Sunday…I guess
I asked the question I shouldn’t have asked. Whilst massaging her feet yesterday evening, I asked if she had given any thought to when I would be locked-up again. No, she hadn’t. She was getting around to thinking about it, but hadn’t really expended any brain cells on it.
“Sunday,” she finally said.
So why Sunday? It’s so arbitrary. There’s no good reason I’m not locked-up now and there’s no good reason for it to be Sunday. Why not right this second? Why not last Wednesday? Why not next Tuesday? The insecurity came back. I felt like it didn’t really matter to her one way or the other. If I hadn’t said anything, how long would she leave me out? If she didn’t want me back in, I didn’t need to be. If she really didn’t care…well, we could just stop messing with the damned thing.
Yeah, total overreaction. My problem is I think about this stuff all the time. I want there to be a rhyme and a reason behind it all. I want her to have a purpose for leaving me out or locking me up, or, absent one, at least to pretend like there’s a purpose. The whole, “Well, I hadn’t really thought about it…I guess Sunday,” thing just reiterates that she doesn’t think about it as much as me and really doesn’t seem to care if I’m locked-up at any given moment. And of course, lock-up is synonymous with control. If she doesn’t care about lock-up…well, see where my fevered little pervert brain takes things?
Like I said, total overreaction. I can hear many of you thinking, “Gah! Stop with the whining, you ass! Don’t you know how lucky you are!?” or something similar. I know, I know. But I want there to be reasons for the things we do. Consequences. Structure. Thought. It’s not just about being denied orgasm, it’s about being denied for a reason. Maybe I ask too much of Belle since this really is my kink, not hers. Maybe I should just go with the flow and be grateful that she’s willing to go through the motions and deal with the high-maintenance basket case to which she’s found herself married.
I’ll just crawl back into my little hole of insecurity now.
Maybe I ask too much of Belle since this really is my kink, not hers.
Gah! Stop with the whining, you ass!
So you’re saying…I’m right?
Okay, have not been reading long enough to say this but . . .
Things started to go a lot better for me when I decided he and I didn’t have to think of the kink the same way, as long as it worked when we did it. For instance, he may look down at me, smack my ass, and think, “You are mine, mine, mine!” I may look up at him, feel him smack my ass, and want him to be thinking, “this ass is gorgeous!” But you know, I don’t control his brain, and he doesn’t control mine, and the fantasy part, the hot part, the part that gives reasons and meaning and so on . . . at the end of the day, that comes from you, not Belle. It’s not fair to expect her to have the exact same ideas as you would like her to have, but not only that–it’s just not realistic.
Is this just an obvious thing to say?
Or I’m just saying you’re right, in more words.
Of course, you’re right. I think I was feeling especially moody and vulnerable and took it farther than I should have.
I blame the hormones…
Are you PMS-ing?
While I obviously have no frame of reference, I think it is something like that. I find myself, after a while of being denied, more emotional than usual. Even to the point of getting teary. I get sensitive to every thing she says, etc.
So, yeah, something like that.
Oh, if it’s hormonal, you get a total free pass!
This is an incredibly familiar dynamic to me. I have learned to mostly avoid giving Jos these types of feelings by being more careful. For instance, if he had asked me a question like that and I hadn’t thought about it, I might have said, “When I’m ready. I’ll let you know.” And then internally I would have thought I need to think about when this is going to happen…hmm, maybe Sunday and then on Saturday or Sunday I would have let him know.
It feels a bit dishonest, maybe, but otherwise you do end making the submissive partner feel like their submission is unimportant or ignored.
Not at all dishonest. To me, it feels exacty right.