Cutting off the nose to spite the face

…. is the alternate title to yesterday’s post.

Which, for maybe the first time ever, I was able to see how counter-productive that list would have been.

In less than 2 weeks, he leaves for 30 days. In these next not-quite-2-weeks, I’m going to offer to suck his dick. I’m going to beg him to fuck my ass. I’m going to cook his meals and clean his house and reorganize his clothes in the closet like he wants them organized and which I’ve sloppily hung up, mixing t-shirts with dress shirts when I know better.

Which is meant to sound as trivial as it is but is indicative of the larger picture.

And then I’ll take the next 30 days and work on myself because I’ll have nothing else to do anyway and I need the work.

I’ve gotten lazy, complacent, and entitled.

Maybe he has, too. But I can’t fix him or change him.

Words like “worth” and “earn” in conjunction with “wife” and “slave” have been tossed around. A little rubbing my nose in the piss puddle on the floor.

Then. At the end of those 30 days, I’m going to hope I’ve made enough progress that it’s my Master who comes home, and that I’m worthy of coming home to.

So I’m just glad, right now, that I didn’t trot home with a cute little blonde bob to shove in his face. It might have felt all manner of righteous in the moment, but if I had, I can guaran-damn-tee you I wouldn’t be sitting here, nursing this glimmer of hope today.

Still got my nose. Still got my face. Still got hope.

And maybe later I’ll get an ass fuck to go along with it. :)

Fail Blog

That’s what I’m gonna change my blog name to. Fail Blog. Except it’s already taken so poo.

I kid, I kid (about the name change, not that the blog name is taken. Cuz it is taken.)

Anyway. ^Dumb joke^

I don’t think it’s a fail. I’m actually pretty hopeful today. The smallest bit of encouragement from him and I start to soar.

And by encouragement I mean a slap to the face.

I’m so easy, truly.

Of course I did mention that I was thinking of taking up alcoholism as a hobby so maybe I had it coming.

What I think I am an epic failure at is being vanilla. I could:

1. Cut my hair! Vanilla wives style their hair however they want to, right? So why is my hair still exactly as he’s wanted it for the last ten years? Fail.

2. Take up smoking! I liked smoking. I still miss smoking. I have the perfect smoker’s nook right outside my back door. Smoking goes hand in hand with drinking. Fail.

3. Adopt ALL THE CATS! I love cats. I could easily see myself being the crazy cat lady. I’d be happy as fuck fostering litter after litter of kittens for the rescue group I’m working with. Fail.

4. Have an affair. I could! Houston is rife with desperate horny men (and women). Fail.

5. Get a tattoo of my choosing. Something in purple, like a giant purple flower.

6. Smack him back (and then run like fuuuuck)

7. Become a regular at a Biker Bar. Why not? I can pull off the leather look.

8. Paint all the walls sexy vibrant colors, a different color on each wall- and get coordinating animal print pillows. Earth tones are boring, Dude.


10. Throw my phone in the Gulf of Mexico. Followed by the Fitbit, instead of ordering a new charger for it like he told me to do because I lost it.

Fail, fail, fail, fail.

The hair, though… wow is that ever tempting.

Let’s Talk, Baby

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

Well, everything

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.



Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby

Or more accurately, sex without BDSM.

It probably goes without saying that my sex life has tanked in recently months. It’s not quite nil, but close.

Sometimes I get the idea that he’s waiting for me to make the first move, to seduce him. For all I say that we’ve “talked about it”, there’s a whole lot that hasn’t been said. Because it’s too raw or too painful or too close to what’s boiling under the surface and honestly, we’re both too tired of thinking about what’s under the surface that neither of us are willing to risk lifting the lid.

Making the first move probably sounds like such a simple thing. But it’s so anathema to who I am. Maybe he thinks, well hell, he’s not the dom anymore so why should he do all the work? While I can logically accept that rationale (if indeed, that is what he’s thinking) because I’ve certainly had the same thought when it comes to things like service, etc., that doesn’t magically transform me into the aggressor. I am simply not a sexually dominant person. I never have been.

Maybe some people think that taking BDSM out of our lives should be simple. So I just don’t get tied up anymore, but otherwise life goes on as usual, right?

Wrong. Oh so much wrong, as I’m finding out.

