Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Update: Brotherly Love

Last fall we discovered that my brother that was in an abusive situation in the care home where he lived. I wrote my anger and frustration at not being able to help more. Several of you were very supportive and understanding of my non-kinky rant.

I just wanted to follow up and say that we had him over for lunch on Sunday and he’s doing much better. We have him back in his previous home and things have improved. He has lost a lot of weight and his moods have leveled. There are still weekly meetings with the psych, but on the whole he’s massively better.

I just want to say thanks again to everyone for the support over the last few months. 🙂

A Post I Shouldn’t Have to Write

This post is not sexy. This post is not kinky. This post is angry and sad.

I’m not sure I’ve ever discussed it before, but my brother has learning disabilities. My parents adopted him when I was six. When I was growing up I was very resentful of him. I had to grow up fast to help care for him. And my parents often had to put him first. They tried their best, and looking back I don’t begrudge them anything. The very idea of taking on a child with special needs and giving him a home was something that I couldn’t conceive. Even now, as a parent, that responsibility seems daunting.

Having a brother with disabilities taught me a lot about life and all the advantages that people have just by being ‘normal’. My parents had to fight for his education and his equal treatment by others. I took that on as well. I remember when a school employee struck him once and I witnessed it. I walked into the principals office without knocking to let him know that he was about to be sued. I protected him as much as I could as a big sister and a caretaker. Other students knew that he wasn’t to messed with; me and my cousins were always there. It was a space I always knew I could keep him safe.

Since becoming an adult my parents have tried to make sure that he continues to have the best opportunities. He has lived in a group home with other people with similar disabilities for several years. He goes to work, has his own space, and takes parts in life skill activities (i.e. cooking, laundry, cleaning). We can visit and he comes to holiday functions and family gatherings. The home has been making small changes over the last year, but he has been acclimating pretty well. Or so we were led to believe.

A few weeks ago my parents found out that my brother was being abused. Apparently, after the last housing switch there was a change in staffing levels that my parents were not notified about. As time passes we are finding out more and more horrific details. Calls to my parents that were documented but never made. Bruises that were never reported. Outbursts that were blamed on medication levels. My stomach turns the more I think about it.

Now that we are aware, my parents and I have forced change. My brother has been moved to a safe location. We are following up on police reports and getting him crisis counselling. The company is failing to answer our questions, and I know that we will force them to account for their behavior and/or lack of response. But it doesn’t make it easier.

My heart breaks to think about it. He’s twenty-nine years old, but to me he will always be a little boy. My parents have been to see him and they say that he’s not the same. I will be going to see him this week and I’m afraid. I’m scared I will just cry to see him. We don’t know if he was sexually abused or not; and I’m afraid we will never know. The very thought makes me sick. I know that he cries and panics when the other house is even mentioned. He is terrified of being forced to go back there. He’s gained nearly fifty pounds and apparently isn’t sleeping well.

He’s my baby brother. I remember sitting in the kitchen with my parents when they told me that he was going to be joining our family. I remember discussing what his name should be. We have photos of all of us with the judge on the day we officially adopted him. And the thought that anyone would put their hand on him in any sort of violent way just makes me so angry. I don’t understand and I don’t want to. I just want him to be safe and happy. And the fact that that isn’t assumed weighs so heavily on my heart.

Shocked Face

This greeted me when I opened up my email yesterday:

Good morning,

Please let me apologize for my rude mouth yesterday with boob comment – it jumped out with absolutely NO filter and was quite rude. I am very sorry for that.
Then as I thought more about it it was my worst nightmare – I was channeling my mother!
Again, I am very sorry.
Have a terrific Friday.
love,
Mom
I was shocked. Literally, jaw dropping shock. The shirt I was wearing was a blank tank top. I had some pretty serious cleavage, I’ll admit, but I was wearing a cardigan. I do try to keep it professional while at work, but boobs are boobs. Layers work best as the temperature in my office fluctuates a lot. But it’s not like my nipples were popping out. If they had been I’m sure I would’ve gotten a more stern comment about my nipple piercings.
My mom wasn’t necessarily a slut shamer growing up, but she did have her moments. I was pretty restricted in how much skin I was allowed to show. There were several words often used; I think hoochie was my favorite. Shirts that she deemed too skimpy or too tight were spirited away. I would put a shirt in the laundry and never see it again. Comments were often made about other women and their choice of clothing. I think she always thought that the way that I dressed somehow reflected on her as a mother. While I understand the logic in that to a certain extent, it was certainly frustrating to grasp as a teen.
I know I am making my mom out to be horrible. She’s not. She is a product of her own mothers restrictions and insecurities. So imagine my true astonishment at her apology. Sir and I aren’t really open to our extended families about our BDSM, open-status, or this blog. Still, she has been much better over the last few years in accepting me and doing her best to understand my depression. Especially since my cousin attempted suicide early this year, mom has really be supportive.
Anyway, it was just really nice (if a bit odd) to read this apology. As I often feel that my enthusiasm for sex and feeling sexy is seen as a bad thing in our society, it was a wonderful vote of confidence from someone I greatly respect. Some day I hope, if she knows about everything that is important in my life, she will still be this supportive.

