Saturday, May 31, 2014
The Story of Us (part one)
I had a few things I wanted to write in a series -- "A Good Dom," "The Story of Us," and "The Power of a Submissive." I thought perhaps it would be an attempt to give real life examples of "the how-to" from our perspectives. However, they didn't really quite go together as planned. "The Story of Us" ended up being longer and more involved than I'd anticipated. So I've broken it up into two segments. The second post will post next week.
I'll admit I'm nervous about sharing. It's very personal. But I know there are a lot of people who read blogs who are interested in this lifestyle. One regular question I get is, "How did you two get to where you are?" So, at the risk of perhaps coming across as a bit narcissistic, here's the answer. To all the readers who are hopeless romantics like me, this post is for you.
The Story of Us
I grew up in a very unhappy, abusive home, which I mentioned before in my post about how DD has helped me heal. I made up my mind when I was very young that I would never marry someone unless they were someone I knew I would stay with for the rest of my life. I was determined to do this. In fact, so determined, that in my teen years I decided I wasn't even going to date anyone unless I knew they were someone I would consider marrying.
It was a beautiful, sunny day in early spring. There was a volunteer project we both went on, each with our respective friends.
It was lunchtime when I met him. I was young, still in college. I still remember I had my hair in a ponytail, and I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I sat down in a folding chair on the front lawn, eating pizza, and Jason was sitting across from me. I was struck by him. But it wasn't his blonde hair, or sky blue eyes that drew me in at first. It was the kindness in his eyes. The teasing smile on his face. His mellow voice, and easy demeanor. He asked me about my t-shirt -- it was some shirt I'd gotten at a concert -- and in minutes, we were talking like old friends.
He was was easy to talk to. He was engaging. He was funny, incredibly intelligent, and witty. At once we were engaged in an intense, heady conversation and soon, our friends drifted away from us, and lunch was over.
Who was this guy? Why was my heart pounding the way it was? Never in my entire life had I met a man who enthralled me the way he did. I was completely taken in by him.
People frequently say they don't believe in love at first sight. They say it's instant attraction.
It begins with attraction, but love at first sight is real. I know, because it happened to me. By the time Jason and I left that day, I was a goner. My sister and my friend said I had stars in my eyes. I couldn't stop talking about him.
But we had a problem. When I came home, and my (controlling, abusive) step-father found out about him, I was forbidden any contact with him. Why did I go along with this? There were many reasons, but the bottom line is, I did. It killed me, but I did.
It was several years before I would talk to Jason again.
In that time, not once did I date a single other guy. I had no interest. I had met the one and only person I could see myself spending my entire life with, and in just a few hours, I knew that. I knew he was the one. I was asked on dates, and I turned them down. I didn't know if I would ever see Jason again. No one else interested me the way he did. No one else attracted me the way he did. I spent my remaining college years alone.
I graduated college, and I decided that from then on, I was not going to be held down by the controlling home I grew up in. Abuse is a really odd thing. It holds you, not just physically, but emotionally. Breaking the bonds that hold you down are difficult. It takes strength, and courage, and I found that courage. I was moving out.
It was summertime, late August, when friends asked me if I wanted to go out. It sounded like fun, so I agreed. I was driving around, looking for a parking spot, when I saw him.
He was standing with friends. Heart pounding, I shouted out to my sister and my friend who were with me, "It's Jason! Oh my God!! I have to park this car! It's Jason!" They were somewhat amused by my eagerness, but they helped me get to him.
I had decided that no matter what, come hell or high water, I was going to pursue him. I went up to him, shaking with eagerness, but nervous. He was engaged in a conversation with friends, and I reached out my hand and shyly touched his elbow. He turned to me. He remembered me. He told me later, he had never forgotten me.
We spent the night talking, hours and hours, non-stop. We completely neglected the friends we'd come with, as we meandered our way to a place where we were alone, found a place to sit, and talked about anything and everything. When the night drew to a close, he asked me for my number, and I told him with a heavy heart, that I couldn't give it to him. Not because I didn't want to...but because I was moving overseas the following week.
This was way back when the internet was just taking off. I wouldn't have a phone number, and didn't have an e-mail address. He gave me his e-mail address and told me to write him. I reached for his hand, and before I left, I squeezed it.
He said later, he will never forget that hand squeeze. I knew what I meant by doing it, and so did he.
Don't forget me.
I moved overseas, and when I got settled and had internet access (which was unreliable and spotty), I messaged him.
The message came back to me undelivered.
I did it again, the following week, when I had access to a computer again.
I started to lose hope. I had a good friend who knew about Jason. She said, "I will never forget how you talked about him, what you felt about him. Whatever it takes, don't let him go."
I knew she was right. I decided, I was going to keep trying, and I was going to make sure that this time, I got through to him, even if it took me months. But it didn't take months. It took just one more time. Finally, my message went through.
We wrote. And we wrote. And we wrote.
Every opportunity I had to get online, I would write to him. I would read his lengthy replies eagerly. He writes well, and his letters drew me in. As we wrote, we learned all about each other, about our families, our interests, who we were and what we wanted from life.
And in the course of our writing to one another, we fell in love.
I moved back to America. In early April, after only a handful of dates, he asked me to marry him. I eagerly said yes. I had long since known he was the man I was going to marry.
Notice, there has been no talk of Dominance and Submission at this point. Back then, neither one of us had ever heard of those things. All I knew was...he was a born leader. When he learned about my family he stood up to them. Once we were a couple, never again was I ever mistreated or hurt. He wouldn't allow it.
