penitence

i’ve been bad.

very very bad.

and it feels like more than disobeying the rules in a game we’ve been playing.

i’ve been checking my stats.
steadily.
even though i’ve been forbidden to check them.
i hadn’t forgotten.
i knew i was disobeying.
i didn’t care.
i was like a young child.
i NEEDED to see my stats.
regularly
and often.

i hadn’t told the philosopher that i was checking them. he hadn’t asked, so i didn’t say anything. until last night. he asked last night. and while i had been deliberately and with full intent disobeying, i wasn’t going to lie. so when he asked, i told him.

he was not pleased.

and then i made it worse.
at least in my mind
i made it a lot worse.

i laughed.

and i couldn’t keep from laughing.

embarrassment?
willfulness?
honestly, i’m not quite sure.
i was laughing and it horrified me.

i think underneath there was a childish pleasure in having gotten away with it for so long. of having indulged this addict’s need for incontrovertible proof that she was being read.

i admit it.
i’m an attention whore.
i am remarkably insecure.
i need constant reassurance.
i write these pieces for my master.
i write them for myself.
but i need to know that other people are out there.
and that they are coming back.

are you listening?
do you love me?
do i please you?
do i impress you with my brilliance?
do i make you hard?
do i make you wet?
do i make you cum?

i worry that there’s not enough smut. i worry that we are are too snuggly lovey-dovey. i worry that there’s not enough drama. i’d worry that we’re not enough of a soap opera to draw hordes of voyeurs to our misery – except that i’d hate to be living through it just to be able to write about it.

oh, i was very scientific about my “need” to keep checking my stats. in my defense, i related how i’ve learned that readership falls off on the weekend, so i don’t post big erotic stories on a Friday or Saturday. however, it picks up on Sunday nights and Mondays, so if i have something juicy i’ll trot it out then. i can see when traffic really lags, and will seed other people’s blogs with comments to lure the curious.

it’s embarrassing but true.
i fish for readers.
but i do have my standards.
i don’t beg strangers for a spot on their blog rolls.
i have some pride left.
not much, but some.
i’m an attention whore but i draw the line somewhere.

of course, he saw right through it all. because in fact it was all irrelevant. i could have all the reasons in the world and it wouldn’t matter a bit. all that matters is that he gave a direct order and i disobeyed it. over and over and over again.

i behaved like a teenager
and justified it like a child.

i violated both the letter and the spirit of the law.

back when the philosopher had his meltdown and thought we should break up, he said that calling me every night felt like just another chore. so i said look, we made the rules. we can change the rules. and we did. we pulled back and gave him room to breathe and the winter passed and he re-emerged and now we talk most week-nights and sometimes on Sunday nights and things are good.

but we never changed the basic rule.
which is that he gives the orders
and i obey.
and i don’t want to change the basic rule.
we used to call it the game. and maybe on some level it is a game. but in another way it isn’t and never will be. it’s an organizing principle. we both wanted it and we both accepted it. and it’s not for me to abrogate it here and there just because any one command doesn’t suit me.

it’s a sign of disrespect.
disrespect towards the philosopher
and towards the relationship
and maybe
even
towards myself.

we used to call it the game. but in fact this D/s business is very good for us. the philosopher says it makes him feel strong. he revels in the sense of power. and it gives me structure.

it gives me structure and i need it because i’m piss poor at self-discipline. and he imposes discipline. and when i remember that i shine inside and am ever so grateful that he takes the time and creativity to try to keep me focused and productive.

and here he was. trying to impose the discipline that i couldn’t impose on myself. i swam in my stats. i wasted time on them. he tried to get me to cut back and it didn’t work. he tried to get me to cut back and instead i read things into the stats that weren’t there and whipped myself into ridiculous states of anxiety. so to protect me and to protect the relationship as much as to indulge his lust for controlling me, he pulled the plug and instituted a total ban. and when i still couldn’t control my urges, i ignored his proscription and indulged.

i rejoice in this relationship. i treasure it. and i think the D/s is good for the relationship and for us. because on top of everything else, with D/s you can’t just take each other for granted. D/s takes work. and a relationship needs nurturing. D/s brings a measure of thoughtfulness to everything i do. for the philosopher it may be just fun – i’m not really sure – but for me it’s definitely more than a game.

so i’m being punished. though actually what he has done seems not so much like punishment but rather an exasperated final effort to enforce his dictum – which is really for my own good.

he has taken away my keys. or rather, less metaphorically, he has changed the password. now i CAN’T look at my stats.

it remains to be seen whether he will trust me with the end-of-the-month stat report.

but somehow that doesn’t seem that important any more.

because in fact i did something worse than just disobey a direct order and then laugh when i was caught.

at some point in the conversation i referred to this as MY blog. and didn’t even realize i had done it.

now it’s true that i am the only one to directly write here. and the philosopher himself has always referred to it as my blog. but i would always correct him, and insist that it is OUR blog. i frequently ask him to post, or even just comment, and am disappointed when he demurs. he insists that he means the blog to be an outlet for me, especially when we are apart so much. i am to post every day as an exercise in discipline (there’s that word again) as well as to develop my writing skills.

but to me, it was always OUR project.
until i got lost in ego land.

changing the password was a control mechanism.
not a punishment.
but a punishment was proposed.
a very apt punishment, in fact.
he threatened to take away my blogging privileges
for a whole week.

my response was in line with my behaviour throughout this sorry incident. i protested like a blogger when i should have accepted like a slave. “oh, no! i’ll lose my audience! and all these other bloggers have stopped writing over the last few weeks! i can’t just disappear!! YOU’LL have to post all week. people expect a post every day.”

and so on.

completely missing the point.

and then there were problems with the cell phone signal and we kept losing each other and the discussion was thrown off course and nothing was resolved – except while we were waiting for the signal to come back he changed the site meter password.

he had to look up the e-mail in which he sent me the password in the first place, as i refused to give it to him.

finally i was ordered to sleep.

obviously, by this morning i’d returned to my senses.
and was flooded with remorse.
hence this rambling mea culpa.

this isn’t a game.
i’m horribly sorry.
i knew i’d eventually be caught
but i let my addiction take over.
i was blinded to what was truly important.

YOU are important.
WE are important.
honesty and respect and self control are important.

i miss you.
i miss the corporeal reality of you.
not just spankings and canings
and bondage and blow jobs.
i miss waking next to you.
i miss the cryptic crosswords
pinned to the mantle.
i miss cooking together
and seeing you in your chair
as fully in possession
as if you’d been there all our lives.
i miss showering with you and
going to Target and
entertaining my friends who
are now your friends, too.
i miss taking walks
hand in hand
whether or not you’ve
bound me in a rope harness
and draped the cold choke collar
around my submissive neck.

i just miss having you here.

i accept why you’re staying away and i know that it’s working. all the little parts put together are working. the solid deadline and the better teaching schedule and the lack of visitation privileges and who knows what else. they are working and you’re writing and you sound good and yes, the dissertation will be completed.

but it’s hard.
i lose touch with reality.
and every so often i need to be reminded.

so no more stats.
and maybe no more blogging for a while.
if i disappear for a week, you’ll all know why.

but honestly right now i don’t care.
there’s only one person i care about.
only one connection i care about.
and he may not even be
as annoyed with me
as i am disgusted with myself.

and while i may address these thoughts to my mythical readers, and recite the whole story, these words are really for one person only.

you are my master.
you are my owner.
you are my lover
and my very best friend.

and everything is for you.
all of this is for you.
and i am calling you by your real name.