I couldn’t be more turned off than if I were a straight female whose male partner just had a sex change. It wouldn’t matter that s/he was the same person *inside*, that the love would still be there…. if I’m not turned on by eating pussy, I’m going to have a hard time desiring sex with my suddenly pussy-sporting lover.

Likewise, I am NOT turned on by vanilla sex. Like.. at all.

So why can’t we just have kinky sex, right? A little bondage, a little slap and tickle…

Because ew. That’s why.

That kind of fake-ass, role-playing, kink-pretend bullshit makes my skin crawl. Works for you? Great. I’m not judging. I don’t judge women who like to eat pussy, either. But if it ain’t my thing, it ain’t my thing.

And BDSM- for ME- has always been more about the mental authenticity than about anything else, and that’s what is all gone.

Adios, see ya, bubbye.

Which is also where my sex drive is. Gone like yesterday.

I still have physical needs- I’m not *dead* (just maybe wish I were)- but the desire to act on them, knowing what I’ll get- Meh. I’ll pass, thanks.

Can’t seem to work up the interest to eat some pussy, you know what I mean?

Lack of sex has led to a noticeable lack of intimacy between us. As much as we both keep reassuring the other that our marriage is fine, there’s no denying (for me anyway) that “just stopping BDSM” is beginning to have much deeper and more profound effects than just not being bossed around anymore.

What can I do about it? I wish I knew. How do I change who I am, what makes me tick? How do I just become a different person?

How did he? :-(


I totally didn’t mean for that last post to be cryptic. Almost a decade of blogging and I still forget that you can’t read my mind. Sorry!

Anyway, no, it wasn’t a happy post saying that after 6 months of turmoil we(he) suddenly fell back into our “roles” like nothing ever happened and, oops, silly drama queen me, crying the sky is falling for nothing! tee hee! Sowwy!

Nah. It ain’t gone down like that at all, son. Don’t I wish.

Nor was it a ‘goodbye, cruel world!’ post.

It was merely a punch to the gut that I’d gotten hopeful an entry or two ago and I shouldn’t have.

Because nothing has changed.

Oh we’ve talked about it. Of course we have. He misses it, I miss it… But not enough apparently.

You know this new and amazing and wonderful job sends him away for 30 days at a time and that particular joy is going to happen in about 2 weeks, and then when he gets back I’ll have the babygirls for another few weeks- my last big hoorah with them before they leave for Germany- and then when THEY leave he’ll be up for another 30 day rotation away.

Don’t you see that nothing can be done with all of those obstacles in the way?

Well, DO YOU?

I am currently parked at the corner of Bitter Lane and Angry Avenue so me and my pleasant self will be taking a time out.

Good day.

False Alarm

Ok folks, show’s over, nothing to see here, move along.

I have this friend…

Totally random internet poll asks:

A complete and utter lack of criticism from your significant other feels like

A) Unconditional acceptance of your mistakes and flaws.
B) Complete disinterest.
C) Other (fill in your answer)

Happy Thanksgiving

We are off to Dallas to spend Thanksgiving with my sister and her family, plus with Jes and the babies. We are leaving today, we’ll be back on Friday. The babies and Jes will be staying with us for another week(-ish) before they head up north to visit other family- making the rounds to say goodbye before their move to Germany. I’m pretty sure I’ll see them again before they move so this isn’t my final goodbye, but it will be for everyone up north.

It’s a very bittersweet holiday for me, knowing the other two kids are in Michigan all alone with no family at all. I can rationalize and justify the move, the realities of adult children living far away, etc., etc., until the cows come home, but bottom line is it’s just the two of them up there. I’m going to try not to be an emotional wreck but I make no promises. I’ll have a plateful of Mommy Guilt to go with my turkey.

So yeah.. Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends. :)

Slave, Interrupted

We had a… moment? An interlude? A brief period of time where things were simultaneously hot and heavy, and hot (did I mention hot?), while also being so completely normal, so us, so much like slipping home where it’s comfortable and easy and visceral but also amazing. Like when you’re sitting in your house reading a book and you’ve been reading for hours and hours and you don’t even notice the sun is setting and the room is getting dimmer and dimmer and your eyes just adjust as well as they can to the darkening room and then someone walks in and flips on the light switch and you’re like, woah! I can see!

It was like that, this moment.


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

with that big stupid smirk on his big stupid face