Part III Vulnerable Resolutions

Sunday he let me finish a few projects before going upstairs. (unbeknownst to him and wrongly of me – one of the ‘projects’ online was the post I put out Sunday feeling anxious and wondering how I was every going to have his discipline saturate my heart.  For me, I tend to post when I’m anxious.) I decided to head upstairs first. I replaced my usual thong underwear with granny panties or as I refer to it as: curve coverage! Once upstairs I very quickly removed some folded clothes off our bed. I didn’t want anything negative to ‘impact’ me. Then I brushed my hair because I was feeling anxious. He came up and joked and spoke dryly  telling me to “assuming the position” – a line from the movie Animal House (from the scene in the militant frat house where the inductees are to say, “Thank you Sir, I’ll have another” after their severe swats with the Fraternity Paddle). I was a little dejected, emotions all over the place. I wasn’t up to finding my submission. Had I had time, I could’ve been prepared (again, my control issues pop up. I really prefer things happen predictably). So I wanted him to be gentle with me. After all I was hoping to be able to ‘come clean’ regarding Part II, posted on Friday. I needing coaxing. When he told me to get on all fours my heart sunk. I knew there was little chance for gliding gently to my confessions.

“What do we have to talk about?” This is D’s way of saying Come clean before I have to bring it up. It will go much better on you if you do. More so in our past, he’s been known to let things go for awhile. He wants me to be aware of my behavior. He doesn’t want to police my life. He’s hoping I’ll have awareness, not what he considers to be a parenting role he doesn’t want to assume. Me, I’d love him to just go for it. He seems to be more comfortable, more confident that it is up to him not to let things go. Back to Sunday (“What do we have to talk about,” he said.)

Mentally I had my arms crossed over my chest. I said, “Nothing.” We have joked about my ever-present halo when I respond that way. We both knew my halo was holographic, but most likely an illusion. But I could live with that. D made some motion encircling my head with his index finger.



“Hhmmmn” We are both into having the last word. Me more than he.You have to remember, we are both driven firstborns. “You should think again.”

“I swore at Bunco last night,” I offered up – a token answer at best. “It just came out.”  I had no interest in what I was saying. I was mentally filing my nails.

“Well that’s not good.”

” I was talking about the stuff with the  kids.” He was all torqued out of shape about something I thought was not a big deal. He thought it was terrible that I just popped out with swear words – vehicles for my anger. I thought it was far worse to know I wanted to use the word, was aware I should not swear, but I swore anyway. He felt if I was totally unaware of my next word I had real issues that needed to be dealt with. I  felt that was completely ridiculous and showed it in my reaction.This turned into an argument. I think he just needed to establish his authority. His authority, imho,was a gift from me. He could feel it. I felt more like a highly irritated peer. I wasn’t interested in rolling over like our dog for submission and a tummy rub. Maybe because he took the initiative the spank me at the first possible chance, I felt more anger – “too little too late”.

“Do you think it’s smart to keep arguing with me?”  I got angry that he couldn’t see or acknowledge that I had a point, so I shut down.

Fortunately, he wanted to understand, or maybe he took an emotional temperature reading. I was surprised at his reasonableness when he asked, “Why are you so upset about this!?”

“If  I’m going to be punished for this, I want you to know my heart. I didn’t intend to swear. Yes I have anger issues, but they don’t apply here. This was me briefly reliving some difficult topics. Obviously I wish I hadn’t been swearing. But it’s not the same thing as my swearing issues awhile back when I was using bad language to spice things up and prop up my ego.”

“I’m not going to punish you for swearing. If you know what you did and why you want to change it the next time, there’s no need for punishment.”

I was in the position of all fours for what felt like hours before we began. I was getting bored and trying not to sigh out loud.  I felt twinges of relief when he said, “Let’s get started.” He sounded as if he was carefree. I was still not giving up the farm and held onto my attitude because he sounded so benevolent with his last comment about ‘if I learned from my mistakes ….’.  He makes me crazy when he frustrates me then jumps track and takes the high road. I know I also had a huge attitude about all that happened in Part I. I was also no fool and definitely anxious about his next move. He quickly removed my jeans and my pretend protection in one fell swoop. I felt vulnerable knowing he was all about business.

