Chasing Me Chasing You

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

A Crazy Week

This week has been emotionally and physically exhausting. The kids went to grandma’s house on Friday night and all Sir and I could think about was a good night’s sleep.

A dear friend found out his daughter was sexually assaulted by someone they knew.

All you can do is try and be supportive. I started to get upset with him when he indicated that she might not pursue prosecution. But, after reflecting, that really wasn’t fair of me. I have never been through such a horrific experience, and it’s not my place to judge. I just wish I could do more for their family as they struggle with this tragic event.

Took on a big grant project at work.

Much more positive than above, but still overwhelming. I am really looking forward to the challenge and showing my boss that I am the amazing person they thought I was when they hired me. And it’s a long term thing. The complete project isn’t due until January, but it will take a lot of piece meal work whenever I get a moment. Usually my desk is covered with requests and filings, so finding extra time may be tough. But the rewards could be worth it if I can get us a chunk of money next year, so fingers crossed.

2yo has decided that sleep is for the weak.

It’s been about a week and a half now. I’m not sure why, but 4:30, or 5:00 if we are lucky, has become his new morning. Which he chooses to share with Sir and I by coming into our room and poking Sir in the stomach. I don’t think it is really sustainable as we are both grumpy and he is falling asleep before lunch at school. Running around at night isn’t helping though, so more devious tactics may be required.

Sir talked to his doctor about his libido and is changing his meds.

Neither of us are getting ahead of ourselves with high expectations. We’ll see if he notices a difference in the next few weeks. I feel bad as I am afraid that he just got tired of me whinging on here. But at the same time, if it helps, I don’t think either of us will be complaining.

Had my STI screening done before I go to California next week.

Everything came back negative, but it was still a tense few days. I don’t know why, but testing like that always freaks me out. Neither Sir nor I have had an symptoms, it was just a formality really so I could take paperwork with me. The last thing I want is for my friends to feel uncomfortable. And the clinic was actually very nice. I was worried they would be judgmental as I numbered partners, but they were informative and polite.

Pinched a nerve in my neck which incapacitated me for several days.

And, the reason I haven’t written much this week is that I pinched a nerve. I wrote a bit about it on Thursday, but it continued to get worse. On Friday, while the kids were at grandma’s and we were supposed to be enjoying a sexy evening along, we ended up at Urgent Care. They prescribed some muscle relaxers and sent me home. After a good night’s sleep I felt a lot better, now it’s mostly a light soreness. But last week was a mess of unproductive evenings.

Luckily, even with everything going on, yesterday was amazing. We had some good family time and I got a lot done. Business stuff and house cleaning got caught up and Sir and I were even able to connect. Hopefully, this week before I go to California we will be able to focus on each other and really have some time together. I want to ensure that we are in a good, solid place before I leave him with the kids for a week so I can have a sexual tryst. His support and mutual excitement for me has been amazing, but connecting with him before I go and after I get back will be the real test to see if this will ever happen again.

Lick Me Suck Me Fuck Me

Lick me suck me fuck me

As I walk in through the door,

Lick me suck me fuck me

Until I beg and plead for more.

Lick me suck me fuck me

As I kneel down at your feet,

Lick me suck me fuck me

Make me feel cherished and complete.

~

Kiss me beat me eat me

Watch me squirm against the rope,

Kiss me beat me eat me

Your grin smothers all my hope.

Kiss me beat me eat me

Say I’ve earned my pleasure,

Kiss me beat me eat me

Your smile is something I treasure.

~

Whip me loan me own me

As I scream out for your touch,

Whip me loan me own me

You can never ask too much.

Whip me loan me own me

I am a slut at your command,

Whip me loan me own me

I am a groupie to your band.

~

Love me squeeze me please me

We are a perfect match,

Love me squeeze me please me

We love to have others watch.

Love me squeeze me please me

I love you more than I can say,

Love me squeeze me please me

I am heading up to play.

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Bad Math

Sir’s low sex drive + My horny, submissive personality = Me feeling very inadequate.

