True Christmas Eve Story PLUS A Gift For My Friends

Imagine this:
6PM Christmas Eve. I enter a crowded grocery store in Long Beach, CA.  Yeah, I can be a bit of a masochist at times. anyway, i realized I was nearly out of paper towels, and I needed oranges for tomorrow's breakfast, so I braved the insanity. Imagine my surprise/horror when I saw an ENTIRE row devoted to Valentine's Day! On Christmas Eve! What The Actual FUCK???!!! Anyway, I got in the shortest long line (9 people in front of me) and waited.

I'm still a bit behind in my cooking/baking, and some gifts won't be arriving until Saturday (via Amazon) but at least that part is done.

My Christmas Gift:

Due to several requests, I'm sharing my Mother's recipe for Christmas Pork. The fun part was reducing the recipe from what I normally do (5+ lbs of pork, nearly 3 large bottles of red wine vinegar, and a full bottle of red wine plus more heads of garlic than I care to admit) to what "normal" people do. (about a pound of pork) Here is the base recipe (measurements of seasonings are to taste, but it is very garlicky)

Christmas Pork (Portuguese Recipe)

1 lb Pork cut into cubes
1 1/2 cups red wine vinegar
3/4 cup dry red wine
1 bay leaf
1 large whole garlic head with cloves sliced thin
1 teaspoon salt
pepper (just a little)
1/2 teaspoon Italian seasoning

Mix together vinegar, red wine, garlic, salt, bay leaf, pepper, and Italian seasoning in large bowl. Add pork, and stir well. Make sure pork cubes are covered. Refrigerate minimum overnight, better if 24 hours. Stir occasionally.

On Christmas morning (about 11, because I like to sleep in) I drain the pork on a paper towel, then melt about 1/2 cube of butter in a large skillet. Add the pork to the skillet in batches to prevent crowding; cook and stir until completely browned and no longer pink in the center. Add more butter as necessary. DO NOT USE MARGARINE OR OIL!

Now, you might ask then what? Make plain scrambled eggs, and serve them together. For real authenticity, serve oranges cut in quarters on the side. Now, the purpose for the orange is twofold. One, it cuts on the garlic breath, two, it reduces the gas.

Merry Christmas!

♥ ♥ ♥

Merry

My Anger? (1-21-18)

Really???!!! What is this anger you speak of, and why do you think that my anger, if any, is focused on anyone other than myself? I’m a grown-up and I make my own decisions. Sure, I might consult with Shilo or Stitch, and my Mentor when he was alive, but the end decision to do something is my own. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m guilty of poor decisions in the past. I’ll even admit that I’m guilty of poor decisions in the recent past. Sometimes, I’ll even allow my emotions to guide my decisions, and love is a pretty powerful emotion.

No, I don’t feel anger. I do feel pain and disappointment, with both myself and others. How could I have trusted someone with my heart? Why do I love and trust others at all? Even though I could easily say there was deceit, the deceit isn’t solely on the other person, because I deceived myself as well. Probably more than they did. I wanted to believe that the love was reciprocal. Maybe it was. Unfortunately, sometimes, love just isn’t enough.

Polyamory, for me, at least, is less about sex and sexual activity than love. Love is the common denominator. Love is always there. I’m all for others having as much sex as they want (preferably safely) but love comes first for me. If I don’t love you, I won’t engage in sexual intercourse with you. I tell others, and they just don’t get it. They believe it’s about sex for everyone. That’s fine, it’s just not for me.

Those of you reading this might be surprised by what I’m about to write, mostly because I have remained silent, and I didn’t want to cause trouble or further heartache for someone, but in the past week, I have been accused of (in no particular order) overreacting, being irrational, unreasonable, intentionally causing problems, backstabbing, telling lies about someone, being mean, being malicious, not being sex-positive, and dragging someone through the mud, when the truth was (and has always been) that I have always spoken about this person in complimentary ways. Telling others how wonderful, caring, and considerate this person was, and when I was asked about what happened between us, I’ve only said that it was a miscommunication, and that we were unable to reach an agreement.

I understand now that by using those words against me, it was a pathetic attempt to cause me to feel guilt. To that, I say “too late!” I already felt guilty when I realized what a poor decision I made. Maybe if I had received kindness instead, I wouldn’t be where I am now.

Regrets? Here is my answer to that:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwk0Sh3id4w

A Thought

I know I don't have many readers here, but I had an unusual (for me) Saturday afternoon yesterday. I went to a potluck BBQ at an acquaintance's house. 

I've known her about 5 years, but rarely saw her except for a once a year "retreat" of sorts. Anyway, when I broke my right humerus in two places last July, she was kind enough to offer her services to cut out the mats in my hair and help me feel pretty. She's a licensed hairdresser, and since she was willing to come to me, who was I to complain? She did a great job, and since then has come over about every 3 months when I asked her to help out with the hair. For the first six months, I was unable to wash or brush my hair, so either Stitch or Shilo got stuck with that along with other personal bodily tasks that I won't mention.

So, anyway, this BBQ is a once a year big affair that she and her husband  host.  He smokes meats, and people bring all sorts of yummy things to complement the meat. I decided to do something gluten free that Shilo and others might enjoy. People often say that "Gluten Free" is another word for tasteless and often disgusting baked goods that have a funny texture on the mouth. Often, recipes call for Xanthan gum as a binder because it's gluten free. I've always been determined to fix gluten free food with pronounceable and easy to find things that aren't overpriced.

I'm fond of experimentation as well, and because of that, I'll often buy gluten free snacks and dessert items at places such as Big Lots or even the 99 cents only store, along with Dollar Tree. One of my more recent finds was a box of "gourmet" chocolate chip cookies. I read the package,and was pleasantly surprised to discover that all the ingredients were recognizable, and most of them I had at home. I bought it for Shilo, and when I asked him,he said they were "delicious." I insisted on trying, and sure enough, they were a delight on the tongue and tastebuds. I noticed they were made exclusively with rice flour.  I decided that I'd go searching for rice flour on my next outing. I bought it at the 99 cents only store and put it in my pantry and forgot about it until a few weeks ago when I got the invitation.

Over the past week, I've looked through the internet trying to find a cookie recipe that would suit Shilo's need for gluten free and my desire for easy to pronounce ingredients that wouldn't break the bank. It had to be similar enough to my personal cookie recipe that I've used since I was in my teens as far as taste was concerned, and, of course, use the brown rice flour. I was met with many disappointments, but I found two recipes that almost fit my needs, but areas were lacking in both of them.  Fortunately, the areas could easily be fixed by taking the best of each, and that's what I did.