He may not have said and thought he had punishment in mind, but there was no warm up. The leather thorn paddle, at his side, never got used. It’s the easier of the two paddles he uses. It felt like I would break down and confess all because he used that horrible, thick hickory paddle with a confident swing! I couldn’t believe he thought this was ok! It had been three weeks – and all because of him!  I was almost crying after the first few swat, from shock and the sting.  The sting that thing packs is off the charts. I’d forgotten. I’m so glad he was really cool about rubbing me afterward the first ten on each side and even gave me a few kisses as he was sweet enough to distract me with compliments about my physique. I maybe middle aged, but I do justice to a pair of tightly worn jeans. It helped a lot to have his sweet words and his temporary breaks from paddling.

Eventually it was hard to gauge the amounts of swats he would dole out. Sometimes I counted, most moments were all about hanging on. I couldn’t have counted if more swats had depended on it. He really pushed me.

“Anything else?” He almost heard a smile behind his words as he put down the paddle and rubbed me. I was emotionally wrestling with the past, present and future – pain will do that to the woman who lives with a HOH. While I wanted so badly to unload this anvil of guilt I was carrying, I was also remembering why I felt like not telling him. I was now leaning into the pillows, my hands on my head as if I was holding myself together. I was breathing deeply. I wanted to say nothing, to be silent. I almost pulled it off but knew it was now or never. I had to do the right thing by me and by us. On all fours, I spilled, telling all – initial reasons, intentions, mind-set, and mountains of regret. I said how I felt so wrong when it happened, how I still felt awful. It wasn’t like me, I let my anger prevail. (I wasn’t using words like ‘prevail’, believe me.) I was miserable and my guilt clung to me like hardened wax. I just couldn’t shake it. I felt great shame.

He assured me he was aware of what happened that night. He was glad I’d told him a few days later. I was so surprised that the first words out of his mouth were not damning, but comforting. He told me not to beat myself up over it. He kept explaining that he had forgiven me and I should stop. But who better than me to do the job properly? 

He/we continued doing ttwd. It was cathartic. Afterwards we made love.  It always make me feel submissive when he’s takes me from behind me. He wasn’t gentle. I needed it to happen that way. I don’t understand everything I feel. I have few reasons why it would make sense. I am very aware that there’s a rhythm that keeps me sane.


Part I Ugly Truths You can lead an HOH to ….

Its taken me so long to write about this. I have at least 2 dozen versions. Some are shorter, more clinical. Others whitewash the facts and move too quickly. Some are drenched in the pain. Some were written, but not by me, it seemed. Below is my very best effort to be honest about what happened. The first part is the toughest. A part of me wants to portray my man in his very best light. I used to rant in ’09 and ’10. I’d like to think I’m not here to rally the troops for well deserved sympathy. I do feel I need to share this because it’s good to know that it is possible to go from happy to feeling miserable working through forgiveness, managing healing. Currently I find myself in between forgiveness and healing. Somewhere, after many sleepless nights with Amber, I felt purposed to screw up. My screw up will be Part II. I promise to be much harder on myself than D.

I was very hurt when D blew me off by not spanking or having meaningful sex on consecutive days.that should have been taken advantage of before Amber’s surgery.  I had arranged time alone for us. I always do. I bought beautiful lingerie. I came downstairs after a shower, looking my best and sat in our fireplace-lit family room where he said I looked great, then continued to watch a basketball game for the sake of it. The next  morning – nothing. Days surrounding New Year’s Eve were equally disappointing. We had sex, but it wasn’t our best, which we’re partial to.

Sadly over the passed year there were two occasions where I had planned incredible weekends. One in a B & B, the other in a  nearby hotel. It was a mid week celebration – a total surprise. Both events tanked so hard I had to have Sara talk me down afterwards via email. I credit her with keeping me off roofs.

When it happened this last time, before her surgery, I was pushed too far, only because it’s been a theme, for years. (read down passed the Fantasy Friday writings).

There are times when setting aside time works. But there have been too many times when plans have been made, he does nothing but fade off into the abyss. In my mind I’m searching and chanting reasons: He’s really tired, stressed, physically tired from loading wood, shoveling snow  …  I feel blindsided, then foolishly hopeful. Tomorrow morning he’ll be on his game. We have until 2pm before we have to take Amber to work.  In my way of thinking, if I’ve jumped through hoops, am looking beautiful and have on my prettiest lingerie, I’ve initiated sex. Saturday morning stretches by without him addressing the nothingness that’s occurred.  …. I begin to unravel quietly as I’m in pain. I move to packing up my heart without notice and I go to my KayLynn Cave for protection. I am present during our daily routines. I’m careful not to be too quiet. He’s initiated a dance where he screws up, I am hurt and get quiet, then he tries to get me to talk about what he should know hurt me.

