We got married May 19th. Happy Day. Very vanilla, but not. We combined a handfasting with a normal ceremony. Exchanging vows, declaring love. My parents made the drive up and walked me down the aisle.
A short time later, we moved. Pack everything up. Load up everything again again again. Unpack everything. Well, start to unpack everything. Boxes boxes everywhere...
Some where, some how in all of this, that submissive in me is still packed in a box somewhere. The little side of me too. Not lost, not forgotten, but packed away, waiting for the attention we both want to give it.
A conversation is needed, about what I actually want, need out of it. But my stupid mood swings make it vary so much from day to day. One day I crave that submission, the next it feels like repression. I feel sorry for my darling husband, trying to keep up. And somehow he manages to try.
The truth is, I have no idea what I want, or how to voice it. I love the way submission at the purest level makes me feel. When it is treated as a gift, something to be cherished, instead of being taken advantage of, demanded or ripped from my soul. He does that. cherishes it. Looks at me as if I am a gem, offering myself up to him.
I think what I am needing now is ritual. Something designed, something planned, so that we both realize its meaning and value.