This is why slaves shouldn’t have access to laptops. They can go hide in the bedroom and bitch about how life is annoying and should just stop.
Sex is no longer being had in this house. (Well, I don’t think the dog is getting any, and I’m pretty sure the cats aren’t either…) I haven’t come in over a week, and I am pretty sure that’s how long it has been since sex was had. So a little horny angst is going on…I’m on the rag, which sometimes means I’m humping the air and moaning from a faint breeze. I’ve tried to come on to Him, but He’s about as aware as a rock. He’s too tired, too absorbed, too blah to care.
I’m finally reaching the end of my ability to exist on this lonely dirt road without other adults to talk to. Sometimes during the day I feel like there are six small hands dragging me further and further under the surface of life, sucking my energy and vive like little darling vampires. I don’t call Him at work for much because I don’t want to cling. I just want to talk, to connect, to hear another voice in a post-puberty octave. When He gets home, I try to be nice and ask how His day was, what did He do, who’d He work with, because I just want to live vicariously thorugh Him. And at the same time, I’m screaming inside to shut up, He doesn’t want to be debriefed, He just wants to go sit at His desk and stare at the screen. I respect His 10 minute no touching rule, but I just want a goddamned hug, to be seen, to be acknowledged.
And that brings me to the largest pocket of festering pain…I am feeling more and more like a friendly ghost who does the housework (occasionally) and cooks. More and more I feel like what I am giving up, what I am turning away, what I am suppressing, is no longer fulfilling. Today after supper, if I could have, without even asking Him, I would have gotten changed, called up a girlfriend or two and driven into town, had a few drinks, tore it up a little and just let my hair down. And every step of the way as I imagined it, I was blocked. No permission. No money. No gas in the van. No one to call. And nowhere to sleep when I came home.
I don’t like the word no anymore. No orgasms. No friends. No drinks out, relaxed at a bar. No random driving through the country with the windows down, the music up, a cold bottle between my legs. No acknowledgement. No voice. No choice.
It isn’t like the life and lot of slave comes as any surprise to me. I mean, it shouldn’t. But every so often, something pops up and just rubs the total inequality and sheer drudging pissiness of it all right in my face. It refuses to fade if I close my eyes and shake my head. I can’t just imagine my way out of this.
I think, at times like this, I can understand the appeal of active dominance better. Right now as I type this, I sit on His bed and listen to angry moody emo music, while He lays on the couch upstairs, stuffing His face with high-calorie-high-sugar foods I can’t even think about, watching a car show or something, probably completely oblivious to how pissed I am. When He reads this He’ll shake His head, maybe roll His eyes, and go about on His merry little way. What does He care? I have no ability to fight back, I prove no threat to the order of things. I had convinced myself to strike tonight, got my lappy and speakers, hid in the bedroom…and then folded and put away all the clothes. So much for striking. Why be actively dominant when you can just coast on the training you have already done? I don’t think graceful, smiling submission means as much to Him as obedience does. He doesn’t care how much I scream and cuss about something as long as it gets done the way He said to do it.
He mentioned possibly not going to the munch this upcoming Saturday. I didn’t say anything, but a little piece of me flared up and went out. My chance to see something past the ten acres…gone. To see the smiling faces and hear the laughing voices of new people and relish a new experience…gone.
I understand why some of the old horsemen would break an unruly ‘stang by tying it to a post for a few days with no interaction.