Tuesday, April 21, 2015

The Anal Queen of Blogger

I love wiki commons. 
One of the best things about Blogger is the ease of setting up and running the blog; they really do make it simple for people like me, who do not get blog-tech at all, to maintain the blog.
On the other hand, one of the worst things about Blogger is the lack of control. I can't play around with the layout that much, I can't add in a bunch of widgets I want to...I'm kind of limited. I also can't check the IP addresses of the people who visit my blog.
But I can see what people search for to find my blog.
This was the top ten list last week...take a look:
1. "How to become an anal slut"
2. "1950's household"
3. "Anal sluts"
4. "Best anal slut"
5. "Blog about anal slut"
6. "Anal blogpost"
7. "I am an anal slut"
8. "I found out my wife is an anal slut"
9. "Most painful spanking implement"
10. "Sex video anal"
I don't know if I'm doing something right, or something wrong, but I am sure am laughing hard right now.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

More Thoughts On Labels

I've been giving a lot of thought to labels lately—more than usual. I don't know why.
Maybe it has something to do with the new Star Wars trailer coming out. Maybe it has something to do with the laundry pile sitting next to my washing machine that seems to be self-breeding through mitosis, which is scaring the living shit outa me.
But I digress.
Labels. Why do we get so caught up on labels? What difference do labels make?
Some people are vehemently, almost militantly anti-label. They make a point of keeping their Fetlife profiles completely vague, absent of titles, statuses, fetishes, anything that might dare to come across as a label. Their only fetish will be something along the lines of, "you want to know, fucking ask me."
I do believe that is a fetish on Fetlife.
So here's what I think about labels.
I think it's not just the label that's important. I think it's the intent behind the label, too.
When you think about it, labels serve as a courtesy not to the person who self-identifies, but to the rest of us looking in. People like structure and order; people like standardization. Laziness breeds efficiency, and people tend to be lazy; so if you can make their lives that much simpler by supplying a quick and easy label, they will reach out and take hold of it like a child to a grape-flavored popsicle on a hot day.
But the point of the label is supposed to be to make people understand something faster. Maybe they won't understand the fine points—maybe they won't see the small nuances right away—but they will get the general idea, quick and simple like, and they will be happier for it.
Labels are supposed to give knowledge to others, often so they can change their behaviors accordingly.
What labels are not supposed to do is confuse. This is what I think riles up people so much: when labels obscure and complicate matters instead of simplifying them. When people assume one thing about a person based upon their label, and then come to find out that person is the exact opposite of what their label typically stands for.
And yeah, I know, some of you are going to gripe now "But nobody should be making assumptions! You should be asking!"
And you'd be right.
But for a person to adopt one label, when it's pretty fucking obvious everyone else uses that label to mean something wholly different than the way they're using it, maybe even the complete opposite—that is deceptively ambiguous at best. That person are purposely misleading others into thinking something about them that is not true.
And then, you gotta ask why.
I am monogamous. I do not have sex with others. Men, women, doesn't matter: no sex for me or with me.
Does this mean I'm straight? No. But it does mean my sexual orientation becomes less relevant for others looking for prospective sex partners, because whatever I am, however I see myself in my own head, I'm still not available to them for sex.
And I want people to know that. I want to make that clear up front. Because I don't want to waste anyone else's time by making them wonder if (and hope that) they can sleep with me.
Now...if I labeled myself monogamous, but still had sex with other people? That would, I'm sure, raise a whole bunch of questions in other people's heads.
Why would I call myself monogamous if I'm sleeping around? Could it be I'm cheating on my husband? Could it be I don't want anyone to know about my other sexual partners? Why not? Why hide it?
Is there a consent violation going on in there somewhere?
Suspicion is raised. Uncertainty begins to form. And all because I choose to use a specific word to describe myself, when there are others out there capable of doing a much better job.
And maybe there's a good reason why I'm choosing to use the word monogamous. Maybe it means something special to me.
But then I'm using it with the full knowledge that I'm confusing everyone I give it to, everyone who ends up thinking I'm using that word in a deceitful way.
That is the choice I would be making.
There are general labels, old labels, new labels—the word "polyamorous" is relatively new—and what's ironic here is that for many, the deeper you pare down, the more specific you get, the more you need to think about personal nuance. You need to ask what special meaning, if any, people might have for using the labels they do.
"Poly" is pretty general. But when people start using phrases like "closed poly," "triad poly," "V poly"...that is when people typically feel the need to start asking questions.
But the point is always supposed to be transparency and clarity. Big Brother's Newspeak won't get you very far.
War is peace! Ignorance is strength! Cheating is fidelity! Lies are virtuous!
No. Doubleplusungood.
TL;DR? The new Star Wars trailer just came out.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Beliefs, Actions, Lifestyles

If I have no Dominant in my life, am I truly a submissive?

