February 17th, 2011
My Four Mistakes
1. I did not wear a skirt when I went over to his house last Tuesday. In fact, I wore jeans. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I did not wear a skirt, as I had agreed to do, and failing a skirt, shorts, in his presence. This was a promise I made to him, quite a long time ago. And this was the second time I had broken that promise. Both times, I had excuses and distractions, but that does not change the facts. He asked me to wear skirts or shorts so that he could have easier access to things he might want. I agreed to wear skirts and shorts for him, to always be available for that access. It became a sign of my submission to him. Being ready and available to please him at any time. To forget, no matter what the reason, to not be aware enough of myself and my promise, is unacceptable. It is disrespectful of our bond and my gift of submission to him.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I have chosen a skirt to keep in the car at all times. It is shorter than my usual skirts, but still appropriate for wear around other people and in vanilla settings. It is a skirt I don’t mind wearing, but it is not my preferred skirt, so it will allow me to keep my promise, and remind me to be fully conscious of my choice of clothing.
2. I did not text him when I got home last Thursday. More excuses that do not matter. I know it is the rule, and it has a very solid basis in history, both his own personal history, and in our personal history. He wants to know I have gotten home safely, and I have agreed to let him know that. There are even nights when I haven’t been with him that I text to let him know I’ve gotten home safely so he does not worry. I often ask others to do the same and have recently started teaching our Toy this habit as well. I often get on Hubby’s case to let me know where he is at and I understand the worry, though not with the keenness his past has sharpened it to. Driving anywhere is always taking a risk that something might happen along the way.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will let go of the various things that caused excuses in my brain. Daylight or early evening is not an exception. Not playing is not an exception. Whenever I leave his presence, I will let him know when I have arrived at my destination, regardless of situation, time or place.
3. I did not follow a direct order. He told me to take off her pants and I hesitated and hemmed and hawed and used her as an excuse. He even said I was getting in trouble the more I hesitated, and I did not act. He told her I was getting in trouble, and I was still negotiating the order with her. Eventually, when a solution seemed to be reached, I did take her away and get her changed out of her pants, but I still did not take them off myself. I was acting as a buffer to her comfort levels, instead of doing as I was told.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will remember that she is responsible for herself, and while it is our agreement to protect her, I am also to do as I am told. She has full capability to take care of herself and stand up for herself, I must allow her to do so and not do it for her.
4. I took the cuffs off her without permission. No excuses, no demurring, I did not have permission to remove the cuffs he instructed me to put on her only minutes before. He had, in effect, put them in place, and I removed them. Putting them back on correctly makes no never mind, I took them off without asking. He bound her and I undid that. She is our toy, but the bondage, in that instance, was to him.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will be more aware of what I am doing for myself, for us, and what I am doing on his behalf. I will be more aware of the bonds of bondage and respectful of undoing them. I will be mindful of asking to undo things he has done, or asking to stop doing something he has begun.
Punishment and Service
I speak above about how I am going to avoid making these mistakes in future. But that is for me, that is my process. For him, I must not only correct my behavior, but also make up for these mistakes. It sets my mind running, thinking of what to offer him for these infractions. I have warring feelings of guilt and a desire to please. I know he likes to receive service, but I feel a selfish want to be punished. There are also complications of health, situation and timing, and our new toy to consider. I also do enjoy the punishment fitting the crime.
It took me a while to break the cycle of feeling pain must be involved or offered. It took him being blunt and throwing it in my face for me to realize that I had to stop. Sometimes punishments include pain, but in this case, it was not on the table. My masochism was not to be fed, my guilt was not to be relieved through physical catharsis. To truly make up for my mistakes, I need to be selfless and offer service to him, not ask him to do something for me.
I also got spun around on writing as penance. I would write about my mistakes and read it aloud to remind myself not to repeat them again. But this is hardly punishment for a writer, this is what I do. And it doesn’t really work all that well, as may be evidenced by my repeated attempts last year to stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Writing, as he pointed out, is good for reflection, but does not punish or correct mistakes. It does help me to make plans though, and that is good, but not what I need to offer to him.
