I begged for a weekend alone with him for months. Instead I got crisis after crisis. From one day to the next was always… Something.
I was always the one called to solve whatever issue. Or to pick up a kid, or drop off a kid. Some of that falls under “single mom- suck it up” while I freely admit to some of it being “yes, I’m useful- look at me go”. But the point is I didn’t carve out alone time because I thought I had time.
I wanted to play. I rarely ever play at parties. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve played at a party. It’s honestly not my thing. But when parties become the only place you can be kinky… You start to crave the party. And I crave the party. Because kinky things are on my list of fun. And in the middle of chao I desperately need fun.
So I wanted to suggest a hotel room but he always spent so much money every weekend already, I didn’t suggest it.
I remember thinking if I didn’t get a beginning, middle, end, orgasm, aftercare, cuddles scene of some sort, I’d go crazy.
Turns out I didn’t go crazy. It’s becoming less and less important to me. I can’t remember the last kinky thing. I have dusty floggers and wax and rope. I’m realizing I care less and less. My husband once, years ago, asked me if I could live without kink. I said yes… I lied. Now if you ask me if I can live without kink I’d probably say no…. But that would be a lie, too.
I’m finding myself with a shit ton of regrets. And I’m thinking vanilla things like… Do I really need floggers if all they do is hang there?
Turns out I’ve got lots of time to think about it.