by Tara Sue Me
“I really think that’s going overboard.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “I’m giving you time to think, because I know you’ll search for the truth and when you find it, it’ll lead you back to me.”
I tossed and turned all night. He’d been wrong about one thing: being away from him hadn’t soothed or calmed me. It made me only more irritable. I’d think about him meeting with Charlene and I’d punch my pillow.
The first time I heard the sound, I thought I had imagined it. But it continued, softly and sweetly and when I realized what it was, my eyes filled with tears.
Nathaniel was playing the piano.
Though he played well, there were only two reasons why he’d play in the middle of the night: he was angry or he was troubled. His mood dictated his song choice, so the melancholy, hauntingly beautiful melody he picked meant it wasn’t anger he was working through.
Two o’clock was late, though. Had he been unable to get to sleep, just like me? I could slip downstairs and sit with him while he played. That might help us both.
Then it hit me: maybe he wasn’t up late because he couldn’t sleep. Maybe he was up late because he’d been talking with Charlene.
I pulled the covers up and buried my head under the pillow. Anything to get away from the music.
* * *
He left for work early the next morning, so by the time I got up he’d already left the house. I put on a happy face for the kids, but as soon as I dropped Elizabeth off at preschool, Henry and I drove over to Felicia and Jackson’s house.
Jackson took Henry when we arrived and motioned with his head toward the bedroom. “She’s in there. Be careful.”
I was willing to bet I was in a bad enough mood to handle anything negative she had to say. And we’d known each other long enough for her to know my moods. Either that or Nathaniel was right when he told me I should never play poker.
As I thought, Felicia picked up on it as soon as I sat down next to her bed.
“Someone’s in a bad mood,” she said.
She was propped up in bed, surrounded by pillows and what appeared to be balls of yarn, tangled up in knots, somehow attached to knitting needles. I couldn’t tell if she had actually knitted anything.
I ignored her question and pointed to the unidentified blob of yarn. “What is that?”
She shoved everything to the end of the bed and covered it with a blanket. “A very, very bad idea. Jackson thought if I taught myself to knit, it’d give me something to occupy my mind while I’m stuck here all day.”
“Didn’t work, huh?”
“No, the only thing occupying my mind is constructing new ways to torture him with yarn. Or knitting needles.”
I laughed. Poor Jackson. “How many have you come up with so far?”
“Forty-two. I wrote them down; want to see?”
I had a feeling she was serious. “I’ll pass.”
She shrugged. “I told him this was it. I’m finished after this one. The uterus is closed.”
“I told Nathaniel the same thing after Henry was born.”
“Not going to go for number three?”
“I don’t think the kids should outnumber the adults.”
“Yes, well,” she said. “It helps that Jackson never really grew up.”
“You wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Her smile gave away her thoughts before she spoke them. “No, I wouldn’t. I love the big oaf with all my heart. Only for him would I be doing this”—she pointed to her belly—“again.”
Felicia didn’t enjoy being pregnant. She said she could deal with it because she knew it wouldn’t last forever. I, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed both of my pregnancies. I loved putting my hand over my belly, feeling the life growing inside me. Knowing Nathaniel and I had created something bigger than ourselves.
“So tell me what you’ve been up to lately,” she said.
She wasn’t typically one to ask how others were doing. Her request caught me slightly off guard. But as I sat beside her bed, she daintily put her hands in her lap and looked for all the world like a queen. Her head tilted to the left a tiny bit.
“I’m not going anywhere. I have all day,” she said.
“I had a call from WNN. They had me come in and talk about a new position.”
One of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
“On TV. Well, once a week at least.”
“What for?”
“A tie-in for the blog.”
She gave a low whistle. “It’s not enough to write about the kinky sex. You have to go on television and talk about it?”
“Felicia,” I chided. “We’re talking me. On TV. Some excitement would be nice.”
“Yes, and now when you walk down the street or go shopping, everyone will know you as the BDSM lady.”
“They’re going to disguise me.”