Pain in Blood

Blood ran down my leg. I could feel it as I sprinted up the stairs to our tiny bathroom. I had excused myself without raising alarm, I just hoped that no one noticed how quickly I backed out of the room.

“No, no, no!” I cried. I sat on the toilet and wept silent tears. My parents were downstairs. They couldn’t know. At least they were getting ready to leave. I put on a maxi-pad that made me feel like a toddler with a diaper. Then I went down the hall to the bedroom to take off my skirt and put on a pair of much more comfortable sweatpants. My mom would notice the change of clothes, but I was hoping she would think I was just in for the day. My father wouldn’t notice at all.

I checked the mirror for evidence of my crying. My eyes were a bit puffy, but the redness was gone. When I got back to the dining room everyone had gotten some coffee and the table had been cleared.

He saw my face and tilted his head in that adorable way he always does to ask if I was alright. He squeezed my shoulder as he walked passed. I shook my head, but put on a weak smile to let him know we would talk later.

And later took forever.

My parents wanted to chat about Thanksgiving plans and anything else I could care less about in that moment. I sipped my coffee as my stomach cramped, though I wasn’t sure it was emotional or physically caused. The pain was real enough. After an hour I was near ready to beg them to go.

I don’t know how, but I think he knew. Not just that something was wrong, but what the pain behind my fake smile meant. He cleared the coffee and began collecting coats and bags.

‘You guys have a long drive…they are calling for snow later this afternoon.’ He knew exactly what to say to get them out the door.

As soon as the car pulled out of the drive I curled into a ball on the couch and released all the pain I had been holding in for over an hour. He sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. I wailed into his shirt. He held me and rubbed my back. When I ran out of tears he sat me up and walked out of the room. I just stared into the distance, trying to focus on anything in the living room without success.  My eyes may have been too swollen, but mostly I think I just didn’t care anymore. He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Putting his feet up on the couch he pulled me into him. I lay down against this chest as he pulled the blanket around me.

“Today will be over soon. Tomorrow will be better. And we have plenty of time to make our family.” He produced a glass of water and some pain medication for me to take. Then he tucked me up under this chin. He rubbed my back until I fell asleep against him, warm and safe.

I just had to keep telling myself, ‘It’s just blood, it’s only blood’.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings

 

**I’m sorry if this was upsetting or a trigger for anyone’s bad experience. This was one of the worst days of my life. And without Sir, it would have been unbearable. Sometimes sexy is providing support and care; especially in the those moments when sex is the furthest thing from your mind.**

Those Baby Blues

Our baby in the bathroom.
After he recently attempted to ‘decorate’ our bathroom with blue fingerpaint soap.

Our ‘baby’ turns 2 today. I remember going to the hospital to have him like it was yesterday. They were going to send us home. My contractions had stopped. Sir had called everyone to say ‘false alarm’ and tell them to turn around. And the doctor said no. After some less than sexy fisting, he determined that I had dilated more. So they decided to keep me. I wasn’t leaving that hospital without a baby. And we didn’t.

Now he’s a giant happy toddler who has perfected the act of pestering his older brother. Sir and I were both the eldest sibling in our families and we are pretty sure younger siblings get special classes. You must get pulled out of daycare or play group and trained on how to be as annoying as possible. With this is mind, our youngest paid very close attention to that lecture. I guess it’s a good skill to have. Any brats out there who want to come have a first hand lesson, let me know.

