It’s Sunday night and I’ve started this post at least five times. Generally, I have no problem finding material to discuss. I attribute this current problem to drugs more than writer’s block. I’ve had to take the “strong stuff” to keep the shoulder pain down. Pain does an amazing job turning a kinky lion into whimpering, vanilla cub.
Actually, we’ve been vanilla for some time. I don’t mean that we aren’t practicing enforced chastity and domestic discipline. We have. I mean we haven’t done any BDSM playing in ages. That isn’t a failing on Mrs. Lion’s part; nor mine. Circumstances have gotten in the way. Even though I know I can’t play because of my shoulder, I miss it. I miss fucking too. I’m about to delete this post attempt too. Maybe not.
I don’t want to make my dear lioness feel badly. Our badly out-of-balance libidos make two-person sex unlikely. Sex is a gift that Mrs. Lion gives me. Her disinterest in sex also makes BDSM activity a gift as well. Are you seeing a theme here? Up until now, only sex has been strictly one way. Soon, my surgery will make me dependent in more fundamental ways as well.
Enforced chastity makes the caged male a sexual dependent of his keyholder. Even without enforced chastity, if I am monogamous, I am sexually dependent on my lioness. In relationships where both partners want sex, the keyholder’s desire for sexual satisfaction makes the power exchange more about sexual control than dependency. The keyholder can get sex from her caged male without offering reciprocation.
I have nothing sexual to give Mrs. Lion. She isn’t interested. Sex for me is an act of charity more than anything else. There isn’t anything in it for her other than giving me pleasure. I can’t provide anything sexual in return.
This all came to mind as the reality of my surgery is sinking in. I tried drying myself after showering using just my left arm. I can’t do it; something that basic. When Mrs. Lion goes back to work, should I trip and fall, I will be as helpless as a turtle on its back.
It’s not about Mrs. Lion’s willingness to take care of me. She will. I know that without a doubt. It’s about the fact that I am always the recipient. I know she loves me and wants to give me sex and take care of me. That’s not the point at all. I am tired of having nothing to offer in return. I can see how disabled people can sometimes become bitter and seem ungrateful. I’m still over a week away from the surgery and the impending impact on my life is forcing me to examine how little I have to give my mate.
I don’t want to be pathetic. I can’t stand that. Maybe this is what it feels like to be depressed. Worse, I think my assessment is accurate. Coping isn’t my strong suit.