It’s Subtle

He took my side of the bed.

Yeah, back at the very beginning.

i admit, i asked Him which side of the bed He preferred.  He told me.  It was the same side i sleep on.  Um, used to sleep on.

i figured, ok, no big deal, i’ll just switch sides when He’s here.  One or two nights a week, no big deal. 

But very quickly, what used to be my side, became His.  i started sleeping on the other side of the bed all the time.  Way before He started living here.  i’m still not sure why, i just did.  It just felt more right.

i don’t suppose He planned it, or not exactly anyhow.  He couldn’t have, right?  But it means He’s on the opposite side of anyone i’ve ever slept with before.

It’s a little thing.  Not kinky at all.  Not even submissive exactly.  Just a subtle difference in how i live.

So the other night, He says, “I was wondering what you call me, when you’re talking about me.  I mean, I know you refer to me as your Sir or your Dom in your blog, and with kinky friends.  But when you’re with your vanilla friends, what do you call me?”

i must have looked blank, because He adds, helpfully, “You know, am I your partner?   Person who lives with you?  Lover?  What do you call me?”

“O,” enlightened now, i say, “Well, sometimes partner, sometimes the person i cohabit with, sometimes my “friend”  with that little pause before friend that means “more than platonic friend.  Why?” 

He says.  “Well, from now on, in casual settings, where it’s appropriate, I want you to refer to me as ‘your old man.'”

“What??” i giggle.  “My old man?  Really?”

“Yes,” He says, with that air of calm certainty He gets.  “In casual settings, where it’s appropriate.”

“Ok,” i say with a shrug, smiling a little.

“My old man.” 

That has lots of connotations for me.  As an old hippie, it gives me a little rush of nostalgia.  We used to use that terminology ~ talking about “my old man” or “my old lady.”   i no longer have a clue why we thought it was cool.   

And of course it’s a redneck term.  Apologies to my non-American readers, or my readers in parts of the country that don’t have rednecks, but there are so many images, stereotypes, and feelings associated with it that way, i don’t even know where to start.

It’s the truck driver in his “wife-beater” t-shirt, coming home from a week on the road, happy to be back with his woman, sitting down to the biscuits and gravy she has ready.

It’s ~ o, gosh, i can’t even put it into words.  

i haven’t used it yet either ~ haven’t referred to Him as “my old man.”

And it doesn’t matter.  

It’s made me think.  Off and on, from time to time, i remember His words.  i contemplate what they mean to me.  Wonder why He chose them.  Try to imagine saying it.

Which group of my friends would it be appropriate with?

Can i pull this off without them thinking i’ve lost my mind?  What tone of voice will i use?  Can i do it so casually no one notices?  

If i say it, and they look at me, all shocked, what will i say?  Can i shrug and smile and say, “Hey, He likes to be called that,’ and laugh it off?

i know i don’t have to use it all.  He was very careful to say, “Casual setting, when appropriate.”  So i can decide it’s not the appropriate time or place for a very long time.  Maybe forever.

And i won’t do that.  

Isn’t that funny?

Sir says He wants me to call Him “my old man,” and i feel compelled to do it?  No, not compelled.  Shoot, i don’t know the right word for this either.  But i know i’ll figure out how to do it.

In the meantime, i think about it.  And maybe that’s what He really wants.   That i’m thinking about what He told me to do, and trying to figure out how to do it.

He says it’s all a challenge ~ everything is a test, to see how i react, how i handle it.  

“My old man.”  “Yeah, that’s my ole man.’  “Me and my old man went to the farm back home last week, got us some corn and a new rooster.”  “My old man, he says he’s gonna git me one of them new fancy phones someday,”  “My old man, he sure likes his dinner setting on the table ready to eat when He gits home.”  “My old man…”  It cracks me up.  

Ahhh, but i had forgotten this:

Now THAT is my old man. 

Touch

We touch often.

First hug in the morning ~ i am up, coffee’d up and ready for life ~ He comes out of the bedroom bare-chested, a little bleary-eyed, and wraps me in His arms.  

A quick caress as we pause to share a story, side by side at our computers.  He squeezes my knee, touches my shoulder.   i walk by Him and stroke His back, kiss His neck.

