Doubts (and Moments with Sir – Pockets)

Last night I said I would post my little moment with Sir.  Today I actually was looking forward to it.  I cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, got my tea, took my pills and came upstairs to write…

And then I sat.

I looked at Facebook.  I looked at websites.  I found a new header image for my blog.  I… didn’t write.

And when I thought about writing I felt so tired.  And I finally realized I felt anxious.  I’m so used to the feeling in my gut that sometimes it takes me a long time to realize its there… the tight, cold, clawing of anxiety.

A very soft, insidious voice in the back of my head says, “It’s not that good a story.  It’s boring, it’s weird, people won’t understand, people won’t care if they do understand… What is this weird self-absorbed need to tell my life to people anyway?”

And I’m disappointed.  I’m disappointed that I can ruin my own happiness so thoroughly, over something so… inconsequential.

I said I would tell the story.  I will.  And a good part of it is because I’m angry at the voices that have distilled down to that viscious whisper in the back of my mind that make me doubt everything… always…

Last night, Sir and I were out walking in the evening.  I had my hands in my back pockets, not for any particular reason.

Sir looked at me and asked if I was protecting my backside.  He said it smiling.  I smiled back and shrugged.  “Maybe…”

I wasn’t, but it was silly and we’re often silly with each other.

Sir laughed and we walked a ways farther, onto a more secluded part of the path, my favorite part, where trees arch over the walkway and the air smells of pine and, lately, blossoms.

Sir stepped closer beside me and slid his fingers around my wrist.  He lightly tugged and I slide my right hand from my pocket.

In its place, he slid his own, pulling me closer to him until I was against his side.

I don’t have bruises but I have soreness still lingering from the weekend.  He pressed his fingertips just enough to wake up the sting.  He whispered, his lips moving against my hair.

“You are mine.  I will use you as I want, when I want.  Take your hands away from your ass.”

I slid my other hand out of my pocket even as I felt my head bow, unconsciously, like a string was pulled and my chin went to my chest.  I turned my face into him, my body into him.  My breath shuddered against his chest.

He put his other arm around me and whispered again.

“Good girl.”

We looked like a couple.  Cuddly and in love.

We walked that way back to the house.

It took almost ten minutes.

For ten minutes… I was… to my deepest core… at peace.

Completely.

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