Sunday, May 26, 2019

The Long Wait is Finally Coming to an End

Eric is coming home on Tuesday.

Need I say more?

One little sentence, six words, doesn't seem to do it justice.

Eric is coming home on Tuesday.

I'm filled with every emotion imaginable: excitement, relief, anticipation, and ...

ERIC IS COMING HOME ON TUESDAY!

Oh shit! (Pardon me ladies.)

How is six months over so.... soon?  No, it wasn't quick by any means but...

What happened to the weight I was going to lose,
the novels I was going to write,
the house I was going to fix up,
the exercise I was going to do,
the recipes I was going to learn to make,
the list I was going to complete?!

ERIC IS COMING HOME ON TUESDAY!

I've got two days to get ready.

Today: handyman fixing sink and installing new thermostat while I put closet back together (Somehow my clothes took over the whole thing! How does that happen?) and clean, clean, clean.

Tomorrow: nail salon, waxing salon, hair salon.  ACK!!! It's Memorial Day.  (A quick side note: to all who served and died for our country: you deserve far more than a quick side note in a silly girls blog but THANK YOU for being so generous with your own lives, to allow us the freedom to spend our time in this amazing country, living and loving in a such a way that suits us individually because of the sacrifices you and your family made.  Again, THANK YOU.)

I think I'll stop here and get to work, with a heart full of gratitude to our lost men and women, and a love for one Eric Michael who is coming home on Tuesday. I am fully aware, how fortunate we are, because not everyone gets to come home.

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Amy




Monday, May 20, 2019

Really?! Is this really happening?!!!

"Amy Lynn!  Get your butt out of bed!"

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"Sniffle. Sniffle."

"Amy Lynn!  Do I need to call you a waaaaaaaambulance?!"

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No need! 

I got the message. 

I'll make it a good week.

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I appreciate Eric making me laugh as I battle...

hormones?

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Here's hoping we all leave our worries at the door and have a wonderful week!

Amy

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

A Sunday Message

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I'm traveling to spend time with my girls.  To all of you wonderful blog land friends:


Amy

Monday, May 6, 2019

When He Pays Attention

The first time I told Eric anything about the assault, we were walking around a track after work, just getting to know each other.  I mentioned it casually, a side note to another unrelated story.  Eric did not press, but tucked that tiny statement away as something worth remembering.

Months and months later, Eric and I were discussing vacations, teachers, and people in the lives of our children.  I let it slip that the assailant was a family friend, involved with my kids, their school. He mentally tied the comment to my initial statement and together they rested in the back of his mind.

Years and years later, Eric and I were married but there were hangups with my ability to relax and enjoy sexual intercourse without anal, without roughness, without pain.  That's when I explained the assault was a rape that I held onto through guilt and shame, blaming myself for missteps; wrong place, didn't fight back, returned to the scene again and again and again.  Eric made no judgement, had no harsh words, voiced no response other than, "I'm here and I love you."

Today, on the phone, Eric told me my reaction to the bamboo opened his eyes to a possibility.

"When I get home," he said earnestly, "I am going to have you tell me your entire assault and rape story from start to finish.  I've pieced most of it together but I want you to say it all at one time."

I took a deep breath and let my mind panic at the thought of rehashing the nightmare of more than a decade ago.

"I do not blame you or fault you for anything that happened to you that night but I don't think you can forgive yourself for what took place afterwards."

I agreed.  Told him that it didn't matter how much I understand about grooming or PTSD or how distant the whole thing has become. There are just certain moments that I can't let go of and still affect me now. It's stuck on me, a part of my failings.

"I know love," he said tenderly.  "We are going to talk through them all and when you get to the part, after the nightmare, when you returned to him again, and again, and again, I am going to punish you with the bamboo.  You are going to take a full strike for each time you returned because those are the only times you actually had a choice and I'm hoping, if I punish you for those choices, you'll finally let it go."

My back turned to sweat and my head buzzed a bit at the idea of that searing pain, not for curiosity but for real, across my skin.  I sat perfectly still, waiting for it all to sink in, when Eric's voice cut into the silence.

"I want you to think about what I've said and let me know if you think that will help.  I've been paying attention to you all these years and I still hear the ache in your voice, see the remnants of that night on your face, and I want to set you free.  Think about it and let me know.  I don't need to forgive you.  I don't blame you for any of it but you need to forgive yourself and I'm hoping this will help you do that. I'll be home soon, Amy.  I'll take care of you."

