I’ve only had four and a half hours of sleep, and I have to get in the shower to get ready for work in about twelve minutes, but WordPress was being fucking retarded this morning so this post has to go up now.
BTW, WordPress folks? I’d appreciate the hell out of you figuring your shit out so that it doesn’t take five attempts/twenty minutes/excessive swearing to get a New Post page to load. K? Thxbye.
Anywho. It’s that time of the year again, where New Mexico does her very best impersonation of fall for half an hour every morning. The sun is shifting positions on the horizon, the sky is a crazier blue, and I need a sweatshirt until 9:00. It’s the time of year where all of my nesting instincts come raging to the surface, and I want to stay home and bake and do laundry and clean out the pantry and rearrange my furniture and make quilts.
I know. I just threw up a little in my mouth, too.
This is the time of year when I want to take random hooky days from work (one planned for tomorrow, in fact) and do something sweet for my boys and myself instead of being trapped in a stoopid office. I don’t know what it is about fall, but it gets under my skin like an itch that you can’t reach and can’t get to go away.
It being fall, and my inner Barefoot screaming to be let out of the closet, combined with what’s been going on at work lately is causing some interesting side effects in our sex life.
I’m feeling very, very feminine and female (different, dontcha know) lately, and it’s making me very, very bottomy.
The more I find myself in situations where I have to make all the decisions (work) with none of the authority, or in situations where I’m the only adult present to decide on food/clothing/furniture (home, but only because of Rhett’s stupid work schedule), the more I find myself wanting someone else to be in charge whenever possible.
And since my poor husband is usually only home long enough to sleep, eat, and bang, that means he’s getting to call the shots in bed pretty much full time. Not just the usual top-calls-the-shots – I mean that whenever I get the chance, I’m just rolling over and dropping into my happy little white noise subspace and checking the hell out of the responsibility of either of us getting a happy ending!
It’s getting to the point where, when he’s home, I just want him to decide what we’re doing, when we’re doing it, and how we’re getting there. I don’t want to pick what restaurant we’re going to, or what event we’re taking the kid to do, or even when we’re going or when we’ll be home.
I was reading smut the other night, and found myself really attracted to/turned on by/in tune with some surprising things. The stories I liked were all either straight oriented, or stone-butch-top oriented (the straight part of that is kind of new) and they were all stories that revolved around some kind of authority figure in the masculine character. Daddy, professor, boss, that kind of thing. Stuff that, two years ago, would have made me heave. Stuff, now, that makes my body tighten and my breath catch because it seems so much simpler to let him lead.
I think that kind of thing is extra appealing to me right now for a couple of different reasons. One, our life is so hectic between work and school and football and Scouts that I’m constantly on the go and accountable to other people that the idea of being cared for and gently directed for my own good sounds like a vacation. I’m burned out from making a million small daily decisions; someone else telling me “Here’s the answer, now go do it,” seems just heavenly.
Two, because even when the authority figures in those stories is “mean,” it’s “for her own good.” I’m going through this phase where I want someone else actively doing things for my own good, because I really just don’t feel like I know what’s best for me right now. My instincts all seem to be screaming contradictory advice, and I’m sick to death of the inside of my own head.
This is manifesting in big and small ways all through our lives at the moment. For example: I took a three-week vacation from Janus recently. Rhett took over all communication and interaction. It wasn’t ever going to be permanent, but for those three weeks, I didn’t have blood pressure headaches from dealing with that particular pain in the ass. Now, I’m dealing with him again, but it seems so much easier to cope after the break.
For a much more fun example: Rhett and I figured out, about a year ago, that he can make me come on verbal command. It ebbs and flows – sometimes it works better than others, sometimes I can fight it off or do, even if I don’t mean to. I have a couple of different triggers, but it’s a full-blown orgasm regardless of which one he uses. Fun stuff! Except that it’s kind of weird to have no one touching me, sometimes no one even in the room, and be thrown into spasms and end up having to change underwear.
I really can’t think of anything more submissive than giving someone else that level of control over your own body. The thing is, though, that I trust Rhett with me completely. Which circles back around to giving him more and more control over things I never thought I’d hand over. Which circles around to this bottomy-submissive thing I have going at the moment…
For the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to let go. I want someone else to make the decisions. I want my big, strong man to tell me what to do, and even sometimes when to do it. I want to be led, rather than leading. I want to be petted and cosseted, not respected and deferred to. None of it really makes sense to me, but it feels good right now, so I’m rolling with it.
