Subconscious

He keeps ribbing me about being obedient AFTER I’ve obeyed without thinking

with that big stupid smirk on his big stupid face

~huffs~

Didn’t see that coming.

Yeah so… I don’t think I miss it all that much and I don’t think I want it back.

He misses it more and more every day and talks more and more about wanting it back.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Rumor

I’m going to be very very scarce (more so than I have been lately? Is that possible? Ha!) and I don’t have time to reply to each of you individually, but I needed to respond. You’ve taken the time to reach out to me and I appreciate it. A lot.

I appreciate mostly that there was very little judging. Thank you for that.

I appreciate the hugs and the positive thoughts and hopeful wishes. I need to hear those because I haven’t lost hope at all.

Thank you all so very much. You make it easy(-er) to leave the curtains open.

So, Amber is flying in on Monday (2 more days! Whoop!) and I’ll have about 10 days with her. I have a list of places we’re going to go, there is lots to do in Houston, and I’m very excited to show her around. I even drive these days, with only a wee bit of panic in the traffic. And for at least 4-5 of those 10 days, we’ll all be in El Paso, visiting Jes and the babygirls. It’s quite a jaunt from Houston to El Paso-like 10 hours or so-, but this is possibly the last time Amber will get to see them before they shoot off to Germany in the spring. So even though I’d rather not spend the money on the trip to El Paso, between hotel rooms and gas and eating out, etc., etc., I want to make sure we get there so she can see the girls and her sister in case there is no other chance for Jes to get to Michigan before they leave.

Anyway, for the next 2 weeks at least, I’m going to be pretty wrapped up in family stuff.

Also, there have been some technical difficulties with the website, I know the site’s been down a few times. That has nothing to do with me or my theatrics. I took it down that one time, with the pretty little hiatus message, but if you see any other issues with it not loading or whatever, just chalk it up to the servers. If I go offline again, which I have no plans to do, I’ll put the hiatus page back up.

I started working with a dog/cat rescue group a few weeks ago, for now I’m just doing foster work, but I’m working up the courage to volunteer at their adoption events. And by working up the courage, I mean accepting that things are different here now. It feels a whole lot like putting another nail in the coffin so I’m reluctant.

I’m fostering a 6 month old puppy for them, some sort of beagle mix. He’s my second foster, actually, the first puppy was lucky to be adopted out almost as soon as I got her. I’ve had this little guy for about 3 weeks now. He was in pretty rough shape when I got him, he had mange, ear infections, he smelled horrible, had no training… but he’s looking pretty decent now. I’m enjoying it, even if he does shit in the house (and to that end, he hasn’t an accident inside for 4 days. ~knock on wood~) And Gracie loves loves loves having a playmate again.

I have also filled out a few job applications. I even had an interview last week. I didn’t get the job, though, and immediately after that, he (I’m struggling with what to call him now. ‘Scott’ doesn’t feel right, but I can’t use ‘Master’, either. :( ) asked me if I would just please not do that. Not get a job. I’m not sure if that’s a ‘yet’ or an ‘ever’, but he’s not ready to nail that shut, either.

All of that to say I’m not just languishing around feeling sorry for myself.

I hate rereading what I’ve posted because all I do is criticize myself. Think of things I should have added to make something make more sense, things I could have worded better, things I wished I wouldn’t have said…

It’s difficult because I strive to mostly be open and honest and paint a realistic picture of things, but I also keep some things private. I understand that that leaves a lot open to interpretation and speculation, but at the same time I dislike it when people come to the wrong conclusion. It’s a conundrum. Of my own making, no less.

So! And since I’m going to be busy over the next little while, I’m going to clear up a few rumors and speculations.

First, me and him? We’re fine. I mean, mostly. We’re not fighting. We don’t argue. Nothing is tense or uncomfortable. Somewhere along the way we learned how to have disagreements like adults (almost, haha), and since we are both horridly, disgustingly in love with each other, we’re pretty solid that way. We still laugh, we joke, we hug and kiss and yada yada yada. So it’s not a house of horrors by an stretch.

Second, I didn’t smack up against a limit. Thanks to a head’s up from a friend, I was made aware that our situation here was the subject of a thread on fet wherein it was questioned how I went from a no-limit slave to suddenly discovering a limit (the limit of being ignored, I guess?)

