I’m Lost

Worry not, it’s not a post about today, or even yesterday. I had meant to write about this sooner, because it happened weeks ago now and it was a pretty important event in our small lives over here in the world of Akalashi, but at the time, I couldn’t, and I’ve only now kind of gotten settled from my last trip, about to launch into another one, where I get to visit my pup and his wife for a week!

I’m always afraid that in keeping a blog, in writing a blog, that I only write about the positive things, like my world is always sunshine and rainbows and nothing ever goes wrong. For the most part, it is rainbow and sunshine, but when you put two people together in a relationship, there are always going to be a few problems that arise. When you put three in a relationship, the problems can grow in numbers and when you have five altogether, well. You get the picture.

Luckily, this time, it was a matter of only two. The problem only came up between me and my boy and it started with Mr. Cuervo.

The Saturday after Christmas is a little bit blurry, for good reason. We went to a house party (or gathering, as I suppose it is more appropriately called) and j’s co-workers wanted to relive a day of glory in their lives where they polished off a bottle of tequila in fifteen minutes. Needless to say, both j and I were enlisted to help in this adventure. I can hold my liquor rather well; I found out that j, while perfectly capable of drinking beer for an entire day straight and remaining perfectly functional, cannot hold his liquor at all. Or at least he couldn’t that Saturday. Three shots of the foul drink nearly spelled disaster in every way possible.

He disappeared into the bathroom so he could ralph for the next hour or so. Eventually, I went to make sure he was still alive. He was. I was trying to make him feel a bit better, but failed miserably. He apologized for embarassing me and I told him that he hadn’t. Everyone’d had just about enough to drink that day that they hadn’t even realized he was gone until I said something. He couldn’t let it go though, and I realized that this particular hang up comes from his past relationship.

When we met, he’d had about six months between when his last relationship ended and when he first e-mailed me. I’d had almost an exact year from when my last pet and I parted ways. I’d completely gotten over him about three months ago. I (knew all along) realized that night that while he’d made improvements, he still wasn’t over his ex. I knew this. I’ve been patient. I don’t mind so much, so long as his wounds are healing and he’s moving forward in a positive direction. I was totally aware of this slight problem.

So that evening, I was sitting on the bathroom floor with him and he was apologizing and telling me how this would have embarassed her. I told him I wasn’t embarassed. The conversation continued in that vein until finally out came a thought I’ve had several times but have kept to myself for his sake: by the end of the relationship, she really wasn’t treating him very well. I told him this. He argued in her defense. I told him if it made him feel any better, he probably wasn’t so good to her either. That’s why relationships end, after all. Also, because I’d had too much to drink, I felt the need to inform him that the behavior she exhibited in the tail end of their relationship was pretty spot-on for the sort of behavior one could expect to see from a cheating partner, but he vehemently disagreed and I let it go, saying it wasn’t important at all. The only point I was trying to make was that she hadn’t been good to him at the end and that I was paying for it now, and that he was paying for it, because somehow he’d molded himself around those things she thought negatively about him.

Then, in the worst move ever, he told me not to be mean.

Of course, I suppose I was probably being mean at that point. But I was going over our last months together, and I was thinking about all the things that he’d said that she’d said to him, and I was thinking that no, really, he wasn’t treated nicely at all. In the beginning, absolutely. I understand why things dissolved the way that they did. I understand they stayed together too long, out of fear of being alone, or something. I get all of that. It can be excused. I just thought he should know that maybe, just maybe, these things that he did were not quite as terrible as he’d been told they were in the past.

Regardless of how that conversation really went, one good thing came of it: as soon as we were in the car together, he finally cried. He’d needed it for months and months and weeks longer than he’d even known me and so finally he was able to let it all out. He apologized for things I don’t think any human being should ever have to apologize for ever. He apologized our entire drive home. And cried. It was good for him, really. I didn’t mind it at all either, except that I absolutely could not console him in any way, shape, or form.

None of that was all that terrible. That was a day I could live with. I could regret it, not realizing that he had such a low liquor limit and not stopping him before I did (or didn’t, I’m sure he stopped himself since he was the one that left to vomit), and learn from it, and get over it, no big deal. However, in the following days, his entire attitude changed. Everything about him changed. He was easily frustrated over the simplest things. He could not be motivated for anything. It took him nearly an hour to get out of the house just to get food. It got so bad at one point that I had thought to just call my husband to come and get me from his house early, because I wasn’t entirely certain my being there was going to help him in the least. I though if he just had his own space for a bit, he could chill out and relax.

