Chasing Me Chasing You

An uncollared submissive struggling through depression, motherhood, and the constant craving of her next orgasm.

Shock and Awe

“You seem much calmer lately.”

“Honestly, I just don’t care anymore.”

I think my answer shocked us both, but I walked away before my mother-in-law could comment further.

I wasn’t shocked that I said it to her. She and I have always been direct with one another and I rarely hold back with her. It was more that what I had just shared was actually true.

Obviously, I want my children to be safe and happy, they need to have food and warm clothes. But they do. They have everything they need and rarely want for anything (except Legos and candy).

Outside my children, however, I am running on emotional empty. My new job is fine, except for my Devil wears Prada boss. My sex life is non-existent except for masturbation videos occasionally shared with my transcontinental lover. And our bank account dwindles while my husband talks about numerous things we can’t afford that he still wants.

I think my current solution seems to be to just emotionally shut down. I’m not saying that this is a good plan. In fact, it’s probably the worst plan, but I’m out of ideas. My doctor has increased my meds, but it will be a few weeks until I notice a difference. Everything I try to reach to make my husband and/or boss happy flies back in my face. So sex and job satisfaction have just disappeared from my to do list. I can function without them; other people do it all the time.

So for right now I’ll just walk around and pick up toys and ignore my bosses glares. I’ll try to lose too much empathy as I continue to shield myself from whatever this is. I just feel bad about complaining, so I don’t. We haven’t experienced a hurricane in Ohio and we still have our health insurance. It could be so much worse and me not having sex for months just doesn’t seem to make the cut. But I still feel the lowest I’ve ever been, and that’s not a pleasant thing for me.

On the positive side, I can still shock my mother-in-law.

Celibacy Sucks

My husband and I haven’t had sex in weeks. He fingered me a few weeks ago. I gave him a blow job and a hand job last weekend. Yesterday he rubbed my thigh. This is the extent of the physical interaction we’ve had lately.

I’m trying to take a step back and keep perspective. Sex isn’t everything. He and I get along great and enjoy spending time together. I wish that was enough.

It’s not like this was a sudden thing. He has been losing interest in me sexually since I was pregnant with our second child. Ever since then he hasn’t really want to initiate sex. And now he says that it’s because I always seemed disappointed in sex. Like he was never good enough. But that’s an oversimplification. His desire of me began fading a long time ago. And his refusal to take responsibility for his part in this is probably what bothers me the most.

His ‘explanation’ makes my submission the root of the problem. But it’s not actually the issue. My submission merely explains my need for attention and my dislike of asking for sex. I don’t even feel like my personality has even changed, it only makes more sense to me. My sex drive has increased, but I’ve also tried really hard not to pressure him with that.

Obviously this is all from my perspective. But I feel like I have tried everything I can think of to make him more comfortable. I’ve worked to seduce him. I have purchased gifts, preformed acts of service, even worked to ignore all my needs to put his first. And I thought if I could just do that until he was out of his funk, that things would become better. But it hasn’t worked.

He’s still so distant from me and I’ve pushed down so much of myself. I tried to masturbate the other day and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t get turned on enough to get anywhere. It was soul-crushing.

Needless to say I don’t think celibacy is for me. Though I’m not sure I have much control over it.

****

I wrote the above yesterday morning. Yesterday afternoon I went upstairs to try and masturbate. My husband came up and fucked me with a dildo while I rode the Doxy. It was amazing. It’s this type of thing that keeps me in constant confusion. But at the same time, if opposite day is going to work with my post drafts then prepare to be inundated.

Already a Long Week

Well, this Mental Health Awareness Month is one for the journal pages. It appears that my identity crisis on Saturday was just the beginning of a miserable week. It’s only Tuesday and I’ve already had two mental breakdowns. Uncontrollable crying and the urge to close out everything BDSM-related in my life in an instant.

This job promotion could be wonderful. It could also be a lot of stress. I guess even more so if I don’t get it and the complete lack of confidence from my superiors would be difficult to bare. And while it’s been a nice distraction from my regular life and money stress, it’s not making any of the other disappear.

