We had such fun doing the first one, I thought I’d give it a try. This story was based on Bondage Anniversary where the husband finds his wife’s stash of BDSM books and calls her out on it. Let me know what you think. Click here to listen.
I just got back from a week long adventure in the wilds of Montana. I was sent there for my day job. Normally, if I’m sent to an offsite location it’s within my home state and I’m sleeping in my own bed that night. Now my husband is sent all over the country a couple times a year. This is the first time the shoe was on the other foot.
My trip was with 35 strangers. We were a mix of males and females ranging in age from college students to grandparents. Half of us, me included, were completely out of our comfort zone. I’m good in the woods or the desert, but I’m not good surrounded with strangers. It’s exhausting to be with strangers that I have to interact with for 14 or 15 hours a day without a break. I had no down time. No time to recharge my batteries.
In addition to my husband being my source of unconditional love and security, he’s also a buffer between me and people. I’m not a gregarious sort. I live in my head. I create mini worlds and I control how they interact. I control the plot, the dialogue and the ending. The real world is all together different. And generally – I’m not a fan.
To me, ‘the public’ is an energy vampire. Being in close confines with others just sucks the life out of me. I was prepared for inclement weather, the back country, long hours and rough conditions. I was not prepared for the toll of being around strangers for a week solid with sleep being my only away time. I came home utterly fried emotionally and physically.
My Love, on the other hand, experienced what it’s like to go about your normal routine with the other half of your soul missing. He’d come home and heat up a meal I’d prepared ahead of time, but he’d eat it alone. He had no one to share his day with. No one to share the chores. Yet, everywhere he looked he was reminded of me and something we created together. He said, if something ever happened to me the house would be on the market in a heartbeat. The memories would eat him alive.
At the end of the week, we both decided we’re no good alone. We’re halves of one whole. I think that’s the way it’s meant to be. We’ve spent everyday of 38 years together except for the occasional solo work trip. Our lives are completely intertwined and that’s the way we like it.
Man, the last 30 days have been a whirlwind of chaos and stress. Yet, I feel blessed to say it has made my Love and I even closer.
The first disaster to strike was our air conditioner died. And I mean completed died. There was no reviving it. We went a week without it. Since we have large pets moving into a hotel was out of the question. Although our kids offered to let us stay with them, we decided to tough it out and not impose.
We live in the desert in Arizona and it was August. It’s our monsoon season. If you’ve never experienced Arizona in the summertime, I’m not sure you can appreciate exactly what it feels like here. When they tout it being a dry heat – they are talking about June and early July. In August, we have high temps and humidity. If you go from air conditioned cars to air conditioned buildings, it’s doable. I wouldn’t recommend living by fans alone in 110 degree heat though.
In truth, we were together and we came through it with a new appreciation for each other although our cuddle time took it in the shorts. 🙂
Fast forward to Labor Day – the perfect day for our well to die right? No one open. No one willing to drive out to the middle of no-where to even look at. My Love worked his magic and got it working (somewhat) so we were able to limp by until morning. Now if you read my blog, you’ll know why way of coping is to clean (among other things). Kinky sex with my Love, clean the house from top to bottom, rock out and dance to loud music, read something deliciously dirty and write – to be exact. But, I got off track. My point was it’s very difficult to clean when you can’t turn on the faucet.
During the week, we spoke to many well drillers and heard a different version of what they thought caused the problem and how to make the repair. Toss in stress of our daughter preparing for a 2+ week trip to Europe, a job interview for me and an eight week old pup and the stress level hit critical mass.
Which takes takes us back to coping strategies. Kinky sex is often dirty – no water for aftercare. Cleaning generally requires water too. Sure you can vacuum, but no dish washing, no laundry, no mopping, etc. Music and reading tried their best, but it was a rough job.
Today, I’m happy to say, our well solution was implemented. Everything looks good so far. It only cost the gross national product of a third world country to get water flowing through the faucets once more. My Love, with some help from our son, effected the repair.
He was truly amazing. He did tons of research and learned all about our current system and what else was available. As always, he took charge and made the decisions – with some input from me. I’m very proud of him. He was up at sunrise and worked his butt off most of the day. The sun was brutal and there’s no shade. Temperatures reached over a hundred degrees, yet he worked tirelessly until the repairs were completed and water once again flowed up to the house.
