Displaying 1 - 10 of 94 entries.

Taking some time to rub the tender spots

  • Posted on July 18, 2013 at 1:01 am

Another year has come and gone … We still brush against each other along the pages of our home blog.  It use to be a regular declaration concerning the depths of which Time hates me. I’ve submitted to time, now. I allow it to Master what remains of our elicit relationship. If Times budget can afford it, then I receive it. If not, there is not.

In the past year Time has issued some brutal lashes to my soul.  In December my mentor, Gearjammer, passed away suddenly and peacefully. Prior to, during and as a part of the aftermath of my affair Gear held me, guided me, mentored and protected me. He was my friend, confidante, and guiding light. Gear was the voice of wisdom which acted as an echo through my journey. I spoke with him daily, often several times each day, for years. The initial wound of absence has now turned into a scab upon my life. I pick at it daily, hoping for an eternal scar. Some days it is a slow painful oozing, others it bleeds profusely. On more than one occasion it bubbled up in a fevered infection I feared would snuff out the very will I required to continue.

My best friend in the lifestyle and out, has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She is facing a radical mastectomy. Another friend, near and dear, has had her yellow brick road turn into the gnarly mass of discovery which has left her feeling abandoned, hopeless and distraught. I’ve suffered illness year to an extreme which has left me mentally and physically weak.

I’ve waded through challenges, questions and turmoil in the lifestyle without a guiding hand, voice of reassurance or the echo of reason. It has had me questioning my submission, attending slave academy, only to discover a greater depth to the requirements of me, challenged by my position in the local community which accost me with severe drop after each event. I’ve put myself out there, marketing for a master, in a humbling way which conflicts with my character.

I’m tender. My emotions, my spirit, my thoughts, my actions and my soul are all hypersensitive. Sadly, or mayhap not, I know. Yes, I know. One touch, one conversation, one smile from The One, Mr Wonderful, would soothe and heal all the tender spots.

It is time to embark upon the next leg of my collegiate pursuits, one element which Mr. Wonderful and Gear both shared with me. I’ve procrastinated applying, procrastinated enrolling as well as procrastinated in accepting the accolades I’ve earned this far. On graduation day I cried, nearly refusing to walk across the stage to receive my diploma because it was not my accomplishment, it was our accomplishment – I miss them. Without them the tender spot felt like a mortal wound on that day.

Tonight, yes I’m surrounded by wounded flesh, spirit and mental turmoil but I have found solace. I can rub the tender spots knowing that the men who cared for me enough to choose me let a mark upon my life that will forever impact the woman I am and the potential I possess.


When does forever end?

  • Posted on July 9, 2012 at 2:12 pm

It’s July and hotter than hell here in the south central U.S. A year ago this time I was spending every hour possible at this keyboard awaiting my destiny.  There was this tiny little window of opportunity for he and I to spend one last fraction of time together before he relocated to a full-time post that would eliminate our ability to meet. We messaged each other passively, never online at the same time. His schedule with family and friends was tentative at best but there was that tiny little hope, maybe he could slip away. As July slipped into August and he had to report for duty, I knew it was time to close the window.

The window has been closed for nearly a year now. I clean it regularly when I take a few minutes from my busy schedule to cherish the memory of us.  I say that it is closed, but that isn’t really true. We still communicate, passively, on our personal blog.  For the first six months I still maintained my journal there daily and about once a week he would find time to slip into our home and leave foot prints on the carpet as he left a note to let me know I wasn’t far from his thoughts. He is proud of me and concerns for my safety are a reoccurring topic. Yet he never fails to remind that passion is what propels us in life and he is proud that I continue to nurture it in mine.

Knowing that we have that avenue to share, touch and interact has been both a blessing and a curse for me. Due to the distance and dynamic of our relationship, the blog really was our home – the center of all that was us. When I have a bad day I want to curl up in the confines of it, share every detail knowing that one little sentence from him will chase the bad day away. When I have a good day, I leap to the pages with exuberant energy so that I can rub it against him. When I question a decision I need to make or encounter something I’m just a bit uncomfortable with I want his opinion. Yet the curse is knowing that the moment will have passed by the time he sneaks inside. So I’ve disciplined myself … slowly and with some heartache … to only post the highlights of my life, at first weekly, then monthly and now it has grown even more sparse.