We haven’t had sex in….I actually can’t remember the last time we had sex. I’ve had a few Doxy orgasms with and without his help over the last few days, but that’s been it. And that last night I remember giving him oral he had to look at Tumblr the whole time.

Sir’s dependency on visual stimulation to keep his erection = Me having serious self-esteem problems.

I just feel like I should something. Don’t get me wrong. I get that I’m not some big sexual prize. My tits are pretty great, and I have some skills sucking cock, but that’ about it. I’m not sure why, but I guess part of me thought that BDSM was going to be my sexy ticket for life awhile. I could play out my fantasies and maintain my high sex drive. And he could try out all of the porn he liked and see how sadistic he could be. Now obviously that was a pipe dream, but that doesn’t mean I should let things continue like this without doing something.

My insatiable sex drive + His guilt over not craving sex as much as me = Me wanting to want sex less and resenting myself when I don’t.

Any one who has ever tried this knows how hard it is. I don’t want to crave sex. And when I do, not only do I get upset about it, but the longer I go without the grumpier I get. It’s a vicious cycle. The biggest thing is that I don’t want to be upset with him. It’s not his fault and he feels bad enough about it. However, my attempts to be understanding have only left me to direct all my frustration and confusion back on myself.

My sexually frustrated, low self-esteem state = Crappy writing from me + A probably unwise level of expectation for my upcoming trip to California.

My writing on here lately has just gotten whiny. I don’t judge any of you that I have given up on the sexy scenes I used to post. It’s hard to write without inspiration and writing my fantasies when I’m not sure they will ever happen just makes me depressed. I even took a few days off last week in the hopes that I could come up with something that wouldn’t offend you all. The best I could come up with was how much I am focusing and getting nervous about this vacation. And now I’m starting to worry that me talking it about it is upsetting Sir, which probably is doing his sex drive even more damage.

Today’s Moral = I really hope you’re not reading this as any sort of advice column.

I am just a mess of a submissive trying to make any portion of this dynamic work. I keep hoping from a fake disaster to a real one and back again. Normally I wouldn’t classify myself as any sort of drama queen, but BDSM has shone new lights on all parts of my personality, so who knows. In any case, I hope that we can figure something out to reach a happy medium for us. A sex drive balance or a pathway to other partners that includes him as well.

I’m just tired of all this bad math.

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.**

Dom Block

Rye in a kneel position.

When we first got into BDSM, neither one of us knew what we were doing. We bounced around back and forth, trying to find what we liked and what we didn’t. It was how we had to find our way forward. But, now something has come up which requires going back to the beginning and I don’t really know how to do it.

 

But I can no longer avoid the truth. I must train Rye.

 

That’s not a slight against her; it’s not really for her benefit that she needs to be trained; it is for myself. When I first had the idea to write this post, I wanted to discuss the things that were holding me back from being more dominant. It did not take much soul-searching to realize that one of my biggest stumbling blocks comes from the beating I give myself whenever I feel like I have “failed.” The reasons for this failure aren’t important – any excuse, really.

Usually, my “failures” follow a common pattern: 1. I tell her to do something; 2. She earnestly tries to do the thing which she thinks I have instructed her to do, but gets it wrong; 3. I see that she has failed, but I recognize that the reason for the failure is that I did not properly communicate my desires. I perceive this as my failure to communicate my expectations, which makes me upset. Rye can tell I am upset, but believes I am upset with her. She may get defensive or disappointed if she is waiting for approval. I am unsure how to communicate my frustration, how to communicate that a mistake was made and that I am waging internal warfare with myself trying to figure out who to blame. All she knows is that I am being silent with an upset look on my face.

Which brings me back to training. I know I have written in the past about my views on communication and language, so I will just summarize. Because language is an artificial construct created by humans to facilitate the transmission of data, languages are naturally vague and impersonal, and every linguistic communication experiences some data loss. The best way to insulate against this data loss is to arrive at an agreed-upon series of signals to represent agreed-upon data. For the majority of our lives, “natural” language serves this purpose just fine, but it is not inherently appropriate for all circumstances.