Coming home ~ we hug at the door, wrapping each other in welcome.

He tucks me in at night, His hands stroke my body, marking me His til morning.  My legs, my hips, my chest and shoulders, back and arms.  My breasts.  i feel His caress like a blessing.

***************************

i’ve become aware ~ intensely aware ~ that the touch can shift.   The sensual touch can become the sexual, warmth replaced by heat, tenderness moving into passion, driving me up to arousal.

I am open to Him.  

If He chooses, He can use me, however He chooses. 

****************************

This is a dangerous moment for me.  

In my first marriage, my husband would not allow me to deny him sex.  This was not consensual, this was how he was.  If i said no, he’d force me.  Not in a lovely consensual kinky sex way, but in a “i can’t believe he’s doing this too me, omigod, i feel like he’s raping me” way.

He would not touch me tenderly or lovingly ~ it might start that way, but it always quickly developed into a demand for sex.

i needed touch so badly, and sometimes would cringe when he touched me, knowing that it was always just a quick prelude to fucking me.

So it is a risky moment when Sir comes up behind me while i’m doing dishes and touches me, reaching around me to pinch my nipples.  Part of me slips into an emotional flashback, and i feel an urge to pull away, to say, “don’t touch me.  Please don’t touch me.”

i work to remind myself, that was then, this is now, it is not the same.

It really isn’t the same.  i know this.

He has not been demanding in those moments.  He hasn’t tried to push me or force me in any way.   He’s in tune with my physical responses, not oblivious to my reaction.  

Because He is gentle and aware of me, i can be open to His touch.

Lately, i’ve become more aware of my openness to him, aware that He can take me as He pleases.   It gives me a physical thrill, just the thought that at any time He could decide to use me.

And it makes me nervous.

i wanted to be open to my husband, back in the day.  But when i tried ~ well.  It wasn’t really a good idea.   It wasn’t a safe space for me to practice submission.  He wasn’t a Dominant, and He didn’t have the sense of responsibility, leadership or self-control that is necessary to be in charge. 

My Sir is a Dominant, and He is my Master.   Together, we create the space where it is safe for us to be who we are.   

i am so grateful for that.

 

Deepening Submission

It’s funny.  One day i’m thinking maybe He doesn’t really want a D/s relationship.  Then He says something, or does something, and i feel myself slip deeper into being submissive.  Like the gears just turned.

Sometimes, they turn a couple of notches.

Wednesday night, we were going to play ~ and we did ~ but  had to wait until the young relative who was cutting the grass got finished.  Sir thought it would be unseemly for me to be tied up naked in the basement, in case he wanted to say hi to me.

So Sir and i sat at the kitchen table and talked ~ which was its own kind of D/s play. 

He had been thinking.  He had made notes.  

Yikes.

He asked me questions.  Some of them made me blush.  He thought that was delightfully amusing, and enjoyed making it happen again.

He shared His thoughts.

He thinks i need a ball and chain.

No, seriously.

He wants to make a rope attachment to fasten it to my ankle, He likes that better than chains.  And that way, He says, He can set me down somewhere and know i’ll stay put.

He’s still designing it in His mind, but i won’t be surprised if i have something like that when we go to COPE.

Then He talks about positions.

He is thoughtful and practical.  He gently points out that neither of us are as limber and agile as we may once have been.  He wants to know what kinds of positions i think are practical and realistic.  

This conversation makes me blush some more.  And, ok, it makes me wet too.  

So i am turned on, and blushing, and maybe giggling.  But He is persistent.  

And now i have positions.  Four of them.

Later that night, He has me demonstrate them.  This is more difficult than i thought it would be ~ not physically, but with an edge of humiliation that i had not quite expected.

As you might expect, that makes me hot too.   

On Thursday, He tells me that i am to practice the positions.  He says there are four things i need to think about while i’m doing it.

And that’s when it really happens.  i thought i was moving deeper into submission all along, but this undoes me completely.  

It’s not what He says.  

Well, maybe it’s partly what He says.

His words make it clear that the point of having positions is to keep my focus on being open to Him.  Open to His gaze, His touch.

Being available to Him.  

Being pleasing to Him.  

And increasing my awareness of ways that i can be more, do more of those things.

