From humble beginnings....

I am writing this blog for him; not truly for myself, as I actually find myself hesitant to put all of my thoughts down, if for no other reason than the fact that still seem incredibly messy to ME, so they must look atrocious to anyone else. He asked me to write it for the same reason I require him to write his - we're both better when we can put all of our thoughts down at once, without interruption, than we are if we try to talk all over each other (or more likely, I talk and he nods and then I get annoyed, lol), and he wants to know my thoughts, and my feelings. To talk about those, I have to explain who I am, and where I've come from. Not in the trite, coming of age fashion, but sexually. I have to start at the beginning. For both of us.

I've always been.. needy. Emotionally, especially. I like to think of myself as a giver, but I'm also very demanding in return. Too demanding, sometimes, and other times, I'm not giving at all. It's very confusing, and I know that. I didn't grow up abused, molested, or otherwise jaded. I had a decent, normal upbringing. My parents spanked me when I was bad. I was probably younger than anyone would be comfortable admitting when I realized... I didn't really hate it.

Childhood transitioned into adolescence, and my mental health suffered greatly. This was not due in any part to my parents, but to my own genetic make up. I was flawed. I was imperfect. I was also exceptionally smart, and I hurt a lot of people. Mostly myself. I took to self-injuring when I was incapable of dealing with the situations I was in... Situations that I put myself in, I should say. As I said, there was nothing incredibly atypical about my upbringing. I was thirteen when my mother's 27 year old friend and I began fooling around. As an adult, I can say that this was probably wrong on his part, but I knew what I was doing. I craved and needed and demanded attention, and I was always very capable of getting what I want. I was heavily into alcohol and smoked cigarettes. I avoided drugs for a long time, because I had no desire to be dependent on anything other than my own self. When I finally gave in, I took ecstasy a few times and smoked a whole bunch of pot. Nothing hard, nothing addictive. I'd have been dead in a year. No will power when it comes to addictions.

Then attention became my drug of choice. In order to stop cutting, because at that point I was aggravated by having to hide myself from the world, and had become aware of my addiction to the release, I looked for other outlets. I was always consenting, but sex, the darker, the better - that was how I found escape, how I found a way out. Slowly, the scars on my skin healed. The scars on my psyche, well... those got deeper, and deeper. I got sick, and the drugs put a ton of weight on me. I'm tall, so I could carry it for awhile.

Then I realized something. Something magical. All that attention, all that anger... they went away. No one noticed me anymore, unless it was something small and insignificant. Those scars I was building, that I didn't even understand; all that damage, hiding in masochism because I thought it could save me, I didn't have to have that. I drank a lot, sure, and I turned to other destructive means, but I realized I could hide behind being overweight. It got confusing, at times. Any overweight woman out there can tell you, there is no shortage of men who crave plus size women out there. I got better and better about weeding out fetishists. I finally, after an extremely ugly, abusive relationship in which I finally realized that was I was doing wasn't submitting, it was self-destructing, admitted I needed help.

I spent some time with some qualified professionals. Had my medications adjusted a hundred times. Sat in groups with people just like me, and people nothing like me. Talked to many different people about many different things. And I learned how to be a human being. I learned how to avoid situations that will harm me. I learned that I didn't want that. The only piece left in my puzzle was pain. And I wanted that, I really did. I craved the complete, ultimate release. When I could let go and float, when nothing hurt inside because everything outside numbed it. Every bit of it.

So when I met my husband, after a couple long years of (mostly) celibacy and self-reflection, I was very quick to tell him what I wanted. That I wanted to give him control. That I wanted him to use me, and abuse me, and ultimately, take away all of the pain by giving me pain. I had adapted to masochism as a means of survival, and I truly believed I needed it. There was no sexual pleasure obtained through submission for me. Despite a lot of therapy, and a lot of introspection, I was still broken. I had fixed so much, and I thought I knew exactly what I wanted.

Gradually, our sex life became fairly vanilla. Sure, we played and had fun, but it was tame. Very tame, for me. It wasn't BAD, please don't misunderstand, but something was lacking for me. I still chose to seek submission. I still wanted to find that place, only it didn't exist for me, anymore. Every time we played, every time he was in charge, it was a completely uncomfortable mind fuck for me. I was sad, confused, hurting, angry, bitter... things I've never said out loud to him before, because I didn't know how. I wasn't upset with him - he'd only done what I asked, what we both "understood" that I needed.