Well, for one thing, I tend to not *really* label myself as a no-limit slave. I don’t like to speak in absolutes because it bites me in the ass too often. Usually what I said was that I hadn’t yet found a limit. Or that I don’t tell him what he can or can’t do. So no-limits? Ehhh…

But this whole thing needs to be backed up a fair bit before one jumps to the grand conclusion that I’ve suddenly put the smack down on him.

You’ll find me firmly in the camp of spouting about how M/s (or O/p- whatever) takes WORK. I can’t submit in a vacuum. I can’t create ownership where none is existing, and I think it takes far FAR more than just some dude sitting in his recliner saying “I own you, bitch”. (if only it were that easy!)

Y’all can decide for yourselves what M/s means to you, how it needs to be maintained, work out all the fine details, but for me to continue to feel like I’m owned, like I’m his property and his slave, then I need some input and some follow through. Among a lot of other things, too.

If that makes me high maintenance, then I’m high maintenance. I’m fine with that label.

But I cannot follow if nobody is leading and he wasn’t leading.

It’s not like he said “Cunt, I’m going to exclusively be doing this other thing and giving it every bit of my time and attention and what you are going to do is shut up and accept it” and then I replied with a big fat fuck you. It didn’t go down like that at all.

And it’s not like I said to him “You gotta stop doing what you’re doing or I’m not going to be your slave. You dom me how I want to be dommed, dammit!” Because it didn’t go down like that, either.

The circumstances under which I threw up my hands and gave up weren’t even about who was or wasn’t ‘performing.

One of the comments there said “If you were fired from a job would you still show up every day?” and that pretty well sums it up. I had gotten fired but I was still showing up every day. Then one day I realized I wasn’t getting paid, plus the boss told me I was a douche,lol– so I quit.

Next-

He hasn’t found someone else. He doesn’t have a new slave or a new woman who is sucking up “my” time. I’m not having a jealous snit. There is no other person, his new ‘thing’ isn’t even a kinky thing. It’s a standard, vanilla, time and money sucking hobby-slash-addiction.

I’d actually prefer that it was a person, at least I’d have some company once in awhile.

Next –

This really is not about my kids or about my pent-up anger over the move. The vast majority of that anger came about after I’d been here awhile and was confronted with understanding that I’d left *for nothing*.

Yes, I had guilt over leaving B-man at such a young age. Yes, I cried over losing the animals and my friends and the house and blah blah blah. Yes, I wished he’d have made a different choice.

But surrounding all of that was some excitement, too. Some relief. Some “finally! It’s our time!” We’d waited so long, talked about it so much, made plans and built it up to be such a huge event- only to get here and lose him to… to that.

So no. Not even about me, really.

Not that I’m squeaky clean or blameless. I know there are better ways I could have handled it, but that doesn’t put me at fault, either. I held up my end of things. I gave up the animals, I emptied the house, I moved out my kids, I drove across the country, and I did it with a fucking smile on my face and I sucked his dick like a good little girl

And then he checked the fuck out on me.

Next-

What he said to me. All of those ugly words about it being my fault.

He’s already taken it back. He said it out of anger and out of defensiveness because I was confronting him about all this stuff and he didn’t want to hear it. It was classic deflection.

I knew what it was when he said it. I knew that HE knew it was bullshit.

If I was doing something or behaving in a way that he didn’t like, all he had to do was say something. Fix it. Change it. But he continually told me things were great and gave no indication that he displeased with my performance.

You can’t have all the control and power that he has (had) and not accept responsibility when things go south.

So, either I was actually the one in control and I weirdly drove us right into the ditch even though I wanted this O/p more than anything, enough to leave my kids for it, actually, oh, and, by the way, does that mean he was never in control? Exactly when did I assume all the power here?

OR.

He had a giant jackass moment.

The thing is, he’s not a jackass. Normally, I mean. Not in a bad way, you know? He can be a GOOD jackass, the kind that lights my fire, but he’s not usually a douchey jackass who goes around willy nilly destroying my self esteem by saying awful things to me, decimating me in THAT way…

And that’s really when I knew things were bad in a bad way. Because he was being somebody he isn’t.

I’m not “quitting” him. I’m not quitting our relationship. I will always be his.

Oddly enough (or not), things in our day to day life are mostly the same– while also feeling vastly different.

It is SO WEIRD to say “Nah. I don’t want to.” Plus, it makes me feel icky. And sad.

I’ve stopped carrying my phone around but I haven’t yet stopped panicking when I hear it go off and I’m in the other room.

