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| It's been a good week |
The rest of this blog post is the Galiana-length version of that unusually-well-summarized paragraph.
Although I'm not primarily pagan, I do enjoy recognizing seasonal celebrations, and taking the opportunity to examine my life and its cyclical patterns. Summer Solstice is a time to remember the tending and waiting and watering of prior seasons, and to celebrate new growth.
I think it's obvious from my recent upward trend of blogging volume that I'm feeling a bit better than I was March-May. I worked hard to heal my back from its injury, which is finally paying off with fewer muscle relaxers, which leaves me far more energy and mental clarity and libido.
In addition to my energy return, my husband recently negotiated his annual contract renewal with great success. Now I am officially responsible for none of our shared expenses at all. One hundred percent of my earnings are now going to me: plane tickets for family visits, spending money, Galiana's hosting expenses, charities, saving up for a newer car.
However, the raise was not enough to pay for regular maid service. I mean, we keep up with dishes and laundry and trash and surface wipe-downs, so our home isn't gross. But between me, my husband, and our roommate (aka his live-in girlfriend aka Devant), we never choose deep-cleaning, vacuuming, or dusting. So at our last roommate dinner, we agreed we'd all rather pitch in a little spending money than do it ourselves.
But of course, nothing is simple with our kooky life these days. We have sex stuff everywhere. My red room has a lingerie bar and my favorite vibrators out, the guest bedroom has a sex toy bookshelf, all three beds have bondage rope or chain, and the dining room and garage look like workshops for building leather and wood BDSM gear because... well... they are.
So we could hire a regular maid service, but we'd have to pack everything away before each visit, because the town is small and enough to warrant some caution, given my husband's very mainstream job (which, did I mention, is paying all our bills now?). A better choice would be someone from the kinkster community.
Which leads us to the polite, respectful emails I've been getting since I moved here from... well, we'll call him teddybearslave. He doesn't come out to community events, but he's very interested in serving. Requests for details only reinforced that he wants to serve.
Frankly, his emails were so simple that I had no sense of the guy as a human being. So the thought of negotiating for real-time domestic service filled me with a slight sense of dread. I pictured him being super-noodly and repeating, "anything you want, Mistress" while secretly resenting me for not reading his mind and for not magically producing his deepest fantasies, which he would never actually voice to me, which would then build up into some awkward situation where he felt taken advantage of, and I felt lied to.
I'd rather pay someone than have that.
But he mentioned housework, and he has been respectful, and we need someone to clean our home, and I'm going to be exchanging sexual energy with someone in order to make the money to pay to get the house cleaned, right? It would be lovely if it were a straight-up exchange with the person cleaning, wouldn't it? I figured it was worth a brief in-person, in-public interview on Thursday, with all my usual safety first-meeting protocols, even though it felt like I was playing the lottery.
I like math. I'm good at math. So as a rule, I don't play the lottery.
But within five minutes, I knew I'd hit the jackpot. I cannot believe my luck. He's adorable, articulate, shyly amusing, and once he relaxed a bit, he has this fantastically mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He's got the teddy-bear ex-lumberjack type build of a guy who was a manual laborer for 20 years before being promoted into blue-collar management. He may be a tad pudgier now than in his heyday, but I wouldn't bet against him in a deadlift competition.
He exudes calm. And strength. And a desire to serve. It's not a chickenshit answer for him: his fetish really is as simple as serving; when he knows he's making someone else happy, whether sexually or logistically or whatever, he's in his bliss.
I told him we were negotiating as equals, peers, two adults figuring out if we had overlap. Although we may play with the dynamic, in reality, I know I am not superior to him. I don't want to be served by a thing with no inner life; I want to be served by a person who is capable of explaining what he wants and needs. His grin and nod felt like the contract handshake of a gentleman.
He's married, and his wife knows he plays, but they have a "don't ask, don't tell" agreement, so he has to fit play time into weekdays. He has seen pro Dommes before, but he can't afford it regularly. He had fantasized about trading service for play time, or heck, even just providing service, but others been too inflexible for his offer. Or, maddeningly, they were too disrespectful of his relationship with his wife to accept his limitations. Their loss.
Speaking of flexible, he said he loves the idea of not knowing what to expect ahead of time. He got slack-jawed when I said I would love to decide what to do based on my "whims of the day". He feels it's easier to trust that I'm really letting him serve that way, if I choose on the fly, instead of following some kind of script.
So our regular pattern will be an hour of cleaning followed by an hour of playtime, every week or every other, as we can schedule.
Play time could be him pampering me with a foot rub or massage. Or it could be me teasing him until he begs, denying him an orgasm, and sending him home all worked up. Or it could be me putting on a strap-on and grabbing a cane, tying him to the bed and reducing him to a man-puddle by striping and fucking his ass until he comes screaming.
Have I mentioned my variety fetish lately? He's perfect.
Oh, also, it would be super-erotic for him to wearing frilly girly things while he cleans, and would I mind if he left them at my place? HolyShitThat'sFuckingAwesome.
So. It seems I have a domestic servant. Y'know, like you do. Oh, wait, no, not at all like I've ever done before. Not even close. Whose crazy life is this?
Then Thursday night, after Devant and my husband went to bed, the thing finally happened that I've been waiting to feel for months now: I was bored and frisky. For the first time in months. My to-do list wasn't overwhelming me. I wasn't muddled up or dampened by medicine interactions. It was fantastic.
I could have opened up my phone sex line. I could have reached out to any one of several dozen people who I feel like I neglected all spring. I could have tested the appointment-making widget for the blog (coming soon, I'm sure). But no, this was a delicious, golden moment - a solstice gift - and I wanted to be selfish with it, because it wasn't just bored and frisky, it had a certain edge to it...
I wanted to hunt for fresh meat.
That's an urge I haven't felt since last September, in the middle of my moving stress. But I haven't felt a huntress urge in such a celebratory way since probably 2003. I certainly wasn't gonna squander it on doing anything sensible. Fuck that.
My match list on OKCupid was full of faces who weren't there the last time I checked it. Well, hello there, mister 98% match, 0% enemy, with a geek-hippie profile and the implication you want to explore BDSM from both sides of the power exchange. Don't mind if I do. We'll call you GeekSwitch.
One fun message led to another, which led to chat, which led to cybering. Having text-sex over chat, fer fux sake! How did I magically get transported back to 2003? It was right after my divorce, when I was rebuilding my sense of self by indulging in sexual exploration with people I met online in Austin. Online + Austin = a dating pool teeming with geeks and engineers. So, yeah, a big cheer for programmers who can type one-handed. It was fucking luscious.
Tuesday, I'm topping teddybearslave for the first time. Then GeekSwitch and I might hang out Tuesday night. My toes keep curling in anticipation for both of them.
Happy summer solstice to me. Kaboom indeed.
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