I made a HUGE bowl of cookies, and baked up half the batch for the BBQ. The rest got bagged and refrigerated to bake later this week. The cookies were about a '9' rated by Shilo, and I hate to admit it, but I gave them a '10.' There was one younger male who has gluten intolerance and was so excited to see cookies that he hugged me. Later, his girlfriend asked for my secret. I emailed my recipe to her. I told her she might want to halve it, because I like to make HUGE amounts of cookies.

I guess it was that success that got me thinking about all my other recipes that I've modified to make gluten free. I don't have many, but what if I created a blog/forum similar to Dan's where men and women could discuss and share their gluten free cooking disasters as well as successes, and recipes could be exchanged? Something for people like me who love to cook and eat but aren't professional chefs or nutritionists but just like good tasting foods.

I'd much rather talk to a real person about the trial and error approach where the (poor) family dog gets the mistakes, or sometimes it's too horrible even for the dog. I'd also like to share the recipes that I have perfected and maybe provide encouragement for people taking those first painful steps in trying out gluten free food and coming short. 

So, all the above is just saying that I have an idea for a blog, and I'm asking for encouragement.
Please?

The Miracle of An Open Heart

A few days ago, I write about the unexpected death of my friend Tommy. I decided that maybe forgiveness had a place in all this. I unblocked all the people I had blocked on my vanilla Facebook page. I had no idea of they would even bother to contact me, but I had opened my heart to that possibility.


When I did that, I noticed someone who was a former neighbor of mine from when I was married to the father of my children. For reference, I left him 21 years ago. About 10 years ago, this person found me on Facebook, and we would sometimes message back and forth, but this friend got upset because I neglected to put a birthday greeting on their wall in 2011. I had a good reason, but this person went ballistic, so I blocked them.  When I unblocked this person, I checked out their page. I was happy to see that my former friend was doing well.


Today, I went to an inactive social network page of mine, and I found a message request. It was from that former friend I mentioned above. The message was from 2 years ago, apologizing for their actions. There was a phone number attached, so I called from Shilo's phone (blocked) The first time, the person hung up on me. The second time, it went to voicemail, so I left a message,saying I would call back soon.  I waited 15 minutes and tried again, but it went to voicemail, so I replied to the message online. This person apologized again, and I could tell it was sincere. We agreed that I would call sometime over the weekend. I'm happy it turned out this way.


I could leave with that story, but I have another related to forgiving. On early March, I went back on OKC after a 8+ month hiatus. A slightly older gentleman messaged me (In fact, several people messaged me, but this is about this one) His wife had recently died, and he just wanted someone to talk to. We talked on the phone and emailed each other, but I was still having problems with my frozen shoulder, and we (Shilo, Stitch, and Myself) were still trying to find somewhere to move.  I told him that I'd be a few weeks with limited internet, but I would call him on a regular basis, but by the end of March, he stopped calling or replying. I was sad that he didn't bother ending things and just left me hanging, even though I acknowledged to myself that the timing was off. I like closure.


Anyway he called me this afternoon and apologized for disappearing without a goodbye. It turns out he met someone, and they're pretty serious. I guess he thought I'd be upset or disappointed, but I'm happy for him. I even acknowledged that the timing was wrong for me.


I guess I'm two for two, and I feel pretty good about it.

Death

In the past week, several people I call friend have died. Friend is not a title I give loosely. You earn that. Yes, there are Facebook friends, Fetlife friends, etc; but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about more than just that. People I've shared secrets with, laughed with, and cried with. People who made a difference in my life. People who never forgot that they were loved by me.


M died due to a blood clot that traveled to her brain. It was sudden, but in the days preceding her death, we (her friends) knew that she was going to die. Hard? Yes. 

Tommy started out as an online acquaintance about 15 years ago that turned into something more. In April 2010, during a cross country road trip, we finally met up. The sparks were real. I met his daughter then as well. If she hadn't been there, more might have happened, but it wasn't to be. I never considered him a "lost love" because we became facebook friends, and would call on a regular basis until my mom died. Still, Facebook kept us in touch. Even when I found out he was a Trump supporter, I kept in touch. We made plans to see each other "soon" because I just knew I'd return to Texas eventually.

An excerpt of our last online conversation is below:

Mary Price You aren't racist or hate-mongering. You just have a different opinion on things.
 

Obamacare kept my son Jonathan alive when he developed cancer. He would be dead today if it wasn't for the Affordable Care Act. Still, I accept that you have a different opinion.
 

Now stop yelling about your guns blazing and give Merry a hug. You know you want to.
 

I'm sure that everything will work out.

May 11 at 8:01am 

Tommy  (((Hugs))) love ya hun wish you didnt live so far away you love me for who I am and not for what you want me to be.A true heart you have.Im truly happy that hes doing better I remember the hell you had.Im not saying Obama Care is all bad but I shouldnt have to have 4 hundred bucks taken out of my paycheck because I dont have healthcare either.I can always just go to the VA...

May 11 at 12:23pm


Tommy was found dead in his bedroom Sunday morning (5-14) with a broken neck. All I could get out of his daughter was that it was an accident. I'm heartbroken. Tommy was always helping people, and even when his house burned down a few years ago, he helped out others. He was a giving person. I'm proud to have been his friend, and I'm grateful that I gave him "flowers" while he was living. 

I have a favor to ask: Please remember that we only walk on this earth for a limited time. We don't know when our life might end, or the lives of others. Please don't hold back your feelings. Tell people 'Thank you, I love you, I care' if you feel that way. Share those good happy feelings. Don't be full of regret when it's too late.

Merry

I Can't Feel My Face! (12-28-16)

Warning:

If you are offended by Religion (in general) what happens to a body when someone dies, terrorists (in general). Love or loss of body function, please leave now. I got nothing for you.


It was bound to happen eventually. Using edibles for pain requires trial and error. My morning routine of starting with breakfast and a sour strawberry straw was only working until about 3PM, and then I would eat a cola bottle to get me through the rest of the day, and it wasn't quite working. I was debating this yesterday when I woke up. I figured I'd see how I did with two sour strawberry straws (about 36mg) and go from there.


I got my edible bag (a purse that has my edibles in it) and noticed a caramel fudge that was 35 mg. I decided to eat it. I mean, what harm could there be? I put the sour strawberry straws away, and ate the caramel fudge instead. It tasted good. I played games on my phone waiting for it to work.


About an hour later, it happened. My vision got blurry, my body got warm, and my face was numb. The warmth kept washing over me, and my heartbeat skyrocketed. I thought I was going to die. I know that I'd have to consume more than I could possibly eat to actually overdose, and even then, it wouldn't kill me. I even knew it at that point, but my heart was pounding so hard, I was afraid.


