Ashamed Of Myself

There are some things I find very hard, if not impossible, to say out loud. The words may echo round my head, my heart may be shouting them but I cannot get my lips to articulate them. This blog exists at least partly for that reason; because some things may not be spoken but may be written.

Perrin has written of his depression, and it has certainly had an impact on our relationship. While I love Perrin very much, it is hard seeing him so withdrawn and unhappy, and that in itself then affects me, drawing us into a vicious circle of misery that seems very hard to break. As part of this the D/s side of our relationship has almost entirely ceased. This seems to be a sensible decision for the moment and yet I am finding it very hard to be a vanilla wife.

I have finally come to a point where I can accept my submission as a part of me and have found it surprisingly easy to talk of with others. Admitting that I am submissive and discussing kink with other people who can understand has been a liberating experience. Expressing it directly however, admitting my needs and desires to my Dom, that I still stumble over.

In my head I can beg to be fucked, to be pinned down and used. I can ask for a spanking, knowing I would offer my body willingly to the pain. I still cannot speak the words.

I am ashamed. Ashamed of my desires, of my needs. Seeing them as dirty, and expecting to be rejected for them. Sure that I will be rejected. Not that my requests might be turned down; there is a difference between a dominant denying a submissive’s requests, deliberately, knowing what they are doing and a rejection of their submission, a turning away in disgust from them. I am afraid too, that my desires might be met, reluctantly, attempting merely to satisfy me, rather than for my Dom’s pleasure and delight.

I am ashamed to be so helplessly submissive. Unable to completely bury these feelings, unable to be purely vanilla, to forget this part of me for now. Ashamed I cannot let it go. Hating and loving my submission simultaneously.

I read other people’s blogs, read of the pleasure of submission. I see the joy in Mat’s face, head back, eyes closed, his throat bared to me. I remember those feelings. They thrill me, delight me, arouse me. They are more than sex. More intimate, more powerful. More.

But I cannot have them merely by wishing. And pretending would be worse than not having them at all. So somehow I have to let it go for now.

New Year, Old Friends

After a lovely Christmas with my family, we had arranged to spend the new year with our oldest (and best friends). Its something we’ve been both looking forward to and dreading for some time. Looking forward to, because we hadn’t seen our friends in far too long, and dreading because, though they are our best friends, they knew nothing of our new(ish)ly discovered kink and polyamory.

So it was with much trepidation that we made the journey to their house. We had decided, you see, that we could not go on hiding this side of our lives from them.

Our friends were as lovely as they always are, and fed us a lovely meal, and provided much good wine. It was, much later into the evening (or was it morning by then?) until we could finally summon the courage to admit our new found sexual freedom.

The thing about Real Friends, though, is that they are understanding, both of your personal ups and downs, mistakes, and large surprises, such as coming out as poly.

We are very lucky to have such friends, especially those who we shared the new year with. We should have told them much sooner. Of course they would have understood 🙂

Breaking the Chain

This is a post I was never looking forward to writing, but its time has come.

Amy has decided that she no longer wishes to be in a relationship with us.
In many ways that was always inevitable. She was never really in a position to accept the kind of relationship we really wanted to have. We made do with brief moments and stolen kisses, without ever having the time to develop the communication to support the emotion involved.

Now her life has taken a turn, such that in that great political phrase she ‘needs to spend more time with her family’. Something had to give and we were the something.
While I feel sad that something is over, I am truly happy looking back at the wonderful times we had. I’m sure she will remember them with pleasure too.

As with any relationship there are always things to be learned. So what do I take from this.

Firstly that a much higher proportion of the relationship time should be taken up with communication rather than sex.

Secondly that in a multi person relationship, communication means everybody in a room talking not just two people. Relaying messages leads to misunderstandings.
Also I feel a lack of closure. We started our relationship all three of us together in a pub, it should have ended the three of us together, with hugs and kisses. I would still like to have that meeting.

Thirdly, I am reminded that relationships require commitment and compassion from all parties. When one party has left the relationship emotionally it’s time to move on.

So here I am looking back, at where we have been. There have been many good times. Lots of fun, laughing, drinking, loving, sex of course and new horizons explored. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Wow. Thank you Amy. x

Real Frustration

Fantasy frustration is hot. Being made to wait for gratification for a few minutes or hours can be a lot of fun. The real thing sucks.

Currently we have a lot going on in real life. Perrin has a DIY project, which is really important, and I really want him to get it done, on top of other commitments I know he has. The problem is he’s being very single-minded about it. It’s only been a couple of days (sounds crazy I know), but he’s thinking about the DIY all the time, and that means not thinking or feeling sexy.

