Ah yes. The Hardtack of Humility. Delicious.

So…long-distance relationships are teh lame. We can agree they are not really all that ideal. Some times are easier than others. And there is a terrible amount of pressure on the time you can eke out to be together virtually, because by the time you have the bandwidth to talk, goddammit, it had better be connected, efficient. meaningful, moving, touching, vital…

 

Yeah.

 

A week of missed connections and tech-snafus and I finally…FINALLY had The Dominant Guy on the phone and FINALLY had the breathing room to tackle some Important Talking Things and FINALLY was able to get my feet under the things I wanted to say and had SOME coherent thought process in place…

 

And then I found myself gnawing on the Zen Dry Biscuit of Submission.

 

Yeah, that’s right. You think submission is all about being a hot and ready sex slave? Or getting that pat on the head and hearing “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” or even a “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”

 

Well sure. And those are good days.

 

But sometimes it is you sitting there trying to figure out how the fuck not to howl in frustration as you watch your time eaten away.

 

I do enjoy having “open phone line time” with The Dominant Guy. Basically that means we’ll be on the phone but not specifically talking about anything. He’ll do whatever he’s doing, I’ll do whatever I’m doing, and just spend some time. It is lovely, actually.

 

Except when I really really wanna talk about this thing we’ve had on deck for MONTHS and isn’t bad, or anything, but we really do need to talk about it…

 

and…

and…

…and then he’s off doing something, paused mid-sentence, and I’m waiting.

 

Not necessarily patiently. But waiting quietly.

 

Watching wispy clouds float by. Hearing him talk to himself, as he’s figuring out some manlygrunttooltimething and I’m waiting to hear how we are going to reconcile the differences between faith and trust and how they work together in a relationship to…

 

… . … ..  … … . … … …

…gnaw…gnaw…

 

…another long, dry silence.  I choke it down.

 

Aha. Yeah, I get it. I see what you’re doing here.

 

I take a deep breath.  Check my text messages.

 

And wait.

 

…gnaw…gnaw…

 

I watch the minutes of silence begin to edge into the rest of the day…I have work to do, and I don’t have much time left…

 

…gnaw…gnaw…

 

…aaaaand then he does delve into the meat of our issue and…time is gone. I have to go, and more importantly he had to go and now it will be several more days before we can speak again.

 

And then in the final closing moments I am reminded of what it is he does to keep track of me. And that there is progress being made. And these bits of information are the reflection that shines a light on my foggy insides.

 

I’m off of the phone…and right into work. Art art art in my face when I’d much rather cry in frustration while howling in the small victory of maintaining my quietude…or a bit of it, at least…even when faced with the button-pushing of a conversation truncated, wedged in between other shit, fragmented and piecemeal, time frittered away…

 

Or, well. No. Not frittered.

 

The thing about telling a sadist what you want?

 

They now have a potent weapon to use against you. And you handed it right to them.

 

Somewhere inside, a crazed gigglingsnort emerges, and my inner demon, possessed with a dark and slimy sense of humor, is terribly amused.

 

Look at you. You let this guy waste your time like that…

 

I laugh.  I laugh because deep inside the flouncing frustration, I’m oddly calm.

 

 

If I’m offering him myself? My time would be his. Even if I don’t like the way it is spent. And figuring what “a good use” of my time is? That’s not my problem.

 

It dawns on me that submission to the shit you would have done anyway  isn’t much of a submissive act, is it?

 

Being a good submissive means doing what my dominant wants even if he annoys me.

 

However.

 

Being a GREAT submissive means loving it when my dominant annoys me…and finding the joy in that frustration and discomfort.

 

Sometimes I miss him so terribly it feels like an insanity. It hurts. I don’t know what to do with it. I asked for some insight, some feedback, shit, if he even knew what I was going through with this. I wasn’t sure what I would get in response. I knew empathy wasn’t likely! Maybe a pat on the head, or a “There there, just relax.” or something.

 

Rather surprisingly, he advised me that he found it absolutely delightful that I longed and suffered without him.

 

Sadist, remember?

 

I find that I can turn back to, reach out for, and hold on tight to feeling my feelings when I remember that they serve him. Even the ones that hurt.

 

Maybe especially the ones that hurt.

 

So to you, sir, to the frustration, to the hunger…I say “Yes. Thank you.”

 

If my suffering – be it physical, or emotional – feeds you…turns you on…fantastic. Consume it.

 

May it please you.

 

 

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19 Comments

  1. TDG on October 14, 2011 at 10:17 PM

    Lovely.

     

    TDG

     



    • mollena on October 15, 2011 at 12:44 AM

       

      Thank you, sir.

       



  2. Good vs Great · A Slut Wife in Training on October 15, 2011 at 6:34 AM

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  3. sin on October 15, 2011 at 8:10 AM

    Wow, this all rings true to me. Great post. Especially where you say “Being a GREAT submissive means loving it when my dominant annoys me…and finding the joy in that frustration and discomfort.” If only I could master that part all the time!

    Thanks
    -sin



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