The Journey So Far

Seems like every December as the year draws to a close and a new one begins, I find myself thinking about where I was a year ago and where I hope to be a year from now.

Since we began this TTWD journey in 2012, 2013 was the first full year of Daddy and I living out this new dynamic. It's been a year of changing, of growing, of two steps forward (and sometimes three steps back).

It's also been a year of learning...lots and lots of learning.

A year ago this December I was very new at this (still am very new at this). I was still in the throes of frenzy, and I had a picture in my head of how life with TTWD should be for Daddy and I. At the time, TTWD to me was a destination. And I was in a HUGE hurry to get there.

It was like we set the GPS for '24/7 Power Exchange', Daddy climbed in the driver's seat and we set out on our way.

Somewhere on the road though either the GPS died, or Daddy tossed out it the window. Suddenly there was no 'destination', just the road we were on. Daddy was still driving, selecting the route, choosing when and where we took a 'rest stop', but there was no little clock, ticking down the hours and the miles left until we were 'there'. There was no 'there'. Just an endless road stretching before us full of new places and experiences we've never known.

Sometimes he's gone fast -- ready to see places further down the road. Sometimes he's taken us slow so we can enjoy the scenery. Sometimes we've stopped for a while in sleepy, peaceful towns where we can catch our breath. Sometimes we've lost our breath experiencing once-in-a-lifetime views from huge mountaintops or deep valleys. Sometimes we've gotten a flat tire or ran out of gas or found ourselves crashing and burning. And it's been up to Daddy to pull us out of the muck and the wreckage...to lead us back to that road again.

Sometimes I've gotten scared. I want to slow down or go faster or there's storm clouds up ahead. Sometimes I've wanted to climb out of the car. It's then that Daddy reaches across the seat and squeezes my hand.

Trust me, he'll say. I've got you.

Right now, Daddy and I have been stopped for a little while. Hanging out in a rather quiet, ordinary place. Tomorrow our house will be flooded with out-of-towners for the holiday, so going anywhere anytime soon is out of the question.

But we're not standing still. Daddy's been slowly gathering up new supplies, fueling up the car, setting a new course. Soon the guests will roll out and the new year will roll in, and we'll be back on the road again.

To Where? Who knows?...who really cares?

Because if I've learned anything over the past year it's that TTWD is the journey we take, not the destination. And I'm really looking forward to discovering where 2014 takes us.

This is my last post of 2013, so from Daddy and I if you're reading this, we wish you the happiest of holidays and best wishes for the new year!!!

I Am Aurora

I've been part of a writing group for a few years now. It's made up of a great, wonderful group of women from all over the world. They're sweet, supportive, and know how to make each other laugh when those rejections and bad reviews roll in. My critique partners all come from this group. We've shared not only our writing over the years, but friendship through texts, phone calls, little gifts through the mail, and even the occasional real-life meet up.

They're really great. Don't get me wrong.

But they're also super competitive. They'll have your back today and gladly stab you in it tomorrow. They thrive on the drama -- hey, we're writers after all. There's cliques within the group and a hierachy very reminiscent of my high school days. Your worth in the group is measured by your success.

It's exhausting to deal with it all sometimes. I know I'm repeating myself, but I am an introvert. As a little girl, the lure of being a full-time novelist to me was not having to deal with people. To hole up in my room with the characters in my head all day seemed like the perfect life. But that was before the internet. Before social media. Today being online and interacting with readers and fellow writers is part of the gig.

The pressure is crazy. Everything moves so fast. The girl being secretly trashed yesterday might just get that big deal or award today and everybody will be scrambling to suck up to her. Drama is always blowing up every other day it seems, and I think there is a fear that if you aren't around and available and part of everything, that it will be you who will become the latest 'gossip subject'. That if you disappear, your 'standing' in the group will slip.

To be honest, I hate the drama and I'm a horrible competitor. Sometimes I wish I was better at it...I really do. Because the better you can play the game, the further you seem to go. I dunno...maybe it's the little in me or something, but sometimes I just really really wish we could all be ourselves with each other. No judgment. That we could truly be friends.

Before TTWD I was drowning in all of this. There was blogging, tumblr, the gazillion facebook groups I belong to, e-mail, twitter, and keeping up with reading the newest book releases. There would be conversations and chats that would go to all hours of the night, and then I'd have to be up early the next morning to work the day job. I'd have to find time to write, revise, critique all their work, write blog posts, tweet, tumble, and still keep up with them. And that doesn't even cover the havoc the drama played on my emotions.

But Daddy stepped in and placed limits. He's helped me to prioritize what is important and let go of what isn't. He's brought peace and order to that part of my life.