I’m just tired of saying ‘when things calm down’. I keep waiting for things to resolve themselves and to begin to make sense, but they don’t. Money is still tight, my neck still feels naked, and I’m still lost. I keep telling myself that things will sort themselves out soon, but I’m beginning to question that.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.”
Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones’s Diary

I think for me this happened last summer. I decided to go back to work full time and actually began to enjoy my job. It’s stressful, but normally I can handle that. But while that was going okay, everything else exploded. Things started falling apart with the house, costing more money, which started that stress. My husband’s job got messy. And, above all for me, our D/s dynamic completely disappeared. Ever since taking my collar off earlier this year I haven’t been able to make heads or tails of things.

I think one of the biggest attractions to submission for me is the idea of having a direction. Of know what is expected of me and what I need to be doing. I don’t remember feeling this directionless before I found kink, but now that I’m without it, it’s glaring. Maybe that’s too much pressure to put on another person; maybe that’s why it didn’t work out last time. I just don’t want to be responsible for everyone’s happiness while ignoring my own all the time. Submission was chance to be cared for for awhile.

Four and Half Years

I’ve been on this journey of submission since 2013. And last Saturday I had a serious discussion with my husband and my dom about stopping everything. Close down the blog, deactivate my twitter account, stop playing like I know what I’m talking about.

Maybe if I were to just focus on my job and my family. If I let my sex drive wane and move on. Will this pain fade? If I ignore the pain of my absent collar could I be happy. Is my vanilla life enough to distract my BDSM cravings?

It would hurt like crazy to lose my small strings of submission. Losing my connections to the BDSM community would be difficult too. Everyone on the kinky/sex blogger web is so nice and supportive. I’m just afraid that I don’t really have anything to offer more than whining and unfulfilled fantasies. And I would have to decide if I was going to try and keep my poly relationships going (losing Jack too may be too much). But as finances are always tight and he’s three time zones away, maybe that would be in his best interests too.

My dom has asked me to wait and reflect a few days before I make any drastic decisions. He had a few ideas and things for me to consider; which I really appreciate. I just feel so lost all the time. Writing is hard as I feel like a fraud with this blog. I’m not collared. I call this a sex blog and I have less sex now than when I was vanilla.

I just wonder if faking this attempt at a kinky life is better than than the pain of pretending like it’s not part of who I am. Either way I’ll always have my ‘good girl’ tattoo; even if no one ever says it.

Lost in a Daydream

I had a daydream while I was in the shower. I was scrubbing off the day’s workout and when I rinsed off the soap my tattoo sleeve began to come off. At first I thought it was just dirt from cleaning at the house. However, I soon realized it was actually the ink running. I checked my other tattoos, but it was only my sleeve that was coming off. And not just a little bit, but most of the lace was already gone. Panicking, I tried to shield my arm from the water stream. I jumped from the shower and dried my arm to stem the loss. However, when I removed the towel there was little remaining of a piece that took over ten hours of tattooing and cost a lot of money.

Daydream may have been a bit of a misnomer. More like a nightmare that I was awake for. I zone out in the shower and jolted moments later with this stuck in my head. I clutched my arm for the rest of my shower and rushed rinsing my hair. I still can’t shake the feeling I had.

When I was still in therapy, I talked about dreams a lot. My therapist always wanted to break down my dreams as a part of how I was process stress. Some of them while I was pregnant were quite interesting. It was occasionally hokey, but most of it was quite helpful. And, even though this was a daydream, I used the same techniques to try and process it.

I feel like I am losing myself. Like my identity is being stripped just like the ink on my arm. Now I am worried that I am even more lost than I thought. My head has me to tied in knots that I don’t feel like myself. So much so, that my brain is removing my most personal tattoo like it were magic marker. Maybe it’s time to head back to therapy. Or just a few touch-ups on my sleeve to ensure it’s really on there. I know which would be more painful.

An uncollared submissive struggling with depression, motherhood, and the constant craving of her next orgasm

So much has changed in the last few months I felt like the blog needed a bit of a re-working. The title will stay ‘Chasing Me, Chasing You’. I still feel like that most of the time. But, the subtitle is now a bit more accurate and my Rules and Contracts pages are gone. Not sure if my posts will change much, but I am hoping to start writing more. I guess I am hoping I can try and feel more authentic when I write.