Forever doesn’t end, not when you really give yourself to someone as I gave myself to Mr. Wonderful. He will always hold a part of me that was only for him. I will always have a part of him that was only for me. So I’ll keep the window shiny, in good repair and who knows maybe even open it so the cool calming breeze of memories can sweep over me. I wonder if he does the same? <smile> I’m pretty sure he does after all his pocket isn’t the same without me.

In case your wondering what this July holds for me, I can assure you it includes very little time at a keyboard. I’m active in the local BDSM community as the outreach community coordinator. I introduce newbies to the lifestyle through support groups, educational opportunities and mentor programs. We are finalizing the details on a new dungeon for the area that I’ve had some input toward. I have a local protector now as well as my long standing relationship with Gear as my mentor.  I play with my protector as a part of the mentor program, more of a demo dummy I suppose. I also have a play partner locally who I’m a bit more intimate with as my protector and I have a ‘no sex’ limitation in our agreement. I’m in a good place, working and busy with kids, family and friends. I miss him. I suppose if I didn’t then he wouldn’t have accomplished all he intended where I’m concerned. For when we truly touch someone, it last forever.

~ pixie



The Final Chapter …

  • Posted on April 1, 2012 at 11:35 pm

It sounds life has turned up a new trail to wander down…im happy for you love and you certainly feel more sated than in your previous encounters. Your words have passion and I hope they speak from that place deep down…

Your life is yours to live and I envy you your exploration of it and still wonder what it would be like to join you in your tasting of it. Be careful and safe love above all…but take from life what passions it presents.

You are on my mind.

Mr Wonderful


Some of you may have already read this in the forum post but I wanted to share a bit more here, as I am laying this blog to rest.

I’ve contemplated how to keep it alive, as vibrant as our affair in all its glory, for the inspiration of others. It is beyond my ability to do so right now. I wish I knew how to pass it off to someone who could share their journey as I have. I’m not technically intuitive enough to figure it out and it is linked to my other blog so it seems irrational to do so.  I don’t want to let this blog die. It became meat for my bones during the dry spells of being the other woman.  I found pieces of myself that I never knew existed while sharing here and receiving the feed back of others.  Alas, I can only contribute what I have to offer and as you can see, I have only the memories to draw from.

I always said that my bottom line was to share in a way that would effect both of us for eternity. That what we shared would alter us permanently and infinitely. I offered him forever and that promise remains. I can not take back what no longer belongs to me. Yet, to honor the gift I must care for it. Which for me means moving forward in pursuit of becoming all that he believed of me, inspired in me and dared of me.

I’m certain others will happen across this blog as they search for some tidbit of information to explain why in the hell they feel compelled to submit to a married man or woman. I hope above all that you find encouragement and hope from my words. Being the other woman is not for the timid, weak or uncertain. It requires bold aspirations of giving your all and the courage to confront your choice with pride, honor and dignity. I’ve often said that a submissive mistress is one of the most submissive women I know. They are, in them self, the most remarkable, brilliant, talented and devoted of submissive and women. It is understandable why a man or woman would risk everything for a taste of such exquisite succulence. We are rare and to be cherished. Few may attempt to imitate but none can  compare to the one who truly has the heart of a submissive mistress. We love completely, give entirely and submit to depths that others limit to physical exchange. A submissive mistress honors all that her dominant is, longs for and possesses. It includes his career, his family, his dreams and his desires. It is necessary in order for our submission to him to be complete. It is beautiful to see a woman evolve through the courtship, the training and the acquisition of her status as a submissive mistress. It has been my privilege to share the journey of many, wipe the tears of several and be witness to the evolution of life that comes from being the other woman.

I am a better, stronger, healthier and more vibrant person for the time I was Mr. Wonderful’s most prized possession. Beyond what he required of me and put into me I grew because of the determination to be my best for him. I have no regrets, not one, for making the choices I have made. He breathed life into my soul, painted my tomorrows brighter and introduced me to true love by teaching me to accept passion as it is intended to be applied to life. I am grateful.

Thank you all for allowing me to share my journey.  I hope if you have tumbled across this archive that you will go to www.fetlife.com to the submissive mistress forum and introduce yourself to some of the finest people you will ever encounter. On my profile at fetlife is a list of forums that welcome the dynamics of being in an affair as well as a resource of tips, helps and suggestion for having a successful affair.