“Kneel.”

Well,..how? Feet together or apart? Knees together or apart? If apart, by how much? Hands in front or back? Elbows straight? Butt touching feet? Thighs perpendicular to the floor? Thighs not perpendicular to floor, but butt not touching feet? Feet extended straight back? Feet bent so only toes touching floor? Head up? Head down? Where to look? Etc.

When I say Kneel, I know what I want to see, but Rye has no clue. So, through training, we will arrive at some common definitions. We have to arrive at an agreed-upon word, which means, “position your body such that your knees and toes are the only things touching the floor, your heels are touching one-another but your knees are about 18 inches apart, your thighs are perpendicular to the floor, your back is straight, your hands are behind your back, with the back of your hands pressed into the small of your back and your fingers woven together, tits out, head up and eyes straight ahead.”

Maybe, “Kneel up.”

The Wrong Kind of Right

Sir’s surgery went well.  He seemed to be feeling okay when we got home. I talked with him during dinner about sleeping downstairs on the couch so he could stretch out on the bed, but he assured me that he was fine. After dinner he went upstairs to rest and my mother-in-law and I wrangled children until bedtime. This included a rather pathetic (and I’m sure humorous) attempt at the two of us playing a Wii game with my 4 year-old laughing at our repeated failures. The things we do for our children.

During a spirited game of Trouble a while later I received a text message:

You will sleep on the floor of my bedroom, after performing for me.

I responded with a ‘More than happy to Sir,’ and tried to remain calm as I lost miserably to that same 4 year-old. To say I was excited would be an understatement. After my post on missing the floor and some of the control aspects that came with it, I have continued to reflect on my goals for our continued D/s. This step was huge for him and I was positively gleeful.

As I closed up the downstairs for the night I grabbed an extra comforter for padding, checked all the doors were locked, and headed upstairs. The kids had gone to bed without much fuss. Having Grandma here to help makes a big difference. The dog had already claimed her space near Sir’s closet. She watched me lay out the comforter on the floor on Sir’s side of the bed, then curled up on her own blanket, and was snoring before I turned out the light.

Sir was already in bed, but put his computer away and took his pain meds to help him sleep. He walked around to where I was kneeling on my pallet. Grabbing my hair he thanked me for being such a help today. He appreciated my care and dealing with kids. Releasing me, he told me to lay down. The side light was turned off and he was snoring in almost no time.

I’ll admit I was a little disappointed not to have been able to ‘perform’ in whatever capacity he had intended. But, considering his day, I knew he must have been exhausted. I couldn’t blame him. I lay down on the blanket and tried to sleep.

And tried…and tried…and failed.

First, and probably foremost, the floor was exceedingly uncomfortable. I know you’re thinking, ‘Duh Rye, what did you expect?’. But I was honestly surprised. Our other home had incredibly comfortable floors. And I can’t believe that it was made all that different simply by the carpet pad and carpet. The other possibility is that the comforter I chose for padding was bad. Previously, I think I had used one of our thicker duvets, which probably would have provided more of a barrier between me and the hardwood.

No matter which way I turned I couldn’t get comfortable. My hips hurt when I lay on my side. My back ached when I tried to lay on my back. I tried to think of it as hurting for him, but that didn’t seem to make any difference.

Then, of course, there was everything going on in my head. Everything that needs to get done today and how crazy our schedule it. I am taking one child to school this morning. The toddler has a doctor appointment, so I will come back and get him for that. Then he will get dropped off at school and I will go to work. Then Grandma is picking them up from school and taking them to her house for the weekend. When I get off work I am coming home to check on Sir and then driving to my parents house for one night, maybe two, to help them move. And my over-active worry brain wanted to have every second of that mess planned out before it let me sleep.