I remember saying that I didn't want to die yet because I want to see my (overdue) grandson first. I put on my CPAP to help me breathe, and then I asked Shilo what would happen if I stopped breathing. Then I said "Nevermind, my lungs will just fill with air and then explode in my chest cavity." Then I went on about how when I died my mouth would pop open, so the air would rush out through it, and how it was a good thing I had on a diaper because I didn't want to piss and shit on the recliner and ruin it.


Then the inquisition started. The best way to explain it was that questions formed in my head about my life, and I had to answer out loud. I said That I believe in God, and I explained my belief regarding The Father, Son and Holy Ghost. I explained that I also believe that Satan is as real as God is, and that I believe in Heaven and hell. I asked about purgatory, and I said that I feel earth is purgatory, but I wasn't sure. I didn't get an answer.


I was asked about love. Could I feel enough love for everyone? Could I really forgive everyone, and find love in my heart for them? I found the forgiveness for everyone, including myself. Then I told them that since my Mom could do it, I could too. I even went on to say that I knew (person) asked forgiveness for the mean way she acted towards me, so I could forgive her and love her as well. I said that everyone who died before me had gone through this, and I knew it was the only right thing to do. I let go of my anger.


I saw where I held certain people to a standard that I have only recently reached myself. How dare I be angry at Jonathan's (now-ex) girlfriend for what she did, when I've done things I'm not proud of either? I remembered all the things I did and I explained why I did them, and how I could have handled it better.


I discussed that I realized how fortunate I was to be where I am. Soldiers aren't gunning down people in the street, and we aren't being bombed. Girls aren't being forced to marry and have kids before they're 12.


I asked Shilo what time it was, and was surprised it had only been 10 minutes. It felt like HOURS. I went back to the inquisition. I said "God knows I'm not perfect." and then I laughed, because for all I knew, it was God asking the questions.


I talked about my mental health, and how I hated being treated like I was fragile just because of the depression, PTSD et.al. I hate that there is a stigma. Why not just accept the mental illness? See the whole person. Don't be afraid. 


I talked about my fears. I realized I was less afraid by telling my fears. It got to the point I laughed after saying the words "I'm afraid." The truth is that because I believe on God, God watches over me, so I don't have to be afraid.


I talked about prayer and I explained that I felt it must be like being an "A list" celebrity. Everyone wants a piece of you. You have no privacy. All the millions of requests coming in at once. Why should I bother God with my concerns when there are so many people who are suffering more than me?


I was reminded that I need to stop being so selfish. "See the big picture, think globally." How do my actions affect others?


I talked about Osama bin Ladin,terrorists, ISIS, and people in other hate groups. How we all had different world views and that just because I viewed him as a horrible human being (just like Hitler) it didn't mean that everyone saw him like that. Surely, someone must have loved and admired him, and maybe even saw him as a hero. I talked about criminals in general and how I have no sympathy for them. They deserve punishment, but I also admitted that God is the Judge, not me.


I talked about "lizard-face" (Mohamed Atta) and how to me, he represented all that was evil on this world. I talked about "If you see something, say something" and how ridiculous it was. I joked about how I doubted he would have tweeted his plans, or added it as a status on Facebook or MySpace. I speculated that he probably only discussed it with people who would approve. Otherwise, wouldn't his plans have been thwarted? Never learning how to land a plane is a red flag.


I talked about romantic/sexual Love, desire, BDSM and Polyamory. About what my love style is, and how it came to be. Things I know God knows about me, but I was told to talk about it.


I asked about why submissive men worry so much about what they're wearing to a dungeon when it won't even be worn that long before someone takes it off. I never got any answers to my questions, but I got answers about what makes me me, and I saw all the love I really do have, and how easy forgiveness is when you know that everyone will get to go through it. It's easy to forgive when you know they asked for forgiveness with a pure heart, and knowing that if their heart wasn't pure, it was up to God. What mattered at that moment was the purity of my heart.


Sunshine came out a few times and complained that she was sick. I went through so many feelings, but late last night when I finally felt somewhat normal, I realized that having enough love in my heart for everyone, and forgiving them was important. Even more important, I need to forgive myself. Think globally. That was the message I got from my inquisition.


On a more practical note, I learned that I need to only eat predictable things.

All Over Again

Yes. Things have been rough lately. I've shed way too many tears, and my emotional pain has sometimes been unbearable.  I've been here before, and I've suffered these all-too-familiar feelings before,  I know what it is like to feel alone in a crowd, to feel unloved in a room full of lovers. To feel hopeless, helpless, unloved, unwanted undesired. To feel like a failure.

Still, I also know the Joy of Loving someone, truly Loving someone, and knowing that they Love me back. That undeniable feeling of Hope and Joy for someone who truly 'gets' me. Feeling invincible. The butterflies when I'm being held, touched and kissed. The sharp intake of my breath when I'm being kissed or held, and I'm just floating on air. The pleasant giddiness of it all.

Just because I know that wonderful feeling, it doesn't prevent the earlier-stated negative emotions from coming on, and, granted, I have earned my stripes in the suffering department, so it's not really an overreaction on my part. I would almost dare to challenge anyone who feels I'm weak to walk a mile in my figurative shoes and get through it without feeling despair at times.

But this "All Over Again" I'm referring to is is the Love. No, there's not a recent Love or attraction over the past few days. Nothing like that. It's that I was reminded again how well Fetlife archives messages from our past by a friend, so I took a trip down 'Memory Lane' back to 3 years ago when I was in a fragile state over the unexpected death of my Mother, and things felt hopeless for me. I read messages that started off so innocently, and how they turned flirty, and then developed into a mutual wanting, and then Love, and how it happened over the course of a few months. I started reading them analytically, but in the hours of reading, I found myself falling in Love all over again with him.

I've never stopped Loving him, but the weight and burden of going through this shitstorm called life, I forgot just how much I'm Loved by him. I forgot how shy we were, and how afraid we were of opening up to each other. I forgot what a delight I was to him, and how much tenderness was expressed between us. I needed to remember that it's still here. That our commitment to each other still stands. How much he loves not only me, but Stitch as well.  The sacrifices we all made so we could be a Family.

Yes, I always say how important it was and is, but I forgot all those wonderful feelings that came with it.  How he described me in his early journal writings. His eagerness to please me, and my uncertainty of whether I could actually take a chance with someone new, someone who had what I thought of as character flaws, most notably smoking cigarettes and an aversion to rejection that was so strong, I wound up in an M/s relationship against my better judgement with him.

I'm alone right now. Stitch is asleep in his room, and Shilo is at work, but reading those notes, messages, and journal entries have me feeling it all over again. Falling in Love over and over again with someone is perhaps the best feeling of all.  Remembering how very precious I am to someone else. Retracing those first few steps into an unknown and untested territory.  Giving up, giving in. Feeling all those feelings just like the first time, but knowing the rest of the story. The one that says "and they lived, and they laughed, and they hoped and they dreamed. They had struggles and storms, and held onto each other when things were tough, and even though there were times that they got frustrated and felt like giving up, they didn't. They just kept Loving each other whether they were crying or at odds with each other, because that's what people who Love each other do. They don't give up."