My best wishes to all. Keep in touch because I do truly care about you. ~ pixie


Taking time to ponder it

  • Posted on February 3, 2012 at 2:19 am

It seems the more I try, opt word try, to distance myself from being the other woman the more aware I become of what a significant part of my life and how it has affected who I am.

As blissfully wonderful as my affair was there were some very dark shadows that surrounded it. In the end I had to confront those shadows, taking responsibility for my part in them. As I tend to do in such situations I allowed it to suck the life blood from me for a much longer period of time than I should have. (the confronting part, not the affair -just to be clear) I don’t look in the mirror too well, believe it or not.

It has taken me a good solid month of peeking and poking around before I could stand up straight, acknowledge certain circumstances and square my shoulders again. When I first joined fetlife I recall a message I received from someone who had formerly been the other woman. She was so bitter, scornful and her words felt like venom hitting my skin. At that time I determined to never be ‘that woman’.

There is nothing like the steps of experience to reveal our true character, nature and direction. I know what heartache, pain and loneliness are. I have lived with them, but not as a result of my relationship with Mr. Wonderful. The affair was a constant state of longing for me. Longing is a pull from an outside source. It is not an internal emotion. So I had to choose the emotions I used to respond/react to the overwhelming longing I felt. At times I chose hurt, other times I cried in sadness, occasionally I wrap it in wanton desire so it would flow toward the source of my longing. Most of all I felt determined.

Since the night that we discussed my release I’ve not shed a tear. I have nothing to mourn. All that we were are still remains with me because I have chosen to give it place in my life. I still long for him and perhaps I always will. Yet, I have discovered something absolutely magical that has evolved from being the other woman.

I’m going to generalize this statement because I have enough proof to support it, but please don’t take it personally if it doesn’t fit you. Women have an innate sense of needing defined. I think it holds true for (generally) all women but more so for submissive and slave natured women. There is no truer, raw, bare bones defining moment in life than when one has to come to terms with “Why I am the other woman.”

We’ve discussed a lot lately about the accusation of others, through out the site. People are quick to give us labels but it is up to us to choose to wear them. Others can not, not even my dominant, define who we are and why we do what we do with our lives. It is our choice and our choice alone.

It’s empowering in a way that so many women in every facet of relationships will never have the honor of discovering. They, “we”, are so quick to fall into the entrapment of our environment, loosing our identity to that of our husbands, children or careers. As the other woman I was never more aware in my life of WHO I AM.

I took a break from studying tonight to ruffle through some of the archive conversations I had with Mr. Wonderful. I caught myself laughing at the number of times I question him, why me? I am a validation whore at heart. Then I discovered the real answer, one that no one can ever release, remove, taint or talk about; because I am me and I am wonderful.

Just a pondering thought … hope you don’t mind. ((hugs to all)) Goodnight ~ pixie


Malicious Intent: A Wanton Wednesday tale

  • Posted on January 19, 2012 at 1:52 am

“I’ve had enough!” Laurie yelled as she white knuckled the steering wheel. It had been one of those days. One of many, too many, she thought. The grid lock of commuter traffic was creeping at a snail’s pace, a horn blared beside her and she looked up to see a finger being flipped at another driver who had nosed his way in. 

She lived ten miles from her job it shouldn’t take a fucking hour to get home each day. Yet it did, not only for her but all the other small people in the big corporate world dealt with it as well. She knew them by the make of their cars, their cell phone conversations and the music they like to share when they rolled down their windows. She didn’t like them, none of them. She hated being in the grid lock of life.

Laurie glanced at the speedometer to see how fast they were progressing. When she looked up a familiar sign caught her eye. The neon paint was weather worn but unmistakable and welcoming. Her car went on autopilot as it merged toward the exit ramp. Without conscious thought she smiled in the rear view mirror as she licked her lips. Her mouth watered so she swallowed hard and loud. “Yep, yep, Yep!” she exclaimed bouncing in the seat when the red light interrupted her escape. “It’s 5:00 Somewhere” Laurie’s voice sang with a twang of sudden joy.

As if she had anticipated the sudden decision she moved with methodical precision by parking on the far side next to the golf course. Then she pushed the button to pop the trunk of her silver Camry. The two inch conservative black pumps were replaced with six inch stilettos and she slipped her wallet inside the black clutch that held everything a woman might need for a quick transformation.

