Another Two Weeks

Another two weeks.

That’s how long it will be now until play time rocks around again.

Another two weeks.

Everything was going so well until he turned up. Him. The bandit.

Cuddled up together for a viewing of The Nightmare Before Christmas, I was happy, I was cosy, I was relaxed. I cooed and ahhed and insisted that our next dog be called Zero.

“I like that, but how would you spell it?” Wolfie asked.

I shot him a sideways look.

“Z-E-R-O. How else?”

We play fought for a while, me and my sarcasm and him and his stating the freaking obvious. Suddenly, my phone buzzed into life. What the-

It was Ring.

There is motion at your door.

“It’s probably just the wind” I said, nonchalantly.

“What he hell?” Wolfie said, staring intently at his phone. I leaned over for a better look.

Sure enough, as he replayed the video. I saw what got his attention, A man, a white, middle-aged man in a hooded jacket, quite clearly contemplating breaking into our home.

I froze as fear and anxiety consumed me. He’d quite clearly caught sight of the doorbell camera and he decided against it, but the thought that he’d even considered it, to us. I was awake until the early hours, cold, shivering and shaking

What did we do to deserve it? What did anyone do to deserve it? Would he be back?

I couldn’t sleep, I was too anxious. Every little noise could be the intruder. What if he had a knife? A gun? What if he hurt Wolfie while I was asleep? What if Wolfie ended up dead because I wasn’t awake guarding the property?

The joys of living with an anxious mind.

Far from today being a day of cleaning and tidying and getting ready for a night of fun and kinky shenanigans, today has been all about beefing up our security. I’ve fitted lights, ordered burglar alarms and searched for all kinds of ways to make our home better, safer. I’ve read surveys and questionnaires by former thieves and ex-convicts, hungry for advice on how to be safer.

But the point still remains that this has cost me tonight, the tonight that I really, really wanted, that I really needed.

I called it off, and I’m so angry that I had to call it off. I’m human and I know I’m human, and I knew that if I did what I needed to do to get this place secure and even safe enough to play in then I’d be exhausted, frustrated (at having not achieved everything) and generally not feeling submissive at all. I don’t need perfection, but I need enough not to be kneeling on coat hangers or tripping over crates full of still-to-be-dried clothes, but I haven’t been able to achieve that today because I’ve been dealing with security and making sure I keep to my blog commitments instead, and that makes me so angry.

All I want in life, is to have things done. Not done done, completely and so much so that I run out of things to do, but done enough that I can at least manage, I can at least stay in control for long enough that I actually want to lose control.

But not here, now now, not like this, In a way that I like, not with the sense that my personal space is being violated. The one place that I should be able to feel safe, no longer feels safe at all.

It’s taking a lot of strength in me not to magic another camera up in the bedroom window. Fearful of invading my neighbour’s privacy, I reluctantly parted with the last one and yet now I feel like I have every reason for it to exist. If anyone has a right to worry about an invasion of privacy, that person, it seems, is me.

I’ve calmed down somewhat, but not enough to say that I’ve completely forgtten. lights and motion sensors have now been installed, articles have been read and alarms and mail cages have been ordered. Even if we’ve had no problems until now, the fact was that he dared, he considered. ‘Enough’ simply is is not enough for me anymore.

Sometimes, we play on a Saturday morning. For whatever reason, maybe it’s because we’ve slept and we feel refreshed, it kind of happens and it kind of works. Before we swapped it out, it used to happen before Wolfie’s father arrived for an evening visit. A micschevious and devilish morning before we had to act completely innocent and like butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths, Now that he comes on the opposite weekend, we sort of have a Saturday to ourselves.

Unfortunately, Saturday evening is also Match Of The Day time, so that sort of rules that out. I’m also expecting our new Ring alarm system from Argos tomorrow between 10-1pm, so that rules that out, too. Then there is the at-some-point delivery from Amazon for the extra contact sensors and the mail cage. Who wants their kinky sex session disrupted by couriers? Not me.

I’m annoyed on a whole multitude of levels. Before last night, I had plans to write my ‘playtime’ post about looking forward to playing tonight. I planned to wait until sundown and light my favourite tealight holder and set a photo of it as a featured image for you all. I was also looking forward to getting everything just right, just perfect and reconnecting, submitting to my husband. Coming home, at last.

Now, the smell of curry haunts me but we don’t have any desserts made. There is the want, need and desire in me to fuck and the part of me that just doesn’t want to know. I feel fussy and stressed, tired but sleepless. I stayed up until 3am, watching and listening out for him, waiting for him, willing him.

Come back, you little fucker. Come and get some, you coward.

Maybe even if he didn’t really rob me, the intruder did rob me of my peace of mind. He robbed me of my this evening’s sanctuary, my ability to find a few moments of peace during what is already an extremely turbulent time.

Why isn’t there a punishment for that?

If you’d like to read my vanilla post and see a short GIF of the incident, you can find it here.

Sorry for my downer, folks.

Elena xx

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