I think that's the best part. Whatever discouragement I've felt is now tempered with falling in Love once more with Shilo.

Addendum: Stitch and myself have been together for 12+ years, and while it may seen to some that Stitch is on my back burner, it's not that at all. We seem to weather storms together without the uncertainty that has happened more recently with Shilo. This isn't to say we don't have our 'moments,' it's that we are so established that we don't worry. Stitch is a talkative extrovert. I know that one day, it will be the same with Shilo even though he is a quiet introvert. It's the difference between the tested and not-so-much tested, the new and the not-so-new.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZi6qNi9TeU

I'm On The Hunt

The natives are restless, I'm restless, can't sleep. Longing, desiring, wanting something, someone who can feed my inner hunger.

WAIT! I hear you yell. “Aren't you satisfied, happy with what you have?” I stop to consider the question.

My reply:

I'm very happy, but they deserve a rest sometimes, and I'm capable of so much more, and I want to share what I have. I want to paddle someone's ass to a pink perfection while Shilo observes contentedly, and Stitch fetches water for me. I want to feel the raw energy of someone enraptured with my eyes and attentiveness. I want to feel a body drenched with satisfaction and endorphins caused by my actions. I need to feel useful.

I've spent 6 months in a shell, in survival mode because of things going on in my Family and Household. I'm like an animal that has spent time in hibernation and has awakened, hungry and desiring what I've gone so long without. I've crawled through a long dark tunnel, and I can feel the
warmth of the sun, and I smell flowers and promises in the wind. I hear water, a brook, perhaps? rushing nearby. I'm ready for it!

Like a Warrior in a time of Peace, I know that this moment isn't promised forever. I want to celebrate the victory while I can, because I know all too well that it can be a fleeting thing, and I want to feel refreshed for when the enemy attacks, but I hold on to the hope that it won't happen.

Times like now when all is well with my world is what keeps me going when I'm in the trenches, when I am hibernating, when I am barely surviving. It gives me something to look back on, something to look forward to.

I've thinned out and my eyes are a bit hollow as a result of what I've been through, but I am still strong, and I want to share, so please allow me to hunt, to share, to laugh, and celebrate. And, if you are desirous of my offerings, come to me, and I will share. Isn't that what Community is all about?

Threats and Promises

I'm currently locked out of Fetlife due to a clerical error. Whenever I do get back on, I'll probably post this there. In the meantime, if you are easily disturbed by violence, etc, I ask that you refrain from reading this, or read it at your own risk.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Threats and Promises can be either good or bad.  There are occasionally good threats and bad promises. It all depends on the point of view of the recipient.  As for me, I won't make a promise I can't or won't keep. Still, I often do things I say I'll do without the words "I promise."  I'm in need of an emotional dump, and right now (9:45PM PDT on Sunday, April 10, 2016) I'm not sure how this will all end, my jumbled thoughts dropped out of my head and onto the computer, nor am I sure how long it will take for me to put it all down, because I mostly type with one or two fingers.

I don't need to put this down, but my defensive side forces me to: Yes, I was sexually abused as a young girl, yes, I've been assaulted numerous times, including in an abusive marriage that lasted nearly 13 years, and I've been raped more than once, with the last one being so traumatic that I have "shut down" several times since then. (July 2004) Still, this has nothing to do with my sexual preferences/practices or my involvement in BDSM. I don't see myself as a victim, I see myself as a survivor. Still, the memories will sometimes make me cry.  I have PTSD. I have "triggers" that affect me. Some I'm aware of, others that take me by surprise.  This doesn't make me weak, nor do I want or need anyone's sympathy. Acceptance is fine. I'm not fragile. Time has taught me that I can make it through the pain.  I'm picky about the Ones I go to when I need to be held and comforted. They know who They are.

'Deadbeat' (the father of my children, and the man I stayed married to for 13 years) never threatened or promised. Instead, it would often come swiftly and unexpectedly.  It took me nearly a year after I left him to feel safe enough to tie my shoes unless I locked myself alone in a room.  I would rather trip over loose shoelaces than dare to put my head down long enough to retie them. It wasn't the fault of my children that I was often beaten for their actions.  I always thought 'better me than them' but sometimes, they would be beaten as well. Two months before I left for good, he gave me a black eye just before I got into the car to visit my family. I had told them many times over the years that I was in danger, but I think the black eye finally got their attention. I can't begin to count how many times I was told "Try and work things out, give it time." Sometimes, it's just not enough. Sometimes, nothing is good enough. Sometimes, you need to realize your own value and walk away.

I don't recall every instance, but my sexual desire was nonexistent, so Deadbeat would often take me in my sleep, and then wake me up and hand me a towel to clean up. I was a member of a very conservative church, and I was told by the Pastor that it was my "duty" to give him (Deadbeat) sex whenever he wanted or he might find someone else.  Looking back, I think it's funny. After I left, I found out Deadbeat cheated on me numerous times, and then accused me of cheating and beat me.

In spite of all that, I remained trusting of others, and I discovered that most people were good. I became fearless, and even though I often had night terrors that would make me wake up screaming, I did okay.  Once, when I was living on a boat moored off of Catalina Island with my boyfriend at the time, my screams caused the Harbor Patrol to pound on the doors because someone thought I was in danger. When they saw that I was physically okay, and was told that I had night terrors, they noted it, and we were no longer disturbed by them.

My boys would sometimes have friends over, and my screams would wake them. I used to apologize for frightening them in the morning, but it eventually got to the point that all their friends knew that my screams were 'normal' for me. Now that they're a distant (bad) memory, I ask myself how anyone could consider it normal. I will sometimes wake up scared by something in my dreams, but nothing like it used to be.

My ability to easily trust others was taken away when I was raped in July 2004. Nearly twelve years later, and I still take my time in inviting others into my life. I might have hundreds of Facebook friends, but it's a very few people that I call "friend." There are people who have known me for years and they only know my nickname. Since my home is my Sanctuary, I rarely have people over anyway. "It's not you, it's me" applies in this case.

Looking at the clock, and other than two five minute breaks, I've been at this for 90 minutes.  I'm still not finished, but where I am now isn't exactly where I thought I was going. I still need to get to the place I was heading, and I will get there in time.

I've covered Threats and Promises from others and I barely touched on mine, which is where I really wanted to go. Thank you for being brave and patient enough to get to this point. I wish I could promise you it will be worth your time, but I can't.  That decision is yours.