The smoke greeted her before the blinding sun could reveal her identity to the men in the bar. She knew they would be here. She knew they needed the transformation as much as she did. Her lips curled into a subtle smile while her hands tugged the knee length skirt into its proper place. The dark glazed door finally shunned her spot light and the first voice could be heard above the low rumble of music and conversation.

“Well well look what the cat drug in!” The bartender laughed as he slung the bar towel over his right shoulder. “The usual?” he asked then grabbed the glass as if he knew her answer. 

“Yes, Thank you Brad.” Laurie replied walking around the horse shoe shaped bar toward the ladies room on the opposite side. Her eyes fixed on her destination even though she was aware of those awaiting her attention.

A quick glance at her watch measured the three minutes she would use to build the anticipation. It was almost a science of socialization without the beakers or reports to follow. She rolled the top of her skirt until the length swayed across her thighs. The pale pink blush sweater was unbuttoned to reveal the hot pink lace hiding beneath it. Laurie allowed her finger tips to linger upon her soft flesh before drawing her breast to the crest of the lace. She snaked her nail over the exposed cleavage with pleasure. A gloss of burgundy lipstick followed by lining her eyes with dark black liner was her final step. Oh wait, she thought as she saw the spritzer of perfume nestled in the corner of her bag.

The margarita glass glistened with salt around the rim. Once again her mouth did a happy dance that had her licking her lips. Laurie slipped onto the tall bar stool with grace but her mind was full of malicious intent. She had no idea who or where he was but there was no doubt his eyes were drawn to her.  The liquid pooled against her tongue and she savored the flavor. The sweet and salty tang elicited a soft moan. It slid down her throat as she leaned back in her seat and lifted her hands to free the waist length brunette tresses from their daily bondage.

It was then that she felt him. His eyes trailed down her neck to her cleavage then back to her lips. She smiled with eye glittering mischief without looking in his direction. “You should order me another, this one won’t last long.” She stated into thin air. Laurie licked the salt from the rim before she took her next sip. The mirrored wall reflected the exchange of a nod to Brad from a man with raven black hair, the suit she expected with a loose tie dangling and the wedding band glistened as he tossed bills onto the bar.

The tinkle of ice indicating her empty glass; Brad began mixing her next one. Rather than turn to thank the man who had purchased it she turned her back to him to speak with the man on the other side of her. A passive conversation ensued which provided the opportunity her next malicious move required. Simple moves; touching his forearm, allowing her shoe to slip off so he would retrieve it and eventually the devious laugh that made everyone around her smile in response, yes she had captivated them.  

Her third drink was greeted with full cleavage exposure as she stood up, leaned over the bar and teased Brad about sticking his finger in it to make it extra sweet. As she slowly slipped back onto the bar stool she let her eyes caress her prey.  A powerful but brief glance confirmed her assumption. She crossed her legs dramatically as she smiled an invitation. Before he could respond his cell phone rang.

He answered it as he strode quickly toward the door. Laurie didn’t overlook the fact that he leaned toward her as he passed by.  The door prevented his sight inside but it didn’t stop her from watching him pace along the sidewalk making his excuse. She wondered just how confident he was, how daring, but it was the question of how much time he had purchased that made her wiggle her ass.  




The Glory of the High

  • Posted on January 9, 2012 at 10:40 pm


That feeling when your skin tingles from just fingertips trailing along your flesh is a high for me. It’s an awakening of my body like moisture upon the tongue that makes us swallow. I could continue the comparisons but the amazement is truly in the anticipation of the high that can possibly lie beyond that first touch.

There are so many things in my life that I use to elicit that feeling. Warming lotion in my hand before I smooth it on my legs or smelling the black coffee each morning before I take my first sip. Feeling the flank of my horse before I mount to ride or the throb of a cock in my palm before it slips inside of me builds that anticipation.

It’s like the rub of rope against the skin or the darkness of the blindfold is a step in attaining that pinnacle of the high we crave.  I do crave it. Call me an adrenaline junky but I am all about the foreplay in life. I love it. It makes my body tremble and my pussy squeal in excitement. It’s important to me and without it the experience is less, little, passive and unremarkable.

I want the glory of the high. That point when anticipation meets pleasure. Arching my back into the touch as I yearn for more, the heat sliding down my throat, my skin silky sexy and smooth, sucking the flavor and exhaling the steam each morning, the power of a sweat laden galloping horse between my thighs and the compression inside my body as his cock connects oh I adore the glory of the high… I need a fix!