After the sun went down, we took a dip in the spa to help relax his aching muscles. Sitting there together, watching the sun go down, he leaned over and kissed me. Then said, “thank you. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” I wasn’t working the shovel, or manhandling the tanks, or repairing the plumbing, or risking my life with the 220 electric that runs the pump, but here he was thanking me for supporting him. Silly man, I live for him – how could I not support him? He’s the best!
My birthday is fast approaching and my Love has asked me what I’d like as a gift. Frankly, I have no idea. He’s generous to a fault. If I ask for something, he moves heaven and earth to give it to me. I’ve learned over the years to be careful what I express an interest for.
When I struggled to give him a suggestion, he changed his question, “What would you like to do for your birthday?” Again, I have no idea. Of course, we’ll spend the day with the kids, but how? Last year, we played laser tag, shopped and ate lunch at our favorite restaurant. Unfortunately, I had a serious reaction to the food and spent the rest of the day quite ill.
I don’t want to risk going through that again. During the past year, I had an injury to my arm and laser tag is out. Shopping was quite fun, though. The kids were silly and we picked out the worst outfits we could find and had each other try them on. Oh, how we laughed. We had such fun, I hate to try and recreate it knowing it would surely fall flat against the memory.
Which leaves me back at square one.
At least I know how the evening will end – kinky fuckery at its finest. My Love will no doubt think of something delightfully torturous and I’m really looking forward to every minute of it.
Yeah, I know it’s 114 degrees outside and there’s no good reason why I’m remembering a line from a Christmas movie – but there it is. I’m weird like that.
My Love and I have been together over 37 years. I think it works because we still enjoy and crave our together time. We are independent people. My guy collects toy trains, he enjoys working on cars and cruising around the lake in whatever boat he’s just finished restoring. I have little interest in trains, but I go to the swap meets and help him rummage through the boxes. The only aspect I enjoy about cars is driving them – and extra-curriculars in the backseat, but I go to junk yards with him and help him find whatever widget he’s searching for this time. And I listen as he describes the variations and the small nuances that intrigue him. I know w-a-y more about cars and Lionel trains than I ever thought I would.
I’m sure you see where this is going. I don’t have to enjoy the same aspects of his hobbies as he does. I find enjoyment in watching his face light up when he finds something that makes him happy. I want to be the person he thinks of first when reaches out to share an experience.
By the same token, he has no interest in stained glass. He enjoys the final product, but he’s not one to stand at the work bench for hours on end cutting out tiny pieces of glass, surrounding them with lead and soldering them together. Oh, he has the talent and the patience – just not the interest. Yet, he goes with me to the glass shop and helps me pick out the glass. He feeds me snacks when I’m working with lead and really shouldn’t be messing with food. He goes clothing shopping with me and never complains about how long I take or all the multitude of packages he holds for me. He reads my books-each and every version until it’s just the way I want it. We bounces story lines back and forth and he helps me with scenes that frustrate the daylights out of me. He also my biggest cheerleader. When I’m ready to throw in the towel, he’s there to bolster my spirits.
I revel in knowing that I can be my own person. I can have interests separate from him, yet he’s willing to share them with me – in one capacity or another. We are independent together.
Tomorrow is my last day at my current job. I’ve been working with the same group of people for the last four years. Five is my norm. In a work environment, I’m an easy going person. I try hard to keep all my professional relationships short and sweet. I attempt to be friendly and helpful, but nothing more than superficial niceties. After a while, it seems, people want to share their deep dark secrets and they expect it to be reciprocated. Not happening.
I don’t care about their political views. I don’t care about their religious preferences. I don’t care if they prefer dogs or cats or which way they hang their toilet paper. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about them. I do. Overall, they seem like perfectly lovely people. I hope they’re happy and that life treats them well.
If they do their job and allow me to do mine, we’re good. That’s all I need.
Unfortunately, it’s rarely good enough for others. People expect you to share parts of your life that really aren’t anyone’s business, but your own. It frustrates the shit out of me. If I avoid their nosy questions, then I’m standoffish. If I let it all hang out, then it gets messy.
