The Hardest Lesson To Learn

I'm not a sappy type of girl. I don't think I've ever said the "L" word to a guy (at least not as an adult). I prefer drawing stars on my papers instead of hearts. Valentine's Day is for suckers (I made quite the Anti-Vday wreath a few years ago). I come with a warning label in most relationships ("don't you dare fall for me, this is just for fun - nothing serious"). I don't remember the last time I cried over a guy. I didn't cry when my hedgehog or hamster died. Every once in a blue moon, I might cry over a cartoon ("Up" or "Annabelle's Wish"). Men and students alike often describe me as being a cold, heartless bitch. As I began this sexual journey with Sir, I found myself wondering what would make me break. Would it be being bound, or being violated, or being flogged that would push my limits and make me cry? I expected the catalyst to be something physical, something painful.

This week, Sir told me he expected a blog entry to be posted by Wednesday, and he gave me a homework assignment on top of it - something that involved watching video clips, performing specific acts on myself, writing about it. Homework was to be completed by Sunday evening. Sounds simple enough, huh? After all, this was a short week - no school on Monday, teacher workday on Friday. Ha. With the stress of getting grades entered in, I came home most days and passed out on the couch before 7 pm. And in a few social events with girlfriends (who are not in the D/S scene, and would not understand my assignments) and dog sitting for a friend, 20 minutes away, and this week slipped by with a blog posting being made late (Saturday night) and a homework assignment being pushed until the last minute. And - upon further inspection this evening - I realized I had forgotten that the homework included "various acts to be performed on myself" - acts best not done all in one evening. Sir expressed his displeasure, and informed me I'd be getting another lesson in obedience because of this.

Here's the shocker: I was upset that Sir was displeased. I had been trying so hard to be a good girl. My only transgressions had been asking for a few extensions on my blog post and waiting until the last minute to do my homework (a practice that managed to get me through a Master's degree with a 4.0 GPA). I did not want to disappoint Sir. I had even purchased thong panties as requested (Honey Baked Ham has nothing on trussed pork when I'm wearing a thong, ladies and gentlemen).

My question was answered. It was this possibility of failure, the chance that I had let Sir down, that broke me. I lay on my bed, trying to watch a video of the assigned genre on my Macbook, and my eyes welled up. Before I knew it, a dam had broken and I was sobbing. The image of a young woman being fisted by her lover swam as tears poured forth. I begged Sir for forgiveness (via chat - we rarely talk on the phone). Sir comforted me with his words, soothing me, telling me I have been a very good girl.

I learned tonight that a large part of a D/S relationship is emotional. This scares the living hell out of me. It frightens me more than any physical act (save perhaps needles, of which I have a dreadful phobia - a very hard limit for me). It is exciting too, though. I find myself wondering what I've gotten myself into. For the first time, the opinion of someone (other than family) matters. It is puzzling and terrifying, and I can't help but want to hang onto my hat and ride this thing out - instead of running....