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.