The Slap

Alright. It is time to see if I can answer some of the questions that have been raised in the minds of those who read here about "The Slap." Some of you have been straightforward and honest with us, and simply said, "That part of all of this has caused me to wonder, or made me uncomfortable." Others have made comments of a less open, and sometimes less friendly sounding nature, often not directed to us.

I am clear that I don't owe anyone an explanation of that event/sequence of events. It is, as all of this has been, intensely intimately private. Of course, so has all the rest of this been... You've been looking all along, haven't you? This isn't about what is owed. It isn't about private or public. It is about the power of my words to somehow bring my life to some higher place for me, for us all. It is a discipline that I engage in because it heals me and teaches me and grows my love.

So, now, a week after our weekend with Loki and jewels, when I am calmer and stronger, whenMaster and I have had a chance to process a bit of what transpired, let me see if I can talk (from my perspective -- He would perhaps view it differently) about "the Slap."

I wrote in that first agonized post about the weekend--
I was useless and worthless and helpless and unpleasant and just a mess. It wasn't my intention but it is the simple fact. By Saturday night, He was so furious with me, that He ended the evening, finally so frustrated and angry that, when I was so clumsy as to spill a can of orange soda in the bedroom and then tried to clean up the mess, frantically pitching a bottle of advil onto the bed to get them out of the way, and hitting Him with them, He smacked me across the face and told me to get my ass to bed. As I stood quivering and in shock, I had a moment of utter confusion as my mind refused to process anymore. The orange soda ran everywhere and I finally just gave it up. I went to bed and remained still and rigid most of the night, afraid to move or sleep.

I've been determined, as I've written about all of this to offer no excuses, to simply report on events as they occured and to not try and explain my behaviors. I am coming to see though that without any background explanations, there are no contexts for any of it and it all seems just bizzare. So, without trying to excuse any of it, I am going to attempt to place some of what occured that Saturday evening between Master and I into a better context.

First of all, some have construed my statement that I was "useless and worthless and helpless and unpleasant and just a mess" to represent my general view of my self (an overarching self-esteem issue). This is simply not the case. I am capable and bright and strong and determined in most settings. However, in this instance, I was way below par -- not functioning at my best, for a lot of reasons. I knew it and it exaccerbated my difficulties with the weekend.

Our household comprises three working adults who keep demanding schedules. Entertaining for a weekend means that what we normally do on the weekend to prepare for the week ahead must somehow get subsumed into the evenings ahead of that weekend in order to make the space. We'd worked like wild to prepare for the coming of company. All of us were worn to a frazzle. That included Master, who had taken a day out of His already intense schedule to stay home and spot clean carpets on His hands and knees (so that I wouldn't have to), knowing that I was making myself nuts over all that needed to be done to get ready -- "Master becomes servant." For me, the work of preparing for the coming teaching week (planning and grading) had to also be squashed up into the previous week -- no small undertaking.

To further complicate things, I got slammed by an evil flu-like virus on the preceeding Sunday afternoon. It made it impossible for me to eat anything from Sunday until sometime on Wednesday. Teachers don't just call in sick like other folks do. If you are going to not show up, it means making plans for a substitute and all the rest of the crap, so I dragged myself in and taught in an old building without air conditioning in the late summer Cincinnati heat. I was dragging my ass... but dragging ass or not there was stuff that needed doing.

I am SHY. Not just a little bit shy. Really, certifiably shy. I have an MMPI (Minnesota Multi-phasic Index) that is dead-flat level normal on every scale until you get to the axis that measures shyness. Then the sucker spikes to the top of the charts. I live with a Dominant that loves to meet people -- a true and for real extrovert. T is an introvert as well, but she copes by doing the social thing. So she cooks and makes neat hor d' ouerves and good stuff. I can't do it. I sweat bullets when I have to meet new people. I need to watch from the edge. I'll walk around a store forever to avoid approaching a sales person. The first day of school always makes me nervous as a cat just because there are always new kids. I am just not good at the new people thing... It wires me up.

Of course, there is always for me at least the looming uncertainty of peri-menopausal erratic cycles. Why the heck not? Let's throw that one into the mix too. Can't have too much fun, can we. Raging hormonal imbalance is neat.

