When we woke up late yesterday morning, He was hungry. For breakfast. He was regretful sounding as He mentioned that He'd thought we might play, but the fact remained... He wanted food. We talked about the potential that we could play later; and we also acknowledged that we've often said that was what we would do -- and never actually gotten to it "later." Hungry, however, is HUNGRY.
The day went on. I did school work, and paperwork, and bills, and the other stuff that goes with Sunday. We watched the Sunday complement of talking heads news programs. He exercised. The day went by, hour by hour, until finally, it was time for bed. Predictably, we had not played. All day. Frustration and sadness and resentment and bewilderment all swirled around in my head until I had convinced myself that He didn't want to play with me, and that it was what I deserved, and after all, who could blame Him, and on and on and on... Then, very late, probably 11:30 or so, He looked at me and asked, "Is it too late to play?"
Are You kidding me? Too late? Oh no... not too late at all. I needed Him, wanted Him -- wanted us; and I did not care about what the numbers on the clock said.
We played in our accustomed way, with me over pillows, ass in the air -- and it was good. Good for me. I was into it. I enjoyed it. I reveled it. And, at some point, fairly early on -- I chose to pursue the path that led to my own pleasure in it all. I think He enjoyed it, too. He tells me He did. It's a real shift for me; a HUGE shift for me.
Here's the thing. Everyone involved in this seems to be convinced that "slave" is off the table for me/Us. He doesn't trust me enough to go there with me again. In the light of events of the last two or three years, I can't argue that I'm in alignment with a "no limits" approach to our dynamic. I could argue against that; propose a different interpretation of that, but what's the point?
Years ago, when I had my hysterectomy, I went through a very long, dark period of fury over my radically altered sexuality. It wasn't like it was before, and I was terribly frightened that what I'd had was gone forever. I was bereft, angry, utterly lost in a morass of confusing feelings. I had no idea how to recover what had been taken from me, and I was in a mood to blame everyone from my surgeon to Himself. For weeks and months, my continual refrain was, "Why, why, why, why???" He did everything He could to help me figure it out, but in the end when there were no "magic" fixes, He threw up His hands and declared that my sexual response was my responsibility (and yes, that left me mightily pissed off). Turned out, though that He was right. It took a really long time for me to begin to find the paths back to my own body; my own sexual release and pleasure. In the end, I learned that I had to stop the internal chatter and focus on my own needs, my own drives, my own inner patterns and rhythms. Doing that, I found my way back to something joyful and amazing -- and when I did, I found Him right there with me; rejoicing.
Now, here I am. No longer "slave." The last years of trying to do that were a spiraling misery. I was less and less happy with that dynamic. I had, many years ago, accepted a deliberately unbalanced power structure. When I made that commitment, I was so sure, and so confident. He and I played routinely and regularly; matching each other need for need -- appetite for appetite. In time, though, His hunger outstripped my capacity to satisfy. I felt that, deeply, as failure -- but knowing my failure did not give me what I needed to change the reality. More and more, as we went along, I found that being "slave" meant that I was expected; required; to acquiesce to pain that gave me no pleasure, did not fulfill me, left me degraded and broken. No matter how I squirmed and tried to think my way through it all, I could not be the "slave" He wanted -- the slave I wanted to be for Him.
So, now that is over. I do not know what I am aside from that lifestyle label. I remember that early in our lives together, I was His submissive and not "slave," and it was fine. Perhaps it will be again in time.
For now, I am wondering if the path through this resembles the path out of the post-hysterectomy swamp. Maybe my enjoyment of sadomasochistic play is, like my sexual response, my responsibility. Maybe I just need to take back the responsibility for my own appetites, my own needs, my own pleasure. Maybe if I find myself, under the lash, with freedom and joy -- He'll be there with me. Maybe then, we'll be happy together again.