Somedays I just don't like it much

Seven years ago, when we were still living 1200 miles apart and seeing each other maybe three or four times a year, it was the only thing I could think of and the only thing I wanted: to be here, with Him, spanking... My dreams and hopes were enough to keep me in a continual state of anticipation and arousal. When we finally did get together, when the moving was done, it was heaven, and I was sure we'd go on forever spanking happily into our old age.





Castles in the sky...





This weekend, when the reality was right there, it was the hardest thing I could think of to do -- just staying put, just getting through it, just remembering to behave as I know is expected. When it was over with, when we'd made love, when He'd achieved His release, I was happy for Him, but hurt and unsatisfied and sad and less than thrilled with the whole business. I wandered around all day Saturday, just aching and feeling sorry for myself.





I've got a serious case of the "poor me's" going on:

• Poor me, I can't make anyone (especially Him) understand how really painful it is to get spanked.
• Poor me, I behave and stay put and fuck nicely when it is all over, and no one (One) really cares.
• Poor me, I never (well hardly ever) get to have any sexual gratification of my own, and most of the time, He's disappointed with me for not "getting off" on our sessions.

Poor me Poor me Poor me -- poor poor pitiful me.





Oh good grief!


I've done this bit before.


The urge never goes away.


The sense of gratification is way more erratic, but it does come around now and again.


I just need to get myself out of pity party mode, and calm down. It is the nature of being female in the circumstances that I find myself -- the responsiveness is fragile and fleeting and not altogether reliable. No one can do anything about that, and being a miserable grump about it does not make the rest of life much fun either.





There. Now I've whined. Perhaps we can get on with it for a bit again.





swan