Sometimes it's still overwhelming to me -- all these roles I play. Mother, daughter, friend, sister, author. There's the 'me' those girls in the group know. They know her real name, where she lives, the names of her children. They know the titles of her books, what she's working on right now, what she looks like, where she was born, what her voice sounds like. They know all these things. Yet, they know so little of who she is.

Because with them it's a game. It's a suck-it-up-and-bite-your-tongue-and-smile game. It's the gush-over-the-top-dogs game. It's the pretend-you're-somebody's-best-friend-and-bitch-behind-her-back game.

I know these games exist everywhere - not just in high school or writing. They run through all areas of life -- people are 'playing the game' in their jobs, in their families, in friendships, maybe even in their marriages. I often wonder if there are more out there like me. Maybe everyone's like me. Deep down maybe we all hate the drama. Hate the judgement. Hate the game.

Sometimes when I post here and see the view count grow and nobody says anything, I get panicky. I start worrying about saying something wrong or coming off like a know-it-all or too judgmental. I'll start to want to censor myself.

But then Daddy will stop and remind me, I write for him, not others. He wants the deep down real stuff. And he's given me a safe place to do that by moderating the comments to keep the judgment away.

Here, there is no game to play.

Aurora's not my real name and Daddy's no Phillip (but I think you know that). I can't share the names or details of the books I write. I have to be careful not to reveal too much about where I live and you'll never find a real picture of me.

But this is me -- the real me. Submissive, slave, little--they aren't roles I play. They are at the very core of me. I really am Aurora hiding behind my real name in my real life. And here...here I get to quit the game, step off the stage, take off the makeup...

I get to breathe...to live...

To exist.

The Fine Print

In the beginning there was a contract. Daddy wrote it when he proposed the power exchange. I can't really remember everything it said, but I clearly remember there being a contract. Somewhere along the way it was replaced with an unspoken agreement and a bracelet that locks around my wrist, but I know there once was that contract.

You see, I had a little bit of sub frenzy when Daddy gave me that contract. And I think I forgot to read some of the fine print.

Oh, I have so much to learn.

Like when it comes to gift giving. Daddy is beyond generous with gifts. Like out of this world thoughtfully generous. Like all my friends now think he's some super gift giving hero, and when I post on Facebook how great my husband is, they don't ask 'Did you get hacked?'. Instead they ask 'What did he get you?'.

I should be super happy about this -- right?

Well I am. And I'm thankful too. And grateful. And very very lucky. But I'm also super annoyed. Because now they want to know what I'm getting him.

Well...uh...um...

Daddy controls all the money. All the money. I have to ask to spend any of it -- even a dollar. And while, he's generous here too and rarely denies me what I want and need, when I ask to buy him something he's tightens up fast. Oh, I can get money out of him for the kids to shop with, but me...uh...nope.

He's a happy man, he'll say. He has everything he wants. And if he doesn't, he'll go out and buy it himself. 

This year he really outdid himself and when I whined to my writer friends that I had no money to get him anything, they offered up their suggestions.

A blowjob?

Uh...check


Member to the blow job club for a month?

He already has the lifetime membership.


VIP membership - no line, no cover, and no reciprocation?

Well I stopped there because I didn't want to admit he already has that too.

I guess I'll keep looking for that contract in hopes there was a loophole somewhere. I've still got a week til christmas.

What If?

What if I’d never sent you that e-mail? You know…THE E-MAIL. The one that changed everything.

What if I’d never clicked ‘send’. What if I’d just deleted it, trashed it, never written it?

What if it had been just a little cooler that night, or the air conditioning had worked? What if I’d been able to sleep? Would I have written it at all?

What if I’d never gotten picked for that contest? You know... THAT CONTEST. The one where my words were splayed all over the internet to be analyzed and judged. What if they hadn’t picked me? Maybe I wouldn’t have been walking around that week in a fog needing the escape my fantasies brought. Maybe T wouldn’t have sent me that link to distract me – THE LINK that led to the story that inspired that e-mail.

What if? What if we were still sleeping…never knowing…never touching…never this happy?

What if I’d never gone up north with you that weekend five years ago? You know…THE WEEKEND. The one where we never left our hotel room. The one where I started to open up and try new things with you. The one that gave you hope and me courage and turned our marriage around.

What if I’d just stayed home, in bed like I had been for the three days prior? What if I’d just let the tears keep falling? I was dying inside – dying to give you what I know you needed and I couldn’t. What if you hadn’t walked in the room asking for the letters to take with you? What if you hadn’t been there searching for a reason to stay?

What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if I hadn’t asked you to take me too?

What if I’d left during that fall? You know... THE FALL. The one where you grew distant from us. The one where you talked more to strangers than your family. You weren’t happy with yourself back then – you’ve admitted that. But I didn’t know what to do. I had two little girls looking up to me, and I needed to take care of them.

So I nearly walked out the door.

What if I had? What if you’d let me go?