I hate it when I’ve been hurt and I explain and he’s totally unaware. It’s so hard to be calm, to try to gather up my pain and what’s left of my dignity to face him in a serious manner, trying to bring him back into our reality. He seems to just blank out in the midst of it all and afterward he needs time to take in everything I’ve brought to him. I’ve adjusted to the fact that he needs time when I tell him how hurt I am. I used to expect him to ‘get it’ immediately and respond with a thousand (or maybe one big) “I’m so sorry”. This time I tried to be kind. We’ve had stress with her upcoming surgery. His work’s been demanding. I’m not a demanding shrew. I’m patient.

When things get really bad I begin to think I‘m on my own. I’ve been on my own and can handle doing it one more time. I am strong. I can handle whatever I’m forced to handle. I’ve done a great job many times in my past. I’ll do it again. This is how I felt in the middle of my conversation with D. I pushed passed waiting for him to come to grips with a future apology. I got nasty about something justified and he very gently help my forearm, which I not so gently jerked out of his grasp. He started to “HOH” me and I told him in that scary kind of calm anger that he doesn’t deserve that privilege. He was a bit thrown by my reaction. He quickly found his apologies this time. Sad for him, I explained that it didn’t matter. I started to raise my voice at this point. I’ve not done that in forever. I backed him into the corner of admitting that he is aware of blowing passed our plans. He said he doesn’t understand why he does nothing. Why he ignores me and my pain.He began to apologize. I began to grow stronger each minute until finally I let loose.

Your apologies mean nothing to me anymore. Change matters. Awareness matters. Empathy matters. Consistency Matters.”Apologies” don’t matter anymore. I will quit Dd right now. Ds will go too. But I don’t think you’ll enjoy that. You benefit from it as much as I do -when you do it!. But if you can’t figure out this hurtful cycle, Dd ends because I can’t take being hurt like this anymore. I’m done!!!  I’m not leaving this marriage. Just know we will NOT be the same. I won’t do that. But we will not be the same. We will be a deflated couple.I don’t think you want half a marriage. I know I don’t. You have to figure this out. It’s all up to you. But I’m telling you now, that if you don’t know why you hurt me and why you do nothing to stop hurting me, You’ve got a serious problem that goes deeper than us. It’s you, your past. Get a grip. I’m losing mine.

I stood in the kitchen for a really long time feeling confident in my words, feeling like it was all over and I could make it, no choice. I watched him out of the corner of my eye while he sighed as deep as I’ve ever seen.

As always he managed to shake himself into acting the  HOH and asked me if I would accept that he would stay home from work and we would do what we could with the suggested that we would have our time in the morning. Wanting a bridge between us I, calmly accepted. He always falls asleep fast and first. As soon as he did, I left the comfort of his arms and slept on my side of the bed. I needed space to think. What I realized is that I know his heart. He doesn’t want to hurt me, but he has to have an awareness that he is hurting me and he chooses not to take responsibility for his actions. This is counter intuitive to the role of HOH, the D in Dd and Ds. And yet everything else he does is completely HOH. He’s so good to me otherwise.

Dependency Brings Submissive Independence

For the first time in my life I don’t feel that my mood & feelings are based on my expectations for D. Because of that I’m trusting myself more.

D’s vigilance regarding my well being has been wonderful. He lays out my meds, cooks, cleans, helps me dress, bathe, encourages, asks how I am, what I’m thinking and holds me when I cry. He’s such a constant. I’ve gotten to enjoy what he offers. Which has been so difficult up to now. I have always felt I’m not deserving of such awesome treatment (although I’ve not been able to understand it so clearly as I do now). I’ve also felt it meant I was weak, had to prove to much to myself. So much pressure …

It takes about 30 days to create a new habit. Each day for 7 1/2 weeks (except for maybe 4) I’ve been very calm, attuned to him, maybe its because I’ve had to be dependent on him. I’m hoping that maybe I’m learning something.

Especially this past week I’m feeling a very new sense of calm. I’m believing I’m on a pathway toward more. I don’t feel the need to chatter. I’m enjoying watching people. I’m enjoying thinking before I talk.

It has to do with not being a human conduit for another’s mood and not validating their moods and feelings by mirroring them. I guess I’m no longer willing to whore out my emotions. I don’t need that kind of self imposed acceptance any longer.