But, as independent as he is, he still requires pretty much constant supervision. So, any type of kink during the day is restricted unless he is napping or down for the night. Maybe I’ve just blocked it out, but I don’t remember our oldest getting into quite as much as this age. Part of it is that this one isn’t all about technology. He loves to be outside. Which is good in an exercise and general health way. But when he’s outside for five minutes and he gets covered in mud and throwing rocks at the side of the house it’s less good. At least he sleeps deeply so I can be loud during sex and not worry about waking him.

Admittedly, his birthday has me thinking about another baby. And as much as my hormones keep tugging, I just don’t think it’s right for us. Sir and I have always talked about three kids, but things change. Financially, we can do more for two without spreading ourselves too thin. Sports, activities, and travelling get expensive fast. And wanting to show your children the world means budgeting a lot.

However, there is another reason why I think we are done reproducing. And while it sounds selfish, I am perfectly okay with it. Sir and I want time. Even now, but more so as they get old, kids require time. Sport’s practices and games, recitals, play dates. Helping with homework and science fair projects all take time. And while I am more than happy to do all of those things (I know Sir is too), we both want time on our own. We want time to enjoy our own personal pursuits as well as time together.

We don’t want to feel guilty about spending several days at a kinky sex camp, or vacationing with another couple we want to play with. Taking a weekend and spending that money cannot be a once in a decade activity. Our kids are important to us and we love them very much, but when they grow up they will leave. Sir and I don’t want to wait until then to enjoy kink and what we can share together.

So I will probably shed a tear today  as my baby is growing up. We won’t have anymore uses for our crib or the few pieces of baby clothes I kept, ‘just in case’. Our family is wonderfully complete with four. Not including however many dogs I can talk Sir into letting me have (obviously).

 

*For those curious about the photo. Yes, the white tile and the toilet are still blue. When we eventually get around to re-doing this bathroom, it will have a Teflon coating for easier cleaning.

I would go numb for you

I know it’s not very sinful, but this weekend wasn’t really about fun sinful activities. This photo is about what we do for the one’s we love. This picture hasn’t been edited and was taken with my phone after almost forty hours without sleep.

My mom was in a pretty serious car accident on Friday. While her car was totaled, she suffered only minor injuries. She was more upset about losing her car. The other driver tried to turn left in front of her (he was cited) and hit her on the driver’s side. All the airbags went off and her seat belt did it’s job. They kept her overnight for observation, but we got to bring her home from the hospital late yesterday. They wanted us to make sure her hands were elevated (she broke fingers on each hand). So we improvised.

Rye's leg supporting her mom's broken hand.

Her hand is in a temporary cast right now until she sees the surgeon on Monday. But as the center console of my dad’s car wasn’t high enough, my leg provided the extra height. It actually wasn’t even that uncomfortable. After a two hour drive it was pretty numb though. She’s more than worth it though. Hope all of you have someone you would let your leg go numb for.

Enjoy everyone else’s much more sinful shots this weekend and hopefully we’ll be back to our old selves soon.

Sinful Sunday Kiss Logo

Who designs these chairs?

I have never been able to fall asleep in hospitals. When I’m here for myself they are usually poking you every few hours for vitals and when I’m here for someone else it is impossible to get comfortable. Worry and wanting to feel useful keep me on my toes in case anything is needed. A constant barrage of dinging noises and footsteps fill the hallway.

I know it could have been so much worse. That our schedules will be sorted in a day or two and that I can sleep tomorrow. There is family to help and this is what sick time is for. All of these things should distract me from my worry and tired, but they don’t. My already frazzled and stressed out state is trying to process how the next few weeks will go with little success. Answers don’t come to mind very easily when you are running on a coffee five hours ago and a ten minute cat nap.

I would love to focus on writing or anything else to pass the time and pull my attention away from my current surroundings. But I have limited battery power and as I’m really not into medical scenes the inspiration here is limited anyway. At this point the sexiest thing I can come up with is how nice a shower would be as I didn’t have time to get one yesterday morning before we left.

Maybe I will try and get some more sleep. This chair isn’t too bad if I can find a position where I my legs don’t fall asleep before I do. I should be able to get an hour or so before the IV starts beeping and another round of vital checks is needed. Hopefully everything will clear and we won’t have to stay another night.

It could have been so much worse.

Thank you all

Thank you all for your well wishes and prayers.