I always felt like I couldn’t express how hard this roller-coaster has been. Not sure if I was more worried about actually admitting it to myself or the fear of my husband reading it. I don’t want him to be hurt, but that doesn’t make my hurt go away. But, he admitted that he doesn’t read this anymore. It was painful to hear that, but I’ve decided to take it as a positive and use this space to write what I really feel. No more sugar coating or holding back.

So, fair warning, you may have to put up with a certain amount of whinging. I’m hoping I can also write about all the kink fantasies and poly experiences that are running around in my brain. Maybe if I can release those feelings here I can deal with my vanilla life better. And, having a place to post all the lovely photos of when Jack and I do manage to get together is always nice.

A few weeks ago I thought I was going to need to walk away from writing in general and the blog all together. I mean, the website is called ‘collared mom’. With only half of that still being true I could not bear to even think about posting anything. Not writing has hurt. And it didn’t make sense to me to add to my pain. Reading of those who attended Eroticon this year just reminded me how much I want to be part of this community. I will start saving to attend next year, as I need to do this for me.

Thank you all for your continued support and I hope those of you who keep reading aren’t disappointed.

Twelve

Twelve are all the things racing in my mind right now. Each fighting their to the forefront of my thoughts. Their jostling making it impossible to reach a conclusion or solution. The one night of orgasms (two!) I’ve had in the last two weeks didn’t even help me sleep. Having a grandmother who was addicted to pain medications and sleeping pills has made me very wary of taking anything for those ailments. But that hasn’t even stopped me this week as I need all the help I can get.

Twelve are the number of times I keep running our budget around in my head. Forgetting the electric payment one time and my student loan payment the next. Each time trying to make the numbers add up to something we can actually achieve. Each time coming up short. It’s a stress whirlpool that keeps sucking me in. Whenever I think I’ve cracked it I remember some bill and my depression spikes all over again.

Twelve is the number of times in the last hour I have changed my mind about asking my husband to remove my collar. Every time I think it would help me to get past the failure of our D/s relationship I touch it and can’t imagine it being gone. My two year-old grabs it when I pick him up. It’s been on my neck since before he was born. Not wearing it would feel like I am giving up on my submission. But while I am submissive I am not currently a submissive. Each time I think I have reached a clear opinion about it my heart pulls me the other way.

I’ve been thinking of twelve different sexual activities that I’ve been craving lately. Masturbation isn’t really hitting the spot lately. The time difference with Jack has been catching me up and we haven’t had a mutual session in awhile. And honestly, sex with myself while he’s 1,500 miles away is not one of my twelve cravings.

Twelve is the number of things that I need to be doing that I just can’t get the motivation for. I need to update my business website. I need to get our 2016 taxes around. Each time I sit down to do any of them I find a distraction, either purposefully or accidentally. Even things that should be fun or positive are avoided. Hell, I’ve started having anxiety attacks at the grocery store.

I’ve never felt more disparate than I have felt lately. I would say I feel like I’m split into twelve different pieces to stick with the theme, but it’s probably more than that. And I’m sure they will start fitting back together soon. Somehow.

In any case I’m trying not to make any big decisions right now. The collar is still on. Though I’m really not sure it’s his or my best interest to leave it that way. I can still be kinky and submissive without it. And it represents a relationship, a contract, that we don’t have anymore. Each time I reach for it and want to feel like a good girl it hurts more than reassures. And trust me, I have shed more than twelve tears for that.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings

Is there an art to begging?

Last night I asked him if I could suck his dick. I may have been a bit tipsy when I asked, but it was a completely serious request.

He said yes, even seemed excited by the thought. However, as soon as I asked I felt terrible. Like I was begging him. I just felt like I had lost my last little bit of dignity and self-respect. The words left my lips and I almost didn’t care what his answer was. I felt so worthless for having to beg for attention.

I just don’t want to start this year like this. Last year we had stopped our 24/7 D/s and that was difficult. If I had only known what 2016 would bring. Things are getting better though. He seems in a much better place lately. Even more motivated and happy, and that’s wonderful. I don’t want to minimize that. It just hasn’t changed how he interacts with me. I think I had hoped it would be one big resurgence. Like a better mood would automatically mean that I would become more sexually alluring or something.

Spoiler: He went to sleep. I feel cold.