It's a question I see around a lot.
Except most of the time when I see it, it's turned around, to come from the Dom's point of view: If I have no submissive in my life, am I really a Dominant? But the point of the question is still the same. If I have no one to act out my kink with, can I still claim my role?

Some people say no: a Dominant is not really a Dominant unless, and until, someone is submitting to them. Likewise, a submissive is not really a submissive unless, and until, they are submitting to a higher authority.
My opinion? I call bullshit.

That mentality doesn't work because for many of us, "Submissive" and "Dominant" are labels we use to describe more than just what we do in the bedroom. They are ways to describe our self-identity, who we are, what we know of ourselves. These words are used the same way others use "man," "woman," "heterosexual," "homosexual," etc. They are not words to describe a fetish or a proclivity, but beds into which we lay down our souls.

In a recent post thread (which has since deleted, or I'd link to it) someone commented that it's wrong to label others based on what behaviors they happen to be engaging in at the time. The example they gave was a married woman who is monogamous with her Husband; to assume this woman is straight, simply because she does not have sex with other women, would be wrong.

For personal reasons, that example resonated with me.

Lots of people have had to hide, and continue to have to hide, who they are because of mitigating circumstances. Things have changed in this century—but even so, even in the great ole' U.S. of A, coming out as gay or transgender can result in torture and death. Many of us with taboo predilections decide it's safer to live "normal," vanilla-looking lives; they bury their true natures deep within themselves. They live like that forever.
Hell, most of us here in the kink community are not "out" as kinky to our extended loved ones. We're out to each other...but maybe if we could be out in our "other" lives, and free to live openly kinky, we would discover things about ourselves we wouldn't otherwise know.

If a man marries a woman, has children with her, and never experiences a sexual relationship with another man—does that mean he must be straight? If a woman lives her entire life as a woman, and never puts on so much a man's hat—does that mean she must be cisgendered?

If a person lives their whole life as a Dom or a sub, and never gets to experience the other side...does that mean we are safe to assume who they are? Who they believe themselves to be? How they feel inside?

Actions are important. But I think beliefs matter, too.

I think if you took a Dominant guy, and stuck him on a deserted island with no one to submit to him, he'd still be a Dominant guy. Because that is who he is, that is how he sees himself in his own head, and the only person who can change that fact is him.
And really, nobody lives on a deserted island. We all live out in society, communities filled with spice and variety. We learn about ourselves through navigating through this diverse, spectacular world.

Not all of us are free to live the lives we want. But I think we should all have the right to decide who we are, what makes us tick, and what words we want to use to describe what lies deep within our hearts.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Eyes On The Destination

This morning when I drove Husband to the caltrain station, he and I were the only ones in the car. This is unusual because normally I drive him to the station on the way to driving Son3 to school. But Son3 is on vacation, so today he and I were blissfully alone.
As we were talking, laughing, and talking about the upcoming day, this guy in the car next to me tried to cut me off.
"What the fuck was that," I hollered, swerving quickly to avoid him. "Did you see that? He just tried to cut me off!"
"I saw."
The conversation resumed, I started to relax...and then the guy in the car next to me sped up to move into my lane again, this time succeeding in getting in front of me.
"GODDAMN IT," I yelled. "You are ONE CAR ahead now. Happy? HAPPY?"
"It's Monday morning, and people are stressed out," Husband said. "Their competitive natures come out. I know what that's like. I used to do that."
"You're not like that guy," I said. "You're not an asshole."
"Not an asshole, competitive personality," he corrected me. "The point is not that you are not one car ahead. The point is that he is not one car behind."
"And this makes a difference to you?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes," he said. "It does."
At this point, the guy in the car now one space ahead merged quickly in and out of the lane to get in front of the next car, and I swore in disbelief.
"Asshole," I said under my breath.
"Not asshole," Husband said. "Competitive personality."
As we drove up to the train station, I said, "You know why you're not an asshole? Because you don't mind being behind me. There have been lots of times when you've gone behind me."
"This is true," he said. Then he kissed my forehead and said in my ear, "Because the way to take your ass is from behind. Us people with competitive natures, we always keep in mind where it is we're going."