Over the next two days, we kept in contact via computer. I’d gotten a new phone and I’d had some trouble receiving text messages, so we couldn’t communicate through those like we normally would, not that he would have been texting so much anyhow. Our communication was pretty minimal. I knew he was still in a bad mood and I didn’t know how to fix it. I did my best, being patient and caring and understanding, and that only seemed to make it worse.

Tuesday night he was expected over at the house because early Wednesday morning the three of us were heading out on our vacation. When he got to the house, he said hello in the most depressing tone I’d ever heard come out of his mouth. He didn’t bother to fetch his pillow, a sort of ritual we have. He didn’t kneel when he came to sit by me. In fact, he didn’t even look at me. He’d ask me if I wanted anything and he asked it in such a way that I was afraid if I said yes, he’d honest-to-goodness whine about having to get it. I was having flashbacks of boys that had wanted to serve me in the past and when given the chance to, whined about having to do something they didn’t want to do right that moment. Worst of all though was when I noticed he was no longer wearing the necklace I gave him for Christmas, the one that made him smile so much.

I asked him about it and the most of his response was a shrug. He couldn’t put it on himself. I’d known this, sort of, but my mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion first. So I told him to go and get it from his luggage and I’d put it on him. So he did. And after I put it on him, I told him to strip. Or rather, I undressed him myself, for the most part, because I was afraid telling him to do something that direct would be bad at that moment. Once I had his shirt off though, I told him to strip and he did. And then I hurt him. I scratched him and slapped him and did other things to him that I could think of without any tools, without waking my husband in the next room. I did it for as long as he needed, and stopped when he finally moved over between my legs and curled his arms around one of them in a hug like I’m so used to. I whispered to him and told him that we’d found him again, that my boy had come back to me, and he replied that he just needed to feel controlled, he supposed.

In that moment, with him curled up around my leg and me hugging him, I was thinking about how I felt like I’d lost him. I felt like he might have been gone forever. He’d spent the past days trying to convince me that this depressing shell of a person that he’d turned into really, honestly, might be him at the very heart of things and the happy, joyful boy that I’d known for the past couple of months was only a phase. That the submission that he’d given me in the past couple of months might be gone. And when I felt him hold onto me, when I felt like we’d finally reconnected, I couldn’t help but to cry.

It’s a terrible thing, that crying. I hate to do it. I hate to be so overwhelmed that I can’t control my own emotions. I tried to rationalize that it’d only been four months. I tried to rationalize that it wouldn’t be the end of the world without him. I couldn’t. I failed. I’d never had anyone understand me the way he did, the way he does. Losing him felt like I was losing a piece of me, a piece I’d never get back again. So in that moment, when I could no longer control myself from emotion, I realized that he was as much a part of my life as I was his and for the first time ever, I hadn’t set up as many barricades as possible, hadn’t made him jump through hoops to know me, had given myself to him to serve as much as he’d given himself to me to be served. It was a very touching moment.

After that, after we stayed silent like that for a while, I had to have him get dressed again, and his foul mood seemed to be attached to his clothes. He slipped back into it a bit. But I led him to the bedroom, tucked him in, and pet him for a while until I couldn’t stay awake any longer. I worried about being in a car with him for hours and hours if that was going to be his attitude, but it wasn’t a problem at all. When we got up a mere four hours later, he was ready to go. He was back to his usual self. He was back to being the j I know and love.

That night, after plenty of fun and laughter and singing and working through problems not related to our relationship at all but life circumstance and a plain old round of bad luck, we signed a contract. We agreed that for the next year and a day he would be my slave. I own him completely and am now no longer restricted by what I feel would be impositions on a ‘normal’ person. My boy, my property, my pet — I can ask anything of him and not worry. In that moment that we put our signatures on that paper, I felt the entire dynamic shift, for the better, and so far, since that night, the first of this new year, everything’s been just as wonderful as it started, and as it will be for many more years to come.

Weekend Blues

Actually, the only thing blue about this weekend was the fact that I didn’t get to see j at all, even though we’d planned for him to come over Sunday night.