 

Poly Problem #72 – Distance

Obviously distance is not a problem for all poly relationships. Some polys all live together in the same house or see each other for regular dates. But no, I couldn’t do this the simple way. Finding a local poly guy who was interested in me in my local, conservative community was never going to happen. Even expanding the search area to the tri-county area wouldn’t yield positive results, though perhaps some pretty sketchy ones. No, I had to find a guy who I have a ton in common with, have a wonderful sarcastic rapport, and an amazing physical attraction. The catch is that he lives 2,500 miles away. And while a 38-hour drive (trust me, I’ve mapped it) sounds good most of the time, it doesn’t fit in my daily family responsibilities.

So, how should we get through this large gaps between our sexy visits? We talk everyday. Considering how well we generally get on and how much we just enjoy chatting, this helps a lot.  Having ‘regular life’ things in common like jobs, kids, and similar general annoyances, we can always strike up a conversation about something. Having a message when I get home from work about legos or something silly his daughter said always makes me smile. And being jealous of the photos of food help distract me from missing him.

There is the sexy stuff, obviously. The fact that he can make me feel sexy from three time zones away is amazing. And the videos of him stroking himself and moaning my name definitely help me get through the day. Having those videos and photos from our time together, while they do make me miss him, also make the distance seem doable. I smile as I flip through those memories and I know that they will happen again.

We also close the distance with lots of everyday photos. He likes to send me shots of him in the shower, getting ready to run errands, or cleaning. It seems mundane, but that’s why I love it. He makes me part of his everyday life. Sharing bad and good days helps us to support the other and our spouses. It’s all one big positive vibe.

Now I say that with only a small percentage of jest. Some days the distance is crushing. When I have a bad day at work or the kids just won’t go to bed I think how nice it would be to be hidden away in a hotel room with Jack. There are those moments when running away from responsibilities makes me look at flights to California. But usually just talking to him or my husband about my rough day makes it better. And having that support and encouragement from two people is wonderful.

I will say that distance poly, at least for me, is different from a ‘traditional’ long-distance relationship. Because my primary partner is a part of my everyday life, there isn’t the same loneliness. I still miss Jack terribly, but we get support from our spouses to help us through. And I don’t remember this much sexting from my previous relationships, though I may have been doing it wrong.

The New Dominant Reality

A dominant friend and I were talking on Twitter yesterday and he asked me about subspace. He was describing types of scenes and activities that help his sub get into subspace. Then he asked me what worked for me. So I tried to think back to the last time I had gotten good and floaty.

And I couldn’t remember!

After agonizing about it for awhile, I finally realized it was over a year ago. We were still in the other house. In fact, since we moved many of our toys have only been out of the toy box once or twice. After my loud sigh with this depressing realization I attempted to answer his question.

I love bondage. There is something about being tied up in cuffs and rope that just helps me breathe a little easier. I remember once really wanting to ask Sir if I could sleep in the breast tie he had done. Having something close to my skin helps me feel safe. I’m very tactile like that, apparently. Not sure how connected it is, but I like to wear camisoles and tight shirts underneath looser clothes as well. I always love the idea of being hugged. I love it when Sir (or just about anyone, I’m friendly) holds onto my waist. In general I’m a touch/feely type of person.

I think that might be a bigger reason why not playing/scening/having sex with Sir has bothered me so much. I’ve practically forgotten what subspace feels like, and trust me, as a submissive that stinks. But the physical touching is what I miss most. When he decided that he didn’t want to do 24/7 anymore I was hurt. But there was still a lot of D/s in the bedroom and a lot of intimacy in general. The touch made it bearable. Now with little touching at all, the absence of BDSM has become even more obvious.

Talking to my dominant friend highlighted some pretty stark realities for me. First, there are a lot of kinks I still want to try. Thinking about wax play, rope, and all the humiliation scenes I have been craving has been tough. But an even more difficult realization is that Sir is not really my Sir. I’m still a submissive. And I don’t have another dom. But really I only call him Sir on here because his name needs to remain anonymous. That hit me pretty hard. I used to crave him to grab my neck when I would make a bratty comment or order me to sleep on the floor. Lately I just crave something more than my goodbye kiss before I leave for the office in the morning.

Subspace seems so far away now.