Every time he talks, my instinct is to jump up and fetch. My body twitches, my lips form the ‘yes Sir’ just a fraction of a second before I realize I can say “Nah. I don’t want to.” lol

And then I have a sad. :(

Voice

I’ve backspaced over a few starts already, trying to find some analogy that fits. From a boat taking on water, to a cracked house foundation, to the over-used and tiresome car maintenance analogy, but nothing is sounding right.

So I’m just going to write my story as it comes to me. It’s not likely going to be pretty or funny or flowery. It might be angry, or ugly. It will be honest.

I shut down the blog (and deactivated fet) because I was feeling raw and vulnerable. With as much as I have shared over 9 years of blogging – by my own hand, admittedly, and usually something I enjoy and find a very positive undertaking- this place can sometimes feel a lot like standing naked in front of an open window.

Only I can’t see out. It’s one-way glass and all I see is my own murky reflection. I can’t see who is looking in. I don’t know if you’re friend or foe. And if I’m not particularly fond of the murky reflection I’m seeing, and if I’m feeling exposed and weak, then I want to shut the curtains.

There have been over 8 million views here. I’ve made over 2,500 posts, and there are over 50,000 comments. I average, 3, maybe 4, rude comments/emails/messages a week. Not bad odds, considering. On a good day, that occasional comment is nothing. I read it, I roll my eyes, I delete it, and I forget it. On a bad day, though, it can feel like a knife in the gut.

And I was having a bad day.

Hell, I was having a bad week. A bad month- a bad few months.

Like that’s a newsflash. I really suck at pretending things are great when they aren’t. I did try, though. I tried really hard to find the silver lining, I tried to listen to the people who told me it would smooth itself out. I tried to be positive and pro-active.

There was just so much shit.

So. Much. Shit.

I had (have) so much anger and resentment over this move and the repercussion it has had on the other people in our lives. Which have been many, and harsh, and unfair.

I have so much guilt over this move. Guilt over leaving my kids. Guilt over moving farther away–rather than closer to–my aging and increasingly unhealthy parents. Guilt over the pets that I had to disrupt.

And then I have so much guilt over being so angry. How can I justify being so angry over something that’s clearly made him incredibly happy? What kind of person- what kind of wife, what kind of slave(!!) begrudges her owner his happiness?

Hasn’t he put in his time, sacrificed and given and provided for, gone to the ends of the earth and back when it was never his obligation to do so. Hasn’t he earned this change to this easy, comfortable, laid back existence?

He’s almost 50, you know. 48 on his next birthday. Not exactly an old man but… old enough that he felt the toll his last job was taking on his body.

Old enough, wise enough, to know life is too short to be unhappy.

He swore to me when we moved the last time that he wouldn’t make us move again until the kids were out of school. He kept that promise. He fulfilled his end of things, and I was- I am – incredibly grateful for everything he’s done for me and our kids. The grandkids, too, as we all remember how difficult that situation was.

He put himself first, finally, and it was high time he did. Understandable that he did. I really was completely on board in the beginning.

And it was my place, you know? I was just the slave, not his partner, not his equal, not the one he needed to consult or convince or placate or soothe. Just the bitch who needed to be told what to do.

Plus, there was his assurance that it was our time now. It was going to be the time to make our fantasies a priority, to make them come true. Time to focus on us, on everything that we’d had to put on hold for the last decade. He dangled that carrot and reignited the fires with his words and his promises.

That’s what got me through pushing my last kid out of the nest (literally. Like.. literally.) and then moving thousands of miles away. That’s what got me through selling or giving away most of “my” stuff. From kitchen stuff to clothing to holiday items to toys to furniture to… yada yada yada. The animals, saying good bye to my kids, my parents, my friends, my home, the plans we’d made, the work we’d done…

And moved here.

Did you know that the size of Upper Michigan is roughly 16 square miles and the population of that entire area is just over 300 thousand. The population of the little area we lived and stayed within is just over 20,000.

Houston, on the other hand, is roughly 8 square miles and has a population of 2.1 MILLION. While we’re not in Houston proper, but on the western edge of it, it’s still culture shock to the Nth degree.

I like living rural. I liked privacy and quiet and solitude. Which was another thing that he used to dangle in front of me. The many uses that solitude had when it came to matters of nefarious purposes. The many things he said we would do there, could do there.

But he wanted to move, so we did.

To this place that isn’t mine. Where nothing fit and nothing felt right and nothing was the same and I missed my kids and I was (am) eaten up with guilt and sadness.

To a kink community that is huge (HUGE) and that I don’t feel like we fit into.