Our time together Sunday was just amazing and solidified my desire to seek out and embrace that calm within him. I followed his lead completely during our time together. It’s always been great, but never better than Sunday, because I let go.

Its like following a river’s flow. I feel as if I have nothing more to prove to myself, so I can look to him to lead. I release a relaxed sigh ….

Today’s Promises

I lost it at the PT’s. While we go through grueling stretches, I emotionally collapse into silent shoulder-shaking crying as he’s trying to get me to talk, ‘help me so I can help you’ he pleads. I open my eye. He offers to bring me all those great things men scurry for hoping the tears will subside. I only nod I want a wet washcloth. I use it to cover my face. I want to disappear. Finally, after he ends his kind talks about the emotional connections we humans have with pain (this man has no clue of my convoluted relationships with pain) I manage to convey only that I can’t talk – tight throat, remote outdated of me are still bordering on forbidden public hysteria. I’ve already broken 20 fierce laws of childhood silence just by crying in public for no good reason. He rubs my back. I peek out from my wash cloth asking if I’ve frightened the clientele. I’m back in the game, for just a second, until I share, just beyond a whisper what laying on my back, a hovering male, as the unspoken message is deal with the pain. I ask for horse blinders to leave the room when my session is up. We then discuss the possibilities, period and cons of finding and using a burqa so I can get to the car. He says all the right things to me about survivor strength and being human enough to allow ourselves times of not-as-strong (which is a strength onto itself – it at least that’s the kool-aid I’m gulping). We made a few changes: I’m to accept my being human – this sucks! (admitting it to myself). Secondly, we can eliminate the triggering positions, substitute them with equally effective ones. He insisted I would walk out the workout area with all dignity. Apparently my definitions of having dignity are skewed. You get a ‘dignity card’ for just choosing to participate in the regular reindeer games. Who knew? I thought it was all “fake it ’til you make it”. I was quiet all evening. D understood something was up. He didn’t press. He knew I’d gather strength and eventually share. He’s coming home early today given some logistics (like I can’t freaking drive Amber to work!). Miraculously she’ll help out our 20 somethings with their party tomorrow. She’ll get to stay, ‘guarded by siblings’ for the first hour (it’s a small party, don’t think “Animal House”). Point being, we’ll have those precious 24 hours alone together. It’s been awhile. He likes to forewarn me with both seriousness and teasing that ‘my time over the bed’ (OTB?) is approaching. The irony may never leave me. The stuff about how being spanked counteracts all my other pain. There’s a saying that has some foggy reference here. It is from the Homeopathic philosophy of healing: Like cures like. I’m desperate for sleep and can’t begin to explain it well, but for those of you who use homeopathic cures, it is rather interesting. Okay, a quicky shot at it (because I realize too few may venture where I tread when antibiotics and my children’s ear infections no longer work): It has to do with providing your body with a perfectly matched, small, safe bit of “what ails ya” in order to wake up your immune system to kick butt for that specific offending virus. In my case, the ‘pain’ of spanking will revive the soldiers within me that will fight back against dangerous emotions (the ones that will shout “You are all alone!”). I am only alone when I try too hard, forgetting the beauty of being a survivor. Sometimes I think we should have a secret handshake ;) Here’s to more than a few of us out here who do find ourselves being honest with ourselves, within our blogs, and maybe, discretely, within our communities. I can’t control the moments like I had at the PT facility. But I can use that time to gather support and create an awareness. Most of all I can welcome the accommodations meant to get me through. Because it has always taken a village. And some pic us legitimately need a hand up. I will be smiling, at least initially. when I get a ‘hands down’ tonight. Meanwhile this morning my mantra is: “My glass is half full, my glass is half full ……”

Sharing the Good Times

Today feels great as I listen to D softly sneathing  (that [mostly] breathing that I hope never progresses to snoring, but keeps me knowing the potential is there). I woke to him laying out my meds, asking me if there was anything else he could do for me before he left. I thought of one thing, but knew I would be greedy and wrong to joke. I also realized how awesome he looked. Then I realized that I’d made it all night I our bed and slept the whole night! ! !  Of course Amber was sick so I had to holds off any daytime parties or parades that I felt like throwing, celebrating my 6 hours of sleep (if you’ve not read my whining of late, it’s been since 8-17 that I’ve slept more than a decent 3 hour stretch). It was Sunny too.

