Crusoe was on travel again this week. Like most weeks he left me four envelopes. The envelopes contain tasking to reinforce our dynamic each day while he is away.
As always, he recognizes that my work may run long, or (for this week) taxes are due and that I may not always accomplish my tasking based on external influences. He allows some flex – within reason.
I opened the envelope yesterday and was immediately confused. What he asked was not physically possible, it required an extra hand, an actual extra hand (apparently he is used to having both hands available 😊) I wrote to him and asked him to reconsider based on the physical impossibility of accomplishing the task. He replied with a concession to allow me to move forward.
The next step confused me too. Again, I wrote and asked for clarification, which he provided.
After staying up until nearly 1 a.m. the previous morning with the tax man, getting my girl out the door to school, working a ten-hour day, coming home and doing the eight million things that require my attention on any given day, I sat down and knocked out a thousand-word porn story in response to his tasking.
A thousand words… of PORN. Please understand, I am no prude, but dirty talk is not my forte. I write network test plans for a living. For Pete’s sake, I wrote a whole post on how I failed the Dirty Talk (https://crusoesampersand.tumblr.com/post/150426794756/how-i-failed-dirty-talk-101) writers workshop I attended! Crusoe directed me to step out of my comfort zone and write him a porn story.
The words weren’t great, but the story was personalized, it was realistic (as in, not out of the realm of possibility), and it was…. not terrible? I thought it might even be hot??
I emailed it to him, we Facetimed, and I went to bed.
I awoke and realized he didn’t read it. He didn’t even acknowledge that I’d done it. Nothing.
My heart sank. All that work and he didn’t even read it? I was pissed. That passed quickly and the feelings of self-doubt crept in. How bad was it? The shame. The embarrassment. The worry.
Self-sabotage ran the gamut through my mind as I doubted everything I believed to be true about our relationship and dynamic. All this over a thousand words.
Oh good Lord, get over yourself!
Here’s the deal. He read my piece. He loved it. He just didn’t feel compelled to respond or comment so late at night. I got myself spun up for nothing.
It sounds silly, there are so many ways to go….. “he could have sent you a quick text” to “don’t get your undies in a bundle.”
The bottom line is that my Sir took the time to write a tasking for every day he was gone. He considered and modified that tasking based on my questions. He held me accountable, just not in the timeline I imagined.
Guess what sugar britches?? It ain’t up to me.
I don’t get to dictate his response any more than I get to dictate his actions. (lightbulb moment!) Crusoe wasn’t the problem.
I think that everyone has moments where they feel their actions aren’t appreciated. I know I do. But let’s face it, power exchange is hard – on both sides of the slash. The challenge is accepting that a dynamic is a living thing. We grow together, or we don’t grow at all.
Our dynamic works even when the timeline is a mystery to me. Even when I write a thousand words of bad porn. Even when I smile and imagine the possibility of re-enacting my bad porn (not really…… somehow I managed to include rabid monkeys in my story ((don’t ask))
He leads. I follow. And that’s the best porn I’ve written all night!
Tasking Tribulations
Published
Mischief's Muse 