The only thing I had here, the only reason I came here, was him. What I clung to and counted on was everything he’d talked about, the chance to live out that dream and do all the things we couldn’t do before.

And he promptly lost it.

Lost the urge, lost interest, lost the need. He was happy doing other things, things that didn’t involve me at all. All he wanted from me was a glass of water now and then.

No exaggeration.

Anything else that happened of a kinky nature was something I asked for, something I instigated, something that I even went so far as to nag for and bitch about.

Otherwise he completely and utterly ignored me.

And maybe, as a slave, being ignored- not needed, not wanted- is something I should be able to swallow. My place, etc., etc.

And maybe I could have- WOULD have- if all that other stuff ~flaps hands above~ hadn’t literally JUST happened, if being a slave wasn’t the ONLY thing I was clinging to.

And maybe if his reason for disappearing was something more legitimate than what it was, something a little understandable to me. I mean, I’m an adult, I know people don’t get everything they want when they want it, and especially as a slave when it’s been preached and drilled into me that it’s not about me or about what I want, that my needs are deprioritized.

But.

You can’t go about making yourself THE priority, ensuring that you are the ONLY thing a person has left in their life- and then shut them out.

Or at least you can’t do that without repercussions.

I feel like I tried. I feel like I did everything within my power- which, by the very nature of what he’d been building for the last 10 years is limited- to fix it.

I communicated. I asked over and over again what I needed to do to make it better/easier/more/less/anything. And he assured me that I was doing nothing wrong, that nothing was wrong, that everything was GREAT.

And that, my friends, was the end of my “power”.

You might be thinking, well jeez, kaya. You’ve only been there for a few months. Give the guy a break. Right?

Sure. You might be right.

Trust me, I told myself the same thing.

Maybe if he would have recognized the problem. Maybe if he would have said “Be patient, cunt. I know, and I’ll get to it as soon as I have my shit settled.” Maybe if he’d have given me a morsel of hope, a crumb to tide me over, acknowledgment of what was wrong.

But he didn’t. What he presented was that everything was as it should be, everything was perfect, everything was exactly as it was going to be.

He was deliriously happy. He was PERFECT. Everything was PERFECT. His life was PERFECT.

And i was absofuckinglutely miserable.

I don’t think I’m properly expressing the level of nothingness that was happening here.

N O T H I N G.

I didn’t have to follow rules. I didn’t have to clean the house. I didn’t have to ask for anything. I didn’t have to cook. We weren’t having sex. We didn’t talk. We didn’t spend time together. There was no kink. The toys weren’t used.

I wasn’t used.

Unless I came to him and said, sir, please, would you [fill in the blank] with/to me today? and maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t, but it was always and only if I asked for it. If I didn’t, all the better, because his giving me what I asked for was hurried, uninterested, and obviously him doing it to shut me up.

Because when you’re a slave and a masochist, that scratches the itch, right?

I could, and did, sit on the couch and do nothing all day long- nothing at all- not get dressed, not make dinner, not pick up anything or do the dishes or brush my hair or do ANYTHING- I could sleep all day (and did, more than once)- inform him that I was ordering pizza for dinner- and repeat that for days on end

and he didn’t care.

he’d flit around telling me how fucking HAPPY he was, how wonderful everything was, how great life was

while I died a little more inside, every day.

I would yank myself up by my bootstraps, pull on my big girl panties, and follow the old rules, clean the house, cook dinner, make myself look pleasing and be pleasant and proactive and all of those things that used to matter

he’d flit around telling me how fucking HAPPY he was, how wonderful everything was, how great life was

You see? It didn’t matter either way.

Do it or not do it, he stopped caring. He was so involved in this other thing, this other hobby, that all he wanted was for me to leave him alone. To not make waves. To not need anything from him.

So.

I gave him that.

Indifference is a murdering bastard in an M/s relationship.

And I gave it back as good as I was getting it.

The final straw that broke the camel’s back (for me) was when he didn’t want to go get groceries with me.

Which sounds so incredibly stupid all by its lonesome, not even a ripple on the surface under normal circumstance with a normal couple. (It *was* a ripple for us, in the old days, sending me to the store alone, though, if you remember)

His decision to send me off to the store by myself was him handing me the last shred of my freedom that he’d been holding onto. That had been, literally, the one and only thing we still did together, my fear -still- of the crowds and the traffic here, and he’d go with me, offering safety and familiarity just by being there with me.

