The "P" Word

Yesterday was difficult for me and (I think) for Him.

We're connecting with some people who are pretty new to the lifestyle. In just a few days, we'll be coming together to spend some time with each other, and while we'll be doing some "vanilla" entertainment sorts of things, our time together will assuredly involve varieties of BDSM "play." All good.

I, unfortunately, got tangled up in language on Saturday night. In a phone conversation they mentioned that she was hoping to be punished alongside me. Now, to be fair, they are recently evolved from a strictly Domestic Discipline model to BDSM, and for them, I think spanking = punishment. They do not distinguish between erotic spanking and punishment.

I do. Distinguish.

Just the word, "punishment," is enough to put me into a full-on panic. My stomach twists and begins to churn, I break out in a sweat, and my head pounds as the blood roars in my ears. Punishment, in my world, is not erotic and not hot. It is brutal and miserable and horrific. Mention "punishment," and my one semi-rational thought is likely to be about how I might get away -- not, of course, that that would be an option in the event.

The whole idea of an unearned, undeserved punishment sent me into a total crazy, rage. The thought that I'd be punished simply because someone else thought that might be "entertaining," or "hot," left me shaking with a nasty mixture of fear and anger. I believe that Master tried to explain to me that this was all likely about "semantics," but I couldn't hear the logic of that over the shrieking in my head. I didn't sleep for hours and hours after we went off to bed, and the dark of the night thoughts that stomped through my head were far from serene or graceful. The truth is, that for at least part of that time, I was contemplating what sort of wickedness I might engage in so that, at least, when it came to it, the punishment might feel less unjust.

I did finally fall into an exhausted sleep, and I was just a bit calmer when the morning came, but still far from settled. We did manage to make love in the early morning hours, but I couldn't shake the repeating drumbeat in my mind: "unfair, unfair, unfair, unfair." I know that the nature of what it is that we do is such that He gets to decide what to do according to His whims and moods, but there is a part of me that expects Him to protect me from everyone else. I trust Him to have my best interests at heart, and so it is possible for me to go with Him where I wouldn't otherwise. It may not be appropriate or legitimate, but I want Him to step up when someone else comes up with some wild scheme, and say, "this is mine, and that won't be happening." And so, along with fear and hurt and anger, was the added misery of my unstated expectations going unmet.

Sheesh! What a mess! When it all boiled over, He just wasn't that sympathetic. He figured it had been dealt with, and couldn't comprehend what I was so wound up about. To Him, I think it felt like an attack, and that never goes well. I very quickly "got" that there was no moving forward with the whole business, and went off to get breakfast and get started on the work of the day. We simply sank into a tense and unhappy silence. Eventually, I worked my way through it all; probably the adrenaline wore off, and I calmed down. I found Him, apologized, and asked if it were possible to begin again. The answer came in the affirmative, and things settled back into some sort of reasonable place again. By the time we headed for bed last night, we'd found our footing again, and were able to be affectionate and playful with one another. What a huge relief.

Today, is better. I'm calmer and reassured. He's off to work, and I am off to continue my efforts to paint the entire domestic universe.

swan