Hope Springs Eternal

I don't know what it was about yesterday but some of my terror and anxiety melted away. I mistakenly thought, "Good feeling for the first day of spring." Only a month behind the vernal equinox am I. Last week I'd had a nice conversation with She-Who-Visits as we both commuted to our jobs - she on her idyllic blue water isle and me, drop topped in the Magic City. I talked to her about actually looking forward to moving back in with my wife because each morning and meal with her has become precious. "I'm so glad you are getting to do this," she said with sympathy and real enthusiasm. Me too I said, me too.

And then yesterday morning I had this giddy optimism that I'll figure this all out. Things will be okay. I have great friends who I'll stay in touch with and have been talking to, hanging out with, or connecting with on-line. I'm a dramatically changed person in the past two years. Though I'll miss my black and white poster of Julie Newmar when I leave the man-cave in June I realize I don't need to announce my kink with home decor anymore. I just am. And I'm much more open about most everything with my wife. Though I won't date for the time being, it doesn't mean I have to stop having dinner, lunch, coffee, or drinks with my domme friends and subbie guy buddies. And who knows what outlet I'll figure for my kink. It's a work in progress and I'm creating it as I go.

I'd been talking to kinky friends about kink relationships and the problems we all face in forging them. Yesterday I just had this overwhelming feeling of hope and optimism that we're all in this together. Is it one big campfire sing along? I think not. But we're all out there working it and we have each other to help us along the way. And for that I am just eternally grateful.

Anyway, for musical diversion I've hung on to this Pat Benatar clip as it's kind of like a ruined orgasm - the most deliciously wicked of tease and denial "punishment".

True Heart Service

If you'd seen us you'd think we were on vacation; a happy family reunion in a hot springs mountain retreat. But death cloaked the blue skies and sunshine like an indecorous winding sheet. Her parents in their 90's; her brother a cancer survivor; a manical bike touring, hard pedeling uncle wheeling headlong through a defiant bucket list; and my wife with her terminal diagnosis. And me...

I help her onto the toilet in the unisex handicapped bathrooms that dot an airport like havens for the afflicted. I adjust her underwear and pull up her jeans. I grovel on the floor to make sure she slides into her shoes comfortably. I latch her seat belt. I always allow an hour more to get ready as we have to move slowly.

I think about sexualizing all this but I can't. The whole process makes me horny though. I crave humiliation, orgasm control, cuckolding, and being lovingly laughed at as her rejected loser while She-Who-Visits fucks another younger more virile man before my lust filled eyes.

It's all in my mind as I cut up her steak at dinner and dice her salad so as she raises the fork with her shaking hand less romaine falls to the plate as a frustrating reminder that this is only going to get worse. Some say she is lucky to have me.

But it is I who am lucky to have her. Ironically blessed to render true heart service in pure and unerring love.

Except for the fantasy dream sequence part where she denies me orgasm until I learn to comb her hair properly.