I’m not even going to apologize for being a ninny. This was something else that he’d spent years creating, reinforcing that dependence and that fear, shopping without him could be an anxiety-inducing event on a good day, so this- doing it here in this city and with everything else going on, feeling so vulnerable and alone and scared and hopeless and then

then he just tossed that last thing at me, so nonchalantly. Just… here, go. take it.

That is what I felt to be true, and I sank and sank and sank, like an exhausted swimmer who’d been handed a cement block.

And when I struggled one last time to the surface and tried to give him that weight, that heavy heavy weight that was taking me under, he exploded and threw it back at me.

It was my fault. I was in the wrong. The demise of our M/s was on me. I hadn’t done enough, hadn’t tried hard enough, hadn’t made it interesting enough or pleasing enough to keep his attention and it was because of me that he’d found something else to occupy his time.

I was too much work, needed too much input, couldn’t just follow the rules and be happy.

Couldn’t just let him be happy.

So.

That’s where we are.

I quit.

Personally, I say he quit on me months ago but since I’m the one who had the balls to say the words, it was me who quit.

~shrug~ Whatever. I can shoulder that.

It’s not supposed to be this hard. This is something that is supposed to make us happy, it’s supposed to be fulfilling and feel good and be fun.

Not this.

I don’t know where we are going from here. I don’t know who I am or what I am or what I want anymore.

I don’t know what I’m doing here.

It’s been a few weeks since everything “went down”. All we know is that we’re not splitting up.

Neither of us are content being vanilla, but I’m not willing (ready?) to go back to his (new) version of M/s. I suspect the only thing he’s missing is being waited on. That’s not enough for me.

I won’t go back, not just because we hit a bump in the road because I know that happens, but because of everything that was said, the way the blame was handed down. I told him he was the general blaming the troops for losing the war. My faith is shaken- my faith in myself and in him, my trust is damaged. He was behind the wheel but I crashed us. Apparently I’m not the slave I believed myself to be.

So, it’s a lot to take in. A lot to figure out.

For the first time in a decade I have a choice in what happens next.

I have a voice.

I just gotta figure out what I want to say.

EDIT TO ADD:

There are two sides to every story. Obviously, I can only give my side because it’s the only one I know. He’s free (and welcome, because I’d like to hear it, too) to come here and write out his side if he wants to. I’m not trying to make him look bad and if I’ve done that here, then that’s one more thing I’ll feel guilty about. I have, though, presented this as I felt it, told what I thought and what I feel.

Um…. Say Something?

I am actually going to say something real soon.

It’s currently arranging itself in my head. Once that’s done, I’ll transfer it into a coherent blog post. Just a little more patience, please, if you would.

Say Something

Say something, I’m giving up on you it
I’ll be the one, if you want me to
Anywhere I would’ve followed you
Say something, I’m giving up on you it

And I am feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all

And I will stumble and fall
I’m still learning to love
Just starting to crawl

Say something, I’m giving up on you it
I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you
Anywhere I would’ve followed you
Say something, I’m giving up on you it

And I will swallow my pride
You’re the one that I love
And I’m (never) saying goodbye

Say something, I’m giving up on you it
And I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you
And anywhere I would’ve followed you
Say something, I’m giving up on you it

Say something, I’m giving up on you it
Say something…

So. Yeah.

silent

Ethics, Shmethics.

There was a debate raging on Fet, in which I was a participating participant because, helloooo, it’s me, so now I’m going to poll you fine folks.

It was about weight, and whether or not an Owner has an obligation (morally or ethically) to force his/her slave into being thinner.

To keep them healthy, you understand.

Personally, I think the ethics angle is way off base considering all the other “unhealthy” stuff we do, and I think that’s a spin put on by someone who is too chicken to say he wants his slave to look like a porn star and not a toad. “I only care about your health, baby!”

Not that I don’t think there aren’t Owners who are genuinely concerned about their property’s health and weight is a component of that (~waves hand madly~) but to put a spin of what an owner *should* do because he/she should be an ‘ethical owner’ is so much bullshit.

Where does that leave owners who prefer larger women?

I don’t think an owner who wants his property to be bigger is any more or less unethical than on owner who lets his slave smoke, engages in ass-to-mouth, pisses down her throat, beats on her, pokes her with needles, whips her, bruises her…. or any other activity that has the possibility of unhealthy side effects.