Amber worked Sunday. D was busy prepping dinner for Carrie’s bday and making us an omelet. I kept no hopes given my emotional state has been precarious. Although after he helped me shower I/D helped me put on a pair of tight silky yoga pants.  But normally the weekends are reserved for wearing clothes that he will enjoy looking at, so who knows.

I had so little to give. Usually he would choose to forget it. Never in all my tears did I bring it up (at least that’s what my memory wants me to believe about myself). Obviously D told me that once breakfast was over he was going to spank me. I was almost finished and on a second cup of tea. I remember thinking how I was feeling really vulnerable and would do everything I could to stretch out the minutes. I should have seen it coming. Saturday night my anxious behavior was to the point where I was telling D what radio station to listen to, which route to take, and that a cop was taking radar. Thursday morning I made some awful cutting joke about Dd women holding together our marriages for decades by offering Type A(lpha) males the HOH, Dd role. “We are why guys like you are still married.” I remember I was feeling so smug at the Time. For that reason alone, I had no desire to go upstairs.

“I’m fine. I really don’t need it.”

Oh really….?” His look was unexpected. I hit the powder room off the kitchen and near the upstairs, stairs. I turned back into the kitchen to see him, arms crossed blocking any chances I had to stall for time. I felt confident in the routine and knew the necessity of doing it ‘now’.

I completely blanked out about how we lay on the bed and talk first. I walked into the room, grabbed several pillows and bent over the bed. D starts laughing and talking about me wanting to waste no time. I kept saying I forgot. He greets the paddles from his drawer, sets them on the bed. He then pulls down my pants (there’s no underwear). I’m feeling even more vulnerable. He began with his hand, he’s completely ignored that he isn’t find of how it makes his hand feel.

He moved onto the paddles. It all got really intense when he told me to get up in the bed. It was there that he began to talk with me about where I saw issues. Afterward he made me really crazy with partial love making. Then it was back to padding where he found me uber sensitive and definitely contrite.

In the middle of our love making I asked if he would spend more time more time spanking me. “Trust me, I planned on it.”

He was pretty strict this time not letting me move my feet at all, promising 5 more of I did. This was new. He also held me down completely which was tough. He uses the heavy hickory paddles that burn like you can’t imagine. It’s freakish, I assure you. He also focused on my sit spot, even going so far as to stretch the skin taut and paddle! (I’m pretty taut to begin with, so that had me crazy, being unable to move at all.) He was good to check in with me the first session, but the requested session was obviously geared toward penance and dominance.

It served us well. It really helped me to find some serious perspectives beyond my regular pain. It also helped me to hear him when he “suggested” I take ibuprofen, rest, and listen in general. No longer did I feel trapped in my own world, unable to cooperate. I spent more time than usual sharing my total appreciation for being the man I need in all areas if my life. It’s been to long since I’ve thanked him for things going beyond the day to day. (I’m very polite with D on a daily basis. It helps us in all kinds of ways.)

Today (Monday) we exchanged loving emails, despite the all seeing eyes. He came home so happy to be home. It was pretty late (he’s got so much to catch up on given his time playing Morgan F. in “Driving Miss KayLynn”.

Thanks again for dropping by to read, more notabky, for keeping me honest,

KayLynn Exmo Wife

Where does it hurt?

Pain has pushed me, leaving me vulnerable and wondering why I insist trying to ride the pain wave without a surf board. I have a misplaced mantra: If I can wait, it will get better. Nothing was ever further from the truth. D slept on this (giant sectional) couch with me last night after observing me in a semi panic pain mode. Again, I have been so vulnerable with it that I’m totally swimming in tests on the inside and a few fall silently on the outside leaving me naked too the world. Its happening at PT, a very busy sports oriented place with lots of younger-than-me patients who are so unprepared too see me go from smiling to pain to embarrassment to shame within 15 minutes.

When I wrote two posts ago I mentioned how I used some Ds mental techniques to handle the discomfort (rarely is there ever pain). Well PT is pain and I am so raw emotionally that I have had to face more than a few things about myself, from a sleep-starved brain. Many perspectives maybe not so shockingly) have roots within  my blog.

#1 I can’t seem to be as loving, considerate and/or proactive with myself, as D

#2 I cringe at the idea of asking someone for help (despite the logic of necessity and other’s willingness and insistence to do so.

#3 It is only after I’m sleep ‘depraved’ that I forget to unlock the gate where I foolishly believe my weaknesses are hidden away  from view.