I've thought about Eric's proposal all day.  It's taken it's time weaving throughout the layers of protective walls and barricades I've created to keep my tender underbelly of sadness and shame buried deep.  What he offers is a path to forgiveness, a chance to let go and move forward, to lay my own guilt and grief down, let it be using a ttwd fashion that works for us.  I don't need to think about this.  I simply need to let him know.

"Yes Sir.  Please help me. I'm ready to let it go. Yes."

Amy

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Bamboo Switches; Curiosity becomes Cravings

"You're going to get spanked at the hotel," Eric stated threateningly (reassuringly?) on the phone the day before I was heading to the airport. "We just need to figure out what will be somewhat silent."

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I pointed out that Ronnie sells canes, travel canes to be precise, and the fact that though we'd discussed it for years, Eric had never issued the green light to place an order.   We'd used a blind wand and a stick from one of our hikes but I still wondered what an actual caning would feel like.

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Eric does not like to disappoint and when I come clean about a curiosity, he aims to please. Yes, my man walked into the hotel room carrying two, three foot, bamboo switches.  Resourceful? Frighteningly so.

The time came.  "I wanted to put you over my knee, Amy Lynn," he began, "but the rooms on either side of us have people in them so we're going to have to try something else."

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Eric told me to undress and stand against the wall near a tall brass lamp.  My hands placed on the beige nondescript plaster, he raised the bamboo and mentioned something about ending a pattern of self doubt before letting it swing through the air.

I heard a swoosh and then the thin bamboo landed squarely across both cheeks.  Searing.  That's the best way to describe it. Searing pain that caused me to leap from my position, grab my bottom, and double over on the bed.

"Oh geez," Eric exclaimed coming over to apologetically rub the pain away.

"It still hurts," I moaned, the burning sensation widening like a band of wasps stinging their way across my ass.  As time clicked by, the sharpness subsided and the trillion thoughts that constantly spin around in my head suddenly shut off, took a break, relaxed, and settled down. Peace and quiet between my ears.

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I looked into Eric's worried eyes and pounced; lips on his mouth, hips on his lap, hands running through his hair while my body became a sexual fire cracker. Without the distraction of the outside world, voices from the past, lists of responsibilities and fears, all I could see was him. He was hot, delicious, sexy, and mine. I wanted to crawl inside of him, feel him inside of me, become one person.

Later, after, we lay in each other's arms and talked about the wild extremes brought on by just one swat of the bamboo.

"I always wondered what that would feel like," I admitted again to my husband, "and I hated it, every second of it, HATED."

He listened intently, though exhausted from the unbelievable passion we had just shared.

"Afterwards," I continued, "the relief, the freedom, the overwhelming desire... I want more.  I need it, honey.  I crave it."

We slept hard that night.  Knocked out.

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Sunday, I had to board a plane and say good-bye for one more month.  Rode hard and put away wet does not even begin to describe the three days of incredible hotel sex, love, and play that we shared.  Everything packed away, Eric picked up the bamboo one more time and wearing nothing but his blue jeans, warned me to behave until he got home "or else".  Then he swished that stick through the air three times as though he were punishing me, a stern look on his face displaying the seriousness of the threat.

Eric put the bamboo down and smiled.  "I want to see my heart one more time," he said and I grinned, dropping my pants to the floor.  I ran to the bathroom, grabbed a small washcloth, shoved it between my teeth, and then presented my bottom to him by lying across the bed.

"I love that tattoo," he said moving in and kissing the small red heart with his lips.  "Now hold still," he warned.  "This is going to be a quick five for you to think about on the plane ride home."

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I bit down on the towel and closed my eyes, determined to stay put.

Whoosh. Strike. Whoosh. Strike. Whoosh. Strike. Strike. Strike.

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I flipped over, brain clear and the fire ignited inside my body once more.  Eric leaned in between my legs and rather than yell out from that searing pain, I kissed him deeply, fully, passionately.  His jeans hit the floor and we shared one last round, with welted cheeks and a wet squishy peach. That was our farewell.

When we started this lifestyle, Eric assured me he would never leave a mark. Sunday I left my love with five beautiful streaks of red placed lovingly on my ass just below his heart tattoo.  People may never understand ttwd but for us, it works. One week later, the clearing of my head and the searing of our love, on my skin is holding strong... 27 days to go.

Amy