How’d they know? Was it the way I was sitting?
Medical shears, a vibrator, a suction cup dildo, a silver wire choker, and a tens unit – those are our most recent purchases from Amazon. Going to the actual sex shop here is something M and I like to do together occasionally (ours is awesome), but ordering from Amazon is usually much more time and cost effective. And who doesn’t like getting kinky shit in the mail?? In two days?!?! It’s also fun to have a running ‘Save for Later’ shopping cart full of fun ideas, right?
But, are we the only ones whose ‘Inspired By Your Shopping Trends’, ‘More Top Picks for You’ and ‘Related to Items You’ve Viewed’ (yikes!!) lists are NSFW? And certainly not safe for kids!
Oh, and just because we bought Ben Wa balls and anal beads doesn’t mean we want the yoga ball with the giant dick attached to it, but thanks anyway Amazon.
“Dear Mr. Vernon:
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us… In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain… …and an athlete… …and a basket case… …a princess… …and a criminal. Does that answer your question?”
~The Breakfast Club
In my need to understand my self and my relationship, there’s this question I’ve asked myself for a long while. I wrote about it recently…..am I a masochist? And along with that were a host of others about myself and about M, ones which have prompted so many discussions between us. We’ve learned so much about ourselves and one another. Even though I’ve accepted this part of me, I keep getting hung up on the label.
Labels are useful. They help us to define/describe, identify, locate, and relate things. Yet, with people, most of us aren’t the totality of one label. We cannot be reduced to fitting into the confines of just one. We are many things, bits of this and that, an amalgam of characteristics and traits, which is ever-changing.
I am many things. I am not many things. I am some of this thing and lots of that thing. Sometimes it depends on the day or the circumstance, my mood or my hormones. Some things will always be the same about me, while others will change and evolve. Either way, I have a need to understand myself. I have a need to understand my relationships and do the best I can to understand and truly see the people I love.
This is what I’ve come to understand: Maybe I’m no masochist and he’s no sadist. Maybe I’m HIS masochist and he’s MY sadist. Maybe I am masochistic and he’s sadistic. Maybe it’s all semantics and words.
Maybe it doesn’t matter at all, because no matter how simple or complex, we see and accept and love the other for who and what we are. And what we are is perfect for each other…..this ever-evolving US.
Our home is a small split level. The upstairs is 6 stairs up from the main level and our bedroom is 6 stairs down. Every evening, I head up those 6 stairs to tuck in the girls and then take a shower. I go back down the stairs to the living room to sit by M’s chair where we hang out before he goes up to take his shower, which doesn’t take long at all.
As soon as M heads for those 6 stairs for his shower, I pick up the last things that need tidying, then head to our room down 6 stairs. Once I get there, I may sit or lie on the bed, read for a minute, or fidget about the room. I can hear M turn off the shower, if I’m paying attention. I can hear him walking around above me, if I’m aware. I’m able to hear the bathroom door open and the sound of the bathroom fan get louder for a second before he flips off the switch and turns toward the stairs, if I listen. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. Doesn’t matter, really, because I usually keep doing whatever I was doing. Until.
About 2 seconds later his foot hits the first of those 6 stairs down to the main level. I know there’s only 5 left, then he’ll turn the corner and make fast work of the 6 stairs down to me……THAT’S when I get my ass moving. I hurry to turn and flip on the lamp on the nightstand if I haven’t already, which is usually. If I’d been chilly, I quickly untie and fling off my robe. I scoot down to or hop onto the end of the bed and kneel for him before he makes it all the way down.
Because that’s the rule. I need to have the lamp on and be kneeling and waiting when he enters the room.
Yesterday evening, when he reached the bottom of the stairs, M sauntered over to me with his head cocked to the side, eyes playfully searing, and a grin on his face. Just as I was expected to be, I was kneeling on the edge of the bed, the edge I’d made it to with 3 stairs to spare, thank you very much. Still grinning, he looked me in the eyes and said, “I love to hear you scurrying.” And I blushed! “You love to hear me scurrying?,” I asked, feeling instantly smaller. “Yeah, I love to listen to you scurry around as I’m coming down the stairs,” he reiterated again, enveloping me in a hug, both of us giggling.
As I laid there in his arms trying to sleep, that phrase he spoke tumbled around in my head for over an hour. M loves to listen to me scurry around to prepare as he’s descending the stairs. He loves knowing that there’s this bit of ornery in me that keeps me from just preparing when I get down there and kneeling the entire time and waiting patiently. He loves to listen to the sound of me stopping whatever I wanted to do and hurrying to please him, to follow his rule.
M loves that I will scurry, for him. I love that he loves my scurrying.