#4 I don’t have “weaknesses”. That is a conceptual label  pinned upon me by those too weak to face their own emotional pain. (By controlling my show of emotions, they contained their own vulnerabilities, deep within vats of poison creating a general fog of dysfunction with every breath.)

#5 Despite the fact that I don’t emit emotional poison, I do set an example of ‘I’ll soldier it up’  when the war’s been fought and won for a long time now.

#6 It hurts understanding that despite my intentions, I didn’t set the example of self-love and now its very important that I attempt to re-teach our children what I should’ve done (being careful not to emphasize the origins of my issues, but instead the behaviors. Because, despite our murky gene pool and Freud, it is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (cbt) that creates true change in fractions of the time.

And finally, Lucky Lady #7

It’s worth gambling a little to see how good it feels to invite the person ergo should’ve been my first true love back into my life … Me.

# 7 1/2 It’s just a building idea, but maybe, if I can work through some of this, my tension level could subside, and I’ll be capable of more insights and more change.

Sighs …

On the home front Amber has Homecoming! Her first ‘date’ of sorts. I feel vulnerable and happy as our last born begins her high school rituals.

Danielle is thriving out west. I always feel each and every hug I exchange with our kids, so I have that to carry me through. But not seeing her smile, not feeling her thin little body – ever the barometer of her emotional state – I am thinking the best will continue and I hear her voice on different levels when we talk. Our conversations are about chalk those cherished, yet mundane times about walks, books, and creating recipes. She’s got a great job where the recruiter quietly shared with her that her boss and coworkers are …. Well the recuiter said things that make me proud she’s ours. Words that clear the murkiness in that gene pool!

Despite not being spanked enough given my inability to be jarred on any level, I’m hoping, but won’t press, it happens this weekend. D’s protective focus brings out my submissiveness which calms me and no doubt brings him well deserved and long overdue peace.

With gratitude that you read here,

My most honest thoughts,


Giving Over to the Pain

It’s been 4 weeks since my surgery. I have at least another 4 in this sling that is akin to have a raccoon strapped to my side. I’m gaining decent small steps toward independence. But I don’t mind D washing my hair, shaving me and drying me off. These times are gentle and sweet and filled with trust, as breath-stealing pain is just a millimeter away. I’ve had a dozen surgeries, (which is really weird because I think of myself as healthy and active). This particular one has left me most dependent. I’m forced to accept help. I love to give; I feel strangely vulnerable to receive. Today felt a little different. Maybe it’s because I’ve connected it all up with trust, healing and pain.

I marvel at the trust I have with my PT. As the muscles in my shoulder must be stretched (using extreme caution), I find it interesting that I use some of the same techniques to persevere that I use during sex. The ole ‘handle yourself calmly as we work through this together gig” can be tough. It happens with greatest success after I’ve understood our goal, can relax knowing what I’m facing, feel the pain simultaneously while I re-relax. Finally I feel all of the the pain, but in my relaxed state. It is there, in that exact place, that all my true progress is achieved. Afterward I felt myself in a fog of pain. Observing my altered state another PT joked, “Do you believe that PT causes spiritual experiences?” I just smiled through the mist; he has no idea ;)

Our weekend was rough between us. We recovered slowly on Sunday. This morning (early Monday), having been awake since 4 a.m. because sleeping is illusive, I slipped into our bed as he woke. (I’m sleeping in a recliner every night). My presence insured that we made love. It had been awhile. Afterward I asked for a little somethin’ somethin’. He gave me a hand spanking on one side …(?) I started to mention the disparity, but he was already headed to thee drawer. He evened things out and took me a little further than a quicky. I have been pretty obedient since. Mind you it’s been a mere 18 hours. But for me to even admit and share the word shows what a difference a day or two makes, especially when it involves sex and a heart/hand/paddle-felt spanking!

It’s late and I’m doomed ’til dawn if I proof read this, thanks for your tolerance. KayLynn

Kool-aid Flavored Submission AND His Wisdom

It’s Saturday.  I’m trying to picture myself floating back down into my body which kindly accepts my submission. I grew a little ‘animated’ last night as I finally told him about his months of missing humor and emotional absences. It’s likely they are buried among our many lost moments. Polite distancing followed today. He’s so much better at it than me.

I forget how it’s done … that part where I zombie-walk between making sure I’ve been heard and being willing to believe he’s heard me. As I write, our dance is remembered. He will bring ‘her’ back using all those submissive weapons I begged him to use on me years ago. My body will betray me, confuse my thoughts, my feelings, (hopefully soon?) my heart.

