cuffs

I got new cuffs! More accurately, Sir gave me new cuffs. Custom. A surprise. I probably cried, but that’s ridiculous.

The thing is…

I love my old cuffs! Also custom. And I have EVERY piece of those… Wrist, ankle, thigh, collar, hogtie, leash. Purchased over a few years, everything was so exciting. New toys, varied activities, bruises galore, so many photos, serious play sessions multiple times a week. Every second of every day felt like a slow build leading to a fiery night.

I’m not saying things are awful now. I’m not saying its boring or mundane. I’m not saying we’ve lost a spark. I’m not saying those things because they are not true. But as happens, life got big – really fucking serious and stressful. We got comfortable in our routine. We settled nicely into our added titles of Dom and sub. We have had intermittent mental health crisis with our middle child. So maybe our lives got a little less exciting.

Time for play is in short supply when you have to make sure your daughter is okay throughout each night, for years. Bruises are harder to come by when you have to be extra quiet. Emotions run high and maybe one of us turned away a little bit to deal and the other one just plain withdrew. Resentment crept in along the way, unused items triggering panic and an odd sort of grief.

So all of that happened. The D/s never fell away – not really – but it shifted and morphed into something sort of easy, but also sort of bullshit.

So many conversations. And texts. And emails. And handwritenn letters. So many words and promises. So much adjusting. And changing. And all the BIG life still going on while we tried to nurture and maintain us.

I’ve been embarrassed to speak of it here. You read that right, I have been ashamed to write my truth on my own damn blog. The one place I can just be me, I felt like I couldn’t. My anxiety fed into my lack of self-esteem and … well… I never said I didn’t have issues!

No more. This is my life. This is my blog. This is my friend by proxy.

Sir and I have been together 22 years. We have been 24/7 D/s for six. Sometimes marriage is a struggle. Sometimes 24/7 is a struggle. Sometimes LIFE is a struggle. That’s what’s up.

As I said, last night Sir presented me with new cuffs (and a harness & matching leather cat ears/mask head harness thing 🐈). I needed them because my old cuffs were rusting on my arms. I am so thankful and feel so loved and cared for. Crazily, I’m also a little sad…

My old set represents the new and exciting beginning: big, complete, all-encompassing.

And this one is a new beginning, a little up-in-the-air, yet a little more comfortable, a little more established…

But maybe also a promise of better things to come!

💙

~shygirl

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that hand

I jump three times and then hit the open air.

Falling into that perfect dive off the high board.
I slice the water, straight down to bottom. Execute the flip…
But I don’t come up.
A strong hand is holding me down, pressing on my head.
I fight. I struggle, past denial. I hold my breath. I stay calm. I think.
And then I push, but that hand wants what it wants. I am stuck.
I move past the panic, past the fear, past the primal instinct to simply breathe.

I think.

The hand that holds me down is my nemesis…

And, somehow, also my comfort.

I move past the thinking. Until I only feel. I feel the burn in my lungs and the suffocating weight of the water.

The strong will to break surface resurrects. I oblige, and give another struggle.

But that hand… That hand keeps me still… Forcing my compliance.
I close my eyes, knowing I cannot win. I command the world to go dark. I relax. I give in.

But now, I want that hand to push me further down. I want that hand to keep me here until I am nothing.

I sink, sink, sink… Below the bottom…

Underneath everything there is.

In this place, there is no need for oxygen, no need for thought, no need for anything.

Except for that hand. I need that hand. Because that hand has become my world, my anchor, my demise, my Savior.

My Master.

The sinking, the letting go, the giving over, the death… It is all the same.

It is all peace.
And the very moment that the water steals my life, is the same moment the hand yanks me to the surface.
Reborn.
Refreshed.
Renewed.

That hand doesn’t leave my head. That hand has ultimate control. That hand decides my fate. Forever. Plunging me into the depths or lifting me into the clouds.

That hand.

This life.

It is time.

Now.

To live.

~shygirl

*photo found on Pinterest with no credit given*

final terms [of endearment]

A little bit ago, an article about the psychology of nicknames (pet names, terms of endearment, etc) popped up in my feed, and of course I read it! I love pet names! Sir has an arsenal of names that He calls me and each makes me feel any number of things, but it all boils down to love.

Then, the other day, I was cleaning out my dresser and read some letters and cards from someone pretty important to me… And noticed the total lack of use of any pet names over the last eight months. It had struck me as odd on my birthday earlier this summer, but I tried not to read too much into and promptly blocked it out. But standing there, rereading months of words? Everything felt a little off.

I went in search of that article I had read, and then many others. Basically, the science says… Pet names are good. And the stoppage of using them, is a bad thing… A growing apart, a separation.

Fuck.

I guess… I am a little relieved… I mean, science and all… for once it’s not only in my head; it’s not just my stupid sensitive feelings. 

Also, I am a little embarrassed… I only stopped using the pet name a few days ago (after this revelation)… and oh god, there was that gift I gave. *hides face in the lopsided shame*

I suppose I already knew this happened, this separation… This sort of “out of sight, out of mind” vibe wafting across the miles. There have been plenty of clues – dwindling conversations and happy habits long abandoned – but a [sappy, hopeful, delusional] part of me thought we’d gotten past the bumps. Maybe this is yet another bump, who am I to say?

I’m not burning bridges or giving up, just living in the truth of the situation. I’m going to take it day by day, interaction by less-frequent-interaction. I will not give more than I get. Perhaps that will be the downfall, or I suppose things could pick back up. All I know is: I just can’t carry it like I used to.

Time will tell.

This isn’t a sad post, as much as it’s an “as-is” post. Terms of endearment are such a good thing and it’s concerning when they die out.

I am incredibly thankful to be Sir’s little light, kitten, slut, Su-B, shygirl, and on and on… I will simply bask in that warmth and hope not to hear my real name (y’all, that usually means trouble!).

Happy Monday, all you sweetcheeks of blogland!! (see what I did there?) 😀

~shygirl