1. Psychiatry. a person who has masochism, the condition in which sexual or other gratification depends on one’s suffering physical pain or humiliation.
2. a person who is gratified by pain, degradation, etc., that is self-imposed or imposed by others.
3. a person who finds pleasure in self-denial, submissiveness, etc.
I’m a masochist.
It’s taken me two years to say those words out loud, to truly accept this part of me and fully embrace it. In fact, just the other day, I told M I had something to tell him. I knelt in front of him and told him, “I am a masochist,” to which he replied, “You’re just now figuring that out?”
I knew he knew, but I needed to say it aloud. I needed him to know I’ve embraced it, and thank him for embracing it too, for embracing all the parts of me that have come to fruition because of this relationship we have.
We’ve actually endlessly spoken about it. About everything, really, that’s all we do now. As much as we’ve talked about it and I began to accept it, there’s been this tiny space inside of me that has felt shame and guilt. Worry, even.
Much of my internal turmoil has centered around the why and the how. Why do I enjoy it so much? What do I gain? Is the why healthy? How does it apply or extend outside the bedroom?….and….how far will it go?
These questions have seemed to not be limited to the bedroom. They are not limited solely to BDSM or sex. Masochism to me is more than finding gratification in pain, although my body’s response and the pleasure I feel are undeniable. It’s an intensely spiritual extension of my surrender. In order to surrender, M must want to lead and receive my offering. That is where the worry came in.
M is not a sadist. He finds no joy in the singular act of inflicting pain, so communication has been the single most important tool we have. He enjoys the total, dynamic experience, the arousal and connectedness, being the orchestrator and conductor, being in control and the building of trust. My first hurdle was trusting he was doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and not doing things just for me…..and then truly letting go. I had to allow him to lead and receive my offerings, in his way, on his time, both in the bedroom and out. He flourished, and so did I.
But along the way, I’ve also worried because this need in me to give of myself to him is so BIG. It drives me. In the bedroom, it’s so easily exposed. Raw, even, more so than any other place. It’s as if we strip down to nothing and everything and it’s all there to intertwine with the other. I give and he takes. He gives and I take. And on and on, until we are more than we were before. When we push and go further, into one another.
When we come together, when M is orchestrating, there’s this otherworldly zone I reach. It’s a deeply inward, sinking and soul-searching place I reach when I’m pushed, when our trust is expanded and deepened. That feeling is what I crave, and it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s reached always with pain. My body is screaming ‘fuck, fuck, fucking fuck that hurts’ or ‘oh, my God, I don’t think I can do it’ but my brain is saying ‘ahhhhhhh’ and eventually the challenge and ahh meld into this peaceful place of offering and total surrender. The challenge becomes the ahh. It is the pleasure and the fulfillment. That’s been scary at times, but that trust we build is so unbeleivable. I just want more, I want to give more.
And there are those things he asks of me, things he wants or desires which I know he knows are most challenging for me…..the ones which may even illicit an instinctual, internal anger or defiance or shame response….those are the most fulfilling. In or out of the bedroom. Overcoming the fear and meeting that challenge fulfills me in a way I’m not sure I could describe. I feel an overwhelming sense of fulfillment because I’m able to give that to him, to realize more about myself, for him. I feel power in pleasing him, in being his. I feel owned. Even that word isn’t scary anymore. In fact, it illicits a warmth in the pit of by belly to know I truly belong to him.
So what began as a writing about masochism a few months ago, has become more about the nature of my surrender to M. I suppose embracing my masochistic needs and desires has helped me to more fully unlock and understand my true self and my need to offer everything that I am to M. I’ve tapped in to the core of my being. I find more than pleasure in my surrender, both physical and emotional. I’ve found the core of my existence.
This life has taught me that I have strength, that I can endure and overcome and walk away anew. It’s how I survived. Those parts of me are the very center of my being, they are what I’ve counted on inside of me, they are what have kept me going…….and I need to give those things that mean so much to me to M. I need to offer him my strength and endurance, in my surrender. I need to keep digging deep, challenging myself to find more and more to give, and to offer that to him, holding nothing back. And I’ll do so until I leave this world.
I’m not sure how far that will go or what forms it will take. I’m certain desires will change, limits will evolve, or they may even cease to exist, I don’t know. I think we’ll just enjoy the ride, freely.
Because I am in love, unconditionally.
Unconditional love: noun
1.affection with no limits or conditions; complete love
This evening, we were all hanging out in the living room after dinner and chores. M was playing a video game with our youngest daughter (that I’m too uncoordinated to play) while I sat down on the floor in front of him to read. I opened WP, began to scroll through, and as I read, M periodically reached down to stroke my hair and tangle his fingers in my curls.