The sophisticated growl of his car slows unnaturally as he looks for me through too many windows. I’m sure he’s hoping ‘she’ll’ be here to greet him, making both our lives easier. I do not understand, if I can go easy, instead of hard, why do I choose ‘hard’? Where’s my capacity for accepting less? Why do I have to police the quality, interrupt his stress-induced benign?

Sometimes, I wake with the feeling of my lips holding lightly onto the Kool-aid straw as he holds my cup of submission and smiles down at me.

“And now for something completely different:”


I think I mentioned moods shift and by the time I work on a piece I feel differently. I am permitting myself two divergent pieces in one post. IIwii


Just a note: Our third Dd anniversary occurred in August. I want to share this incredible conversation D allowed me to type while he talked. My thoughts, in ‘real-time’, are in italics.

“Can we please talk tonight, before tomorrow morning?”  I need to talk in the dark where I can say anything without eye contact before tomorrow when you’re going to spank me. . Why I can barely say “spank me” in my head! (And feel weird even now, typing it.)


So I began to explain, “It would help me if I knew what you were thinking, things you want me to work on, things you thought I did wrong. Then I can get my head in the right place before we …..” He said a few specific things to finish my sentence making me feel a little vulnerable.

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Seriously?” I have part surprise and a touch of sarcasm in my voice knowing that I’ve been starved for guidance. If I could do the eyebrow, it would have shot up. Of course I pressed him.


 “But I know, you know, that there are things we have to ‘talk’ about.” I felt whiney thinking, ‘I always have to tell you. I want you to tell me, what it is that you think I should or should not be doing, should have done.  I respect and totally trust your opinion’. If you tell me first I will feel more vulnerable, submissive and sexually aroused; I can’t seem to move through my fear of invisibility; if you are vigilant I won’t fail myself.  Dd creates some time-travelling guardrail, safety net, mute buttons and hand breaks that seem to do the trick.


He began calmly, “My job is to guide and direct. I do not want to tell you what to do. I don’t see that as my job. We’ve discussed this from the beginning. Instead, I sit back and watch you grow. If I don’t observe and let you guide your own growth, what true and lasting growth is there? If I tell you what you did before it occurs to you that you’ve done it, maybe you’re not ready to face and feel convicted about that part of yourself right now? Being guided by my gentle authority will allow you to use an inner awareness (self conviction) when it comes to us. I want that awareness to grow.

Given my earliest years I’m vigilantly in scan mode. I read too much from expressions, unconscious gestures. I watch how people are with each other.  I rarely want to even know all that I pick up on. I tend to react on some negative, emotionally-plabable level from all that ‘stuff’. D’s trying to get me to pay attention to me and not to every detail of every expression of every person in the room. What a novel thought ….

“So you are saying that if you told me each time about my infractions, then I learn to pay attention and hopefully extinguish the things I do that bother you, when I should be paying attention to what bothers me about me … things I feel are important to our relationship,” I had to hear my voice say his words. Self-affirmation?

He began,“It comes back to the whole accountability thing: If you’re not accountable for your actions, then I’m accountable for your actions. I want you to be aware and accountable for your actions. I have to be patient and tolerant and accepting of your growth patterns. You know what you need to and have the courage to face about yourself.

“I have to look at myself and think ‘In order to let her grow, how do I need to change my approach so we both can grow?’ I need to grow too.  If I’m authoritarian, then it is not interactive; it’s not give and take, which means I’m not growing either.

“A hammer is not a cultivator. A hammer acts on its own needs. I’m not a hammer. I act on your needs. I have no desire to affect any outcome other than what you’ve decided is something you need to work on. Timing is crucial with growth. I take my cues from you. You will tell me what you know went different than you would’ve liked. I’ll know that’s what you have the courage to work on.

“Now, if there’s an issue of repetition, then that means I’m not doing my job. I’m doing something wrong. Then I have to take direct action. I trust you to be who you are; it is about getting you to trust who you are.”

I love you …


Recovery, Yielding, Dealing

I’ve gotten a few emails wondering if I’m still here. I’ve drifted since my surgery. The days are shortening, I hurt, mourn my ability to have control of my life. I have a love hate relationship with D’s being HOH. I really have to listen to him. My recovery depends on it. Pathetically I resent him for enforcing the “rules”. And we don’t use that word. I’m out of my element here. I hate with a passion having to accept limitations. I’ve never had to  live out this much surrendering to him.