While we normally spend every weekend together, this weekend was special. It was my 5 year anniversary with my husband and so we thought long and hard about how we wanted to spend it and came up with Christmas shopping. He doesn’t acknowledge the wedding anniversary so much because it’s half the time we’ve actually been together and it’s right before Christmas and he’d rather save the money for our presents. I’m something of a Christmas Nazi (so he says) and so he knows he earns more points with good Christmas presents than an anniversary gift.

We picked up presents for j, Kayn, and Ayngel. I think we did a pretty splendid job, actually. Even did a donation for Toys for Tots. I picked out one of my favorite kid books and donated that. We were supposed to have dinner together at a restaurant we used to go to back when we first started dating but I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t have the appetite necessary for such good food, so we just passed on it and went home to play together.

Sunday night, j was busy trying to get all his chores done. He joked about how he got negative work done on Saturday and somehow ended up with a ton of stuff to do Sunday evening and asked if it’d be alright if he came over Monday night instead. Matt and I figured that’d be fine since we were all three in WoW anyhow. So Monday afternoon he headed over to my place and we got to spend a little time together alone.

One of my favorite things to do right now is to give him bruises. I like the insides of his arms, personally. It hurts incredible amounts and the bruises usually last for a while. He’s had someone notice them, but typically they can be hidden underneath his shirt. The insides of his thighs are another favorite place, but not nearly as accessible as his arms. Right now we’re both still in some gushy phase, but pain has somehow worked itself into it as well. Sharp, lasting pain seems to be a fantastic way of showing my affection for him and he enjoys it. He even kind of enjoys it while it’s happening!

Once Matt got home, it was time for dinner. I wanted martinis and so we headed out to Friday’s. We were four steps from the door when we were reminiscing about the awesome Pixie Stick Martinis at Outback and we all decided that was a better choice for the night and headed across the street for some martinis and some fantastic steak and some wonderful conversation. Like always, Matt and j had great nerd conversation and I got to keep my kitten close to me throughout dinner. After dinner, my husband polished off all of our drinks and learned the very valuable lesson about how one never mixes their alcohol. He paid for it all night long, actually.

When we were home again, j and I stayed in the living room for a while. I asked him to tell me a story, which I kind of meant about him, but he told me a wonderful story about a platypus named Percy who was made King of all Playpi and the moral of the story was that it was good to be a platypus. It really was an adorable story. After that though, the next logical step was bed. He hadn’t brought his things over to stay the night, but I figured snuggling up in bed for a while wouldn’t be a bad idea. Two and a half hours later, I was scared half out of my mind by my husband waking me up to let me know that it was midnight, wondering if j was staying or not so we could either put his blanket down for him or be sure to say good-night. Unfortunately, I had to give my teddy bear up.

Today I find our conversation is riddled with gushing and promises of pain in the near future. He’s ordered restraints so that we can play with that, a fantasy we’ve both had. A way to keep him still for the sake of letting him thrash around more when I’m hurting him. I like to see him struggle and I think he enjoys being able to as well. We’re getting closer and closer to the day that we’ll sign our contract, making him my slave for a period of a year and a day. If it goes well, which I’m sure it will, we’ll end up talking about a longer commitment to one another. We’re both commitmentphobes in theory, not in practice. We spent a good while terrified of this and of the day but now I think we’re both just excited. He needs it. I guess in a lot of ways I need it too. If nothing else, it’s another new adventure that I’m really looking forward to sharing with him.

Ownership, Contracts, and Musings

When jhusdhui and I met, I don’t think either of us meant for our relationship to take off like it did. Before him, I’d had some rule in my head saying that I had to know someone for a year before I’d risk meeting them. That’d give me time to get to know them, ask all my questions, and feel like I knew what I was getting into. Both of us have online friends (online friends probably outnumber the amount of real time friends each of us has, actually) and so he understood where I was coming from. Each of us had just come out of a relationship about a year prior to our meeting so we wanted to make sure we’d had time to mend our hearts and just generally to ensure that we were both doing what was best for us.

