Navel Gazing

It’s not all Sexy Fun Times at Bear & Schnoff’s, all the time. Bear has been out for the count since I came back from my trip, some type of cold. So, some teasing, but not much else in the way of sex, and a lot of chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese and clearing the daughter’s hair ball out of the sink and washing the (supremely reluctant) dog and time to blog about the harder stuff.

What I did not mention in my first post is that before the fun play time, we had a very difficult moment. I had become frustrated over the course of our vacation: Frustrated that Bear cannot keep up with me, because he does not have my energy levels ((Caused by a combination of barely controlled Crohn’s Disease, being heavily overweight, and being severely deconditioned)). That meant we did not do as much together as I would have liked, from hiking to, yes, of course, rope and sex; and it meant that I was increasingly grumbling to myself and dismayed that “everything takes 2 to 3 times as long as it really should.”

And so, towards the end of our vacation, I expressed my frustration, and my doubt that I “can make this relationship work.” When I talk like that, it hurts Bear, and he cried. He promised he’d work out with me, and do what he could to help me control clutter in our home, another long-standing cause of stress for me.

And then we had make-up sex, I suppose you can call it, and it was great.

We have been back in couples counseling since earlier this year. So, back home, when we saw our counselor, Bear expressed his frustration that I am impatient, and always ten steps ahead of him when walking, even when he is passing people. And I got incredibly technical about it all, about the ratio of my steps to his, and yeah, that was as ludicrous as it sounds.

And as I relate the story of why I am walking so fast, something that has been staring me in the face for a decade hit me: When Bear doesn’t keep up with me – be that walking, or really, any other activity at all – then I believed, deep down, that this was “because he didn’t love me enough.” And as I let that realization sink in, it was my time to cry – sob, really, for the kid I was and the bullshit that kid had to put up with. And for the way I have, myself, perpetuated that hurtful bullshit, as we are wont to do. Family relationship issues get passed down through the generations, they become family stories that repeat themselves over and over again. I have known this, intellectually, for three decades. That I was, still, blind to a big family relationship issue of my own is no surprise.

This realization, now a bit over a week old, is at the root of many of the changes in our relationship. I am grieving for the kid I was. He needs some hugs, badly. And I can be more patient with Bear, which in turn allows him to be more tender and loving towards me, allows him to give me the frequent touch I so crave. Being touched is how I know, beyond words and reason, that I am loved. I feel like a part of me that I had held tightly compressed is slowly unwinding, and the changes that brings go beyond our relationship. For example, I have always been impatient with music. I would listen to music maybe once every few months. Now, I find myself drawn to music – particularly soulful, emotional music – every other day or so.

Now and then in “BDSM circles”, I come across people who try to use kinky sex and play as an alternative form of therapy, in a cathartic sort of way. I firmly believe that this is entirely the wrong way around and incredibly risky, at best, and actively harmful, at worst.

Learning to communicate openly and vulnerably with each other, and the intimacy that brings, enables us to explore D/s more fully. It’s the strength and emotional intimacy of our relationship as equal partners that enables us to be unequal in parts of that relationship, enables the D/s overlay.

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On a silly note to offset all that seriousness: This made me smile. A bona fide, genu-wine bar chart tracking hornyness over time. The geek in me that constantly obsesses over “how long it’s been” can totally relate. Envisioning someone entering “the data” into Excel makes me giggle way too much. Easily amused, that’s me.