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Why You Shouldn't Call Me

You may end up calling me on a day when Husband is working from home.
He may enter the bedroom as the two of us are talking.
He may then go into the bathroom to pee, leaving the bathroom door OPEN.
I may then start yelling at him for leaving the door open.
You may hear him snap at me for yelling at him.
I may call him a few choice words for being a disgusting pig and barbarian as he starts to walk out of the bedroom.
He may then close the bedroom door...and lock it.
He may then grab the belt from the closet.
You may have to listen to me quickly and profusely apologizing as I try to squirm away.
You may also have to listen to me howling as he starts slapping me with the belt.
You may then hear me call him an ASSHOLE as he starts to walk away.
He may then start slapping me with the belt all over again.
You'll have to listen to me wailing more.
You may then have to give me a few moments to recover before we go on with our conversation.
You might also need a few minutes to recover from your laughter.
And that is why you should never call me.

Monday, April 6, 2015

How Negative Stereotypes are Spread

I'll share with you a little secret pleasure of mine: I love list photo memes. You know, the ones that make you click through "Six Tattoos Gone Horribly Wrong" or "Ten Ways Stupid Criminals Got Caught"? Where each page is a different photo, with a different caption, and you have to keep clicking through pages covered with ads to get to the next one? I love those.

But I didn't love this one.

Likes.com just came out with a list, "Why Girls Should Never Have An@l S3x [sic]", and it's one of the most absurd and erroneous things I have ever seen.
Let's go through the list, shall we?

Why 'Why Girls Should Never Have Anal Sex' (Let's Write It Out, Please) Is Completely False, Line By Line  

#1 It Just is Not Pleasant
Um, says WHO? The author? Ok, fine, this person is entitled to their opinion. But the explanation given makes me think this author has never experimented with anal sex, ever: "We all know what it feels like dropping off a huge turd. Now, imagine it being stuffed back inside in its frozen form."
Uh, what? Dicks do not feel like frozen turds, and if you've ever actually tried anal sex, you'd know that.
Also? comparing a sexual act to fucking feces is pretty offensive. 

#2 The Damage is Permanent
What damage? Why the immediate assumption that there's any damage at all? Even the explanation makes no sense: "As any woman who has endured multiple or even one pregnancy can tell you, once it is stretched out, there are no sure-fire ways to repair the damage. Keep it tight, keep it right." 
What does pregnancy have to do with anal sex? Nothing, unless you think babies come out of a woman's asshole. Is this author that stupid? And the "keep it tight, keep it right" line is something out of a sexist's handbook.

#3 Does Leaking Sound Fun?
No? Oh wait, we're talking about feces again? "Imagine going through your day constantly worrying if those white pants you have on are going to be blemished by anal leaking? This is the reality for women who frequently let their guys in their back door." 
Again, author, where the fuck are you getting your facts? Anal sex done safely (hell, even anal sex done not-so-safely) does not cause anal leakage! You know what may cause other kinds of leakage? Plain old vaginal sex. Vaginal sex can lead to urinary tract infections and yeast infections. Those aren't fun, either, but I don't see anyone warning women away from having any sex at all.

#4 It sends a Message
This one really starts to get my blood boiling: "Sex is a critical part of any relationship, it can set the tone for physical chemistry and brings partners closer. But allowing a guy to have his butt sex fantasy granted is just another sign that he wears the pants."
No, see, experimenting with what gives both of you pleasure is not a sign of anything except that you both want to feel pleasure during sex, and make each other happy. Sex is not about keeping score, or playing a power trip through denial and manipulation—not unless you both want it to. And why are you assuming that the butt sex is his fantasy? What if it's hers? Is that so hard to accept? Apparently it is for this author!

#5 It Must Be Discussed
And here is where my temper flares: "Doing anal requires permission, which requires discussion, which requires premeditation. Premeditation is not sexy."
Um, YES IT IS. Talking about sex is important. Permission is not just sexy, it's a REQUIREMENT BY LAW. If you don't have permission to have sex with her, you're not having sex, you're committing RAPE. Is that sexy?
Do I really need to answer that?

