Mrs Lion Comments (Page 468)

I love fall. Football is back. The weather changes. It makes me want to hunker down in front of the fire with a nice cup of cocoa. There’s a certain smell to the air. The leaves fall.

Stupid leaves. We spent a good portion of yesterday afternoon mulching and clearing leaves. It looked nice when we were done. And this morning it looks like we didn’t do a thing. Every year we try to do two runs of leaf cleanup. The first run gets the initial dropping of leaves. Before the rain comes back for good we tackle that first volley. Once it rains, the other leaves fall. This time they are usually too wet to mulch so we wait. And wait. And wait for a dry day. A few years ago I counted eleven trees around the yard that spew leaves at us. Yesterday I considered chopping down all of them. Maybe just the big ones.

As Lion said, we also watched some college football. He told me just the other day that he wasn’t much of a football fan before he met me. He’d watch the Giants and that was it. I always wondered why he’d turn the TV off after the Giants game. There’s more football to watch. What’s the deal? Didn’t he know that watching Dallas or Philadelphia lose is important too? In the 70s and 80s I’d watch every game I could. On Saturdays I’d watch Michigan games with a passion. No idea why I liked Michigan. I just did. And UCLA. And Washington. On Sundays I liked the Giants, the Bills, the Rams (before they defected to St. Louis), and the Seahawks. The truth is, I didn’t care who was playing. I could usually find someone to root for. Or sometimes it was just someone to root against.

So Lion introduced me to kink and I introduced him to football. Well, more football. I don’t think anyone understands all 7000 pages of the NFL rule book, but Lion knew fewer rules than I did. He didn’t realize that college has different rules from the NFL. Recently, I got him watching college football by wondering if we’d see players who would later move on to the pros. He never seems to root for the “right” team (aka the team I’m rooting for) but that’s okay. At least we’re having fun.

It occurred to me the other day that when we converse in emails, we usually end with KISS and we seem to have a sort of a lively banter back and forth. When we’re together we rarely say I love you or even kiss. We do hold hands. But I wondered why we don’t follow our email rituals in real life. Lion says just being together is all we need. We’re concentrating on getting things done. But we’re together and that’s what matters. I guess that’s true. You don’t need to say much when you can reach out and take someone’s hand.

Lion’s allergies have been bothering him again so he hasn’t felt much like playing the past few nights. I unlock him, but he’s not “up” for it. Actually last night he was up but not really into it. Last night he was even snoring. He apologized, but I didn’t point it out for an apology. I just wanted him to be aware in case there was an issue. Not like the other night when I was snoring and he poked me and told me to stop it. (He was not sleeping well and I wasn’t helping the situation.) Apparently my snoring bothers him more than his bothers me. At any rate, there has been no play in the Lion’s den for a few nights. He promises tonight will be different.

It never bothers me when he doesn’t want to play. Even if I have elaborate plans I don’t mind if he isn’t up for it. We’ll play when he’s ready. It’s not like I’m cracking a whip. I don’t want him to feel any pressure. I know he wants to play. That’s never in question. As long as he has a pulse, he’ll want to play. Sometimes outside forces conspire against him. Or, in the case of his allergies, inside forces.

Tonight is punishment night. Once again he has nothing on his list. That’s not a problem. I’ll do some “just because” swats. Last time they were slightly harder than maintenance swats, which is strange because that’s all they really are. I haven’t decided if they should be as hard as punishment swats or not. It’s entirely up to me, I know. It’s almost like I’m punishing him for not requiring any punishment. That works, in a backwards sort of way. I don’t need a reason to whomp him.

With any luck, he’ll be less itchy tonight and we’ll have a good ol’ edging session. I still have to reduce him to a puddle at some point. What luck! The weekend is almost here again. A perfect time for play.