It Matters

  • Posted on January 6, 2012 at 10:39 pm

There is a tone change in his voice. I know what it means without the words. At times he can even sigh or hmmm and I absolutely know the intent. Knowing matters.

He is a man of few words. He chooses them wisely and rarely speaks just to hear himself talk. He answers my questions without reservation so that I fully understand. Understanding matters.

Its an all or all deal with him. Nothing is not an option. When I have an issue it is his issue. When he has an issue it is my issue. We care about every detail of each other. Caring matters.

We divulge our greatest secrets, share our greatest desires and the goals for the future. Our connection links them together so that we believe in the other. Believing matters.

He isn’t really funny but I find myself smiling alot simply because I like him. I like so many things about him there are too many to list. He likes me too. He liked me first. Liking matters.

It is there and it is real but lately I’ve been feeling like I don’t matter. I’ve made excuses and accepted consequences, situations and limitations but none of them matter. What matters is we allowed something to flower between us that needs watered, pruned and nurtured. He hasn’t been available so I’ve been doing my best to keep it thriving. I don’t know what matters anymore. I’m not sure I’m doing it in a way that will please him. I need his reassurance, it matters to me.

I’m not less without him but I am more with him. I know I matter but if I’m as significant to him as he is to me wouldn’t it matter enough to keep it alive? I’m not sure it matters. Shrug

When the one you love is in love with someone else …

  • Posted on December 18, 2011 at 3:55 pm

That’s the title to a song I heard yesterday while circling the mall parking lot in search of a space to park my truck. I turned the volume up and listened to the words closely … When the one you love is  in love with someone else. Don’t ya know it’s torture I mean it’s living hell…

What struck me about the song is that I am the someone else but it is still torture and can be a living hell. I have no doubt his feelings and desire for me are real. Most of the time it is and should be enough to carry me past the rough spots. Then there are those moments … when I see a picture of his family, hear about holiday plans or he shares the details of a night they spent entertaining friends. I feel his love for his wife and I become the one who loves, looking in from the outside.

As a mistress we are often put in the place of tug of war, one day we are the center and the next we spin in a circle watching his life revolve around ours. It’s dizzying, confusing and painful. I don’t like it. If I could erase one part of us, this would be that part. I prefer to be the center or not on option. I don’t do scary rides very well. I get nauseated and weak. So I really want to say, “Hey, give me a call when it’s my turn. Until then I’ll find something to entertain myself with.” So not submissive but it is what I wish I had the strength to say. Since I’m not that strong and I am submissive … I cry more, feel more alone and desolate, kick myself for being so damn foolish more often and drink more than I should.

I tell others to suck it up and be a player in a nice way, minus the “this is what you signed up for” lecture, but this is just a part of being a submissive mistress that doesn’t fit through the damn straw.  There is no resolve when you feel the love you cherish is being shared with someone else. That is why most infidelity ends in divorce; it is just too painful to tolerate. In a forum recently I read a thread questioning how one deals with needing reassurance during time apart. I answered, “You ask for it.” However, inside I truly feel it is the dominants responsibility to lock things up before he steps away. He needs to insure his assets are going to be happy and healthy while he is away. The only way that can be done is with reassurance. Strong, passionate, gushing and oooey, gooey reassurance. If you love me, I need to feel it so intensely while we are apart. A fresh dose of knowing makes it easier to swallow and I can endure it with a greater level of tolerance.

Without it, I begin to crumble. I’ve been crumbling for months. There are only tiny little reminders of how passionate our love is. I clean them, protect them and draw nourishment from them regularly. When I think the last piece is in danger of becoming dust he magically appears with such desire and domination that I easily slip back into my spot. It would be so much easier if I had that dose of reassurance before he turns to love his someone else….

Good thing I have a reasonable level of pain tolerance and have no fear of hell.

Willpower challenge

  • Posted on November 18, 2011 at 12:47 am

Ration Your Willpower
“Our ability to fight temptation weakens, almost as if we get tired,” says Duke’s Dan Ariely. After engaging in activities that require willpower, you won’t have as much energy left for other challenges, explains Kathleen D. Vohs, PhD, assistant professor of marketing at the University of Minnesota. So if you’re using every ounce of discipline at the food court because you’re on a diet, or you’re trying to quit smoking, you’ll be less able to pass up a pair of pumps in a display window.