For the first two months, we wrote long letters back and forth through CollarMe.com. After that, we exchanged messanger information and started having conversations there. This was important to me, personally, because he is a fantastic writer and I knew he’d be able to mask himself behind words when he had days to respond to each of my emails. I wanted to know if he was the same way through instant communication as he was through well-constructed letters. Then, in a very brave moment one Thursday afternoon, thinking he would be unavailable for at least two weekends in a row, I asked if he’d like to grab a cup of coffee and maybe go painting. Needless to say, I was a little surprised when he said he could do it that very weekend. I’d planned to have three weeks to work up the courage to meet this fascinating person face-to-face; now I had three days to get over my nerves and just do it.

Of course, that day went wonderfully. What was supposed to be an hour or two date turned into eight hours with another date in place before the first even ended. All the rules I’d written in my head about how I wanted this to go were thrown out the window. It’s maybe not the smartest way to go, but it was what my heart and my head were telling me to do, so that is exactly what I did.

We never had a conversation about limits and boundaries. By the second week I knew him, we were having dinners with my husband and I was staying the night at his house. Again, probably not the safest course of action. I have a happy ending though, so I have no regrets. We did play, but not with any toys. Our first ‘scene’, so to speak, was a spanking. Or maybe it was humiliation. He might consider the fact that I made him strip so I could examine him a scene. I considered it a natural progression of things.

From our first date, I wanted to own him. I knew enough to know that he was someone special. From the first time I was in his apartment with him alone, I knew he was something special. The desire to own him has been growing steadily. Every single time we do something new and I watch him try it out, watch him do exactly what I ask of him, watch him embrace it and make it his own as well, I know that this is something that’s not going to end anytime soon.

We didn’t talk about limits and boundaries because we didn’t know where we were going. We agreed that a relationship was more important than bedroom kink and there aren’t so many limits that need to be made about how to serve, how to be pleasing, especially in public. I know this can be argued. For us, the kink is that I’m in control, I make the decisions, and he follows. It’s not about a public display of ‘bedroom kink’. We wanted to make sure that we got along as people before we threw anything else into the mix.

After that, we started playing with other things. Humiliation on very small levels. Puppy play. Feminization. Rules. Rituals.

Stripping as soon as I asked him to, for instance, took a few tries. He was terribly shy and would wait almost as though I’d change my mind if he gave me just a second or two to think it through. That was never his intent, but that was the thought that went with it, and the thought made me smile a little each time.

He wasn’t allowed on his own furniture any longer, with the exception of his computer chair. We got him a pillow to kneel and sit on. That is his place. He never asks to sit on furniture either. Sometimes I let him up to cuddle with during a movie. Mostly I just pet him from my place on the couch.

He kneels to serve my drinks to me anytime we’re in a house. Whenever we’re out, he makes sure to pour my drinks for me. He makes sure my food is dished up on my plate and he does it so that it’s appetizing to look at. No matter where we are, he asks permission before leaving my sight. My doors are always held open. In fact, he’ll normally hold open the doors for my husband as well. He stays to my left, always, no matter what. To the left of me is his place specifically.

There are a lot of other things that I’ve wanted to implement with him. I’ve wanted to have eye and speech restrictions. I want to tighten my control over him. Whenever he wants to go out with friends, he asks permission. That’s usually more than I ask for before I own someone, before we have that agreement in place. Our mutual interest in chastity is what brought that about. I didn’t have to ask him not to see other people because I don’t even think he can handle seeing more than one person at a time. A Mistress isn’t a game for him; D/s is the lifestyle he’s chosen. No one else could fill my place and so he wasn’t really seeking.

Eventually I brought up the idea of a contract. It’s not something I’ve ever done with anyone else. It’s not something I’ve put much consideration into before because typically I don’t like the idea of a commitment having to be made in such a fashion. The reason why a contract was totally acceptable with him was because already I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. I can’t have a contract if I feel it has to be enforced. This is just a symbol between us to represent our relationship in some way or another. We’re both commitmentphobes in theory, not in practice. His last relationship lasted for eight years; my relationship with my husband is coming up on the 10 year mark.

The more I think about the contract, the more excited I get. It’s not a promise to stay together for a year and a day, which is the length that I’ve set for it. Instead, it’s a promise to work on this relationship so we can take it where we want to be. A Mistress and a slave, by our own definitions of each of those words. Watching him even say the word ‘slave’ gets me excited because there’s such a sparkle in his eyes. There’s such a soft tone in his voice. It’s like a secret that we’ve been keeping for years, the secret of my wanting to own one and his secret of wanting to be one, and now we’re both getting what we want. No wonder it’s so exciting.