#6 Once You Go Back...
Oh, no! You showed him "he wears the pants!" Now what? "The first time you let him put it in the tiny hole is the last time he truly appreciates vagina. Once you let him in the back, he ain't never coming back!" 
Really? Really? A guy who tries anal sex will never again appreciate vagina, is that what you're trying to tell me. They're suddenly vagina snobs. I just...I can't even.
And once again, what about what she wants? If he all of sudden wants anal sex all the time, she doesn't get to have a choice? Oh, but I forgot, sex is about permission, and permission ain't sexy...ugh.

#7 Is It Worth It?
Ah, the coup de grace, guys. Here is where this sexist, misogynistic, fallacy-riddled piece of writing takes it home: "There are reasons why guys fantasize about having a virgin once in their life. Tightness matters, but if your girl's natural entryway is not doing it for you, maybe it is time to just move on to the next one. Don't ruin her pooper first, just move on."
Because guys everywhere go from woman to woman in the hopes they will find that elusive virgin so they can fuck them until their "natural entryway" has lost all appeal, and then they can "move on." After all, what's important here is not the woman herself—it's her vagina, and how tight it is. Didn't you know, guys are doing us a favor by using us for vaginal sex. At least they're not ruining the pooper before they disappear into the virgin sunset, am I right? Saving her anal sphincter from your desperate need to plow your seed in virgin territory is the gentlemanly thing to do.

Look, let's get a few things straight:

  • Anal sex does not have to be painful. It can, in fact, be extremely pleasurable for many women.
  • There is no "permanent damage" that's going to be done if a woman has anal sex safely. Yes, there's risk—just like any sexual act has risk. A guy can actually break his penis having sex, but I don't see anyone warning men away from sex. Anal sex has some risks vaginal sex doesn't have, that doesn't mean it can't be safe and fun.
  • Anal sex does not cause permanent gaping, looseness, numbness, or any of the other stupid stuff some people like the author of this article believe. Yes, if a woman allows her anal sphincter to be ripped or "blown," there requires a healing process. But this is true for any part of the human anatomy, including the labia and cervix—and including the penis.
  • Anal sex does not mean the woman is dirty, "slutty," or any of the other negative connotations some people associate with it, and women who "let" their men in the "back door" should be doing it because they want to, not because they're somehow scoring relationship points.  The only message anal sex should send is that the woman knows what she likes, and she's all about getting her own pleasure from sex while her guy gets his, too. 
  • ALL SEX SHOULD BE DISCUSSED. If there's the slightest chance your partner doesn't want to have sex—I don't care if it's vaginal sex, anal sex, or any other kind of sexual activity—DON'T GO THERE. Period. 
  • A guy who has anal sex does not "lose" his love of vaginal sex. It's different, that's all. They both have their pros and cons, but vaginas really never lose their appeal, because vaginas are awesome, amen.
  • If you think your guy is only with you to fuck your ass—whether it's a virgin ass or no—he's not the right guy. Any man who goes hopping around using women for sex is living a pretty shallow life, and you're better off without a guy like that. 
The bottom line is, anal sex is just another sexual activity in a long list of sexual activities that should bring pleasure to both parties, or however many people are involved. It shouldn't be condemned, and the people who enjoy it shouldn't be condemned, either. 
And articles like this one just perpetuate a lot of myths and lies, ones anal sluts like me have to counter on a regular basis. It's maddening, really. 
But I bet some anal sex right now would make me feel better. 