I’ve been thinking about pain this morning. Many women don’t think men know what real pain is because they haven’t given birth. Lion thinks he’s dying when he gets a cold. I have generalized pain every day. A friend has back pain that requires regular trips to PT, OT, and massage therapists. My mother has survived polio, breast cancer (twice), multiple hip fractures, a spinal fracture, and multiple bouts of pneumonia. (I think my mother wins the battle of “My Pain is Worse Than Your Pain”) The truth is, no one can really tell how much pain you’re in. We all have different pain tolerances. I’ve never broken a bone, but the worst pain I have is usually from a paper cut. A stupid little paper cut. I may be limping along while I walk, but that damn paper cut is what is really bothering me.

Lion can handle spanking if there is a long, slow buildup. He loves it. His butt may wind up bruised by the time I’m done, but he’s in heaven. On the other hand, he hates punishment swats. There’s no warm up. Just a sudden thwacking. If his butt winds up bruised by the time I’m done he will not be in heaven. He will possibly be in tears. And very upset at me for being so mean to him even though he really wants me to be that mean to him.

Lion is not a masochist. He doesn’t like pain for the sake of pain. He likes pain for the sake of sex. He had kidney stones once, which I’ve heard are the equivalent of childbirth in terms of pain. He does know real pain. He just likes play pain better.

The past week or so I’ve been in a little more pain than usual. I can handle it unless I’m tired. In some respects I’m a wimp. Could I go through half the things my mother has gone through? I don’t think I have the fight in me that she does. As my brother-in-law said of my mother’s last case of pneumonia, “She’s been doing battle with some ailment since she was young. It’s just what she does.” Indeed.

The difference between me, my mother, my friend and Lion is that Lion is the only one of us who goes out of our way to invite pain. What kind of a weirdo is he? I guess the same could be said of people who jump out of airplanes or go diving with sharks. Are they nuts? Nope. They just like the adrenaline rush. Sometimes I have to remind Lion, when he makes a comment about skydivers being crazy, that he’s got a good bit of crazy in him too. We all do. I don’t just mean kinky people. I mean all of us. Whether your hobby is knitting or skydiving, there are people who think you’re crazy for being so consumed by it.

Well, I got a little off topic there, but I have to shake my head when I think about Lion wanting pain. Many people would do anything to avoid pain. Here’s Lion, front and center, encouraging me to whomp his butt. What a weirdo! It’s a good thing he’s so cute.

Every once in a while (ok, it’s more like all the time) I have a moral crisis when I think about things Lion wants me to do to him. I’m not saying that kinky people have no morals. I’m saying I was raised to be nice to people and being mean to Lion bothers me sometimes more than others. I know he wants me to whomp his butt. I know he wants me to punish him. I know he wants me to deny him orgasms. I know he wants me to be in charge and tell him what to do. (No, the last one isn’t really about being nice.) I would rather give him orgasms and snuggle with him. Ironically, when I stopped giving him orgasms before we started chastity, I was really being mean to him. Go figure.

This morning Lion thanked me for his orgasm last night. He said he had a lot of fun. I want him to have fun. How much fun can he have when I’m whomping on his butt? How much fun can he have when he has to wait for me to eat first and I’m not paying any attention to him sitting there staring at me so he makes sure he doesn’t eat first without permission? For reasons that are completely foreign to me, Lion can have fun doing those things. He wants me to be in charge. He wants me to punish him. He wants me to frustrate him and deny orgasms. While I’m having my “WTF am I doing?” thoughts, he’s hoping I don’t forget the maintenance swats tonight. While I’m thinking this is nuts, he’s hoping I edge him into a Lion puddle tonight. I don’t get it.

But I don’t have to get it. I just have to put on my top hat and do it. Because this is what makes him happy. This is what floats his boat. This is what he considers fun. I have to remember that. I have to realize that, when I’m whomping him or being in charge, I’m not who I am. It’s a character. It’s a persona. I’m not really mean. When the dog does something wrong we blame it on the imaginary cat or on another imaginary dog we’ve named Buttercup because our good dog couldn’t possibly have done that bad thing. My alter ego is Mrs. Lion. She does all the bad things to Lion. I need to keep reminding myself of that.