In the interest of fun, honestly, we began to switch it up. Like any relationship, we evolved. And I couldn't tell you exactly when it happened that our power dynamic finally changed for good, but we both realized something very quickly - that when I took control, when I was in charge, that was when I was at my best. Not even just sexually but emotionally. And what was more, he flourished as a person, too. We're both hyper control freaks, and we both need that control... just in the opposite way of how we originally approached it.

Our power exchange is not total. We're not entirely equals outside of the bedroom, but that is mostly by choice. Truth be told, it makes more sense, given who we are, that he maintains control of things like paying the bills, and keeping me organized. I can be a little scattered, and it took me years to admit that. I have shortcomings based on who I am chemically and genetically, and I can't change those. I can work hard to overcome them, and I do, but I am not perfect. I am also not submissive. I am not masochistic. And my good boy, my pet - he is not Dominant, not at all. He struggles to give me pain, because it hurts him when I hurt. He got nothing out of it except the false satisfaction of believing I was receiving something that I believed I needed.

I slid very naturally into a Dominant role, especially sexually, in our relationship. I am comfortable, not simply because it comes so naturally to me, but because the majority of my relationships, even at a considerably younger age, were BDSM in nature. We will always have obstacles to overcome, we two; he is more demonstrative and emotionally inclined, and I struggle sometimes to provide him with the affection he craves. He went to bed alone tonight, something he hates, because it can be very difficult for me to lie in bed and cuddle. Especially if I'm not tired. I find it smothering instead of comforting. He typically complains about this, and tonight he didn't. I am not sure who has grown more in that situation, because I found myself distraught that he didn't seem upset. It felt like something was wrong. And to be fair, he has always struggled to tell me when things are wrong, because he worries so much about upsetting me.

That's why I'm writing this for him, tonight. So that when he wakes up, and checks his email, he has something to read that maybe gives him a little more insight. It's my gift to him, to make up for what I was unable to give him tonight. I've been distant this week (he'll blame my juvenile attachment to a stupid children's video game...) due to my state of mind right now. It's hard for me to admit to people when I am distressed or depressed, because I've worked so hard to be so much better than I have ever been. But I am.

This blog will deal with things of sexual nature. It will talk frankly about BDSM, about things I learn, things I enjoy, and things I don't. It will be one-sided, and often selfish. But it will also be a place for me to anonymously put myself out there to everyone but him. He will know who I am, and I will make a concerned effort to keep it updated frequently enough that it does both of us some good. He is expected to update his blog three times per week, but I will not make the promise to do the same. First of all, his blogs are short and succinct; much like him. A man of few words, that one. I am much longer-winded, and truthfully, being so open and vulnerable is exhausting to me. I couldn't keep up, not if I want this to mean something more than "today I locked my husband up, played with him until he was squirming, and sent him to bed unsatisfied". While some people may prefer that, this is for him. This is what he needs.

And that is what our journey has been about, thus far. Learning to trust, to accept, to need. We are open with each other in all things physical, but we stumble at times when it comes to being emotionally available. I blame this on our extremely different needs in that department, but I take responsibility, too.

For the record, I did send him to bed locked up and unsatisfied tonight. We're new to the world of chastity, and so far, it has proved to be most satisfying experience I have ever had. That may seem a little strange, as, after all, if he's in a cage it's not like he's fucking me, but the experience has been incredibly gratifying. For both of us, I think, but I can only speak for myself. I feel so much more intimate with him than I ever have before. I have his complete trust. We will never shoot for extended periods of time in chastity, because that is not what either of us desires, but this journey has led us to new heights in our relationship, to a better place, and I am so grateful for his acceptance. And if he hates it, he sure isn't saying so.

His blog today requested a visit to our basement, where we've set up a bit of a makeshift dungeon, for lack of a better word. Where neither of us received much gratification when it came to my masochism, the opposite is true for him. We're working to find a balance - after an extended session, he requires affection, rest, and is entirely sated and exhausted, I am exhilarated, full of boundless energy, and soaking wet to the point of dripping discomfort - but it is something we both get so very much out of. At this time, I am attempting to circumvent that particular problem by not expecting sex - or even attention of my own - after a session. Our last experience went much better because of this, with neither of us feeling guilt or remorse. I'm just going to have to be more demanding about getting off at other times.....