"I'm going to hurt you." I say things like that. I say them with intent, and without hesitation. Stroking his lips with my fingertip to see if he will try to squirm away. Maybe prying his mouth open and forcing him to let me kiss him - my way - while he just squirms against my body.
NOTE: The anecdotes here are severely exaggerated. These are a combination of real life, and some not-real-life scenarios, to reflect a bit on the lifestyle of a femdom in her 30s dealing with life, a career, and etc.. Please, do not worry about me. I am just fine. This was fun to write, though.
Confessions of a femdom in a life of chaos
I was sitting in the dentist chair today. Nearly upside down. I had a blanket around my legs, and they had just shut off “The View.” I got to watch Regis pop out of a cake to surprise Barbara Walters on her birthday, which was the theme of the show.
Daytime TV, I thought. I got to laugh. I actually was liking TheView. But the dentist came into my own view and went to work on my mouth. Drill, drill, drill, pick, scrape. I reflected during this process that this was the first time in about three weeks that I had a few moments of quiet — no cell phone, no computer, no reports to write.
I just sat there. It didn’t actually hurt at all. He’s a good dentist.
I nearly fell asleep.
I was thinking, “What is wrong with my life? How did I get to this point?”
There was no pain. I think I have a pretty good threshold for pain anyway. He kept saying, “Does this hurt? Is this tender?” No.
The only moment of discomfort was the sudden worry – oh shit, did I turn off my cell phone? I don’t want it ringing in the middle of my dentist appointment. He’d probably hand it to me, and all numbed up, I’d slur, “Herrro?”
But it’s ok. I work for a Japanese company. They wouldn’t even notice.
**
I’m a workaholic. I think any “-aholic” is a bad thing. I work 10, 12, 14, 16 hours a day. I get up at 2 in the morning and work until 4, then go back to bed and get up at 6:30 to start my day. When I was young and enthusiastic, I used to say, “Well, it’s so I can hit the east coast when they start their day.” Then, sure, I could take a walk on the beach halfway through the day. Or go to the mall just to stroll.
Yes, the luxury of working from home.
In two years, I have never done any of those things.
People say “It must be so great, you can work from home, you can work in your pajamas.” Sure, I do that a lot. But what does it say about you when your husband gets home at 7pm and you are STILL in your pajamas? It says you never took a shower, didn’t brush your teeth, and probably didn’t eat more than a snack.
Hence, the teeth, which needed a cleaning. So I went in, and in the dentist chair, I thought to myself, “If the most relaxing day I have had this week is in a dentist chair, there is something wrong with my life.”
I need more S&M.
**
The scent of powdered latex might have set that off, too, though. See, I don’t do as much S&m as I used to. Well, let me clarify that. I do lot’s of “little” S&m – like a taste each day, and a nibble now and then. But in the past, since I did not have a regular partner, I’d let it build up, then come gushing out. GUSHING, like a floodgate. Three weeks of pent-up energy all released in a two-hour encounter – you can imagine. But if I only had that man in my clutches for two hours, you better believe I’d let it gush.
Now, I have a husband. He’s around. He’s here every night. There is no gush, there is no floodgate. Because – well, he’s there. I can roll over in bed any given night, clasp my hand over his nose and mouth until he starts to writhe, get a warm fuzzy feeling like after drinking a fine cocktail, then after his whimper goes away, nuzzle into him for a fine sleep.
Three years ago, that would have been a full-blown breath control roleplay, because, dammit, if I only had two hours, I wanted it ALL. I nibble now. I do not feast. And apparently, that does not give me the release it used to.
**
Last week, I was sitting my doctor’s office. See, this is what is going on with me – this is my “Health Maintenance” week. I made appointments with my MD, my dentist, and a new doctor – a kineso -whatever, doctor. Oh, and an accountant, lawyer, and priest. But those are other issues. Let’s just say I have a lot of appointments. My Franklin daytimer is overflowing.
I was reviewing the results of my blood work with my MD. She has been seeing me for 15 years. She placed them out for us to look at as if the numbers would mean anything to me. The last time I had blood done was three years ago – back when I was – well, I was living a rock star lifestyle, almost. Single, in a one bedroom apartment. Eating like shit. Could stand to lose about ten pounds. Maybe even fifteen. Fast food – I lived on it. I did not cook. I ate like shit, drank like a fish, but was out dancing, clubbing, three times a week, and doing lots of S&M. And I felt great.
We went back and compared all the numbers. She told me I did not have liver disease, kidney problems, thyroid problems, or anemia. No diabetes. Ok, great, I said. At least I’m not dying.
“But your cholesterol, that’s a problem.” Then, just like doctors do, she went into the “good vs. bad cholesterol” – I wanted to say, look, this isn’t Star Wars, I don’t need to know good vs. bad. Just tell me what is wrong with me.
Apparently, it is worse now, then it was back then. I laughed. I said to her, “Back then, I had the diet from HELL. I was out drinking and dancing three times a week. The people at Carl’s Jr. new my name! Now I eat all fresh food. My diet is almost perfect. How can this happen?”
She closed the folder and said. “You are missing the outlet, I think. Your blood pressure is completely off the charts, you work too much, you can’t process stress, and there was something in your lifestyle, back then, that was an outlet. You said you used to go dancing?”
I gulped. I mean, right there, I almost said it. It was like that seen in the Batman movie with Michael Keaton, where he keeps trying to say to Kim Basinger, “I’m Batman. I’m Batman.”
I wanted to say, “I used to do S&m.”
But I couldn’t say it. I just sat there, with a stupid look on my face. I said I don’t know. I guess dancing was better exercise than I thought. “But the drugs you have me on for my blood pressure,” I told her, “Make me too damned tired to do ANYTHING, let alone dance all night long.”
She gave me a new prescription. More drugs. I sighed and left and told her, though, “I don’t want to get on some long drawn out thing where I take pill after pill after pill and a new pill for the side effects of the other pill.”
It was crystal clear.
I need to bring a lot more S&M back into my life. And fast.
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