Red Welts

I was beginning to believe that my friend Tangerine might be the only one to end up with welts this weekend. I was absolutely clear how that might happen; aware of the kinds of stresses and worries that are going on in our household just now. Still, I was feeling disappointed and "abandoned," and I was really glad when we finally woke up this morning, and He indicated that He was wanting to play and make love.



Of course, for me, that "glad" is always mixed up with an equal measure of fear and worry that I might not "do it" well enough -- might end up disappointing Him. It is my own, private mental stew that takes me from thrilled to despairing in moments. Add to that the reality that I wasn't feeling all that terrific this morning (we did Mexican food last night, and tequilla does not agree with me), and the level of difficulty gets ratcheted up just a bit.



But, there is, for me, always that lurking, niggling masochist that starts to fuss when not fed regularly. It is my perpetual emotional dilemma -- hate it but crave it...



This morning, He began differently than is the usual thing. He spent time, considerable time, playing with me sexually, trying to find the key that might send me off into that rarest of critters -- the orgasm. We didn't get there, but it was wonderful just the same, and I was feeling floaty and happy when the actual "session" began. Lately, He's been starting with some fairly low end straps that we have, and it gives me a chance to get "on board" with the sensations and the building intensity. I really do so appreciate that.



The red paddle remains a fixture at the heart of our sessions these days. He is all wrapped up in it -- loving just about everything about it. I am getting better with it as time goes on, but there is a point that comes up everytime we play with it, where I am simply desperate, frightened and miserable, and convinced that I have somehow, by reaching that point, failed miserably. That is a very emotional place for me. It reduces me to tears. Not so much from the pain itself, but from the sense of not being what He wants me to be...



Except that it really isn't that way at all. He likes that place where I suffer. He told me this morning, "You are a sadist's dream." I understand that intellectually, but I struggle to comprehend it emotionally.



He held me, calmed me, soothed my ruffled feelings, and then went right back to the red paddle -- a second set of strokes. And then He was done, checking in with me, wondering if that last set was really so awful. It really wasn't. Really. And, that was the point at which I asked, in the littlest, tiniest, most respectful voice I could manage:

"Could You please -- would it be alright -- do just a little bit with the dressage whip, please, Sir?"

He was, I think, surprised, but more than willing to oblige. So, it happens that I managed to acquire a set of red welts of my very own.

(picture is illustrative only -- it isn't really me)



swan