The fact that it’s taken me this long to write about it ….. I’m not sure if it’s the 3 years of Dd that has made me less anxious in the grand scheme of things  resulting in less writing and posting. (I have a great collection of drafts I try to rearrange grammatically, often reaching neurotic efforts but never my blog.) Then there’s my other excuse: by the time I’m finished with a post singing D’s praises, he may have me feeling otherwise. (I’m a self-proclaimed Yosemite Samantha and there are my less proud moments where I can’t quite bring myself to hitting “Publish”.)

But tonight I’m just doing it. Thumb to phone keyboard, my words will finally find a home.

Things are interesting around here -as if there was a snowball’s chance they’d be anything else! I don’t know how D manages to not lose it. I try really hard to be too independent. I just hate to ask people to do things for me (will I ever learn to receive? ). He somehow brings me back to reality.

This recovery will be a long long time. We accept that we have to be very creative regarding sex and spanking and all the other little reindeer games we play (1. When Amber isn’t home, 2. When D’s job leaves him a bit of mental energy and 3. When my care and pain and sleeplessness all work together. It’s like photographing lightening: who knows when, where or how?  ….. but when it does go down, it’s amazing!)

D has to be vigilantly in charge. But as I heal he has to let me slowly regain my independence. Sparks fly as I reclaim recovered ground and as he very cautiously agrees (or doesn’t) that it is safe for me to move ahead. Yielding under these circumstances has been excruciating for me. He’s said more than once before and after my emo tears, I make him crazy, but, he doesn’t know how he’d survive my limitations. It’s been an epic test.

And of course there’s Danielle’s move weeks ago which closes my throat down after I get the words out. She’s our mid 20’s first born. I don’t know what to do with how sad I feel right now. All I know is I want to hug my daughter, see her smile. We will just share visits from now on, not day to day relaxed lives. We will have guaranteed goodbyes. She’s happy. I am too. But mostly I want to hear all the inconsequential  moments of her day, the ones she’ll rarely have time to share. I do “loss” about as well as I do limits. I’m so screwed.

Desperate for distraction I tried reading blogs. I just couldn’t handle anything remotely sad or difficult. Instead, I’ve read way too much erotica. It’s like inhaling dark chocolate, raising the paddle without the sting, and never achieving orgasm. And yet, torturing myself seems to hurt so good And my therapist isn’t on speed dial because? …

I’ve had to trace back my Dd needs with D. I think the gaps in time between actual spanking and stresses wiped away some of his ability to understand me. He’s been so focused on my care, there even before the surgery, I feel he’s forgotten some parts of me. Intellectually I understand. But I felt compelled to share how my kinky little mind works. It was hard saying the words. It was important to lay things at his feet all over again.

I’ve had to be humble and also dangerous by asking him to hold me to Dd precepts (?) not to overdue it physically. I’m desperate to accept within me this integral part of me that needs punishing accountability. I do have the good fortune to appreciate that I didn’t marry a man who comes naturally to our lifestyle. I’d be toast.

Meanwhile I have polished this cool post about a talk before a pretty intense spanking (I think he inspired himself to go off his grid because he trusted he had no ego attached to his paddle). It was a couple of weeks ago. He agreed to let me type while he talked. It’s profound, touching and wise. And when I’m not feeling feisty, irrational and insensitive, I’ll put it up … Sighs …..

It’s really late right now, I’m antsy to try to get some sleep, so I’ll just hit “publish” and hope some of this makes remote sense.

THIS is what I’m allowed to Control

D discussed how I eat food. He did it justice. I am a quiet, slow appreciator, lingering on the smells and visuals. I take time to taste it and Sunday I actually picked up a small piece of uncut steak because when you touch your food, it adds even more to the experience.

D made my food eating habits sound sensual. And that is the way I feel about it, when time allows. I was amazed at how he knew what I felt. Then he said, with all the subtlety of a record scratching everything to a halt, “But that’s you, that’s NOT me. We are different.

You don’t control me, you control you. That’s your job. When you try to control me, you regret it. You get angry, because I won’t let you. I don’t control you. You can’t control me. Control what you can and know your role.”

The above quote is verbatim. I have a freakish Rainman memory when I have emotions that are in tandem with an event. It was very sobering, very thought provoking and it left me speechless for more than a few minutes.

I’m exhausted, no energy whatsoever to edit. I really hope this makes decent sense. The concept is frighteningly simple. Maybe that’s part of why I missed it. Control judt me! Who knew?