The way He says it makes me realize that this is for real.  

And that moves me out of the realm of blushes and giggles, into the realm of throbbing hotness and ~

~ the sense of opening.  The moment of fluid receptivity that opens and fills my heart and feeds my soul.

************************

On a whole different note, big happenings in the kink world Where-i-Live.  To find out more, check out Ms. Constance’s page here.  i’ll write about it some other day.

Ooops

i had a bunch of half-formed ideas for a post today ~

 ~ something about how glad i am that i did so much work on my “not good enough” feelings before i met Sir ~

 ~ something about the kinky meeting we went to last night ~

 ~ something about my daughter and her family leaving the country next week.   How the months of reminding myself “there’s no point in feeling bad about it now” are over.  Now is the time to feel bereft.~

 ~ and maybe something about how it feels as my submission to my Sir deepens and grows, as His dominance becomes more clear.  

But ~ oops ~ it’s time for me to go do my volunteer gig.  So all that will have to wait…

Good Enough?

My friend Sfp posted an article about “being judged” yesterday.  If you haven’t already read it, it’s here.  

Being judged as a foster parent by Child Protective Services, like Sfp was, is a special kind of judgment.   Fortunately,  i’m not likely to have to worry about that one, being through with child-rearing years ago.  But her post made me think about being “good enough.”

i’ve said before on here that by my father’s standards, i was only ever as good as my next accomplishment.  He always said i could do anything i wanted to do, and nothing i did was ever enough to feel good about.

My mother, for all her other strengths and wisdom, was a perfectionist.   By her standards, only an A+ was really acceptable.  

She was more affirming than my Dad, but she drove herself hard with constant evaluation of what she’d done and an ongoing search for  how she could do it better next time.  She expected no less of me. 

Rather than being inspired by all this, i decided that it was ok to embrace failure.  i used to say that when i died, i wanted my tombstone to read:

Failed to Live Up to

Early Potential

i can laugh about it now.  But that was the theme song of my school years ~ “She could do really well if she’d just apply herself.”  and  “She’s not living up to her potential.”

Quietly stubborn, i was.

i give you all that as background.  

When i read Sfp’s post yesterday, the memory of those years flooded me.  i remember the deep sense of inadequacy that i often felt.

And the memories are in stark contrast to my experience in the D/s world, where the expectations can be simple and concrete.  Where the directions are clear and the “Good Girl” is attainable.

No profound commentary on that today.  i just noticed it.

And wondered a little bit.

Lots of potential for healing in the BDSM world.

Wednesday Night

i know i won’t have time to write anything in the morning, i have to be somewhere at 8, and we have plans for tonight that may keep me up late.

Yes.

Those kinds of plans.

He texted me about 4:00 to tell me He’d be home about 7:00 and that i should eat before He gets here.  i’ve been doing an on-line training ~ vocational, not kink ~ all day, and my brain is half-fried, but i know what that means.

That means, in our own secret code language, that He has an intense night planned.  i think having dinner with me distracts him from whatever diabolical plan He’s cooked up.  At least, that’s how it seems to work.

Later, He texts not to worry about what to wear.  He has it covered.

i have no idea what that means, but i reply, “Yes, Sir.”  

Still later, He says, “White panties.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

And 20 minutes later, “And heels.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Coffee ready would be nice, but not necessary.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Training completed.  Showered and shaved.  

Clothes in the washer, so i’ll have something to wear tomorrow.  Have some dishes to throw in the dishwasher ~ ok, not throw  Gently place.

Have to do my hair.  Pick my heels.  

By the time you read this, i’ll already know what happened when He came home.

Maybe i’ll tell you about it!

Let’s hope it doesn’t involve nipple reattachment surgery…  maybe i should have the ice bag ready to put the nipple in?

🙂

Relationships, Kink and More

A friend of mine posted a link on facebook to this article.  The author, who is male, talks about the five ways our culture teaches men to hate women.

It’s a fairly intense article, and kind of left me feeling down.  But Sir and i had a long conversation about it Sunday morning as we were drinking coffee and getting ready for another day, and that shifted my thinking and led to a conversation with Ms. Constance Sunday night, and i ended up feeling much better.

