I had a disturbing & at first glance, slightly mysterious text message out of the blue from my sister the other day:
“Now I know why they don’t make butt plugs out of pink latex.”
If you, like me and apparently like my sister, were foolish enough to put your pretty pink vibrator/dildo in a place where it was never made to go, you will know exactly what she was talking about. I don’t really want to go into much detail, but basically it’s Reason #421 of why I’m not into scat:
Now that I’ve got that off my chest I can move onto other things (I didn’t actually mean to talk about poop, but the title just kind of reminded me about how wonderfully random my sister can be sometimes…)
So, I don’t really want to go into great detail, but if you’ve been reading Master’s blog, he’s been mentioning that I’ve been in a bit of a ‘funk’ i.e. giving him the cold shoulder lately. I had, of course, adopted the timeless woman’s tactic that men all across the world are familiar with known as, ‘If-I-give-him-the-cold-shoulder-for-long-enough-eventually-he’ll-figure-out-what’s-wrong-and-make-it-right.’ Unfortunately, all through-out the ages men have never figured out what’s wrong with their womenfolk and women have never figured out why the hell the menfolk can’t see what’s wrong because it is so bleeding ‘obvious’!!!
Suffice to say, it’s always better to tell the menfolk exactly what’s wrong in short, simple words and don’t give them the cold shoulder because they will just think you have your period – again - and go about life as normal.
My problem was that I’ve been feeling a distinct lack of masterfulness about Master and it had gotten to the stage that I was thinking if he wasn’t going to ‘scratch my itch’ then why the hell should I ‘scratch his itch’? I know it doesn’t sound very slavely and I’m sure I’ll get an e-mail from the Slave Registration people wanting to remove me from their list, but, seriously, the only way a bdsm relationship (or any relationship for that matter) is going to work is if both parties are getting something out of it.
I suppose in a sense I’m a bit more work than other slaves because I don’t have an itch for serving that gets scratched simply by doing things for him. I have a very specific itch for use and play (specifically bondage) and while I can ignore it for quite lengthy periods of time, eventually it gets to a point where I have to have it scratched NOW or I become very unbearable to live with.
Honestly, I’d like it if I didn’t have this itch. I’d like to just have a ‘normal’ relationship and relax in the comfortable haze of being a couple. I also like to trick myself into believing that I no longer have the itch and that I’ve ‘grown out’ of being a slave or that I don’t want that side of things anymore. These last couple of months have essentially been exactly that situation for me and I’ve thought quite seriously that I’d like to give it all away.
But when I’m in the haze and everything is good and I’m happy and I haven’t got a single thing to complain about in Couple-ville, it’s in those quiet times when I’m alone with my thoughts that I always feel like something is missing. It’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, but that I can only attribute to a lack of the D/s side of things. And even though a part of me may not want it there to begin with, its absence is palpable.
I guess it’s an addiction. Quite often I think I’ve kicked ‘the habit’ for good, but I always come back whether it be 2, 3 or 6 months down the track for another hit, another drawl, just to feed my needs. Inevitably coming back means a tighting up of things that had become lax, reinforcement of rules and new challenges. There is always a good injection of stuff that hurts and inevitably things that I don’t want to do rear their ugly heads again. That’s how I fuck myself up the bum – wrapping the chains tighter around myself when all I’d wanted to do up until that point was break free of them.
So that’s where I’m at at the moment. I confessed all to Master today and he’s of the opinion that I need a good beating. I’m of the opinion that I need a good beating- not just the threat of it.
Once again, though, I’m fucking myself up the bum by saying I need a good beating -when I really don’t want one- but I do really need one-but I really can’t take one- but I really do need one- but it’s really going to hurt- and as the thoughts circle around my head the image of a darkly-stained, once-pretty vibrator named Mr. Pink, who has gone where no vibrator should have gone before, enters my mind.