Pure bliss. Simple and infinitely blissful. Just an ordinary evening, all of us, content and hanging out.
Then my phone dinged. It was a text from a friend with which I’ve rekindled a long standing friendship, one with whom I’ve even shared my blog. She’s cool peeps. We’d been trying to schedule a dinner date.
After a few texts we’d figured next Friday was the first evening she was free, but I always check with M first and I’d realized he and I had just spoken about the possibility of having our own dinner dates on the Fridays E wanted to stay for open gym at gymnastics. So I asked him if he’d planned on it being a dinner date night. I told him I did not want to miss out on that time with him.
Before M could answer, E came over, sat on my lap, and said, “Mom, you have the rest of your lives.”
We just smiled. I smiled and hugged her big. M said, “You should go have dinner with your friend.”
I know E is right. I never doubted it.
The thing is, SHE knows it.
A few days ago, it was Thursday, the first Thursday in which M and I tried one of the things I shared with him as per our new rule. I’d known since Sunday I needed to share a scenario with him, but it was harder than I thought it’d be.
For the last couple of years, I’ve kept a picture file and a written list (type A compulsion anyone?) of things that have caught my eye, twists on things we’ve tried, or entirely new experiences that make my belly swirl with nervousness, but I want to try them anyway…..maybe because of it. Probably about six months ago, I was cleaning up my iPad, of which the majority is NSFW, and I deleted that picture file and almost all of the written desires. I’m so happy and fulfilled with us. We have reached this place of true and pure communication. We have these unbelievable experiences, we always talk about them and share feedback, and I’ve shared my desires and asked for things that truly interest me. About the time I deleted that stuff, we also began a Tumblr blog together (heandshe98.tumblr.com) where we post pics of things we’ve tried and loved, things we’d like to try, etc. It’s an excellent tool for sharing and sparking conversation or reminiscing. I didn’t feel like I needed the files anymore, they’d just say there anyway. I felt like we’d just continue to naturally evolve to whatever interested us. We did and we have. But, M truly wants to pick my brain and live out my desires too, with his twist. That’s pretty freaking amazing, but without those files, I just had to try to remember the things that I’d wanted to try that we hadn’t yet. Then, Thursday morning, I emailed him the first I wanted to try.
All day long, I anticipated him….and the anticipation is one of the greatest gifts, isn’t it? Regardless of whether I know what is going to happen, because I usually don’t know many or any details other than the information with which he’s teased me, which he does all the time. That crazy anticipation buzzes on the surface of my skin for the duration of the day. It occupies my thoughts and rests in the corners of my never-ending smile. It brightens my eyes and lightens my step. It steadily builds and swirls in the pit of my belly, reaching its height at the moment when my heart is bouncing in my chest and my cheeks are blushing as I kneel before him….and he begins.
As instructed, I was waiting for him when he finished his shower. Kneeling, I wore my cuffs and the fuck me heels he’d requested. Slowly, he began to take out all the toys and implements and lay them on the bed. He took his time. And then he began.
He took my breath away. He exhausted me. When he touches me, I’m ALIVE.
It was an incredibly intense, lengthy experience, one in which he took the words I’d written, incorporated all the things I’d asked for, but still very much made it his own, which was the most amazing part of it all. My fantasy and desire became his as well. We became something more.
As unbelievable as it was, at one point, I wasn’t sure what he wanted of me. I wasn’t sure of his expectation. I verbalized thafdabfdb xfanhhz…..
Okay, I’m back, but it’s a day later. Sorry for the interruption. Well, that’s not exactly true, I’m not one bit sorry. Is it ironic that as I was hunched over on the floor in front of him, writing this post about this amazing place we’ve reached and the off-the-charts sexual experience we had, wearing a dress he loves (I bought lots of dresses….that’s another post), he ‘interrupts’ the writing process to hike up said dress and have his wicked way with me, and commences to further ‘torture’ me and fuck me silly downstairs? Nah, I know it’s not. It’s just the way of things now. The way of this wonderful life.
Anyway, where were was I?!?
Ahhh….I verbalized that I was worried I was going to disappoint him because I wasn’t sure of his expectation for me. Now, I KNEW what he was going to say, because he’s said it before when I’d had the same worry a long while ago. I don’t know why I let these thoughts wander in that night. I think because I’d been nervous. Even though I asked for the experience, I knew he’d carry it out however he wished and not necessarily according to how I’d written it. Also, I was being pushed and challenged and was desperate and irrational in that moment. He told me my job was to stop thinking – I am supposed to just feel him and focus on him. That’s it.
So I did. Until 2am.