It is much more widely accepted for an owner to control his property’s diet and exercise if the goal is to make her thinner. In fact, in certain circles it’s touted as a “should”. He most certainly should be doing that because he should be doing everything he can to make her healthy and if he isn’t, he’s weak or not really in control or unethical.

I don’t think an owner should do anything except what he wants to do. And no, you can’t use my last several posts against me, lol. Besides, he’s still doing whatever he wants to do and do I like it? No. Obviously. That doesn’t change anything, though.

I say controlling a person’s diet and exercise goes both ways, from fat to thin. It’s not the property’s place to refuse based on ethics. Or is it?

Then the conversation devolved into, well, what if an owner wants (something, anything, fill in the blank, but for the purposes of simplicity let’s stick with weight) his property to be slimmer but she makes it really difficult, complains or bitches or whatever, so ultimately the owner decides it’s not a matter of enough importance to him to keep pushing so he drops it.

In that case, apparently, even though the owner chose to drop it (or, worse, the owner never chose to implement it in the first place because, oh, lets say he didn’t want to), the idea is that the owner isn’t really in charge.

So what say you?

1. Does an Owner have an ethical obligation to keep his slave thin, because of health reasons?
2. Does an Owner have ANY ethical obligations?
3. If an Owner chooses not to do something, especially if his reason for it is because it’s too difficult, is he less in control?
4. Does an Owner have the right to make his slave unhealthy by forcing her to gain weight?
5. What *should* an Owner be doing? Are there widely accepted ‘laws of the land’?

Hey, kaya! What’s new?

Actually nobody has asked me that. Nobody but my imaginary friends. But after almost a decade of blogging, it’s hard to find a lead in, okay?

The short answer: Nuttin’, honey.

The long answer: I think I’ve passed the stressed phase of moving and slid right on into the “Meh. It’s kind of boring here” phase.

Because it’s kind of boring here. My days have gotten pretty monotonous. I keep thinking that they were monotonous before we moved, too, but for whatever reason, I didn’t seem to care then.

I’m languishing. That’s my new word.

Let’s see. Um, my car (mine as in the one that Master doesn’t take to work, that stays here in case I have to go somewhere but I rarely do so it’s been sitting and not been started or driven for… I don’t even know. 2 or 3 weeks, at least. Maybe longer.) won’t start. He thinks it’s a malfunctioning anti-theft feature which seems to be a common malfunction in Chevys and does more to keep owners from starting their own cars than stopping thieves from driving off with them. I don’t even care if/when it gets fixed. I got nowhere to go.

What else.

I’m doing terrrrrible on the diet and exercise regime. Yep, not losing a pound. I cannot even tell you how much I don’t care. Zero fucks to give.

We were going to go to a bdsm event (Beyond Vanilla, in Dallas) but now we’re not because… ~flaps hand~ …reasons.

We had dinner and games last weekend with 2 other kinky couples and had a lot of fun. We’re planning on having another couple over for dinner/movies/chat tomorrow night. Next weekend, my niece and sister are supposed to be coming for a visit (they live in Dallas). I think the next weekend after that is a Ren Faire that Master wants to go to. Sometime later in the month, the kink group we are trying to infiltrate is having a Halloween party, and then early in November is when Am is coming to visit.

I suppose I should take the butt plug off the bathroom counter.

Double Standards

If it’s bedtime and you are not tired, send me to bed anyway.

If you want to relax but there are things that need done, sit back and have me do them.

If you don’t feel like going anywhere but errands need ran, send me to do them.

If you want cake but I’m on a diet, eat it in front of me.

If you want to sleep in but the dog has to go out, make me get up.

If you are horny but you don’t want to fuck, have me pleasure you.

If I’m sleeping but you want something, wake me.

If I’m busy but you need something, stop me.

If I’m horny but you aren’t, deny me.

It is okay if we both need to exercise but I’m the only one required to use the treadmill. It is okay for me to be hungry while you eat. It is okay for me to be tired while you sleep. It is okay for me to be horny while you cum.

It is okay for you to be cruel, insensitive, and selfish.

Don’t take away the things that drew me to you in the first place.

You can strike me, bruise me, cut me.

But those things don’t touch my soul.

Don’t forget who I am, what I am.

Rub my nose in what I am. Grind my face in what I am. Shove it down my throat, make me gag on it, make me bleed for it. Rape my soul with your words, your expectations, your double standards, your hypocrisy and your selfishness.

Go ahead and love me a little, if that’s what you feel.

Just…

Don’t love me into equality.

Because in that, I’ll feel hated.