Friday, November 29, 2013


I am at a hotel, nearby the house where I grew up, where my parents still live, actually - where my mom still lives.  My father passed away last week, or this week, time has been enormously distorted here.

We, his immediate family, spent his last 72 hours at his bedside, taking turns overnight, just being with him, talking to him, praying, blessing him, watching him struggle to breath, watching his spirit go, and then his mind, and finally his body.

We welcomed so many people who came to sit and be with him as well, or who came to lend their strength to my mother.  They sit awhile and bring a new, quiet energy, an outside breath of air. We have been swimming is such a private, intense and overwhelming sea of emotions.

They have come even after his passing.  Some to sit and visit.  Some who help with the necessary work, or the tasks we do because my mother is a doer, not a sit and just be person.

Her sister came and has stayed, her sister who has always been her advocate, with no conflicting loyalties, squarely and solidly in my mother's corner. It's a support she needs, someone to assure her needs are not ignored as she is forever, first and foremost a caregiver.

The visits, the calls, the notes and emails and relayed messages - all help buoy us, they add needed energy. This surprises me a little.  As a family of introverts, we are each accustomed to retreating and re-building ourselves.  The connections each of us has made over many years are coming back to us.

Finally our families arrived, mine and my sisters.  We are depleted and our own families renew us, strengthen us, and my mother as well - she soaks up the love from the grandchildren, the family together holiday, the full house.

Alone in the hotel room, my husband blindfolds and binds me.  I am screaming in protest in my head; this is the wrong time, i'm in no good headspace, please no.  But he uses the binds to force me to accept his touch, to allow him to hold me.  He wraps himself around me and holds on until i start to melt. Until I can let go of the control I've been holding onto so tightly.  I'm the oldest, the strong one, the one you want in a crisis, the rational decision maker.  But that's not His me.  He wants to hold His.  And so He does.

It seems odd to me that i feel compelled to write here in such a time as this.  I can't talk right now though - this allows me to measure my words, express myself without completely releasing my grip on the control i need.  And it gives me the quiet escape the introvert i am needs.

Monday, November 25, 2013

For him, at long last, peace.  

Tuesday, November 19, 2013


Every once in awhile, after - you know - he will look at me and tell me how happy he is that i'm "His kinky girl."

It makes me feel a little weird, it's not at all the same as being "His girl" - partly it's the words, suddenly Superfreak is playing in my head....

Partly it's because i think i'm the lucky one: he jumped in and ran with it when i brought him some shocking and sordid fantasies after years of very plain vanilla.  I was sure i was risking his respect and his love and our marriage revealing myself at the time.  Instead he was willing to change and explore and find a new side of himself.  I'm so grateful for that.

He has a less dramatic take on it - "You mean I get to fuck you in whichever hole, however, where ever, and when ever i want...?  Yes - you're right, you are so lucky I agreed to that"

Tuesday, November 12, 2013


He's out of town again - awhile this time

When he's gone, he asks for pictures.

I have incredibly mixed, and mixed up feelings about this.  Some of them, very negative.

I'm writing this, and i know he will read this, and i know he knows most of this, maybe all of it, but i also know he uses what i write here to gauge my mental state, get a different kind of glimpse into my brain, and there is the risk he will change his behavior based on what i write.  Or  not - no way to know.

It's taken me a long time to come to terms with being honest with him and especially how that isn't manipulation; he doesn't let me top, he does want to know what i think and feel.

I don't want to influence him to change - i want me to change

I don't like the way i look.  And that's all there is in a picture- looks - especially the kind of picture he wants.  I'm middle aged, and a real person - no airbrushing, no surgery, no artistic lighting....I'm not a girl from a magazine, or TV, and I'm definitely not a girl from porn. We'll just leave it at that - you don't need the list of how i diverge from the ideal.

Sometimes i'm happy to send pictures - happy he wants me, happy for the connection from a distance, happy he likes my looks...

Sometimes i'm not happy about it, but i will do what he wants because he wants it, and doing easy things for him isn't much, doing things that are hard because he asks - that is worth something to me.  

And sometimes it puts me in a tailspin.  

There's no way for him to know which way I'll go with it - i don't even know.

Saturday, November 2, 2013


....and how He defines them for me.

We are not deathly serious here chez nous.  We joke and tease and poke and laugh, and sarcasm is rampant.  We have always been this way.  There is a whole 'nother layer of innuendo, meaning, warning or submission between us, but no one outside the two of us would know, not even the kids.

But words have power, and lines can be crossed, even in jest, maybe especially in sarcastic joking.

"You're not the boss of me" is, as i now know, not an acceptable phrase in any tone or context.

To me it had no particular significance, just a joke; to him, it carried a great deal of weight - it was consent, and respect and choice to submit.  Now it is all those things to me as well.  Just like that.

He doesn't do punishments.  But yesterday i was subjected to treated to an entire month's worth of caning at one time.  No lead in or warm up, no manageable pace, no nice rubbing or encouraging words, though not, apparently, as hard as possible. very much had me in angry tears.  If he did punish, which he doesn't, but if he did - i have to think this is what it would feel like - physically anyhow.

But it wasn't a punishment - it was "what i needed."  Which sounds like a game of semantics, potato/potahto. Somehow he has made it clear in my head that they are different - one is what he does, one is not.  One is right for us, one is not, one is very effective, the other just not necessary.   And our structure, our dynamic flows from there.  

It was in fact what i needed. That "You're not the boss of me" came from somewhere and i did in fact need  re-arranging.  It was followed by some delicious torment with a bag full of clothespins and a pinwheel... but the delicious part wouldn't have been possible without the re-arranging first.

But before that came the words - his words - which i find i pay attention to more so than ever before.