I know how my sexual response works. The more I get the more I want. Regular sex keeps me happy, sexy and kinky. I like how that feels. Maybe I’m addicted? Certainly I get a withdrawal response. To start with I get desperate to ‘get my fix’, but it’s a miserable feeling. Then I get increasingly withdrawn. After a week or so my body gives up, I no longer want sex, or more accurately; I actively don’t want it. I don’t want to be pulled back into the wanting stage, don’t want to be made vulnerable again. This reaction doesn’t fit well with submission, and this is usually the part where I rebel against everything, refusing to submit because I feel it’s become a one way deal.

Which brings us back to now. I tried tonight I really did. Perrin went off to take a bath, and after some internal debate I decided to go for the climbing in with him approach. We talked about DIY! He did shave my pussy, which I thought a hopeful sign, but then went off and looked at the web (for stuff we need for our project), and came to bed saying “I’m not thinking sexy thoughts I’m thinking DIY thoughts”. At least that’s honest!

So now I’ve woken up in the middle of the night, and I really want to wake him up and beg for sex. He’s already said though, that my waking him up in the night (and having sex) stops him getting up when the alarm goes off. Since that means he then doesn’t make my packed lunch for work or make me coffee (I’m a lucky girl), he’s not being totally selfish either.

Still my submissiveness means I can’t wake him up (he used that dominant tone when he told me, I wish he hadn’t). I can’t even masturbate, because a) it would disturb him, b) I’d find it impossible with him asleep beside me and c) too many years of being ordered not to (even though that rule no longer applies) has left me almost incapable!

So here I am, frustrated and miserable. Blogging for something to do, and knowing that when the alarm goes off and I have to get up for work I’ll be exhausted.

I keep telling myself I’ll get over it in a week, and praying Perrin doesn’t let me.

Just to add that Perrin didn’t let me. Since then too, he’s managed to do DIY and be sexy!


A while ago we watched ‘Equilibrium’. It’s a film set in a bleak future where emotion is forbidden and people are forced to take drugs to suppress their feelings. Clearly the film presents this as a bad situation, but ironically I hadn’t realised just how bad it could be.

Some time ago I started taking the mini pill. In many ways this was an excellent thing. Apart from the contraceptive benefits it also completely suppressed my periods; which were sometimes very uncomfortable. I remember reading the accompanying leaflet and expressing distress at the possible ‘changes in sex drive’. On taking it though, it seemed fine. After taking it for a month I did suspect it had lowered my libido a little but I’m pretty highly sexed normally so there seemed little harm.

I assumed that was that. But although you age a little every day, you never notice it in the mirror in the morning. So bring us up to a few months ago, and our sex life had dropped off almost entirely. When we tried to talk about it, I figured it must be the classic ‘not enough foreplay’ but somehow I could never respond enthusiastically. I dread to think how long this situation might have continued had I not developed other side effects (itching) which made intercourse actually uncomfortable as opposed to merely unexciting.

We went to see a doctor, who after taking a good look, suggested that the problem might be caused by the pill and suggested I come off it. I could see my husband’s face freeze instantly, he was not keen on this idea, but we had nothing else to try.

Even so it took a few weeks before I decided to stop taking it; but after all, I could always start again if it didn’t help. After four days the itching was almost gone, and then, the most amazing thing, I found my pussy was damp. It was a bit like hitting puberty again. I was amazed. I was astonished that I had forgotten that my body used to do that. And then, really like puberty, I kissed my husband and ‘Whoosh’! Talk about a sudden rush of lust. I’d forgotten how it felt, simply to kiss. I really fancy this man!

I rediscovered sex a bit like a traveller in the desert discovering water, drinking thirstily, desperately. Then to my continued surprise, following naturally on, came my submissive feelings, pouring back into me, and I felt suddenly whole. Myself again.

Looking back though, I feel angry. Angry that nobody warned me this could happen, that the pill could steal my enjoyment and lust away, slowly and stealthily. Angry for me, but most of all for my husband. I denied him everything I promised to give him so long before; not simply my body, but my pleasure, my enthusiasm for him and for all that we can do together.

I am still amazed that he bore that time so patiently, still loving and generous, never angry or resentful with me over my rejection of him.  I feel such sorrow that I could have hurt him so badly, even unwillingly. I don’t know how to get past that yet.

My renewed submission is now a continuation of something we started exploring, tentatively, so long ago, and I am grateful, that he has let me so readily return to joy.  Too, I am determined not to let him down. He has earned my devotion many times over, and I will repay in such currency as I have, and as he chooses *grin*.