I love many people, some know it, some suspect it, and others have no idea just how deeply I love them. There are only two people who I am "In Love" with, and they are Stitch and Shilo. I've Loved Stitch longer, but that does not mean my Love for Shilo is less, nor does it mean my Love for Stitch has diminished. Love is not divisible, it is something that can only be multiplied.

Love is perfect, but it doesn't mean that my relationships are perfect and painless. I could only wish for that. In this case, the pain and imperfections in my relationships remind me that I am alive. Like the waves of an EKG, it has it's ups and downs. "Happily ever after" is a fairy tale. My life is not a fairy tale.

I'll tell you that life is often ugly and scary, and sometimes you think you've reached the top of a hill only to discover that there's HUGE mountains ahead. It's not easy.  It's a fact. This isn't a complaint. Nobody likes a complainer, but nearly everyone likes likes the truth, even if it's ugly.

Stitch isn't as healthy and strong as he used to be. He's often tired and surly, Choosing to argue instead of trying to understand.  He often pushes thruogh at the expense of our relationship. I've told him I'd rather have cuddle time than a clean yard, but because Shilo has had his own health issues, Stitch feels it's his 'duty' to take care of things.

Stressors will often cause me to have digestive issues, and, combined with my medications, my stomach is frequently tied up in knots. My SAD is at its worst in April, so the uphill battle is often lost by me.  It's easier to give in and quit than lose and be unsuccessful in whatever I want to do.

Then there's Shilo. Where Stitch is able to use his verbal skills and express himself, Shilo is often silent. Fortunately, he keeps an online journal for me. He hasn't always been completely truthful in them, especially when it comes to things that he's afraid I'll be disappointed in him about, (Smoking comes to mind) but it's still a useful tool. Shilo will often guard things and hide them instead of being vulnerable with me. I've come to accept that it's just how he is.I'm not sure if he realizes the pain I occasionally get from that part of him, but, just like him. I often guard that part of me.

I'm not going to hold back. It's past midnight now, and a new day (Monday) and I need to get it out. This is something I've held close, but it's been to the detriment of my relationship with Shilo. We've both been through so much with each other. and I admit, I've gotten 'soft' when it comes to him.  The 'soft' has nothing to do with my Love for him, it's mostly had to do with me wanting to avoid long periods of silence (our way of "arguing") and because I've felt like crap. The past few weeks Shilo has been very confrontational and critical (unlike him) and instead of rising up against him (which is something I'll often do with Stitch) I just back down quietly and stew in my own juices. This won't continue much longer. Shilo knows I won't allow myself to react in anger, and I often choose to take a "cooling off" period before dealing with things.  This "backing down" isn't "cooling off" it's me retreating in my emotional cave.

If you'll go back up to paragraph 5 (6?) I made mention of my my former Pastor telling me about my duties and warning me of possible consequences that might occur if I shirked them. I only mentioned the sexual there, but there were other warnings as well. What was unknown then (but known now) is that I have bouts of severe depression. Depression doesn't always manifest as sadness. It has many facets. So here I am again, only in the other seat. No threats, promises, warnings, or guarantees. Only an observation: The reaction is retreating and depression, but one day, there will be action. I have no idea what the action will be. I know what I desire. Love is perfect, and I keep my Promises. I guess the last two sentences about covers it.

This took 3 hours from start to finish. Maybe this is my action, or maybe it will inspire positive action in others. Bedtime!

This really should be in my "About Me"

---

Well, part of it is, but not all of it. The "I have PTSD and SAD, amongst other things" is clearly stated there, if you dig deep enough. However, what isn't stated (and should be) is that my psychiatrist/therapist considers me to be medication compliant and stable. What is clearly stated in my chart is that I only call if there is a REALLY EXTREME PROBLEM This means that things are CRITICAL and the call is to be returned as soon as possible. I routinely joke that if I called every time something was wrong, I'd be calling almost daily, but I have enough common sense to call only when I feel I can't handle it anymore. So, when mom died 3 years ago? YES !!! When Shilo's mom died? Not right then, but I did notify so I could get my flying medication. When I first got Jonathan's cancer diagnosis? You better believe it!

So now I have friends offering assistance. I really appreciate it, and I will definitely take them up on it, but I honestly feel so confused that I don't know what I want or need right now. Jonathan isn't up to even having me visit, so I'm respecting his wishes. We're waiting to find out if any of his 4 brothers are a match for a bone marrow transplant, and those results are at least a week away, according to the Oncologist. "Hurry up and wait" is how it is. In the meantime, there are 'spots' in his lungs that were discovered in his last body scan, done on Tuesday, so we're waiting on the results of a bronchoscopy(sp?) that was was done on Thursday.

Am I worried? Honestly, not nearly as badly as I was when all this first started. Somehow, having a few more answers has calmed me down. We've had a few times already when it looked like Jon was close to dying, and I've felt so hopeless and helpless and frightened, but with him being somewhere where all the staff is experienced with cancer patients, I've actually been able to breathe easier. The statistics aren't that good, but if Jonathan hadn't gone to the ER when he did, he would have died on the plane trip to Japan that was planned a week after the ER visit. I know this is all borrowed time, so I'm thankful for every call, every hug, and every "I Love you Mom" that I get. Consider this a calm before the storm. I know it's coming, and I'm girding up for it. When it hits, I will call, I will text, I will take up those offers.

"So, Merry, what do want right now?" I want all my friends to have a Blessed Solstice, Happy Yule, Happy Festivus, Happy Mawlid Al Nabi, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Boxing Day, Happy National Chocolate Day, Happy Bacon Day, and finally, A VERY Happy New Year! If I neglected to mention a date important to you, I apologize, and I hope it is as wonderful as you are!

Something I Don't Talk About

I have a very violent past history that I usually choose to not share, simply because I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me or see me as being "fragile." The truth is, I have no need for those things. I am a survivor with PTSD that occasionally has very brief moments of light panic attacks that will occasionally turn into full-blown panic attacks. I have a wonderful support system, and, most times, I can get control long enough to remove myself from a situation. On the rare occasion it goes full-blown, I either get my "deer in the headlights" look, or I attack. If you know me, or spend time around me, I will remind you that I've warned you, and I cannot be held responsible for attacking when I feel threatened in the midst of a panic attack. My advice: Don't do it!

Unfortunately, it's not always that simple. The 4th of July, fireworks shows, and sex in a dark room are all triggers when it comes to my rape that occurred in 2004. There is also a smell, I don't normally mention that to anyone, except for those closest to me. He smoked a certain brand of cheap cigar that has a distinct odor to it. Let me mention here that I have an unusually good sense of smell. Even the faintest scent of this particular cigar brand will set off my panic receptors. I can and will react in an unpredictable manner. Fortunately, the people I spend time with prefer more expensive cigars, so it's not an issue.