Essentially, i think that relationships between men and women are evolving, unevenly and in painful jolts, but heading for some new ways of us being with each other.  At one time ~ think pioneer days ~ men and women couldn’t survive, couldn’t raise a family, without each other.  It took both of them to do all the chores of farming and hunting and making soap and dying wool and feeding babies and so on and on and on… a never ending stream of physical demands on their time and energy.

Obviously, that’s no longer the case.  We can actually survive without each other, on that level, just fine.  i may have added real coffee to Sir’s life, and the grass in our yard is green again because He waters it, but neither of us would have died without those changes.

i think some women have been more excited about the possibilities in this than some men.  i think some men feel like they’ve lost some entitlements.  

It often seems to me that women have adapted to the changes in gender roles than men have.  Maybe the changes have been more obviously to our benefit, at least in some ways.

But i don’t think that women don’t need men.  i think we do, just not so much for survival as we used to.  i like to think them men want women for something beyond sex and housework.

Sir says that the male drive toward wanting sex is like wanting anything real badly.  Like if you really want a boat, and you’d do anything to have one, you just want to know what you have to do to get the boat.

And if you have a boat, you want someone to drive it.  So to speak.

So He says sex, random sex, is like taking a boat out on a lake.  You can have a good time, but all you’re doing is going round and round, you don’t actually get anywhere.

He says part of maturity is recognizing that you actually want to plan the boat trip.  That the boat owner has to be involved, and you might want to take it out on a river, create a journey that goes somewhere.

We talked a lot about maturity, and the lack of initiation rites for young men, the lack of role models to teach them how to be men.

That always makes me think about the book Wild at Heart.   John Eldridge, the author, says that one of the things boys need is an answer to the question “Am I man enough?”   Eldridge says, and I agree, that they need a man to answer that question.

I can say, “Yes, you are, of course you are,” all day long, and it does not, will not, give a man the answer he needs.

Anyhow, i digress, a little bit.  i think it builds some resentment, though, in some men, when they “take the question to the woman,” as Eldridge says, and then don’t feel satisfied.  i think that some men think that access to sex ~ getting the boat ~  will make them feel like a man, only of course that doesn’t really do it either.

i hate the idea of a man trying to figure out what i want – dinner, flowers, promises of marriage – so he can give it to me so i’ll fuck him.  Ugh.

It makes me feel like the only part of me that exists for him is between my legs.  My “boat” if you will.  And that i can’t trust him, because he’ll lie or do anything to get to drive my boat.  So to speak.

For me, part of the beauty of kink is that the negotiations are different.   For me, kink says, “Hell yeah, you can drive my boat.  Don’t bother with the flowers.  But you have to actually see me.  All of me, not just the sexual part.”

i think Doms welcome that.  i think they want to see ~ and be seen.

i think BDSM relationships are setting new standards for ways we relate to each other.  Ms. Constance, when we were chatting at the munch,  said  the same thing.  We had worked in spirituality too, and the element of spiritual growth through TTWD.

Then, she quoted someone else, whose name i should have written down.  She said that he thinks BDSM is the next step in evolving relationships between men and women.

That means instead of being messed up and abnormal, we’re actually on the cutting edge of relationship wellness.   Interesting idea, isn’t it?

And here’s the link to the article:

** http://www.cracked.com/article_19785_5-ways-modern-men-are-trained-to-hate-women.html

Sir Goes Shopping

We were having vegetarian pot pie for dinner last night ~ yes, i cooked, i do occasionally ~ and i was glad that i didn’t put it in the oven before Sir got home, because He was running a little late.

He comes in carrying a plastic shopping bag and looking quite pleased.  “I went to the Dom store on the way home,” He says.

i smile,  “Yeah?  What’dya get?”  i know He means the hardware store, so i don’t quite know what to expect.

“Look!” He says, pulling it out of the package.  “I’ve been wanting one of these for a long time!  And it was on sale today.”

 
“What is it?” i ask.

“It’s a LOCK,” He says.  “A big padlock.  I’ve been wanting one for that rope collar you wear sometimes.  There’s a smaller one I was looking at, this one’s kind of big, but it was on sale.”  He grins.  “And I think it will create some  ~” he hesitates ~ “some sensation for you when you wear it.”

i can only nod.  “i’m sure it will.”  i imagine the weight of it around my neck.  Yikes.