I’ve made that mistake in the past and I don’t intend to make it again. Instead, I do my job and get out. When people start to get too close, I move on.
It’s only been four years, but I’ve waited too long. My boss is upset that I’m leaving. Upset might be an understatement. I’ve dealt with tears and/or the silent treatment ever since I gave notice. My boss has used the phrase ‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me’ several times.
Let’s see, I did my job to the best of my ability for four years. I looked for and found another position. Once it was confirmed that I was the chosen candidate – I gave notice. I’ve wrapped up all the lose ends, written instructions for any processes that I created and transferred all my files. What exactly have I done that is unbelievable?
It’s a job not a marriage. I didn’t take a vow of servitude. I gave forty hours of my time each week in exchange for forty hours worth of pay. I didn’t even take a job with a competitor. The position I took is complimentary and in no way adversarial to my workmates or the organization.
And yet, I feel guilty. I feel like I did something wrong. Like my inability to blend in with my coworkers, to share my deep dark secrets with colleagues is my failing. Right?
After losing a host of friends, once they learned about my books and sexual proclivities, I’ve learned to be a private person. I’m tired of friends and family running in the opposite direction or throwing women’s rights in my face, or using the word submissive like it’s something to be ashamed of, or looking at My Love like he’s some sort of abusive asshole. I’ve learned to keep my private life – private. But I haven’t learned how to do it and remain one of the girls.
In truth – I’m proud of my life. I’m proud of my marriage. I’m proud of my books. I’m proud of the work I do at my day job. I’m not proud, however, that I hurt my boss. If I’d been successful in keeping my job completely professional then ‘hurt’ wouldn’t have been on the radar. ‘Hurt’ isn’t a word that should be associated with work. I failed in that regard.
On Monday, the clock starts over. I get another chance to learn from my mistakes and hopefully I get it right this time.
It’s nothing new. Every time My Love has to go away for an extended period of time our D/s slows down. It’s never pure vanilla. I don’t think either one of us could go back to that, but the intensity backs way off.
I’m not sure if he has difficulty finding his Dom space when he knows he’s about to fly across the continent or if he worries about me suffering from sub-drop while he’s away.
Once he returns, he’s ready to dive right back in, but I struggle a bit. He’s in tune with me and understands. He still pushes, as is his right, yet it isn’t at the depth he’d probably prefer. One scene at a time, we build the power between us.
Two days after he’d walked back into my arms, we were nearly back on track. My emotions were settled and our scenes were heating up faster than an Arizona summer.
That night our pup, a nine year old Great Dane, took a bad turn. My Love drove him to the vet and we received the long face. He brought our baby boy back home and our attention is now centered on him. We need to make him comfortable and do what we can to hold off the inevitable.
Neither of us feels our normal drive. Our pets are more than pets. They’re part of our chosen family, that small group of beings we prefer to spend our time with – rather than those that share a strand or two of similar DNA.
It’s funny how the amazing sex portion of our D/s helps us deal with day to day stress, but when our heart is being ripped out it isn’t as helpful. I’m not saying we revert back to a vanilla couple. I’m not sure anything could do that. Instead it’s the emotional side of our D/s that brings us the most comfort.
I find a semblance of peace in serving My Love. Whether I serve him through seriously kinky sex or by keeping fresh, sun-tea chilled in the refrigerator, our familiar roles help us cope.
My Love is shouldering the responsibility even though it isn’t his fault. It’s no one’s fault, but someone he loves is in a bad way and he can’t fix it. He can’t change the inevitable. Yet, he isn’t giving up. He’s determined to give our pup as much time as possible. He’s been spending his vacation time coaxing our baby boy to eat, drink and take his meds. He gets up multiple times a night and takes him outside without a single word of complaint.
And in the process, My Love is stealing my broken heart. Watching his gentle care of our pup reminds me of why I offer him my love and my submission each and every day.
Together. As always. We will make it through this.
Last Friday, I also received fantastic news about my brother. The experimental treatment he’s on has really made great strides and his test results are looking amazing. Ironically, I received his text while I was sitting in an emergency room in more pain than I can remember going through in a long time.