And so I began again, for a third time, to think of service to offer him. To think of things he would like, that I could do for him, that would match up to the mistakes I made. Things I could do with Toy’s assistance, as well, because two of them involved her, and perhaps it would help her, as well as entertain him. Things that would not interrupt our evenings, but enhance them.
We are still negotiating the final details, but I have found my path again, with his guidance.
April 8th, 2010
Sex was never discussed in my house growing up. Mom never had “the talk” with me, I had it at school from a silly video. It was mentioned by her twice in my life. Once, when a friend of hers had been embarrassed when her 8 year old daughter told her not to have sex if she didn’t want more kids and described the act very poorly because I had misinformed her, being only 9 and just previous to the talk at school when she had asked Me about it. So Mom asked if I knew how it really worked now, and I said yes and that was that. The second time was when we were out buying flowers for my wedding and she wanted to know if I had any questions and to tell me the first time might not be great. I rolled my eyes and said Mom… in that tone most of us perfect as teenagers. My Dad never discussed sex when I was growing up, though as he’s gotten older he’s discussed a lack of sex due to the ineffectualness of Viagra… thanks, Dad.
I only dated one boy for one weekend in High School, and that was only a couple phone conversations, so I’d never even been kissed before I got to college. My first three boyfriends freshman year took me from kissing through oral sex at a not-too-fast pace. It was not until the summer after my sophomore year that I had sex for the first time. Subsequent first visit to OB/GYN for birth control was a godsend as far as period control. I am now nearing 30 and have had a total of 8 sexual partners, 9 if you count 3 seconds of penetration as a sexual partner, I generally don’t. Only 4 of which were/are continuous sexual relationships. I had a few STD tests a couple years ago at the request of a life insurance company and in the past couple weeks, my new doc ran a full panel for me, results still pending, but I’m not expecting any surprises. (That’s why they’re called surprises, eh?)
So that background is all well and good, but what am I really on about? One of my hard limits is sex in public. Public generally being defined as more than two other people(other than the one I’m having sex with) being present. I blush when talking about sex, avoid using sexual terms in public and even in private sometimes. I’ll swear like a sailor, but ask me to say cock or admit I’m thinking about oral and I’m suddenly shy and flustered. Sex, to me, is a private thing, but even more than that, it’s something I find it difficult to be forward about.
One, on the private matter of sex. It is a personal thing, a private thing. Sex, to me, is an expression of intimacy shared between two people, maybe three. It’s a special kind of energy and I don’t fancy the intrusion of other energy into the mix. The excitement of having sex somewhere inappropriate and public has its allure, but the thought of other people watching and the threat of being arrested most often kills it for me. That’s not to say I haven’t had sex in a public park at night, but only when those two factors have been reduced to almost nil.
He asked me to go without panties recently and it was a huge deal. Let my most private and intimate bits be exposed under my skirt? Proper girls just don’t do that(when the hell did I become proper again?). What if someone sees? What if someone grabs me randomly? What if I get pulled over? It took some very serious conversation for me to get past the fear and realize that I was in control of myself, my safety and my personal space. Not to mention, my friends would be around me to protect me should anything go wrong. It was a very freeing experience, and the edge of fear kept under control was wonderful.
Two, on not being sexually forward. Communication is key. I’ve learned, though my journey in kink, that I have to ask for what I want, be clear about what I want and to accept what I want without being ashamed or embarrassed by it. Why hasn’t this transferred to sex as well? I looked back at my posts, even my erotica, I only mention fucking once at the very end. I don’t write overt sex scenes very often and it is even rarer that I share those that I do. I could blame my parents, I could blame my sheltered early life, I could blame being an introvert and generally shy, I could blame a Puritan society. Excuses, excuses, excuses. These are excuses I have let run my sex life.
How do I stop that? How do I let go of fear and embarrassment? Why am I afraid? What am I afraid of? Rejection? Do I think that if I suggest sex or oral or say I’m thinking about your cock, he’s going to say “No, how could you? What kind of girl are you?” How ridiculous is that? Seriously, I can asked to be beat, set on fire, tied up and swung from the rafters, and yet sex, that pretty much everyone on the planet has, trips me up. How silly and neurotic is that? Talking about sex is my Boggart in the closet (yes, a Harry Potter reference). Laugh at the fear to make it go away.