Finally, I realized that while I could hardly hush my brain, I could attempt to make myself more comfortable. It would just require me to do something I really didn’t want to do. I had to wake up Sir. It took me probably whispering his name five or ten times before I raised my voice enough to rouse him. I asked if I could please crawl into his bed with him. He shifted over and I climbed up. Curling his arm around my stomach he pulled me into him and began snoring again. I was glad I hadn’t woken him for too long.

So, now comfortable, I focused on trying to quiet my maniacal brain. However, now I had something else to chew on. After writing and talking about wanting more control and how much I had missed sleeping on the floor for him, I couldn’t even make it through one night. Laying awake for five hours on the floor didn’t count. All I have talked about with him in regards to our D/s was how much more control I craved. More restriction, more oversight. And the first time he offers me a carrot I spit it back out at him.

I am just bummed that it didn’t go better. If could’ve slept and showed him how much I appreciated his gesture maybe it could become a more regular occurrence. And I don’t think that this necessarily negates that option, but I know he will think hard before doing it again. The idea of me not sleeping, even in my happy place, isn’t pleasant for him. In order to keep his house moving and everyone happy, I need sleep. He knows this. Hopefully next time I will remember to try another mat and hopefully that will change the comfort level enough to fall asleep. Not having such a crazy day before and further hectic day ahead may make a difference as well. Though my brain is not one for being predictable; even for me.

I laid in his bed for another half hour or so before just getting up. I’m currently writing this from the couch downstairs. I may try to get some more sleep down here, but most likely will try and clean the kitchen or something else productive. When life gives you lemons and all that.

Sir’s Side

First, I want to say thank you to everyone who has been so open and supportive of Rye throughout this process. It has been incredibly helpful to have your support. Second, I want to say that there is a lot of hyperbole flying around in response to Rye’s experience with another dominant, and some of it is pretty negative. I’m not going to call out any single person or comment because not all of what I’m talking about is coming from the blog. Instead, I will just make this statement: I reject any narrative surrounding this experience that portrays it as wholly negative. I just don’t believe that is correct. In fact, I personally don’t believe that there was anything negative or even “bad” about it. At worst, the experience was neutral. **I don’t exactly agree with this, but so goes Sir so goes my nation.**

Sean did not hurt or violate Rye in any way that she has shared with me or that I have been able to interpret from her behavior. He operated at all times as a fine member of the community and deserves to be recognized as such. There were no consent violations. There were no safe words ignored or disrespected. But, there was also not enough communication to facilitate a wholly satisfying sexual experience, and that is really the biggest problem. The event was rushed, so it wasn’t as good as it could have been.

Let me tell you the story from my perspective. That morning, we woke up without the kids, flirted a little bit, and then got to work. That is to say, real work, not to work on each other, which we would have both preferred. Me in one room, and Rye in another. I was tormented by my work, which I didn’t want to do, and by my knowledge of Rye’s dripping wet vagina, which I definitely wanted to do. I was also preoccupied by this idea that Sean was going to come over to my house and do “something” with my wife – at that time, I didn’t know if it was going to be sex or talking. Turns out it was a little of the one and some more of the other.

I was scheduled for a doctor’s appointment that afternoon. The plan was that when Sean got there I was going to leave. This is mostly what did happen. He came by, I shook his hand, I failed utterly to find a socially acceptable expression for “have fun fucking my wife” and I left the house.

I came home to a quiet but fundamentally unchanged woman. She talked little of the encounter without prodding, but was clearly unsettled. After some prodding, I finally got to the bottom of it.

She hadn’t cum.