The other vehicle turned left in front of her and pretty much t-boned her tiny car. Luckily, the airbags and safety features did everything they were supposed to do and she only has two broken fingers a lot of bruises. I am currently at the hospital with her. They are keeping her overnight for observation and hopefully we will be able to take her home tomorrow. Her sister is already looking at taking some time off to come stay and help. There is possibility that she will need surgery to fix the hands, so we’ll see.

In any case, we won’t be sanding the floors at the new house tomorrow. But I would rather be here and worrying about her there.

Thank you all again for you support and well wishes. Hopefully healthier and more sexy news to report soon.

The Plan

We aren’t in all the snow. It’s windy, but that’s about it. We actually aren’t supposed to see a flake all weekend. But you wouldn’t know that by our snowed-in plan. We are hitting up the grocery this morning for a few junk food staples and then we are hunkering down for the next few days. Watching the NFC and AFC championships and staying warm. It’s the perfect weekend as far as I’m concerned.

Don’t get me wrong, there is still laundry to do. The kids will need to be fed and all that. We are even going to attempt to start packing some boxes and sorting through the attic. So we will certainly earn our junk food and football after all of that.

I would love to say that part of the plan is sex. It is and it isn’t. We want to find time to connect. A good quickie here, maybe a more involved chance there. Trying to limit my expectations. My arm is still healing, so it can be distracting when it’s bumped or pulled during an intimate moment.

After my all orgasm day on Wednesday we both have been tired. And I am continuing to find how my body reacts to orgasm withdrawal. So far my research has not been that positive. I just really takes a dive with the oxytocin drop.

Research continues.

How Can Things Go So Wrong

A three day weekend. I was so excited. I have been trying to keep my expectations in check. Sir has been under a lot of work stress and hasn’t really been able to focus on us. Friday afternoon he started texting me about how he was feeling really sadistic, and how he wanted to relieve some of his work stress on my body this weekend. I was so wet.

The boys fought us going to bed that night. But it was ok. We had two more nights where bedtime wasn’t an issue, right? We could stay up Saturday and Sunday evenings for long play sessions and still be rested for work on Tuesday. So after the kids drifted off, we pulled out the rope and tried some new knots. He has been having fun trying to get my elbows to touch behind my back. We also played around with some hogties. But it got to be later than we realized (time flies when you are having fun), so we figured we had a few days and turned in.
A good decision in hindsight as the baby had a rough morning and was up earlier than normal. My parents were visiting as they are leaving for England next week. It was nice to see them before they left. I know these months will be hard on them as they haven’t been away from the grandkids for more than a few weeks. So they came for the day to wear out the kids and help me while Sir worked. I will never turn down extra hands. And we got the kids photos taken, so wins on all fronts.
Sir talked to me before we left. “Do you want to cry for me tonight?” It rattled around in my head all day. I was on pins and needles while I was out with my parents. I started to tingle as soon as they left. And then…
And then I started to hurt. I brushed it off, I wasn’t going to let a little pain ruin my night. But it wouldn’t go away. I ate oatmeal for dinner. Sir was nice enough to have leftovers so I wouldn’t have to cook. I couldn’t hold the baby for long periods of time. Sir picked up the slack, he is amazing like that. But, he also said the words that destroyed my night.
“I don’t think we should play tonight.”
I took pain meds. I took a hot shower. He put me to bed. Nothing worked.
And now, now I am in the ER waiting for test results while Sir is at home trying to get some sleep before the baby wakes up. This is not what our evening was supposed to be.
I cried in the car. I cried harder than I have in awhile. I am sure the ER check-in staff thought it was from the pain, but it wasn’t. I hurt, I really do. But this was so much worse.
This pain took my time. Time that we never have. Sir struggles to balance work stress with his Domly duties. I know he hates it when we have to take a backseat to the job. That is life right now. But he was feeling it. He wanted to play without me begging, he was finally able to focus on us the way we both want.
I just want to go home. I want to beg his forgiveness for messing this up. I know this isn’t my fault, but sitting here it sure as hell feels like it. And tomorrow when I am tired from being up all night I will feel like it too, when he has to take point with the kids instead of relaxing in his day off.
Trying to stay positive. We do have tomorrow night, if I can get some help and some sleep. I am just getting really tired of saying that, ‘tomorrow night’.