The other night, I sat on the couch watching TV next to my husband. A person (who shall not be named) invited me to chat on Twitter. I succumbed. I wasn’t terribly invested, but he drew me in because we had earlier connected on the concept that marriage can be difficult, especially when one partner’s libido is much stronger than the other’s.
I was also intoxicated…so there’s that.
Anyhow, as we were new to chatting with each other, there was some friendly “getting to know you” banter that occurred, and then it became sexual. The exact contents of conversation are not all that important, but what is important is that once the conversation went from being about sex, in general, to being about sexual acts involving us (even behind a cyber wall), I began to get nervous.
It started with the age-old “what are you wearing?” line to what he’d do with those “plain old cotton panties” I was wearing under my sweats. (In case you were wondering, he said he’d pull them off with his teeth.)
I told him that I liked direct men…and then asked if he was involved in D/S? Somehow, my responses became an invitation to lead, and he jumped right one the thinly veiled request.
His comments changed to fit the need; he began explaining how he’d “spank my ass until my pussy was dripping” and several other such deeds.
He ordered me to go to the bathroom and “rub it” for him. Which I did. He asked for a picture. Which I sent.
He told me to get off for him that night. I called him Sir. I asked for direction. He said he could give it.
And then when it was over, I fell apart.
On the couch, next to my husband, I melted into tears. I felt like a dirty adulteress, and worse, I felt like I had betrayed him by allowing…no urging…someone to take his rightful place as Dominant in my life.
Mr. D and I put our D/s experiments on the shelf some time ago, but this chat session brought something out from my core.
It started when my brain contrived the original story idea for The Wife Coach. Obviously the story grew from some subconscious need I was feeling. To have someone swoop in and just tell me what to do to fix my sex life would be so temptingly wonderful (obvious pitfalls notwithstanding). Better yet, as I continued the story, what if someone simply told me what to do…period.
Oh, but wait. We’ve been her before. And it didn’t work.
However, that doesn’t stop the need.
As I sat there tearfully explaining how the chatting made me feel guilty, my husband asked me why. It wasn’t so much the sexting…it was the emotional control that I handed over. But I learned something about myself between 9:46 and 11:17 last Friday night. I learned that I crave leadership in a way that is visceral, and that when I am called a pet name that invokes my submissiveness, I melt…I crumble…and I let go.
Mr. D and continued to talk about it for some time that night. He explained that he’d chatted several times with women over the years (which surprised me a little, but didn’t anger me). And he didn’t seem to be as concerned about my chatting as I was. In fact, he seemed pleased that I’d enjoyed myself and wanted me to explore what I liked about it. He asked me to consider my needs and desires deeply, as re-gifting him control is so fraught with our past failures that it’s hard for either of us to seriously consider going back. And yet, it’s also seriously hard not to.
That chat session proved to me that my inner submissive is clawing to get out. She is trapped behind apprehension and confusion. But she’s there…no doubt.
And Mr. D, like a good and natural Dom, is reticent to put that inner submissive up to a task she is not yet ready to undertake, lest we both get hurt.
He held me that night. He did not fuck me.
And here I am now trying to figure out how best to submit, when really, the best place to start is simply on my knees.
I do not feel a sudden need for rules and contracts and punishments. But, I do feel a need for the emotional connection that comes from a solid D/s foundation.
Much like a seed planted in fertile soil, the flower that grows will be what we make it…little by little…day by day.
I may not know now what I want our D/s to be…but I do know that my entire being needs to hear that I am his good girl. I need to feel his hands gripping my hair at the base of my neck. I need to hear him tell me to come for him. I also need the man he becomes when he does those things. He finds himself in his Dominance, just as I find myself in my submission.
Somehow, at our essence, we work. But when I let my head get in the way…when I overthink it…I rebel against it.
The only thing to do right now, really, is to let go. Funny how a simple chat session, a guilty conscience, and a cathartic conversation can drop at m feet the keys to a door I figured was closed forever.