I Know


A midday surprise delivery by the most amazing man I know. The ‘I know’ gets me every time. It’s lovely to see or hear ‘I love you, too’ and feel the reciprocated love in those words….but the ‘I know’ tells me, every time, that my behavior and words and actions all show him how much he means to me. He knows, and that makes my heart so very full.

I know, too.

My Lens

M and I are going on an overnight getaway this weekend to this amazing old barn from the 1800’s that’s been converted into a cabin in the country. There isn’t anything nearby and we weren’t looking for a getaway with lots of things to do; we were looking for a fairly secluded place where we could just be. I love the kinky fuckery, but take that away, and there’s still a freedom to just be that exists when we are alone. No little ears listening, no little eyes watching, no weight of daily responsibility. Just us. We can focus on just enjoying one another, however that plays out.

The last few days, M has been teasing me a bit and eluding to some fun things he’s going to do, and my anticipation is almost overwhelming, but not all of what he’s eluded to is overtly sexual. A few months ago, I shared that he had me buy a corset for him because he thinks they’re sexy, but also because he wanted to see in me a confidence he thought I might feel if I put one on and displayed myself for him. In heels and stockings, with painted nails and make-up, as he’d asked, all for him. Except, even with all that on, it was the most nervous and exposed and bare I’d ever felt, truly on display for him. What an unbelievably small and vulnerable feeling, dressing up for him, in this body I don’t always love. But, that look in his eyes when I entered the room was something I’d not seen before. It was desire and passion and pride…..and something else. A light and excitement in his eyes, in his posture, and a visible knowledge behind it all, that I am his. It’s difficult to describe just how much I felt like I belonged to him in that moment. And the moments that followed, as he moved me into positions and looked through his lens….at me. With a smile on his face and a hunger in his eyes. For me. Wow.

It’s not as if he’s never looked at me hungrily or with passion or pride, it’s that in this incredibly vulnerable state, he used his hands and words to move me where he wanted me. My body and my will were his, completely, to do with as he chose, and his desire was to capture those moments in time, FOREVER. No silly feeling, staged pictures – true expressions genuinely made in the moment, reactions and responses to him, in control of me, an endless loop of lead and follow unlike anything we’d experienced before, not like this. Surrender and control in its purest form. All captured on film, forever.

Tomorrow, he’ll be taking photos again. In front of his lens, I’ll be his, however he wishes me to be, and he’ll be mine, my lens.

With You

Pour yourself into me
Splash me with your touch
Make my skin ripple and peak
Create waves love

Melt your body into mine
Drip over skin and page 
Stoke my flame, feed the fire
Let the inferno rage

Scribble over me your will
Stipple me with your tongue
I am your blank canvas
Two mediums meld as one

Compose with me a symphony
Whispers and moans our verse
The thwack and slap our melody
Our bodies entwined the chorus

Lose yourself in me, Sir
Your instinct as your guide
Take me, I am willing prey, Sir
With you, I no longer hide

What I Asked For…

Despite my colossal fuck up last week, I have been doing a better job asking for help, in being specific in describing the need so M and I can talk through a way to have it met. The way in which this has evolved over time is amazing to me, the way in which we’ve become more skillful at playing to one another’s strengths and helping/encouraging where there are weaknesses in order to deepen our communication.

The other night, I’d been anxious and worrying about a few things – an issue with my mom, M’s doctor appointment, some difficult things regarding my job – and I’d been trying to keep my mind off of the worries by being a little silly and ornery….which is really just attention seeking and being playfully challenging. A little of that is fun and M loves it, but I was beginning to approach the line. I stopped, told M what was on my mind and asked him for help.

So, how did this talkative, slightly OCD, symmetry loving girl end up ball gagged with chopsticks on only her right nipple? Sometimes, the help is offered in a way I’d not considered…..but it’s precisely what I’d needed. I wasn’t able to talk in circles and the chopsticks kept me off balance, instantly connected to him and following his every lead. All those worries and the anxiety faded away.

The next day, he helped me talk it all through. Then, he grabbed my left breast, squeezed it, and said, “Aww, do you feel left out?”, as he laughed. See why I love him?

Only Then…..

Lying with her cheek flat on the gray sheet and her body curled into itself, the weight of multiple blankets did very little to ease the biting cold coursing through her veins. She could feel the coolness of the air as it entered through her nostrils, exhaling like a wave of summer heat, and she knew her skin was on fire. She wasn’t even sure if her eyes were open or closed or how much time had passed and she didn’t care. She only wanted him.