When we were finished and I floated back to earth in his arms, I was crying. It was so fucking intense. I’d been challenged and exhausted, and I truly want more than anything in this world to please him. That’s when he expressed that he was surprised I’d even thought those things now, we are waaaaaay past that. He told me I could never truly disappoint him. Not in the kitchen, not in the living room, and certainly not in the bedroom. Not ever, anywhere. He said I always make him proud and happy. “How could having a sexy wife, wearing cuffs and fuck me heels, kneeling and waiting to let me do whatever I want EVER be disappointing?,” he said to me. He just wants me to clear my head, connect with and feel him, and enjoy our time together. And he said so much more, things that melt my heart. Things that surround and embrace me, that leave me in awe of him and this us we’ve built together.
And then, he began again. I felt him, that’s it.
He’s right. We are WAY past that. Our connecting and communicating has far surpassed that into a realm I didn’t know existed. I won’t forget again.
When M and I began this journey, we’d already come so far in our relationship. This way was a natural progression, a path we were meant to take. We’d done so much to free ourselves to one another, both in and out of the bedroom. But when the spanking began, it sort of unleashed a fury of emotion and desires for me. All those things I’d daydreamed about suddenly seemed a possibility. I shared much of it with M, just so fucking happy to feel the freedom to do so.
At the same time, emotionally I became more and more raw in the process of letting go, a process which allowed me to tackle and face so many things about myself. The ground felt shaky – I trusted M more than ever, but I didn’t yet trust me. I relied so much on the reassurance I felt from him during sex and sexual experiences – it gave me such a concentrated sense of security in his control. His love and effort and care was tangible proof that I am enough, that I’m worthy, and that he desires me and won’t ever abandon me. Pair those insecurities with that excited freedom in my sexuality, and I let loose.
I constantly talked about sex, showed him things that interested me, imagined scenarios and shared them, and I asked for things. Internally, I hoped and even expected at times that he’d jump right in and I’d see those activities in our repertoire. M is a very kind man with a voracious sexual appetite, and in many instances, we did see those things in our repertoire……on his time. Not mine. He was interested, there’s no don’t about that, and had plenty of his own interests, but he had zero interest in pushing us too fast, too soon and sabotaging the groundwork we’d already established. He’s such a wise man.
There was no other way to trust in him, and learn to trust in me too, other than to let that go. I had to trust that I am enough, that I am worthy of his love and effort and care, and I had to see all those other billion ways in which he speaks to me in volumes that he needs me, desires me, and won’t ever leave. I HAD to acquiesce to his time. To him, period.
For a very long while, I stopped asking for things in the bedroom (but I’ll never stop the sexual talk and inuendos, it’s just who I am. I think it’s a gift 😜). In all aspects, I worked hard to not form expectations that would damage the groundwork we’d built, ones that most certainly were not fair to either of us. I learned to ask for what I needed emotionally. I watched and experienced this beautiful man flourish in his sexuality and in this connection we were growing. I felt the joy and excitement in him as we tried things I knew he’d desired and fantasized about and that in itself is something I will live for for the rest of my life. I communicated with him, unfiltered, about our experiences so we could build and grow. I trusted him completely. In doing so, I learned to trust in me. And that freedom to develop this unbelievable trust in me and in us has lead us to places I couldn’t have imagined if I tried.
This solid trust has allowed me to grow and begin to communicate my needs and desires and I do so with respect in his ability to discern our readiness, with the understanding that I’ll see it in our repertoire if he wishes and when he wishes. I trust in his ability to communicate with me, understand me, and fulfill my needs. He has done just that.
Now we’ve come to another new chapter. On Sunday we revised our rules, as we do every month. M added a new rule… every week I’m to share something I’d like to try and on Thursdays we’ll try them. At first, I was nervous! And uncomfortable with the idea! I do not want to take away from his leadership in any way. I don’t want him to do things just because I want them. But he wants a partner, and in my surrender, I am still his partner, one with wants and desires he values and wishes to fulfill, as I do him. There really isn’t much we wouldn’t do with and for the other, in the right time, for the right reasons…to further grow in love and trust, and to CELEBRATE us, our passion and love and trust manifested. To be the other’s desires in the flesh. That’s something I cannot explain.
Yesterday was Thursday…….WOW. The experience was more than I could have hoped for, better than any fantasy I conjured in my head. He took my words and spun them into an experience of his own. One that has left me in awe, again. Set aside the kinky stuff, and the awe is still so far reaching (another post to come). This place we’ve arrived stuns me, every day. The appreciation and gratitude I have is infinite.
A dear friend of mine mentioned how cool it would be to write out a bunch of my wants on paper and stick them in a fishbowl so M could draw one every Thursday. M loved the idea! So, I’m off to live in my head a while, writing naughty things on bits of paper…..