On Thursday, I took my oldest to the DMV, and, like always, there was a line snaking outside the building. I don't mind standing outside, so I talked to him as we waited, and then it assaulted my senses. A cigar, that cigar, and it was somewhere close behind me. First I said it's name, and tried to stay calm. I mean, I'm in line outside the DMV with my 6 foot tall 31 y/o son who is strong enough to fight off anyone, and there's a security guard 50 feet away. I'm safe. But the smell only got stronger. I had to turn around and look. The funny thing is that the young man smiled at me when I turned around like he knew what I was searching for. I plastered on my biggest smile, and asked (like I didn't already know) "Is that a (name?)" He smiled again, and said 'yeah'. That was enough. I told my oldest I had to get something from the car, and hid in there for 15 minutes until my heartbeat and breathing went back to normal. When I returned, my oldest was close to the door, so I told him I'd wait inside.


I feel I handled it well. My oldest was clueless, and I didn't react, but it leaves me wondering if I'll always do that well under pressure. Is this a sign of things to come, or will I act unpredictably the next time? Maybe it's best not to worry about it. I fight my PTSD daily, and I cannot change my past, but I can learn how to get a better handle on things. I just keep telling myself that the danger is gone and I'm safe. It's all I can do.

The Phone Call

I can't say it was unexpected, or even really a surprise. I mean, he's been very heavy on my mind, and we have an interesting connection with each other. When we were together, many moons ago, he could finish my sentences. Not everyone could do that.

When my phone rang, and I saw it was him, I had an idea of what he was going to say. Still, I braced myself for the blow, but it never came. Oh, the words I knew were coming came, but they were delivered gently, almost sweetly. Instead of hurting, they were healing. It gave a closure that our previous episode never had. Maybe because he delivered the message and not the other way around. Maybe because in spite of my enjoyment of him, I knew it was temporary, and I wasn't as invested as the last time. Maybe because both of us are in a better place and state of mind. Yes, I want to analyze it. It's human nature to do so. My heart was open, but so are my eyes.

I wouldn't call him monogamous, but he does prefer one serious sexual-type relationship at a time, and because both of us had been hurt by our last go round, and he was fresh out of a relationship this time, I agreed that there should be no strings attached. Still, I worried that I would fall in Love all over again. Fortunately, it seemed that even though the years melted away, my heart was focused on protecting itself. We had a a session that was pleasant, but not overwhelming, and we made plans to see each other again. His MIL fell into bad health, my MIL got worse and died, so we kept postponing, until we agreed to not plan anything soon. That was 2 months ago.

It was just yesterday that thoughts of him entered my head, and I realized that I missed him, but I knew he wasn't going to come back. At least, not how we had discussed.So, the phone rang. I answered it, and I heard his words. I said I understand (I do) I said I wasn't hurt (I'm not) and I admitted that I hoped this time we wouldn't lose our friendship. He agreed. Will it really` happen that way? I honestly don't know, bit I do know that I will make my services available to him, and that "she" isn't into BDSM, so there's a chance it will wind up that we see each other. Do I really` want that? No, but only because I wish him all the happiness he can have in this relationship.

I have other things to focus on, so I'll go back to those. I wish you all the best Spike. I'll never forget the sweet way you delivered the news to me, and I thank you for your respect.
M

From The Heart

The following is an email I sent to my FIL today. I'm sharing it here because we so often forget about our parents and children as we get older. The names were changed to protect the guilty. 

Dear Dad,
I know the past few months have been so difficult for you, and if it was in my power, I'd remove the pain that both you and Shilo have gone through. I cannot begin to imagine what you've been through, because, while I've been through significant losses myself, I don't live in your mind, and since we all experience pain differently, I cannot say that I know how YOU feel, but I will say I've had similar circumstances in my life.

One thing is evident, and that is the Love you have for Mom. I saw it in your eyes when we all met the very first time, I heard it in your voice when you spoke to her, and your emails showed me all the more how strong your Love is. I speak in the present term, because Love never dies. Love continues on, even after we are no longer on Earth.

I feel blessed to have met both of you, and I recall telling Shilo how fortunate he was to have both his parents. How, even though he might go months without seeing you that he spoke to you as often as possible, sharing his life with the both of you. Very early in our marriage, when we came for Shilo's birthday, Mom took me out back in the garden and talked to me about many things, but what stuck with me were the words, "Merry, take very good care of Shilo. He's the only son we have left," I promised her I would, and I have. Shilo stopped smoking, and together, we're dealing with his health issues. Ask anyone who knows us, and they will tell you of the Love and concern we have for each other.
Well, those words Mom told me has stuck with me over the difficult year that Shilo has had health-wise, but it all came rushing to me when you called Shilo last week to tell him of Mom's death. As we held each other and cried, Mom's words suddenly had a new meaning. She was also reminding me that she was the only Mother Shilo has, and you're the only Father Shilo has. Yes, I know what it's like to lose your parents, and I understand his pain, although I don't know how he feels, because I'm not him. All I know is that I promised to be by his side, no matter what, and by going with him, I did what I promised, and, more importantly, I know it was what Mom would have expected of me.

I hope I wasn't an inconvenience to you. I did my very best to stay out of the way. I Love Shilo so very much, and I will keep my promises to him, and also to Mom. I know Shilo is different in many ways, and that's why I Love him so very much. He doesn't follow someone else's path, he makes his own. He's not like other men. He has a tenderness and gentleness that I've never seen before. He has strong opinions, much like you do, although they might sometimes be the opposite of yours, he gets that attribute from you. I see you in him, and I wonder if you do too. He Loves you so very much, but he doesn't know how to show it, and the words are so easy to say.

Shilo doesn't know about this email, He's asleep, but I promise you, I will take good care of him as much as I'm able to, because he's the only son you have, and I'm asking you to take good care of yourself, because you're the only Father he has. Both of you are suffering so much right now, but please don't fall in so deep that you forget each other.

Love,
Merry

Me and That Damned Saddle!

"Back in the saddle again": Riding the horse you either fell off of, or getting on a horse you've ridden in the past, but not for a long time. Either one is quite an accomplishment, because it takes a certain amount of bravery or foolhardiness to do it. I mean, you just never know. What if the literal or figurative horse bucks, or gets skittish? What if you can no longer find your comfort zone? What if you discover you no longer enjoy riding that horse? So many fears, so many "What ifs."

So, I have this horse... I have a saddle, and I'm getting ready to put the saddle on the horse. I know I'm going to get in that saddle, but there are still questions. Simple ones, like will I just sit and not ride, or will I ride it? How long will I ride it? Will I ride that horse into the sunset?