She knew there wasn’t anything he could do to make it all go away, but that didn’t matter. What she needed was his penetrating warmth, the feeling of his arms around her, assuring her it was all going to be okay. She needed his strong hands lifting her head to drink the water, and his guidance in helping to remember when to take the medicine. But, most of all, she desperately needed his presence. Him, in the room, with her. Only then could she let it all go, only then could she let herself be small and sick and so very vulnerable. Only then could she rest.

Learning and Unlearning

From our beginning, M and I have always communicated. We’ve not always done it enough, appropriately, or effectively, but our willingness to keep at it has been our foundation. It’s the reason we’ve been able to travel this journey at all.

As we’ve traveled, M and I have had to unlearn just as much as we’ve had to learn. Some of the ways in which we used to respond to one another or attempt to meet the other’s needs were based on assumptions, unrealistic expectations, or on communications made behind the security of a wall, not yet able to be fully vulnerable, maybe even to ourselves. This open honesty we have now is still challenged with old ways of thinking at times, forcing us to communicate and unlearn as we learn.

Recently, I’ve been ill. I came down with the worst case of step throat I’ve ever had; it’s the sickest I’ve been in years. My throat was a little sore on Sunday and my temperature began to rise in the evening, remaining very high all night long, despite taking meds. By Monday morning, I knew I needed to see the doc and I called off of work for the second time in 11 years – I’m just never this sick. M got the girls ready for school, then he headed to work and I went to the doc. Here’s the thing….I felt horrible. Every muscle and joint hurt, my throat hurt so badly I could barely speak or swallow, and the thought of driving and going to the doc made me want to cry….but I said nothing. I didn’t ask M for his help. I didn’t tell M I needed him.

After the doc, I called M like he’d asked me to, and told him I had a severe case of strep. He asked me to rest and said he’d check in with me later. Here’s the thing….I was feeling worse and worse and my fever just wouldn’t stay down very long. I didn’t want to drive to get my prescription, walk through the store, go home and get all my shit in order so I could rest….but I said nothing. I didn’t ask M for his help. I didn’t tell M I needed him. I picked up my meds, went home, and went right to bed, where I remained. All morning, my fever would go down for a short while, then spike very high and stay. I just couldn’t get it to go down.

After lunchtime, I hadn’t heard from M so I texted him, asking him to bring me some Tylenol, because the ibuprofen alone wasn’t working. I told him I was cold and just couldn’t manage the fever. He told me he’d bring it home and asked me to rest. Here’s the thing….I’d laid there for hours, miserable, unable to get the fever to go down, freezing and feeling too terrible to even get up…..but I didn’t specifically ask him for help right away. I didn’t tell him I needed him to come home, that I didn’t want to be alone. When he did arrive home from work later in the day, he brought me the Tylenol and checked on me. My fever was 103.7. I took some of the Tylenol and he left me to rest so he could take care of dinner and things with the girls, then try to fix the washer. E, my youngest, checked on me for a couple hours while he worked. When he’d finished, M came back to check on me and tell me he’d tabled the washer repair until I felt better. My temperature had finally gone down some, so I went downstairs to try to eat some soup, but it drained me and soon thereafter I needed to go back to bed. All day long, all I wanted was M, and I just wish I’d had the courage to tell him, so I finally decided to take a chance and ask for what I wanted – I asked M if he’d come tuck me in for a minute. He told me he’d just thought of one thing he didn’t try on the washer, that it wouldn’t take too long, and then he’d be up. I said okay, went to lie down, and cried.

Last night, M and I talked this all through. From his perspective, he’d just wanted to give me space and let me rest so I’d get better, which is precisely the outward impression I’d have given him in the past, but inside I’d be screaming for his care and presence and attention…..HOPING he’d just want to do all those things I needed and wanted from him on his own. Except, that’s what I did on this occasion too. I’d hoped or expected him to know and want to care for me in the ways I wanted and needed, without me telling him what I wanted or needed.

I’m still learning to ask for what I need when I need it, while unlearning all those ass backward ways of thinking that makes it feel weak or leaves me fearful of rejection, because I do need him, desperately. I don’t need things, or distance, or grand gestures. I just need M, his time and care, guidance and protection. M is still learning to recognize my needs at times, while unlearning all those ways I’d taught him I was strong enough not to need him, or didn’t tell him I needed to need him. We are adjusting and evolving and fine tuning, realistically and honestly. Learning and unlearning and relearning. Here’s the thing….all of those things are necessary growing pains. 

