I was lying in bed last night mulling over the comments to that last entry. Communicate, communicate, communicate! (Well, except in one case where I’m supposed to shut up, lol)
Good advice. Yep. And we have talked.
John said “Since you are now vanilla, you have all the power in the world to talk on your terms.”
Here’s another truth I’m finding out: You can take the titles away, but that doesn’t do much to change what’s always been.
I am still submissive, and prone to meekness (No, really. It’s true!), he’s still dominant. We’ve got a decade of how we related to each other under our belt and a scant few weeks of having changed things. I mean, it’s been a few months of things gone wonky but that declaration of ‘being free’ hasn’t been that long ago.
And quite honestly, I don’t know what the fuck to do with it. Freedom is wasted on me, I’m telling you.
He’s always been in charge of when we’ll talk about something, if at all, and in charge of when the conversation is over. He’s never been hesitant to tell me to shut up (why do you think I do so much rambling here? I need an outlet, man!)
That hasn’t changed. So yes, we’ve talked- on his terms. Taking the formality of the labels away hasn’t suddenly catapulted me into a strong, independent feminist. I’ve spent ten years learning his body language and I know when to shut up.
What is it that vanilla’s do differently? Smack them over the head with a frying pan until he obeys? Tempting.
Plus, I’m not exactly brimming with confidence over here. I’m shattered, to be honest. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be. At all.
It doesn’t seem like he’s missing anything. He doesn’t act unhappy or upset or irritated. What is there to miss, though?
I still get up in the morning with him. I make coffee and breakfast, we watch some news and chit chat, I kiss him goodbye. I cook and clean and do whatever it is that needs done during the day. He comes home, we talk about his day, we talk about.. well, whatever it is that normal people talk about. Our kids, the dogs, the weather, his job, the news, any plans for that day or the next day or the coming weekend.
I make supper, I serve it, I clean up from it. He still chooses the menu, or has me change it if he’s not in the mood for that meal. I still do his laundry and pick up after him and make his plate and am there for sex if he wants it. We kiss, we hug. We go out to eat, we watch movies, we shop together. He goes off to do his other hobby and I watch tv or read facebook.
We’re not fighting, we don’t argue, it’s not tense or weird or anything.
Except in my head.
What’s different is
and nothing, all at once.
Maybe the only people who are going to get me are the fellow slaves who know exactly what it’s like when their owner has disengaged.
Everything I do may be the same. The actions, the routine.
That doesn’t make it submission. You can’t submit into a void.
Or, we could make it all twisty and say I’m submitting to the ultimate test because he really is doing whatever the fuck he wants. Go me.