Yeah, I know I'm getting way too worked up over this horse, but it was a much-loved horse that I enjoyed riding, and it's been a really long time since I rode it. You see, I put that horse out to pasture a long time ago, only to discover recently that this horse was fit for riding again. It's a special, one-of-a-kind horse. A horse of a different color.

I laugh a little when I think of that beloved horse, because it was the smartest horse I ever rode, up until then, and I've ridden other horses since, some that were stubborn as mules, others that were much younger than that horse. But all of the others are gone, save for the smartest horse ever until this point. That one I keep. So I now have the smartest horse ever, and this other horse that is coming in from out of the pasture that used to be the smartest horse, but will now be considered the second smartest one. One did not replace the other, nor will it replace the other. After all, they're horses.

I think that waiting on this horse to arrive is going to be making me crazy. Yee-haw!

Surprise!

I Love Shilo. I'm 'in Love' with Shilo. Anyone who knows us will tell you that.My Love for him is hard to explain, but I will also admit that there's a healthy dose of lust that cannot be explained. Perhaps it's because we share so many similar kinks with each other. Maybe it's the incredible sex we have with each other. No, it's not constant, but I'll admit that it's somewhere in the back of my mind... Quite often, in fact. Even (especially) when I have him locked in chastity. Depriving him, depriving myself. It's a beautiful thing.

So, it's day 6 in chastity for him, and about a week since we engaged in sex. He's also (pretty much) gotten away with not providing me my required Daily Orgasm (D.O.) mostly because of schedule conflicts. This is merely a statement of facts. Anyway, I cannot even begin to express how close we are. They say (who are these people anyway?) "Great minds think alike" and it is so with us. I finish his sentences, and I've been known to ask him about things before he has a chance to tell me about them. I mean, he's ready to tell me about some event, and I have no clue, but just as he's about to say it, I'll ask him about it. I amaze him with my ability to 'pick up' on his thoughts and/or emotions. I tease that we're thisclose to each other. However, I'm not a mind reader. If I really was a mind reader, I'd use it in a more constructive way. (Perhaps to make money?) And, although I have a great sense of smell, and he will insist, I'm not a bloodhound either. I just have a 'nose' for certain things, and I won't hesitate to acknowledge it.

Yes, it's also true I can occasionally pick up on the emotions of others. I feel it's more of a curse than a blessing. Feeling the distress of another person can be overwhelming. So, what is this really about? My closeness to Shilo and my ability to be wherever he is without him realizing I'm there. In other words, arriving before him, leaving before he arrives, and coming back as he's there wishing I was around. Our 'six degrees of separation' that has been proven more than once. You know... the crazy scary stuff people don't talk about.

My ability to surprise him. Grabbing a specific spanking implement before he can ask for it. All that stuff I do automatically without him asking, or telling. The 'accidental' stuff. The last thing I want to do is frighten him with my curse. My abilities, because he could run away screaming. Only, well... he won't. He could get lost in my eyes, my arms. He doesn't want to be anywhere that is too far away from me. I can rip him apart. It's not a choice anymore. He would deny it outwardly, but his eyes don't lie. I have a secret. One that Sunshine won't tell him. She can't, but I'll tell it here: I'm not proud of my abilities regarding him. Hell, I'm not proud of my abilities regarding Stitch, either. Don't misunderstand: I'm not ashamed of my abilities either. Knowing what I know, when I know it, understanding my abilities to 'pick up' on emotions. Feeling a Love and desire that is so very strong that neither of us can fight it. It scares me too. But I'm here. I'm not leaving. I promised, and I keep my promises. I need to get dinner started now if I'm going to use the crock pot.

Of Interest

http://wannabespankee.tumblr.com/post/33971933681/oneyear

I honestly cannot comment without giggling for oh-so-many reasons, most of which have nothing to do with me.

Sex, Discipline, and Heat

It has been a warm fall. No, let's try it again. It's been a fucking hot fall. As in, it's been about 90 outside. As for the inside? It was a high of 94 inside, with the fans running. It makes me wish I had asked about air conditioning. Still, I love this house, and the lack of A/C doesn't make me love it any less. Honestly, I wouldn't mind the hot weather, except for the fact that it interferes with my sex life and makes discipline damned near impossible.

Face it, nobody wants to be next to someone else when they're hot and sweaty. I don't like being sweaty sticky next to someone else. Honestly, all I want to do is spend the day in a cool shower. This is doubly difficult on Shilo because he works grave shift, and sleeps during the day. I almost miss the days before we got married, when I'd stay with him in his air conditioned bedroom. Sex and discipline was fun. Now, in this heat, it's a burden.

I just want a cool place to sit so I can stop sweating. My energy level is down to zero. Yes, I realize that winter will come eventually, and I'll be missing warm weather, but this weather now? Hardly!

Let's hope for things to cool down to the 70's so I can get sex, and start disciplining Shilo again on a regular basis.

Thirst (9-28-14)

Introduction

A long time ago (It seems like forever now) in the early 90's when the doctors were just scratching at the surface of my medical issues, I was prescribed a medication. This was before the PTSD, before the rise of Sunshine, after I graduated from college with my psychiatric nursing degree, and when I was the young (32 years old) mother of 5 rambunctious boys. The "bad" times with deadbeat were just beginning. I was clueless to the hell that awaited me. I was full of Hope and Positivity and Unafraid. My dear beloved doctor prescribed a medication (I remember the name of it, but it doesn't matter now) that was one of many medications that causes polydipsia. The word polydipsia looks nice, up on the screen, doesn't it? Until you know what it is: Polydipsia is the medical term for excessive thirst. I could drink 2 liters of water during my lunch break, and 20 minutes later, all I desired was more water, fruit juice, soda, you name it... I was powerless over the overwhelming desire to intake as much fluid as possible. The fact that it was a hot summer didn't help much either. The house I lived in had no air conditioning, just a tiny swamp cooler. It's been nearly 18 years since I stopped taking that medication, but the memory of that thirst lingers. 

NOW

You remind me of that thirst, that never quenched desire to feel satiated, but never quite getting there. I'm always wanting more of you, never feeling like I've had enough. It started with that first hug. No, that's a lie. It started that first time I saw you sitting across the room from me. I was preoccupied, true, but something about your face, or maybe it was your body. No! It was your soul! Your soul called out to mine, in that dark, noise-filled, crowded room. I looked at you many times that first night, and every time I looked up and away from my project, I saw you. Watching, seeking... sitting there in stony silence. Calling me. Like a silent scream, one could not hear it, but could feel it in their bones.

The more I learned about you, the unknown man, the more I thought to myself, "No, no, NO! This will NOT work! It cannot work! It is impossible!" But Fate does not know the word "Impossible," You can be dragged, kicking and screaming and denying, while Fate says simply "Yes. Yes, this will work. This will be." And it is! It was that way with you. I was alternately compelled and repulsed. Compelled, because you silently called out to me. Repulsed, because of the knowledge I had of you, of your habits, I saw your home weeks before I ever entered, I knew what to expect, and, yet, in spite of all I knew, all I saw, I fought the feelings of no, and accepted Fate's yes.

