So, for many months now, i kept perspective. i held my needs down, found the zen spot, realized contentment is easy to achieve. i hoped i had achieved her goals, namely the absence of needing her attentions.
Hope can kiss my ass.
Weeks ago, i sent her an email, a sexy love letter, hoping she’d feel good about it. Then two weeks went by, one of them she was off of work for and had time to relax. i asked about it, in a teasing way, kissing her hard. She said, “jade, stop that!” like i was a naughty puppy. A few days later, when she took me shopping for a new purse because she was obsessed with being sure i had something that wouldn’t irritate her, i grinned and said, “So, how about that email?” She said we needed to focus on the shopping trip. i knew Sir Raven needed a new wallet and had already looked but she had made it clear she wanted to buy this herself. So, i led her in the direction of the bags. We laughed a lot, because little ms frugal (me) can’t see price tags, and everything i picked up was in the 150 dollar range. It seems that i like Coach and Lucky and Fossil. At one point, i found a perfect bag for Sir Raven but she had misread the price. For a stunning moment, we thought it was 75 dollars for the butter soft leather bag, far better than the Fossil bag i purchased for her for summer a week earlier. But no. Try 475. Heh. We found two purses in an appropriate price range, around 40 dollars, and i couldn’t decide. She bought both.
She also solved my painful earbud problem by purchasing a pair of earbuds designed for women, for 14 bucks. i love TJ Max.
Anyhow, she was exhausted after that trip. One store, and Daddy is done! So i knew that we were not about to get to any sexy funtimes that day. She sent me off to finish my list, running errands and cleaning.
By Saturday, i became very aware that our week together was running out and so i had asked point blank. And she said she wasn’t really thinking about sex or bdsm. i pointed out how long it had been, how many weeks: nine for s/m. i was not getting my needs met again, despite her agreement months earlier that we would do something once a week. i had been patient. i had been understanding. i had hoped she’d think of it on her own, want me on her own.
Sunday night, she said, “I’ve got twenty minutes before my show comes on. Do you want me to beat you?”
First, she has never, ever asked me before. It’s nonsensical really, seeing as i can’t say no. Not to mention, it’s a total turn off. i felt angry for a moment. She has had three weeks off of work in the last nine that i have been without her attention. And now she is telling me my worth is twenty minutes! i had to push the anger out of the way with all of my will-i wanted to tell her not to bother, out of anger.
So, we played for awhile. i dunno if it was twenty minutes. i do know she didn’t miss her show and i didn’t cry or float or cum. But it was nice and appreciated, even if she did forget my one request: which is that if i ever become angry during s/m, beat me til i sob it out.
Monday is her long night so i prepared a comfort food meal. i worked on my list, which i always seem to put twenty items on, and then push myself to get it all done. Heh.
Tuesday came, with damp and cold weather. She mentioned her shoulder hurt. i remarked about the forecast and she informed me that it was the play that made it hurt. i asked her to go see a doctor since she hasn’t been to one in at least three years. She won’t go. i hoped that a doctor could provide meds that help, PT or a massage technique. Something. Anything. So we could have a normal s/m life.
Wednesday i had my traditional intense desire for pain, for sex, for connection. Why my body is set to three days post-play to rebel and scream for more, i’ll never know. It’s always been this way. i had cooked bacon and cut up veggies for our homemade pizza. i brought her a cold beer and straddled her lap, kissing her neck, and told her i missed her. She said, “When is my dinner going to be ready?” “Oh. Of course,” i said with a smile, moving into the kitchen to bring her meal.
She doesn’t want me. She wants pizza.
So i’ve been going through a few weeks of this endless need. i need to be fucked, to be hurt, and hurt and fucked again.
And i hate myself. i hate myself for needing. i try and repurpose the energy, put it into an always cleaner house and better meal and soft, feminine energy.
i kill the hope inside.
i cut my soul open, unsure how to leave myself open to my Master, while not needing her.
i remind myself that her version of a perfect slave is mostly me, if i can remove any pressure or desire or need.
i do mental gymnastics. This way that we live is CNC. And so if it’s her pleasure to not discipline me, not give me release, then it should be mine as well. i can be chaste. i can be chaste. i can be chaste.
If i would concede her right to intimate rape, and i have, then i have to concede her right to keep me celibate. It’s just the opposite side of the coin. i am chaste. i have been. What’s one more month, or hour, or year?
If i concede it’s her right to beat me, it’s also her right to not do so. i can have grace about this. i can bend. i will bend. i will be graceful about this. What’s one more minute, one more day, one more month?
What if it’s forever? And i think of the days, calendars ripping into shreds.
She doesn’t want me. She. Doesn’t. Want. Me.
i’m a servant, a slave, and i serve. That is where i bring her joy. That is how i show her love. And so i go back to beading, baking cookies, put on my lipstick, ignore my eyes in the mirror, serve her turkey meatloaf, scrub the floors, the toilet, the desire for anything else. Look pretty, put bows in my hair, lotion on my skin, it’s an invitation-of course it is. That is how i will keep myself open, by continuing to always be ready for her dick, her desire-should it return. If not, i will continue to be content, focus on how i have so much good in my life and shouldn’t be such a selfish cunt.
i kill my hope, spoon confidence into the coffee each morning, i can do this. i will.