Well, shit, I thought to myself,  I can fix that! And we did. A couple of times, I think. And then more, for two more days. We fucked and sucked each other like the horny kids we were when we met. I even got the idea to tie her to a table, tape a dildo to a stick, tape the Doxy to the dildo, brace one end against the wall and the other against her pelvic wall, set the vibrations on medium-low, turn out the lights and go get some shit done upstairs. I don’t think she came while I was gone, but I don’t think she noticed the passing of time, either. I’m just bragging now, that’s not the point. The point is…

The point is that my wife had an unsatisfactory sexual experience with someone who probably didn’t have a wholly satisfactory experience either. You wouldn’t blame Rye for his bad time, wouldn’t call her a bad submissive because of what you know of the encounter (and I don’t think you would call her one if you knew every detail of the encounter, for that matter). I don’t want us to point blame at Sean either. Rye and I have to own our own parts in this: It was rushed, there was not enough communication and it shouldn’t have happened the way that it did. We dealt with it in our own way. I hope Sean was able to deal with it in his own way as well. He hasn’t contacted either of us since that afternoon, and I’m starting to assume we won’t hear from him again. I’m not entirely comfortable with that, but I like closure. Sean, if you do read this, I hope there are no hard feelings.

This isn’t the last time I am going to loan Rye out – she’s already planning a trip this October to fuck a couple of crazy sex-monsters in California. **I (Rye) am super excited about this by the way. Sex-Monsters in this case is a very good thing.** I am actively seeking other play-partners for myself. We are both optimistic about this, and we are ABLE to be so optimistic because our first foray was not great, and we both had a great time anyway. Next time is going to be so much better.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings

Kinky Opinions

Twitter Boyfriend: In my opinion he isn’t a Dom.

Rye: It’s not my job to judge that. He just isn’t going to be my Dom. He didn’t do everything that I would have wanted as a Dom, but he was testing the waters too.

Twitter Boyfriend: To be honest I disagree. He was unprepared, did not have a plan, was not interested in your experience of the scene, his manner seemed to be offhand, he was focused on himself, his aftercare as you point out was non-existent, outside of sex and some punishment there was nothing dominant.

Rye: I agree.

Twitter Boyfriend: I’m sorry for being blunt but I care about your happiness and I feel you were disrespected. I really believe that you can do so much better.

Rye: I’ll admit that I felt disrespected yesterday too. But I don’t know if that is just who he is, or if it was purposeful.

Twitter Boyfriend: *Douchebag – I can’t see how that’s purposeful, it was selfish. I am extremely happy though that this experience seems to have bought you and Sir together which I think is brilliant so there are some positives.

~

We had this conversation after my post on Saturday. It’s nice to feel loved. However, I feel bad at the thought that I painted this Dom in a light that would question his skills. He didn’t do it for me. And, if contacted by a submissive in the future who was looking for a reference (something I should have done), I probably wouldn’t give him the best review. But it all depends on what you’re looking for. Honestly, my disappointment was largely my own fault. I let him talk me into skipping the initial meet. He was leaving town on vacation and wanted to get together before he left. I knew there was a chance it could turn into something, but it should have been obvious that he was expecting more as soon as he walked in the door. I guess I feel like I should take some of the responsibility of the scene. Maybe I wasn’t impressing him so he toned everything down.

And my lovely Twitter Boyfriend was right about one thing, it was positive for Sir and I. Our weekend without the kids was amazing. Sleeping in and walking around naked was an added bonus. We got to do dinner and movie on Friday and had a delightfully kinky afternoon on Saturday. We were able to talk about what I felt was missing from my scene with Sean. And we got to play where I was completely comfortable with what was expected of me. Being tied to a table and left in the basement with the Doxy tied between my legs was helpful too. A great way to reflect (and by reflect I mean forget about everything).

Rye on table with bondage in basement

However, I’m still reflecting a lot on what it means to be kinky. After Sean called our scene, ‘pretty vanilla’, I wondered how levels of kink work. I know I’m not as hardcore as some in the lifestyle, but who decides on kinky cred? And what activities must you do to be considered kinky? But that will be a future post once I make sense of it. I think I’ll try and get some other opinions before I make any drastic conclusions.

In any case, Sir and I are still happy that he loaned me out to Sean and we learned a lot from the experience. There are things that we would have done differently, but there is always next time.

Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman

Stress, lack of sleep, and your own stupidity can lead to not so smart decisions. I will be the first to admit that I have done things without considering how wrong it can really go. And testing that theory seems to be my new M.O.