Although Vohs says there’s no easy way to build self-control, she suggests practicing it in small doses: Try sitting up straight, using your nondominant hand, and not swearing for a week. “I’m not willing to bet the farm,” she says, “but we’ve seen small improvements.”

Read more: http://www.oprah.com/money/Why-We-Shop-6-Shopping-Traps-to-Avoid/3#ixzz1e23lUFRe

So how does this apply to us? You may be asking. It is simple even though we are submissive it is required in our dynamics, as a mistress, that we possess a great deal of self control.

Most dominants do manage control of the relationship but there are times when they are not available to the submissive mistress or they set tasks/ protocol that demand we control ourselves in some manner.

Now if one isn’t accustom to self control or is use to a heavier hand of control this can be difficult. Even making ourselves move from the position of waiting for the control can be difficult. I know many women who spend every evening in front of the computer or clutching their phone in anticipation of possible control.

When I read this article I was suddenly struck with the simplicity of the rational. Sometimes slight alterations in our normal routine can illicit self-control. As a submissive mistress it is crucial that we possess this gem in our arsenal of survival.

So this weekend, challenge yourself when you feel that pacing, anxious cry for your dominant by doing something alternating different. Use the non-dominant hand, sit up straight, don’t drink your normal choice of drink or hold yourself accountable for how many positive thoughts you think.

Practice this week, read the article in the link and use some self-restraint during your holiday shopping. After all it isn’t about what we get out of it, it is about what we put into it.

~ pixie


Emotional Energy

  • Posted on November 12, 2011 at 11:08 pm

Emotional Energy

“You require emotional energy I just don’t have to give right now and I don’t know when I will have it.” Mr.Wonderful.

I’m trying to wrap my mind rather than my own wounded emotions around this statement. Initially my reaction was to justify and accept it. After all that is my place, right?

As time lapsed I found myself running a few errands, one of which was buying my son new shoes. We are at a department store with the intention of only buying new skateboard shoes. My mind still focused upon the cutting words from the earlier conversation with Mr. Wonderful I neglected what items were being added to the shopping until we were at the check-out counter.  The shoes my son had chosen were black with teal and gray accents. He added a hoodie, belt and ear buds and a hat that matched his shoes. I shook myself from my revelry to question just what he thought he was doing. His response was, “Mom it is part of getting new shoes. You can’t just get new shoes it is a set. You’re the one who started it. We always get everything to match.” Justified, he was right. I had always bought the other items when I bought him shoes. It is my way of teaching him to dress properly, coordinate and to take care of his belongings.  I paid the $212 expense with only a minor moan. Yet as we exited the store I questioned, “Do I have to accept this?”

The answer is NO. I don’t have to accept it. I agreed to one thing, not all the other stuff that He feels accompany it. It may be a set according to him but that doesn’t make it my expense. I did a mental calculation of what the situation with my son had cost me this year. I’m ball park guessing over a thousand dollars. I don’t invest that kind of money in my clothing. I shop for me once a year on a budget, with coupons and a specific list. I may buy one pair of shoes a year and I have worn most of them for several years. Yet, I can justify and accept the expense for my son.

Just as I have justified and accepted behavior from my dom that wasn’t a part of our original agreement. One could argue that it is a submissive reaction. (I will freely admit that I treat my sons as dominant males. My oldest son is in a D/s relationship. ) As long as I have it to give, I do so willingly. However, to hear that I require emotional energy was a stab toward the very position he requires of me.

Recently, as a submissive mistress my emotions are rarely pacified or tended. At best they are brushed against and taunted. I received statements like, “You deserve more.” Or “I wish I could give you more.” Or my all-time least favorite, “I don’t have a solution to what you need.” Perhaps it is the result or punishment for being discovered but that is still justifying a situation I didn’t agree to.

Emotional energy is not something one can point at another for blame or excuse. It is our own internal exchange. We are responsible for our own emotions. They can’t be pulled or reflected from another source. The same goes for energy is has to be initiated from within the source of origin.

In closing, I’ve concluded I have not required emotional energy for him. I believe he feels the need to expend emotional energy toward me and cannot conceive a viable outlet as a conduit.  In every relationship; vanilla, chocolate or twist energy exist or there is not a relationship.  Toss emotional attachment into the mix and it is becomes an addictive component.  I accept responsibility for my emotional energy. I have swallowed it, spanked it and told it no more times than I can count in the recent months. I think it is time he accepts responsibility for his.