“Then you’ll be the mysterious BDSM lady.”
“Who won’t be recognized walking down the street or shopping,” I added.
“There’s that.” She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me what you’re really doing here.”
“I came by to see you.” My words sounded rushed and made up to my own ears. “Why would you even question that?”
“You’ve been twisting your wedding band the entire time you’ve been here.”
I looked down to see she was right. Without realizing what I was doing, I’d been rotating my wedding band between my thumb and forefinger. I turned the band one last time.
“Nathaniel and I had a fight.” I shook my head, remembering. “Or it would have been a fight if he hadn’t slept in a separate room.”
“You want to talk about it?”
I didn’t think I did. I had never been one to make idle chitchat or complain to others about Nathaniel. Not only would doing so have been an insult to him. I also thought it unfair to the people I would complain to. Why should I burden them with all the negative stuff in my marriage? Because that’s mostly what the women I knew did. Then later when I’d be around the person I complained to, everything felt awkward. At least on my side.
“No,” I replied. “I don’t want you jaded next time you see him.”
“Okay, suit yourself.”
Jackson stuck his head in the doorway. “Hey, Abby, I was getting the kids a snack—can I get you something to eat or drink?”
Nathaniel’s cousin was a huge block of a man, but he had a charming smile and a playful manner. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever seeing him angry or with anything other than a grin or smile lighting up his face. It went without saying, he was great with kids. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Why don’t you and Nathaniel and the kids come have dinner tonight? We haven’t seen you guys for ages.”
It was so tempting. I loved being around Felicia and Jackson, and their kids were a delightful source of entertainment. But it’d be awkward considering the issues Nathaniel and I were having.
“I better not,” I told him. “I’m really tired and Nathaniel said he might be late tonight. He has a meeting in the city.”
Of course, Felicia’s ears perked up at that.
“All right, well, when you talk to your husband, have him call me. We’ll work something out.” He crossed the room to where Felicia still sat up and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Ready to eat?”
She whispered something to him and he just laughed.
“You wouldn’t know anyone who could teach Felicia how to knit, would you?” he asked, eyeing the mass of yarn that had escaped the blanket.
“No, can’t say I do. I can bring some audio books by if you’d like. Oh, I know! How about some foreign language CDs? You could learn a new language.” It sounded like a great idea, until I saw how Felicia was looking at me.
“Are you serious?” she asked. “Learn a second language?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Jackson said and then looked down to his wife with playful mischief in his eyes. “You sho
uld learn Italian so next time we go to Italy I don’t have egg on my pizza.” He shivered as if remembering the taste. “Nasty.”
“I think that was France,” Felicia replied. “And I thought it was very tasty.”
“That’s because you’re into strange and wacky food,” he teased. “Only chicken parts I want on my pizza is meat.”
I stood up. “Henry and I better head home.” I leaned over and hugged her. “I’ll come back over this weekend.”
* * *
Henry went down for a nap as soon as we got home. Playing with the twins must have worn him out. I slipped out of my shoes, let Apollo out, and made myself a cup of decaf coffee. If Nathaniel had been with me, he’d have made his delicious hot cocoa, but I’d never been able to make a cup quite as good as his, so I stuck with coffee.
I turned the TV on and flipped through a few channels, but nothing caught my eye. I wasn’t in the mood for a movie. There was an unread paperback on the coffee table, but again, it was a romance and I just didn’t have it in me to read one at the moment.
I took out my phone and brushed my thumb along Nathaniel’s contact information, trying to decide if I wanted to send him a text. But he was at work and since I’d all but accused him of sleeping with Charlene, I didn’t want to give the impression I was checking up on him.
I scrolled through my e-mails and noticed the blog had received a good number of questions. I tapped my fingers against the top of the phone. Maybe I could answer a few on the blog. Sort of like a teaser of what my TV segment would be like.
I grabbed my laptop from my tote bag and powered it up. I’d answer only a few and I’d keep everything short. I wasn’t a therapist. The first question was easy.