Small and Safe

M has always been a demonstrative man, always expressive and giving hugs, holding my hand, sitting near me, putting his arm around me. For years, I shrugged it away. I wanted it so badly, needed it even, but needing it made me feel something I wasn’t ready or able to feel. I needed to feel worthy of the affection, as if I brought something equal to the table. I needed to feel safe, but I wouldn’t allow myself to trust enough to do so. Many times, I deflected his expressions of affection, pushed him away, and even made him feel bad for bothering or interrupting me. Or, even worse, sent him mixed messages by telling him he should have shown affection when I’d pushed him away a million times before. I just wasn’t in a place to allow myself the vulnerability to communicate openly and honestly quite yet. Not at the level to which I needed to do so.

The more I let go and the more vulnerable I am, the more he takes control, the more we fit, filling in all the spaces left by the other. He allows me to feel small, with his words and his actions….a feeling I’ve never felt before, not in this context. I’ve felt small, but small in the way that I mattered. Small, as in lesser. Never small AND equal. Small and valued. Small and protected and safe.

His Reminders

Today, my ass is well marked. Nothing reminds me of M, that I belong to him, quite like a sore ass. The way the fabric of my panties rubs the stingy skin, the more deeply tender parts that give me pause as I sit or brush up against something, the rhythmic ache as it moves with each foot strike on the ground as I run – each bringing a smile to my face, a flash of remembrance as I recall the strikes, the sound of his voice and the implement on my skin. The knowledge that I am HIS.

This marking I bear is something deeper. This particular marking was a deeper communication from M. He has a leg and hip injury that pains him daily. It has required many surgeries and there will be more to come. It’s something we deal with in our daily lives, something that requires a great deal of communication and trust. I worry about him, it’s my nature, but he doesn’t want me to fuss about it. He wants me to trust he’ll do what he can do and communicate if he cannot or needs help with something, or that he’ll direct our sexual experiences according to how his body feels and not hurt himself. I do my very best to honor his wishes, but I worry and he knows it. Recently, his hip and leg were hurting very badly, and he communicated that to me, a reminder to us that a surgery isn’t too far off, and we both cried. It is so difficult to see his pain, both physical and emotional. I absorb it; I want to take it away. I know it effects him, I see it. I feel it. Isn’t that what we do when we love someone so absolutely?

On Sunday evening, the day after that talk, he gave me directions to wait for him, then used our oak cane. Swift and hard, side to side. He listened to my gasps and low moans with each strike. He watched by body and its responses to him, pushing me further. Then, he spoke to me as he struck, showing me how he could stand this way, or sit that way, and still use that cane, even if he had a surgery. Even if he were in a wheelchair. With decisive strikes, ones that drew a hissing intake of air, causing me to hold my breath, he showed me, over and over. Until, in my ear, he said, “I’m not broken.” Upstairs, he did the same thing – with fists and grabs, pulls and grasps, positions and directions, he fucked me silly, showing and telling me he could and would be just fine, no matter the circumstance. He ended behind me, his hips pressing onto those fresh marks he’d made. I was so moved, all I could do was thank him and hold him. The WHOLE M. We talked the next day and I know those marks were to be my reminder that not only do I belong to him, but that he is NOT broken. And I need not forget it, that I must trust.

Two days later, on Tuesday, we had some last minute alone time. On top of those lingering cane marks, he used the belt. The thwack of leather over those cane marks was something I’d daydreamed about. It was unbelievable – one of the most intense sexual experiences we’ve ever had. He did many things, but he did not fuck me or direct me to pleasure him. I believe I was meant to remember not to worry about his body, to just let go and trust his choices. Again, I was left with lovely marks as my reminder. He lovingly massaged lotion over them and caressed them. The next evening, M had me lie down and he massaged them again, right before he had his way with me, from behind, his weight on those marks.

Yesterday evening, as I was cooking dinner, he swatted my ass, thoroughly enjoying the slight discomfort paired with they joy on my face. Later, as he was between my legs, he leaned side to side so he could squeeze and run his fingers over my ass, mixing the sting and dull ache with the pleasure he was orchestrating. Clearly, he was communicating, “Mine,” but he was saying something more.

My M seems to feel some deeper ownership of those marks, of my ass……of me. It’s a confidence in himself and in us that transends any fear and worry about his health, meant to remind us both that this is what it is, no matter the circumstance. We are solid.

I love you, M. Thank you for the reminders.