He was steadfast and determined. He was not someone who swaggered, but rather someone who led with quiet confidence. I loved that.
He paid all our bills. He made all primary decisions. He always did the right thing. I certainly had an opinion, but he was the dominant partner in our relationship by far. It was an understanding we had. He would lead, and I would obey him.
When we were dating, in the short time we spent together before we married, he spanked me. I don't remember why, I just remember lying next to him, and he flipped me over and spanked me. It wasn't serious. He was teasing me. But I remember being incredibly, undeniably turned on by him spanking me, and I told him, somewhat breathy, with flashing eyes, that was hot.
I was so naive. I had no idea that people did that, and it could be sexy. All I knew was, it sure was sexy when he did it to me. He chuckled, pulled me back over his lap, and said "let the spankings commence."
He doesn't remember that. But I'm a diehard spanko. I will never forget it.
You would think that would've started things going for us. But it didn't. I was so confused at the time...drawing boundaries with my family, preparing to be married. Did people like to be spanked? Was it odd that I wanted him to?
So I asked him to stop spanking me. And out of respect for me, he did. For ten years.
We really had a very happy marriage. We had similar goals, and interests, and merging our lives together was nearly seamless. We began to raise our family shortly after we married.
He never yelled, or lost his temper. But holy cow, did I lose mine.
I was raised in a home where yelling was the norm. That is what people did when they were angry or upset. It was how we communicated. So even though I agreed he was the dominant partner, and even though he led us in every way, I mostly only went along with it when I agreed with him (way to submit, eh?). When I disagreed with him, sometimes I would throw a fit. I always thought I was justified.
I vividly remember whipping a plate across the room one night. As soon as I did, my little baby son burst into tears. I'd frightened him. I had spent my entire childhood afraid, and it absolutely horrified me to think I had done something that made my child fear me. I felt like the worst mom on Planet Earth.
When I would lose my temper, Jason would tell me to stop. He would walk away. He never gave in to my fits, not once. But then, he would withdraw. My temper would flash, then it would be over. I would be remorseful and repentant, and he wouldn't talk to me. He would go off by himself to calm down. And I hated that.
I learned over time, to control myself more. I knew I wanted to submit to him. I read somewhere of the concept, some Christian ideas I mostly agreed with. I read some things I found on how to learn to submit. At the time, it was mostly a vague understanding that I would let him lead me, that he would have the authority in our relationship. Although we already had this dynamic, I knew I could do better than I had been.
So I did my very best to submit to Jason. I didn't talk back. If he made a decision, I went with it. We had our occasional arguments, but mostly, we began to have more peace in our relationship. We fought less. There was harmony.
As the years went on, we grew in our dynamic. I learned to trust him more. I learned to let things go. He grew in his role as leader. Little by little, step by step, he led us, and I followed his lead.
Now, he didn't domineer me. He wasn't perfect of course, but he always asked my opinion. He always wanted to know what I thought. The give and take was something I loved best about how we related to one another. I always felt as if he took the time to understand my point. But in the end, he would make the decisions.
Over time, our friends and family grew to see how we related to one another. They knew I obeyed him. They would say, "Ask Jason if you can make it to the party this weekend," Or "What does Jason say about that?"
But still, I would lose my temper. And I hated that I did. I would try so hard not to, and I did learn some self control, but not enough. And whenever I lost my temper, it would push us away. I remember asking him to stop me.
"Please, I hate when I lose my temper. Please don't let me."
Spanking wasn't an idea I even entertained; I just wanted to be stopped. So he did, when I would start to get angry, he would take me by the arm, tell me to leave the room and take a deep breath, things like that, and it did help some.
But still, it happened.
One day, a friend told me about this book called "Fifty Shades." To this day, I have not read the book. But I was curious about it, so I googled and read reviews online. And in one of the reviews, someone mentioned dominance and submission.
I was intrigued. I'd heard about submission. But what did "dominance" mean? What was this thing called a "Dom?"
So I googled.
And I read.
And I read.
And I read.....
I was mesmerized. I had no idea there were people out there like me, who wanted to be spanked.
I was also shocked. I had no idea there were people out there who were disciplined as adults and were okay with it. I was honestly completely horrified by the idea.
I was also incredibly aroused by the idea of being spanked.
At the time, the thought of being disciplined, however, was something I resisted completely. I read about women who were spanked by their husbands and disliked it, but allowed it. They denied there was anything at all erotic about it. That confused me. I didn't understand why they would want to be spanked, if they weren't attracted to it. I read about strict, domestic-discipline relationships that I was appalled by (please understand this isn't a judgment, but a comment on my thought process at the time.)
But I knew I wanted to be spanked. I held onto it for a few days, trying to work up the courage to bring it up to Jason. I'm impatient. It certainly wasn't something I could hold onto for a long time. I had to talk to him.
We have a pretty open marriage, but I was shy about some things. Still, I had to tell him what I wanted.
So one night, as we snuggled in bed, I came up with an idea.
"Hey," I whispered, my head on his chest. "Let's play a game. Let's swap fantasies. You tell me yours, I tell you mine."
Let's just say, he was game.
I asked him to go first. No, I won't reveal what he said. You will have to use your imagination.
Then it was my turn. I was nervous. Would he laugh? Would he really know what I meant? Would he think I was crazy? Encouraged by the fact that he spanked me when we were dating, and spurred on by how desperately I wanted a spanking, I pushed myself to tell him.
Heart pounding, I lifted myself up a bit and whispered into his ear, "I want you to spank me."
To be continued...
Posted by J Girl