He unwraps it.

It is big.  And shiny.

“It’s going to look great!” He says.  “Look.  Let me get that collar and I’ll show you.”

Yes, i have to agree, it t does look nice, doesn’t it?

“And,” He says, “It’s really going to look good when you wear it to the munch!  Don’t you think?”

i’m smiling, “Um, yes.  Yes, Sir, it certainly will.”

“Here,” He says, “Let’s try it on.”

He puts the collar around my neck.  Attaches the padlock.

Locks it.

Settles it gently on my chest.  It rests on my skin like it belongs there.

“That looks great!” He says.  “I really like it.”

i do too.  There is something intensely sensual about it.

i’m totally aware of it.  It’s heavy.  He says it doesn’t even weigh a pound, and He’s probably right, but it’s heavy.  We talk about how heavy it really is.

He says,”If I put THAT on the chain between your nipple clamps then you’d really think it was heavy.”

Wide-eyed at the very idea, i say, “Ho-ney!  That’s kinda, gosh, that’s kinda mean, isn’t it?  For you?  Sir?  It’s really heavy!”

He says, “Well, I’ve been hanging rings on the chain.  I could do it with this too.”

I say, “Hon-ey!  It would pull the nipple clamp off for sure!”

“No, I don’t think it would,” He says.

“Yes, it would,” i insist.

“Not if I put it on tight enough,” He says.

i’m walking out of the room towards the study, looking for my glasses, and on the way out of the kitchen, i say, “I don’t think so.  I bet you couldn’t  put clamps on tight enough that this padlock wouldn’t pull them off!”

He says, with just a hint of laughter in His voice, “Really?  I bet I can.”

i freeze in mid-step.   O.  Shit.  What did i just say??  Damn.  Can i take it back?

Too late.  i turn to look at Him, see His grin.  

Challenge accepted.  

i just don’t know when the games will begin.

 

A Ritual, i Suppose

i always say that Sir doesn’t have routines or rituals for me.  Or rules, for that matter.

Of course, there’s the little matter of the white shirt that is my responsibility now, and ‘Nilla describes it in a comment that i love.  In case you missed it, she says:

“I love the idea of him ordering that the care of it come from your own hands. How, as you take the time and effort, the touching, and all the symbolism of that shirt…you will inevitably be drawn into memories of it, and anticipations for it.

it’s swooningly D/s romantic.

You’ll iron the collar, and imagine his hands tugging it open to fasten your rope collar around your throat. You’ll press the sleeves, and remember the tingle in your fingers when you roll them up in preparation, to make them the right length for your arms, yet knowing they cradled his.

It is a wonderful ritual of caring, first, and the way he weaves himself into your thoughts as you take care of this shirt…it’s brilliant, and beautiful. Aisha? It’s a story, writ in cotton. That just makes me smile.”

i think that’s beautifully said ~ thank you, ‘Nilla.   

And now there is that little rule about having self-induced orgasms in a different room in the house each time.  i’ve only used His bathroom and ~ unthinkingly ~ the bedroom, and o, yeah, the living room, so far.  i’m limited to the study, the kitchen and my bathroom to choose from next.  And the basement.  

But before all that, there was coffee.

i get up before Sir.  And i make coffee, because i drink it.  i make enough for Him because anything else would be ridiculous, right? So i barely count this as a ritual.  But ~

i grind the coffee beans myself, because i like fresh ground coffee.  i add zero calorie Torani sugar-free vanilla flavoring to mine, because i’ve gotten addicted to it.  i do a half cup of coffee and  half milk.  i froth the milk because it makes it festive, and with my handy-dandy milk frother, it’s easy enough to do. 

So i already have this elaborate coffee ritual going on.   i grind the beans, brew the coffee, doctor mine up…  

Sir’s coffee is easy.  Coffee, a full cup, two sweet-and-lows, and a healthy dollop of non-fat half and half.  Don’t ask me how half-and-half can be non-fat, but that’s what it says on the carton.

It’s not something He mandated, i didn’t have to make His, he didn’t mandate it, or request it.  i just started doing it.

