Take Two Nipple Clamps and Call Me in the Morning

It occurred to me the other day that while I feel like my life is full of stress and uncertainty, from an outsider's point of view, I lead a pretty kinky life. I attend a regular munch and sporadically show up at others, I go to parties, I get invited to kinky people's homes and invite them to my home. 

I do have fun. 

Last week my chest was used as a message billboard between three sadists, one of whom was my husband. The week before that, I came home from the munch with my poor breast looking like it had been clawed by an angry cat, thanks to all the clothing pins that had been systematically pinched on and then ripped off (by someone's teeth, no less). Yesterday two friends came over 

(hi Monkey Ninja and Winsome Gypsy!) 

and we made cupcakes. Then we all went to my local munch together, where we celebrated another friend's birthday, and I got to spank his sub with my SLUT impression paddle.

(I was almost choked to death by a possessed rubber ducky, but that's another story.)

I turn down more events than I attend. With my schedule and family life, I have to. But I'm grateful to live in the community I do, full of warm, generous, fun, and welcoming people, who understand my life is less than easy right now, but don't let me live in self-pity, either. Life goes on. Nipples must be clamped. Limbs must be cuffed. Asses must be welted, and necks must be collared. We cannot spend our lives worrying and feeling sorry for ourselves. 

I don't think you'll ever hear a psychiatrist touting BDSM and kink as anti-depression methods, but goddamn, they can work.

Bumps in the Dark

Some scenes begin with heavy negotiation and planning. Some scenes begin with a request (or an order). 

And some scenes begin with nothing but a look.

Last night when I went up to bed, as I closed the bedroom door, I happened to look down the stairs. Husband was there, directly in my line of sight, looking straight up at me. He had that look in his eyes, the one letting me know a challenge had been drawn; and I met his look with my own, letting him know: challenge accepted.

He came up without a word.

He lay down next to me, on top of the blanket. His intentions were obvious, but I surprised him by getting up and turning off the light. Now, in our house, turning off the light is a big no-no; Husband likes his visuals, and typically orders me to keep the light on. But last night, he didn't try to stop me. He just made some noises of frustration when I climbed back on the bed in the dark.

Then he reached for me--and brushed his arm hard against my nose.

I howled and moved away from him. "What the hell did you do that for?" I yelled, rubbing my face.

"I'm sorry. It's dark, and I can't see."

"Well now my nose hurts."

He reached for me again, this time grabbing my breast. But I was far from mollified, and moved away from him once more.

"I said, my nose hurts. God, you could at least apologize."

"I did."

"You didn't."

"I did. You just didn't hear me. Now you can go fuck yourself."

"I didn't hear it because you didn't mean it. You should say it like you mean it."

He cleared his throat, deepened his voice, and said, very clearly:

"Go fuck yourself."

We were both laughing for a good few minutes, giggling like children.

As the laughter died down, I spread my legs and reached my hand between them, rubbing haphazardly. 

"Fine," I said. "I will fuck myself. You can just go back downstairs if you want to."

The climate went from playful to wicked as he grabbed my hand away and twisted my body into his own. "I don't think so," he said, his voice a menacing whisper. "I can see much better than you in the dark."

It was on after that. We wrestled across the bed, bucking and heaving, as I tried to get him off me and he did his best to pin me down. He always had the upper hand, because each time I managed to slip out from beneath him, he would squeeze my tender nipple, the one he had recently pinned at a birthday party we attended together. Every time he squeezed that nipple, I would freeze in shock and pain, and he would get back on me. 

Of course, after a while, I didn't want him getting off off me. I wanted him on me and in me, pounding me into oblivion and releasing all the energy we had just been building up with our wrestling and laughter. He held my legs up as he pummeled, and I grabbed his ass. 

I can't state this enough: Husband has one of the most adorable asses in the world.

We're still stressed. I'm still often down. But as long as I can rely on Husband to be there, and hold me in the dark no matter what, even when we get bumped and bruised, even when we have to struggle to get where we need to be...

I think we'll be okay.

What I'm up to, and what I'm not

I wish I could tell you I've been busy writing. It's true, I have been writing, but that's not why I've been absent online.

I wish I could tell you I've been on a glorious trip, traveling somewhere exotic and fun. It's true I've been visiting friends occasionally, including one trip to San Francisco. But those visits have been hardly exciting, and anyway, they are not the reasons why I've been absent online.

I wish I could tell you life has been so exciting for me, I just didn't have the chance to check in. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

The truth is, I'm down, and when I get like this, I disappear. I hate burdening my friends with my problems, because I know we all have problems, we all have shit to deal with, and nobody has a monopoly on the woes of the world.

I hate the way I look. I hate my nose, my hair, my belly, everything. I hate my weight, and how flabby I am. I hate the way I sound, and how my voice comes out like a shrieking twelve year old's. I hate my toenails. I hate my toes. I hate how bad I am at math. I hate my lack of patience. I hate my tendency to judge. I hate the way I feed my kids unhealthy food. I hate it how I have such high expectations of everyone else, yet expect so little from myself.

I hate feeling this way, this constant anxiety and dread. It doesn't help that Husband just found out he might be out of a job by the end of the month. Chances look good he'll be out of a job by the end of the year. After that...I don't know what is going to happen.

I don't want to burden anyone with this gloomy, depressing person I've become. So I'm going to stay away for a while, and only come back when I have something kinky and uplifting to say. Okay?
Thank you.