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

It's Not Fair

Most of you already know how apple pie is my go-to get-out-of-jail-free card with Husband.
I do penitence pie with flair. 
Well, maybe not free; my ass still gets the comeuppance it deserves. But it's the comeuppance I think it deserves, which is nowhere near the abuse HUSBAND usually thinks it deserves, and while some of you may think that's an underhanded tactic on my part, I say, TOO BAD: when it involves my ability to sit, I'm gonna do whatever I can to facilitate.
Yesterday morning Husband left the house without saying one word to me. From the time he got up, until the moment I dropped him off at the train station—not one word.
I assumed it was because he was furious with me, and I knew why.
It was because he'd had a lot of sodium and MSG in his dinner the night before, and sodium and MSG makes him snore when he sleeps. He ended up snoring so loudly that night, I had to poke him to roll over...over and over again.
It's not my fault if I woke him up.
And it's certainly not my fault that last poke went in his eye.
But, you know, I could understand why he would think differently.
So I decided it was probably in my best interest to bake him an apple pie. I let him know by text.
He was pleased.
When he got home, he found me in the kitchen, preparing dinner. He leaned against the counter and stared at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said. "I just didn't sleep good last night."
"IT'S NOT MY FAULT," I immediately shouted. "YOU are the one who ate that damn MSG soup. You KNOW that stuff makes you snore."
He looked at me like I'd just gone mad. "What?"
"I was trying to sleep too!" I kept yelling. "I have bad aim when I'm half asleep! And YOU kept ME up, too!"
"Wait," he said. "Wait a minute. Did you...did you poke me last night when I was trying to sleep? Was I snoring, and you poked me?"
"...Yeah?" I said. "You mean you don't remember?"
"I had no idea. What do you mean, you have bad aim? Where did you poke me? In my balls?"
"No, in, uh, your shoulder."
"Really. Where did you poke me?"
"I may have kinda slightly got your eye. BUT IT'S NOT MY FAULT."
"It doesn't hurt," he said, touching his eye. "I guess it wasn't as bad as you thought."
"You mean...you really don't remember this at all?...But then why didn't you say anything to me this morning?"
"Cause I was tired and had a sore throat?" He said. "You thought—you thought I was angry at you? Is that why you decided to make me pie?"
I was frowning too deeply to answer at this point. Husband, on the other hand, started laughing uproariously.
"It's different when I make you pie and you're NOT mad at me, you know," I said through gnashed teeth, watching him laugh. "I get brownie points for this."
He stopped laughing long enough to think about that for a moment. "Wait a little longer," he said then. "I'm sure you'll do something I'll be mad at you for." And he started laughing once more.
"Wife," he said, offering me a kiss on the head, "it's not meant to be."
I live under a bus—a bus that right now, tastes like apple pie, and does not give brownie points.
It's not fair.

Monday, March 23, 2015

Not So Clever With the Words I Am

 So the other day, as a "gift," my bratty friend d got me a huge ginger root. I guess it would be more apt to say she got Husband a ginger root, to use on me. 
The following conversation followed. Scroll up, not down, to get the whole thing in order:

Needless to say, despite my attempts at refusing the "gift," it was still given to Husband.
That ginger has been sitting in my fridge since then, hidden all the way in the back where Husband does not look.
Yesterday I thought I could be clever. I thought I could finally get rid of the damn thing.
"Husband," I called to him upstairs, "if we have vegetables in the fridge nobody's going to eat, can I throw them away?"
"Yes?" He said, annoyed I was even asking. "If nobody's going to eat them, why not?"
"Thank youuuuuu," I replied.

I guess something in my voice tipped him off I was up to no good, because the moment I closed the cabinet door on the garbage can, his voice rang out:
I just about jumped out of my skin.
"But you said I could throw it away!" I said. "I asked you, and you said, if nobody's going to eat it, you can throw it away."
"You asked me about vegetables," he said.
"So, ginger is not a vegetable," he proclaimed. "Ginger is a root." He patted my head. "But nice try."

I have evil friends.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015


Rule of thumb: 
If you're about to do something you know would shame you if it ever got out? DON'T FUCKING DO IT. 
If you're about to say something you know would make you look like a piece of turd if people knew? DON'T FUCKING SAY IT. 

It's that simple, people. Don't do stuff you know makes you look like shit. Don't say stuff you know makes you sound like shit. 
Don't think the stuff you do and say is going to be swept under a rock, hidden away forever more. Because you don't know when the truth is going to come out—
or if—
But if it does, you will have no one to blame other than yourself for looking like an asshole. 

Not the person who called you out on your bad behavior. Not the people who turn away in disgust. 

None of us are perfect. All of us say and do things we end up regretting, sometimes badly. When that happens, all we can do is apologize, try to make amends, and move on. 

What we shouldn't do is attack the people who are pointing out to us our bad behavior. If you know you've fucked up, if you know you've behaved badly? OWN IT. 

Owning does not mean deflecting, or rationalizing, or victim-blaming, or gaslighting. OWNING means being able to admit, "I fucked up, I should not have done that, that was a mistake on my part, I am sorry." 

Monday, March 16, 2015

Time After Time

This past weekend I had one of the most awesome sexy scenes I have ever had with Husband in an open play space. No, scratch that—the most awesome sexy scene. 

And it happened because I was afraid.  

Husband, as many of you know, does not like to socialize. He is decidedly anti-social, in fact. He also does not like to engage in any heavily sexual BDSM in public. Put these two facts together, and you get why he almost never accompanies me to kinky events. 