That first hug, a few weeks after the first time your soul cried out to me, sealed it. You smelled of sweetness, of candy, of strongly brewed coffee. All the things I liked, all the things I loved. How could I possibly refuse you? Six weeks later, you were bent over, nearly naked, laying over a spanking bench as I repeatedly used my heaviest paddle on your ivory skin. You were silent, but your body language, the wiggling and pressing up against me, made me realize that, yes, you were what I desired. You were what I thirsted for. Even as I broke my finger, and explained what happened, your laugh was rich and full, and as I got closer, the smell of sweetness, candy, and strongly brewed coffee was there. Why I fought it, I don't know. Two weeks later, in your home, which was exactly what I saw in my mind's eye, I still thirsted for you. Yes, there was fear and apprehension, like the fear we all get when doing something new, but I knew you would never hurt me.

Two weeks after that, as the thirst became more than I could resist, we both realized it was no longer in our hands. I had the overwhelming thirst, the overwhelming desire that only you could quench, and, yet, the more I got, the more I wanted. Being that vulnerable was new to me. Never realizing that it was to become an obsession on your part as well only increased the effect. The thirst was out of control, much like the thirst in my introduction.

At times, I feel like nobody could possibly comprehend it, because, even though it is here and now, it is an unbelievable story we are living. One that, if told to either of us as recently as 20 months ago, both of us would have been incredulous and denying it, as if it were a fairytale. Who knew that a thirst could be so strong and overpowering?

I'm open and vulnerable with my thirst, and you have learned that only you can begin to quench it. It's not such a bad thing, is it? Unlike the thirst in the introduction, this is not so miserable. It makes sense. There is no denial of my desires, of my needs, and you have your desires met as well. All is good. And you still smell of candy and sweetness. Last night only confirmed it. I'm so glad my thirst is for you, and I neither hide or deny it. Knowing you understand and believe makes it so much sweeter.

Hard Limits

I love music. All types of music. Some songs make me feel happy, or sad, or sometimes, it will bring on a memory of a long time ago, of people I haven't seen in forever, or even of friends who are long gone, and dead. It connects us to others.

It's not that way for everyone, and, because I'm unaware, innocent, and/or naive in many ways, I don't realize that my world of sweetness and happiness and flowers and rainbows and unicorns etc.etc.

When someone tells me they dislike a group or song, I do my best to respect it, but, once in a while, I want to indulge myself in a guilty pleasure, no matter who is around. It was that way Tuesday evening as I drove Shilo to work.

“Merry, I don’t like Pink Floyd” How many times have I heard that? I know I’ve said more often to him, “I hate Rush” but I go on and say “I know you love Rush, and because I Love you, I won’t complain.” Well, it just so happens that Pink Floyd was playing, and it was a song I really wanted to hear, so I told him something along the lines of “Too bad, I’m the Dominant, and I want to listen to this.” He got really pissed about it, and didn’t talk to me, and I had to ask for a kiss. I was confused by it all. I mean, it was one fucking song!

I read his diary entry about it, and it came out that he used LSD and was listening to Pink Floyd. Apparently, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I’m just confused as to why he never said anything about this to me before. I’m not a mind reader. I thought we established this before, but I guess not. Anyway, after the partial explanation, I agreed to never play any Pink Floyd songs in his presence. Still I asked that he explain exactly what happened. Naturally, it’s his choice, and I won’t force him to tell me, but it is now a hard limit, and I will respect it.

Shilo, I Love you. Always

One Year Ago Part 2

So, I had confessed my Love to my slave Shilo. He had confessed his Love to me. We both wanted to engage in sex, but I had to obtain clearance, per my agreement with Stitch. I hadn't slept much, and I needed to drive him to work at the ungodly hour of 6, and I had gone to bed at 5. Admittedly, it wasn't my smartest move, but all I had wanted to do was be with Shilo, and, it seemed, Shilo wanted to be with me as well.

So I drove Stitch the 25 miles to work and said nothing. I drove the 25 miles back to Huntington Beach with a heavy heart because I knew I couldn’t not
say anything. It’s just that I didn’t know what to say. This was breaking all the rules I had for submissives/slaves, and even though I had fallen in Love with my collared submissive, I had never crossed into the realm of sex. Yes, I had obtained permission 15 months earlier, but it never actually happened. It isn’t that we didn’t want to, it was more that circumstances prevented us from doing so, and, at that point, our relationship was rapidly falling into ruins. I also knew that I'd be getting an 11AM call from the aforementioned submissive, and, because of our relationship rules, I'd have to discuss it with him as well.

When I got home from the drive, it was 8:30, and I could barely drag my body into bed. I woke up, on instinct, at 10:58, and I waited... and waited... my heartbeat getting ever faster with dread. I wanted Shilo, but I hated the idea of discussing it with others, of having to ask like I was a child, yet, this had been my doing, this asking, so I would stay out of trouble. Apparently, my collared submissive had overslept because the clock went past 11, past 11:15, and 11:30 and Stitch did his daily call at 11:30. I managed to get out that we needed to talk about an important matter on the way home from work, so at least he knew. I hung up the phone and waited. Finally, at noon, the phone rang, and it was the submissive. I explained the best I could, and he gave his blessings. He admitted surprise when I asked, because we were not even really attached at that point, but he understood when I explained. I laid down some more. I don't recall when I spoke to Shilo, but I told him to expect me in the morning. I knew that either way, something was going to happen, whether it was a long talk or sex, I just wasn't sure what. I know I took a nap before I left to get Stitch from work, and I remember being late because I slept too long.

As I finally drove up, Stitch was smiling, and all I could do was wonder how long that smile would last. I sighed, and unlocked the door, and he came in. Stitch is naturally bouncy and talkative, so getting him to quiet down is kind of hard. I finally reminded him that I needed to talk, and he quieted down as I explained what I was feeling, how Shilo felt, and our mutual desire for each other. I reassured him that I would never stop Loving him, and the could take time to think about it. He asked all kinds of questions, and I also reminded him that I could have just made the decision without him, and without his consent, but I felt that being honest was important. An hour after we arrived home, he told me he made his decision, and he told me he approved. 

The next day (a year from today) we began our journey. I think Shilo's version is the best, so you can find it at the link below:

 http://merryslavesdiary.blogspot.com/2013/07/july-2-c-15.html

Anyway, it was beautiful and sweet and gentle, and we've had more happy times than sad in the past year, and that's all that matters. 

I hope we have many more years of Loving each other.