By Friday night, when the plane was due to land, the houses were looking good, but I was a wreck. I was exhausted. I had a migraine brewing. I take topamax daily to prevent migraines. It gets about 90-95% of them. When one breaks through, I can take a medication called Amerge. Amerge makes me feel like I am living inside my freezer compartment and it also makes me hideously sleepy. I didn't want to do that. I wanted to try and stay awake and try and look sociable and welcoming. I managed to hang on until about midnight.

When I finally excused myself Friday night, I had an awful headache and I was dealing with a pretty high level of confusion. I wasn't sure what was going to go on that night, but I knew I hadn't been as sociable as I should have been. I knew Master and jewels were going to probably play but I just couldn't think about it. I wasn't sure if I should go to "our" bed, or where I should go to sleep, and I didn't know if it was appropriate to go and ask. I was simply tired and unsure.

Saturday started off too early for me. Everything kicked off before there was time for Master and I to play or make love or get connected -- no time for me to check in or get "anchored."

He was so wrapped up in jewels. So infatuated, and who could blame Him? They had just a few precious hours. I knew we were planning to play that night, and I was all at sea. For a "high-end" player, I am remarkably un-self assured. I never believe I can actually do it, and I live in great fear of embarassing myself and Master in the event. If you've not played heavily in public, you perhaps cannot understand. Anyway, I worried myself into a tizzy. Handled the stress badly -- got drunk over it. I am not a very good drunk. Mostly because I do it so rarely. Drunk, my emotions got even messier. The rest of the crew consulted and decided that playing with me in such a state was not a good plan and so called the whole thing off. That disappointed me, since by then, I was inebriated enough I figured I could handle whatever was coming just fine. There's a reason why playing drunk is not a good idea... The evening went from bad to worse.

Moon gazing. Something that would never have happened at my suggestion.

Eventually it was time to call it a night. Time to head for bed. I was pretty well deflated and defeated and drunk and disorderly. By the time I got to the bed, I managed to convince myself that I had knocked my reading glasses on the floor. I looked and looked and looked and could not find them. They weren't there it turns out. I was simply nuts by now. Running in circles. Out of my head. Making no sense. Not able to make sense and not able to be calmed down.

I don't know what it was that made me go to the other side of the bed and try to turn on the light. Maybe I was trying to find the flashlight that He keeps over on His side so that I could keep searching for those silly glasses. Whatever it was, I knocked His can of soda over and spilled it. The stuff stains terribly. Now I'd made a mess in a literal sense. And I couldn't think straight about how to clean it up. I scampered to get a towel. Started moving stuff out of the way. Picked up a bottle of Advil to move it off the night table and tossed it onto the bed. It did hit Him although I wasn't throwing it at Him... I think He thought I was.

It was finally enough, though. I think He saw the spiral for what it was. For two days, no for a week of days, maybe more, I'd been screwing myself into the ground with fear and panic and upset and illness and anger and confusion and questions without answers and exhaustion and all the rest of it. He'd tried to help and tried to explain and tried to support and tried to reassure. I was having none of it. I was headed for a break down. I believe that He believed that on Saturday night. I think He stopped my spinning out of control in the quickest and most straightforward and effective way He had available to Him -- He slapped me. Once. Sharp and swift. It stopped the action and ended the escalation of my hysteria.

I didn't like it. I was hurt and angry and resentful as hell. My first impulse was to tell Him to go fuck Himself. I absolutely wanted to get my ass in my car and drive. I didn't do that. I'm glad I didn't.

We don't just spank to spice up our sex life. I didn't introduce Him to spanking and ask Him to do this. He doesn't spank me the way I like to be spanked. We are Master and slave. He loves me and wants me to be happy and fulfilled. However, I am His always and all ways. I am obligated to obey Him. He is not obligated to make me happy. When He asks me for something, He expects that I will give it. When that obedience is not forthcoming, He is generally tolerant to a very great degree, but He will have my Obedience finally...

It is not a life that many will understand. Not a life that many would choose or embrace. It is mine. I am not abused. I am loved and cherished, even when the limits on my choices are very tight.

swan