So as part of not thinking things through and trying to work out the easy solution, I stopped taking my medicine. The medicine is for depression, I’m not on any anti-psychotics or something really serious. But that may be part of my problem. Maybe I don’t take them seriously enough.

Looking back, I’m not even sure how I justified it to myself to just stop cold turkey. Mostly that I didn’t think they were helping. Over the last few weeks I have had several breakdowns. I kept blaming the meds; I don’t know why. But just stopping them seemed like the right idea at the time. I made it around five days. I didn’t call my doctor, I didn’t tell Sir. Both pretty big rule breaks for me. Obviously the justification to just stop the medicine was the same as it being okay not to discuss it with Sir first.

The conversation earlier this week and subsequent sexless night just pushed everything over. I started the morning randomly crying at something pointless (laundry or spilled coffee). So finally I realized that I’m a numb-skull. That stopping my meds was not a solution. As much as I pretend to know my body, I don’t know anything about my depression balance. There is a reason that it takes professionals to give out these medications. Just stopping them can cause all sorts of other issues. And they have. When I took my medicine after a long break I felt sick. My mood was secondary to the physical bollocking my body was giving me for the cold turkey break.

Sir handled it with calm and control. I had directions for what to do to get me through the day and how to deal with side effects. He wanted to support me and understood why I did what I did; even though it was a bad plan. And people on twitter where helpful and supportive as well. It was very comforting to know that I’m not the only person who wakes up one morning and thinks it’s a brilliant idea to just stop their depression medication.

So perhaps this is just one more way that the universe it trying to tell me that I am not cut out for the medical or pharmaceutical field. Or basically health care of any kind. I guess I’ll stick to reading, writing, and watching porn…all while on my medicine, of course.

Mental Health Awareness Month Badge

***And I’m not sure where the title of this post came from. Though my mother and I loved the show when it was on the air. And Sully could roll me around that farm anytime.***

Double Standard

Through this process of finding BDSM and discovering my submissive sexuality I have worked to let go of my issues with masturbation. I’m still not comfortable taking care of my own horniness as often as I could, but it’s a process. However, as I take steps to get more comfortable with pleasuring my own body, I am having more issues with Sir taking care of himself.

Molly (@Mollysdailykiss) wrote a great piece for This D/s Life about how being used is a large part of her submission. I found myself nodding along as I read. I understand that being his used slut is part of what really turns me on. Being pulled upstairs in the middle of the afternoon to have my skirt thrown up so he can have a quick fuck before the kids yell for more juice. It may not be everyone’s fantasy, but honestly, I usually masturbate to something similar (sometimes the kitchen counters, sometimes the laundry room). With our often hectic lifestyle, those little trysts are a joy. And just the idea of him going upstairs on his own for a wank without me hurts. Not that I really think his hand will ever completely replace my pussy (or ass, or mouth), but I’m quickly learning that I’m more needy than I’d like.

I know that sometimes he just wants to take care of himself, he likes that sensation occasionally. But as a needy slut, it’s hard for me to accept that he doesn’t want to use one of my holes. Part of it is that his sex drive isn’t as high as either of us would like. But it seems like a pretty crappy double standard for me to get upset with him for masturbating just because I would like more sex. If that were the case, then the person with the higher sex drive in the relationship is the only one allowed to masturbate. That doesn’t seem very fair. Though I guess when I think about it, that is how it used to be when his sex drive was higher than mine. But that was more because of my issues. He should be allowed (he is in charge) to satisfy himself however he likes, whenever he likes.

So apparently my growth has helped me move from one issue to another, but it is progress. I shouldn’t feel like less of a submissive if he chooses to have some alone time. Just like (at least for now) he is okay with me having some afternoon fun while he is at work. Maybe even if he doesn’t want to use me he could wake me up or take me upstairs to watch and maybe help out a little bit. It is always nice to feel needed, but masturbation is lovely enough to be enjoyed by all.

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