically ill a few weeks back. It was a stomach flu that only touched him, but put me to bed for 5 whole days. I haven’t been as sick ever in my adult life without going to the hospital. I managed to walk to the bathroom and back, but that was it. I couldn’t read or even watch anything from my computer, because that made me feel nauseaus. I just slept through the days, vomited, tried to drink some water and was in so much pain.

And it was my turn to go to the store. When I asked Wonderboy to please go and get some juice and whatever he needed, because I was just way too sick to do it, he said you can do it tomorrow, when you’re better. The next day I asked him to go to the store, and he finally did after many pleads. He came back with only one carton of juice and not anything else for me. The next day I had to plead again for him to go to the store, I even had to make it into an argument before he did, and he still forgot to bring me the yogurt I asked for.

This, for me, was a huge epiffany. I’ve gone to the store on his turn, when he’s been tired of work. When he’s had to use public transport and I’ve had the car. When he’s been working late, has been sick or is feeling blue. I’ve sometimes done it surprise him. I’ve sometimes done it without asking him, sometimes he’s asked me, sometimes he’s… what’s the word… blackmailed me into it. He might have said he’d be too tired to do anything with me, if he also has to go to the store.

I’ve always thought he’d do the same for me in a heartbeat. I just never ask. He just never does it.

Now I realize that even, when I’m so ill I can barely make it to the bathroom, it isn’t enough reason for him to help me. He only went to the store, when he wanted something, not when I needed the juice, because I couldn’t keep anything solid down.

I also realized that he was totally thrown by my sickness. He couldn’t face that I was sick. He kept asking me, if I’d get something for him from the other room and even nagged (yes, I’m going to use that word here) about, how he had to do all the food, that he ate alone, alone. That I wasn’t there helping him. I pointed it out to him that he was the only one A) hungry B) able to eat food C) in good enough health to stand the required time to even cook. But he was persistant and I was really ill and not really in a very good situation to negotiate and defend my case. I fell asleep and he was left to brew.

At first, when I got well enough to think – that’s what I do best – I was just pissed off. Just. Really. Really. Pissed. Off.

I noticed a lot of the same thing in a lot of situations. It wasn’t just, when I was sick, it was every day, everywhere. And I put a wall between us. I needed a wall. I needed a break from anything sexual with him, especially anything d/s, since he wasn’t filling up his end of the bargain. The deal was that he could dominate me, even 24/7 use me in whatever way he desired, if at the bottom of it we would share the same responsibilites and he was doing his part of housework, paying bills and generally caring for our family. He didn’t and hasn’t done. He’s let himself slide right back in where he was while he lived with his mother.

So I started enforcing our deal every time he hadn’t done what he ought to. I didn’t concern myself with thoughts like “ooh, he must be tired”, “it’s too late”, “he’s had a long day” or anything. I just plainly said what he needed to have done already and when he trew a tantrum about it, I just kept insisting that he do it, because it was his responsibility. He threw the mom card at me, like he always does. He got angry, because I hadn’t informed him early enough, so how could he have known. I didn’t fall for it. I calmly said that it was his responsibility, and he needs to do it without me reminding him over and over again. I also said that I’m not his mother and he needs to learn to do these things by himself, automaticly, just like I have.

First time I tried to ask him do something for me, and he didn’t, I slept in the other room. I also threw all the dirty laundry on the floor – I’d been waiting for almost two months for him to do them – and gathered all the shit he’d just left lying around in one place (packages, paper, bills, bottles, anything) that I would’ve usually just sorted and recycled as the day went by and I would pass by it. When I woke up, he came to me, careful and pleading, and asked what was wrong. I told him I didn’t accept what he had been doing, how he was acting. I told him he had not made me believe that he cares about my career or respects my work and the work I put in our home. I told him that it felt very wrong to me that he would have a room to himself and just stay there by himself and then shit all over my workplace in the other room and not care at all about my space. He apologised and promised to change his ways. He immediately cleared my work table of his belongings and generally tried to show me that he cared.

The second time I did this he slept in the other room, angry. I reminded him to sweap my office table from the coffee he’d spilt and some other minor things, and since it was late and he was tired, he just blew up at me. This was the point where I told him I wasn’t his mother and that he needs to learn to do these things on his own. Otherwise…

I didn’t actually say the otherwise out loud. But I was so mad at him that I seriously considered leaving him, if things don’t change. I thought that I can’t live my life suffocated by responsibilities like this. That I will become so bitter. And I thought, this was the thought, the big ball of ugly feeling I had in the bottom of my stomach, that I couldn’t have a child with him, if living with only him meant that I had to take care of everything. How would it be with a child? This was not what I wanted. I signed up for an equal relationship. I had done my share. Where was his?

I didn’t have to tell him, how I felt. He could feel it. He knew that this was the last straw. This was it. He’d have to change.

So, when he came back from work after he’d slept in the other room, he immediately, from the door, asked, if there were things he could do. Trash he could take out, laundry he could wash…

It’s been, I think, a little over than a week from the blowout, maybe two. When I spent a night at my dad’s and came back, he had tidied up the whole apartment, taken out trash, sweapt the counters and tables. He has never done anything like it before. He has also done a lot of laundry. I have yet to hear him complain about his duties. He’s been, I think, more loving, if something. He’s been careful and gentle with me. He has felt, how I don’t desire him and he’s tried to make it right. He’s realized, rightly so, that sometimes not wanting sex and not desiring him isn’t something that’s really about sex at all.

And I think that’s why.

I put my hand on his cock yesterday. I felt it grow a little. I kissed him, but he didn’t kiss me back like I wanted. He was still cautious.

I know what I want today, I said.

What? he smiled tentatively.

I took a pause and then licked the air in front of him a bit.

You want me to lick you? he asked.

Yeah, I smiled and buried my head in my hands, then looked up at him and smiled. Yeah, I’d really like that.

If you’re a good girl, he said.

That’s so unfair! How can I know, if I’ve been a good girl or not! I said, laughing.

We’ll see.

When we fucked I was more assertive than ever. I told him I wanted him to lick me. I told him I wanted to be on top of him for him to slap my butt and for me to feel his cock at the same time. He didn’t oblige to me, he made his own decisions. Made me wait. Made me beg. It made us so happy.

When we were through, or so I thought, he went on to start licking me like I’d asked before.

I don’t think I can have another orgasm so quickly, I said and he came back to cuddle me.

I want it to be know that I was ready to do it, though, he said.

Next time I will not give in into the d/s play. He will do as I tell him, right away. I have no patience for waiting anymore. I wanted him to lick me before, not after. This will not do, no matter, how hot it is for me to lick him.

My share can’t be just to obey. It can’t be to carry all the responsibilites and then having no say. It has to be equal in building this relationship. I need my voice back.

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.