Thursday, I had a nagging headache. It wouldn’t leave me alone. I wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep it off, but both our kids reached out with issues they wanted to discuss. Fast forward, it’s midnight, my head is screaming and my stomach is decidedly unhappy. I’ve done all I can do parent wise and I try to sleep. My head had other plans. I woke in severe pain several times. I told my Love, I was staying home from work. I didn’t think I could drive there anyway. Since he was taking off the following week, he felt he needed to go in and that playing hookie wasn’t an option. I get it. He’s a stand-up guy. Loyal. Doing what’s right matters to him.
As the day progresses, I get sicker and sicker. I began to think I had stomach flu in addition to the migraine. I kept thinking if it doesn’t let up I’m going to have to go to the doctor. I knew I couldn’t drive and I knew my Love was miles and miles away. I thought about calling another member of my family for a ride. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking properly.
I know I come first. Nothing is more important to my husband than I am. He tells me this all the time. He makes me repeat it on occasion. I knew if I told him ‘come home’, he would have. I was trying to put his need to finish out the work day ahead of my need for him. Big mistake. Huge.
Our daughter was texting and texting and looking at the screen was killing me, so I explained that I was ill and considering asking for a ride to the doctor. She immediately reached out to my Love. He raced home, got me into the car and off we went.
His anger was palpable. Even through the pain, I knew he was seriously pissed that I hadn’t explained just how sick I was. In my mind, I had, but I had also shared my hope anytime it felt even marginally better. I hadn’t realized just how mixed the signals I was sending really were.
Fast forward – I’m being loaded into the ambulance. I knew he was standing outside the door watching. By that time, fear was coming off him in waves. I’m afraid the image of me inside the back of it would haunt him for a long time. He’s mentioned it a few times already.
The first person I saw when they opened the door was my Love’s face. He stayed with me the entire time, even going down with me for the tests. A couple family members showed up, but he still didn’t leave me side. He is my rock.
Once they finally figured out the chemical concoction to get me feeling as close to ‘normal’ as I ever am, they let me go home. I don’t think I was in the car ten minutes before the lecture set in. We now have a ‘signal word’ much like a safe word that will let him know that he needs to come home immediately. I’m sure we aren’t finished with the conversation. I’m still feeling a bit under the weather and I know he’s treating me with kid gloves. Once they come off, I suspect I’ll get an ass beating I won’t soon forget. Don’t tell him, but I’m mostly looking forward to it. I need the punishment to let go of the guilt of scaring him. The guilt of not telling him I needed him. The guilt over considering calling someone else to take me to the doctor when I know I should have turned to him.
Wednesday will be our 34th wedding anniversary. I guess it doesn’t matter how long you’re together, sometimes there will be blunders.
Life can be a fickle bitch, but she has a sense of humor. Just when you’re used to her shitting all over you, she throws you a rose. Or in my case the sweetest branch of thorns I’ve ever had.
A situation arose that placed a heavier emphasis on our D/s than usual. The ‘situation’ was the typical shit life likes to dish out, but my Love turned it around for us. Instead of just accepting what was headed our way, it became a crazy, wonderful weekend that set a new tone for our relationship.
As we worked through the ‘situation’ we tried several new things this weekend. Some we will incorporate and others will be tossed aside, but all garnered valuable information. The debriefing after each scene is so so important. It helps us alleviate misconceptions that have happened in the past. It also allows us to figure out why something pushes our buttons.
One activity we tried, started out great. I grew wet as need thrummed through me. My Love figured we had a winner on our hands, but about fifteen minutes into the scene there was a side effect that left me cold. As my attention was drawn away from the erotic aspect, pain became simply pain and what had been enticing just moments before was suddenly annoying as hell . He noticed immediately, but rather than completely stop the scene he rolled with it. He changed a few things and got us back on track.
Afterward when we were discussing what went wrong, his initial impression was off. He thought I was upset by the essence of the scene. If we hadn’t talked – openly and honestly – he might have taken that type of play off the table completely. I’m so glad we are able to communicate, even about the tough stuff. During our conversation, we learned a little more about what takes me deeper into the submissive zone. It’s crazy that after thirty plus years together, we’re still discovering new stuff.
Yeah, life is good.