Teetering on the Edge

I've been hungering lately. Needing to be spanked. It happens. For me, I can go along for long periods and not fall prey to the ravening need to be spanked repeatedly and intensely and unavoidably -- and then, from somewhere in the buried recesses of my psyche, the yearnings begin.

I'm sure enough these days of the nature of my sexual and erotic self that I know and understand the way the need for spanking rises up, and I embrace it as simply the way that I am. Fine. There it is, that pesky longing. When it first starts up, I often simply ignore it. Coming up out of the mental recesses, it is usually pretty quiet at first. But, ignoring it never does make it go away. Once it starts, the only "cure" is to answer the need.

Of course, answering the need isn't like taking an aspirin. Answering the need is about both or us having the time and the energy and the personal well-being to actually get to indulge the spanking urges. Time, energy, and personal well-being are an interesting troika. The number of occasions on which all of those elements actually combine in a workable fashion are remarkably few. So, we might spank, and that might or might not "go well" in the event, and the precise dosage might match what's in my head or it might not... and then, we will likely not get back to it for a week -- or sometimes even more.

So, the hunger grows -- it might get satisfied just a bit, but in the last few weeks it hasn't been put to rest. Every new hurdle; every single obstacle; every schedule issue; everytime that I fall victim to a blinding headache; every nighttime meeting; every chore and obligation -- all of it frustrates and delays the time when I might get my hunger fed. This weekend, it is a combination of a memorial service for a co-worker's father, and the fact that Master's father is, once again, in the hospital with threatening renal failure brought on (at least in part) by the stresses of diuretic medications used to treat his congestive heart failure. So... huge demands on our time and energies. Again.

And I can feel myself teetering at the edge. The edge is the point where I fall over the cliff from hungry for spanking to furious and angry and sure it is all just so much "bullshit." The edge begins to loom up on the horizon when the voice in my head starts to mutter and grump about how there's never any time and no real energy and it is all just down to the chores and responsibilities. All that connective stuff is for kids.... Mutter -- mutter -- mutter! I can hear it and I know it is not a good thing. I know that it is my responsibility to calm that voice down and soothe myself and stay "in place."

Spanking schizophrenia...

The edge scares me. I worry that, when we do finally find the time and the space and the energy, I'll be in no mood for any of it. Then, things will likely go badly -- I won't get what I need, and He'll end up frustrated and irritated.

Sigh.

swan