Dear Submissive Wife,
Have you ever gotten angry during a scene?
Uncontrolled
I typed out a quick reply.
Dear Uncontrolled,
Yes, I have. But most of the time I’m angry at myself for disappointing my Master. If you find yourself so angry you can’t focus, you should safeword and discuss what’s going on with your Dom.
Secret Submissive Wife
The second question made me laugh.
Hey there,
You sound hot. Will you give me your number?
Sexy Dom Dude
I had a feeling I should ignore it, but I couldn’t help typing out my response.
Dude,
I’m happily married and in a monogamous relationship. Being a submissive has nothing to do with being promiscuous. Quite the opposite, as you should know if you really are a Dom.
Secret Submissive Wife
I answered a few more. One asked for nonfiction resources and I listed a few that had been helpful to me early in my journey. Another asked for my opinion about online Web sites. I named some I’d heard of that were run well and gave my standard warning of safety, more safety, and you-can-never-get-enough safety.
The next question, though, stilled my typing fingers.
Submissive Wife,
Why is it so hard to surrender to my Master? When I do it, I feel a deep and joyful peace, but I still find myself struggling the VERY NEXT TIME. Am I not a real submissive?
Wondering
I stared at the question until the computer screen became fuzzy. I could have written the question myself. How could I give advice on something I struggled with too? Who was I to tell this person what they should do?
I saved the document I’d been answering the questions in and opened a new one. I pasted the question at the top of the page and then let my fingers fly.
Dear Wondering,
I am starting this off by saying I am in no position to give you advice. While I never struggled realizing I’m a sexual submissive, living as one has often been harder than I think it should be.
Like you, when I’m in the middle of a scene, THAT is when I feel most like I’m my true self. It’s often the time right before one that I struggle with allowing myself the freedom to surrender to my Master. Or, it could be days after that I question why I feel the need to give myself to him.
I won’t claim to know why we have this struggle and, since I still fight this battle, I can’t even give you any advice. I will say, I think it’s common. We’re conditioned to think, “ME, ME, ME” and for us to put that to the side is hard. Which is funny, now that I’m writing this down, because only by putting it to the side does the “ME, ME, ME” become satisfied completely.
So why do we have the same fight every time? Again, I don’t know. The closest I can come to explaining it is to compare it to childbirth. When I was in the middle of labor with my firstborn, I swore I’d never, ever, EVER go through that again. Yet, less than three years later, we decided to have a second child. The mind is truly a mystery; how it forgets things, I’ll never know.
For the record, and for what it’s worth, I do think you’re a submissive. Or at least, I don’t think what you’ve described means you’re NOT. Though I have the same questions myself, my inmost soul is only whole when I am fully surrendered and obedient to my Master.
Thank you for your insightful question!
Secret Submissive Wife
With a sigh, I closed my laptop and looked around the empty room. In the stillness and quiet that followed, I finally started to understand. And I had one more thing to write.
Master,
I know we have a lot to discuss. Unlike yesterday, I’m now looking forward to it. I know our different roles are what brought us together, but likewise, they are often what bring us the most strife.
Even when we are at our worst, I have never doubted your love and devotion to me. I hope you are able to say the same.
I am waiting for you in the bedroom.
Forever yours,
Abigail
Chapter Thirteen
I knew the moment he entered the house. From my spot in the bedroom, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, making small changes to my position to ensure I would look perfect when he came through the door.
In my mind, I pictured him finding the note I’d left in a conspicuous location and I recited the words in my head that I’d written earlier in the day. It was later than he normally came home, but not as late as I’d thought it would be when he told me he was meeting with Charlene. It was late enough, though, for the kids to already be in bed.
He didn’t like to talk and discuss things when I was wearing his collar. He might not like the fact that I was naked and waiting for him on my knees in the bedroom. After thinking about how to prepare myself for his arrival, though, I couldn’t come up with any other way that made sense.
His footsteps echoed down the hall and came to a stop in the doorway. I wondered who would speak to me: my husband or my Master?