Occasionally, i’m not there, and  i know He’s capable of fixing His own coffee.  Well, i fix the actual coffee.  And put His cup next to the coffee maker.  With two little sweet and low packets next to it.  And a spoon.  

But if i weren’t there to do that, He would still have coffee. 

Um, i think.

Although.

Now that i think about it, before we started living together, He would just fix Himself instant coffee.  {shudder}

So it’ll be interesting to see what He does next month when i’m gone for 10 days.  

But it’s definitely a ritual, fixing His coffee, and taking it to Him.  i enjoy doing it a lot.

And i have a feeling there will be other things as we go along.

Bondage Movies

Last night, Sir told me He had downloaded some movie on bondage that He thought i’d like.  i thought that sounded pretty good.

i fixed us a lovely summer meal.  Salad, green beans, corn on the cob, cantaloupe and watermelon.   It was colorful, and pretty, and tasted good, and Sir liked it a lot, which made me feel good.

Then we got sidetracked.  He is trying to fix His Grandmother’s clock.  It will run, but it’s not chiming.  The chimes work, they just don’t work without Him starting them, which kind of defeats the purpose of a clock.

i’m working on a website, trying to figure out what i need to do to get pictures i can {legally} download that meet my needs and aren’t too expensive.  Ok, that are cheap.  i can find all kinds of “free images” websites, and browse through a zillion pictures that aren’t what i’m looking for, and then find what i want on the same site, but it’s $7.00 to download, and anyhow… it’s kind of frustrating.

So i’m about to sign up for one site that was cheap but not free when Sir comes in and wants to know what i’m doing, and why can’t i find pictures for free?   So He gets on His computer, which is right next to me, and starts looking.

Pretty soon, He realizes that it’s not as easy as He thought, but then He’s looking at pictures in the archives of the Library of Congress, which are also not what i need, and i’m still rooting through websites with images to download, and feeling incredibly frustrated, and thinking that there is not going to be any kink tonight because i’m way too cranky to be interested, and then ~

He leaves the room for a few minutes.

When He comes back, He steps up behind me and quickly encircles my neck in a collar.

It is not the leather collar, it is a heavy rope one He’s made.  It has a metal clasp in the front, that makes that lovely “snick” sound when He latches it.

Immediately, the website and images to download  begin to slip away.

i turn off my computer.  It’s gone.

i turn my attention to Him.

Effortlessly, seamlessly, i slip from the mundane to the world of submission.

He has all of my attention.

The nipple clamps up the ante just a bit.

The presence of the wooden spoon.  O, my.

He strokes me with it.   Like a promise, it lies between us.

We watch the movie ~ well, parts of the movie.  Bondage scenarios, about 6 different ones, but there is a lot more licking and sucking and fucking then there is bondage-ing.

As i’m watching, i think about the discussions about porn, about how i feel about it.

Watching porn turns me on, in the sense of making me wet.   D/s turns me on mentally and emotionally, and makes me wet.  So i’d enjoy the first part of each of these little half hour segments ~ the tying her up, spanking, whatever dominance stuff was going on.  Then it would become all sex.

AND not just sex but lots of shifting the cock from pussy to ass and back to pussy or mouth to ass and back to mouth and really ~ i’m not a prude or anything, but you need to wash in-between.  Really.

Plus, that gets kind of boring for me pretty quickly.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, suck, fuck, suck, fuck, o, yeah, baby…  ok, move on.

In one of them, she has to get permission for an orgasm, and He keeps turning her down, so that’s pretty hot.  But otherwise, that part of it just doesn’t touch me emotionally or mentally.  Still makes me wet though.

The movie is clearly D/s though, so that was good.   Clearly consensual, even in the context of the story, which makes me happy.  And with a D/s theme to each segment.

AND the women’s bodies are realistic.  The first one is Rubenesque.  The last one is so skinny she’s almost boyish.  And there’s a full range in between.  That’s good too.

So we watch, and critique, and fast forward through the parts we don’t like.  {REALLY, they need to wash in between!!}

We miss most of the last one though.  By that time, we are through watching and have moved into our own action movie.

Smiling… and since i’m still researching that “having an orgasm right before going to sleep makes me sleep well” theory, i can just say that so far the results are consistently positive.