Which I've learned to accept. It was hard, especially in the beginning; I wanted Husband at my side, all the time, acting as my Dom and Master. But Husband didn't want any part of that, and he didn't see the need, especially after I put down roots in our local community and felt (relatively) safe on my own. 
To be clear, he didn't begrudge me my desire to go to kinky events, and play with others; he didn't try to curb my fun. 
He just didn't want to join me in my revelry. 

I think the last time before this weekend he joined me at a kinky event was back in...November? Since then, I'd been going to kinky events on my own. Sometimes it was just to socialize and see friends....
But other times....
I was having some damn meaningful scenes. 
The kind that stick to your memory long after the marks fade. 
The kind that make you re-think things like likes and fetishes and boundaries. 
The kind that act like stepping stones on your own personal path of life. 

I didn't like it.
I liked the scenes I was having just fine; the scenes themselves were awesome. What I didn't like was that I was beginning to put down stones in the earth that would take me down a path where Husband was not leading me.

Every relationship—vanilla, kinky, monogamous, poly—follows its own path. The trick is to lay down stones wide enough so you can both walk along together. 
Now, in a D/s relationship, the Dom is not so much walking along side the submissive as much as leading the way, setting down the stones, lining the path to make it easier for her to follow. Sometimes the submissive may get scared, or feel like she's been walking for too long, and she'll balk. The Dom will have to give her leash a small yank, just enough to remind her who is controlling her lead. 
But I think any submissive, for the most part, will stay along the path her Dom sets for her, as long as he's not dragging her in the dirt and setting her up for failure. 

But no matter what, every person in the relationship has the responsibility to look where they are going, step where it's safe—and stick together. It is way too easy to get distracted and diverge. 

Now, I had not diverged from Husband. It went nowhere near that far. 
But I had felt my toe slip off the path, and that in and of itself was enough to worry me. 

So we talked. 
"I'm having moments without you," I said. "Ones I really wish you would share with me."
He got it. "Next party, I'm coming with you," he said. "I'm bringing the hitachi, you're getting naked, and I'm going to make you squirt in public."

The scene was with Him, my Top, and my Mistress. It was a fantasy come true for me, to have all three of them torturing me at the same time. 
I had worked out a signal with Husband, to convey to him when things got too much, when my protests were real and not fake; a "yellow" signal, if you will. And he assured me that if someone did something that went "too far," and I gave him the signal, he would call a break to the action. 
What I didn't count on was that the signal didn't apply to him, because I have no safewords with him—not the kind that act as a requirement for him to stop.

So in the course of the scene, as Husband began to torture my right nipple—it is always my right nipple, I have no idea what he has against that poor right nipple—I would give him the signal, he would keep going for another few seconds, and only then, after he'd pushed me off the edge, would he call a break. 

Every time I gave him the signal, he would look into my eyes. He would tell me with his stare that he knew he was the one causing me so much distress, but that, as always, it was up to him to decide when to stop, not me. He has that power as my Master. 
And after a while, I stopped giving him the signal. All communication was being done through our eyes...and in any case, he had made it clear he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted no matter what. 

He made me scream, and come, and squirt, and come again, and scream again. 

Like I said, the most awesome sexy scene ever. 
But it happened because I spoke up when I needed that reconnection. I had begun to feel a space between us—a tiny space, really, just a drop of the entwined hands—but a disconnect none the less. And I didn't want to feel that space get wider. 

The Ferret talked about this eloquently in his own post a while back, titled "It Would Be a Lot Easier For Me If You Didn't Come To This Convention." He writes:
As convenient as it might be to leave her behind...that would create a slow schism between us.
That schism wouldn't be her resentment.
It would be me, evolving in the absence of my wife.
Marriages break apart often not because people were bad for each other, but because people were great for each other when they started and then drifted apart. If you could somehow reset them to the people they were when they made their vows, then they'd still be together.

People change and unfold over time; there's no stopping that. The trick is to change together, to make sure you're working as a team. Relationships are more than just the sum of their parts: there's the energy in the heartbeats between, the force of love you feel for one another. 

I am blessed to have many relationships in my life, and many people I can say I love. But none of them will ever be as important as the one I share with Husband; he is my path and my journey, and the one who guides my way.
And when I start to feel lost, he is the one who calls my name, looks into my eyes, and lets me know: he is there. Not only is he there, he is the one doing my favor by allowing me to walk. 
Should I forget, he will make me crawl.