What if you weren’t waiting for me at the end of that aisle that hot July day nearly fifteen years ago? What if you walked away when I handed you the EPT?

What if you had left for the service? What if I had gone for that guy at the bookstore?

What if you never waited for me that summer? You know…THE SUMMER. What if you washed your hands of me and the immature drama and just walked away from it all? What if you never gave me that ‘third chance’?

What if you’d never responded to that message board post? You said you nearly didn’t – that you were already talking to enough girls and it was way too much money as it was. And what if J had never come home over college break? What if she'd never shown me e-mail and Prodigy and how you can talk to people through a computer?

What if you hadn’t sent that message? What if you'd passed right on by my post?

What if I never met you?

Orgasm Denial

So in an effort to kick the 'little' out of my head today and talk about one of my favorite kinks or fetishes or whatever they're called, I'm calling Daddy 'D' on the blog today.

So the other day in writer's group (which sometimes feels like 'band camp') they got to talking about the most orgasms they've ever had. Once I admitted to having 20 once when everyone else was coming in around 3, I began to feel very freakish.

They all wanted my problem. So feeling slightly bad, I poured out way more TMI than I usually do with them. I admitted that I don't know why, but orgasming has always been abnormally super easy for me. But it's definitely a quality thing, not a quantity thing. They drop off in intensity after about 3 anyways so they're not missing anything.

What I didn't admit that was the time I had 20, it was part of a punishment for deliberately having one I wasn't supposed to have. Yeah, thought I better stop there.

I know lots of D/s relationships have orgasm control and we're no different, but early on 'D' discovered that denial has very positive effects on my submissiveness. So he's been doing over the past year on a semi-long term basis. I'm saying 'semi' because I know lots of subs have gone months and months, but the most D's denied me so far is 2 months.

I have a love/hate relationship with orgasm denial.

Hate it -- well for the obvious reasons. Plus D doesn't just say 'oh, no coming for you tonight' or anything simple like that. He does the tease & denial thing where he uses his fingers or tongue or whatever little torturous toy he can find to edge me over and over until all I can think about is that orgasm I'm not having. And sometimes when I reach that point where I just know I'm gonna explode with this burning need, he'll get this deliciously evil look in his eyes, climb on top, and make me watch as he takes what he's forbidden me. He'll do this day after day, week after week, until he's determined that I've had enough (which usually has been after 1-2 months). Then a night of release and it starts all over again.

It's cruel and frustrating, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it.

Maybe I'm wired wrong or was dropped on the head as a baby, but after an orgasm my sex drive drops about 100,000 feet. This is a bad thing, because usually when it drops like that, my insecurities and feelings of shame creep back in. I start building walls between us. I get bratty and emotional and very unsubmissive. D has been working on this by being 'super dom' in the days after he does let me have an O and that has been helping.

The love part comes during the actual denial though. Somewhere between the very edge of my frustration and possibly considering using my safeword, a switch flips in my brain. It's like I let go and fall into him. Suddenly the sex, this D/s, us...none of it is about the end result. It's about him -- pleasing him, loving him, existing for him. That's all that matters. I find that freedom I need to let go and be 'his greedy little slut'. Even outside of the bedroom,  he can touch me -- even just our skin brushing as he walks by me in the kitchen or hugs me when he gets home from work and it sends little tingly shivers shooting through me. It's like always living in the anticipation.

Sure yeah, orgasms are incredibly amazing (especially after going two months), and I'd hardly want to give them up. D's not too forthcoming about how long I have to wait between them although sometimes he's joked about a year (and although I know subs have done that I seriously hope I won't be joining them).

It's been four weeks since my last one though, so I asked him the other day if I'd get one before the year was over. Part of me was really hoping he'd say 'yes'. And another part of me was longing for a 'no'.

His answer....maybe.

Feeling A 'Little' Lost

When we started TTWD in 2012, it was as Master/slave dynamic. Daddy was called 'Sir' for the most part and my mind/headspace was constantly on pleasing him.

There was an exquisite joy in making his breakfast, doing his laundry, sucking his cock. I loved loved loved sitting at his feet. Our rituals held more significance -- I feel like I was striving harder and more focused on him. This slave part of me existed just for him.

Then this summer came and we delved into some really deep stuff. Dark and dirty secrets I'd withheld for so long came out. And the more they came out and the more Daddy accepted and loved me, the more my trust in him grew until he drew out this vulnerable 'little girl' side of me. Suddenly things were shifting -- I needed him to tuck me in at night. My happy place moved from the floor to curled up on his chest.

Daddy told me in September he thought I had a 'little' side. I freaked out. I realized DD/lg relationships aren't very well understood and are judged even in the kink community. It scares me to think of myself like this - I mean I'm in my late thirties.

Daddy has been encouraging me to explore this side though. He thinks it's always been there since way back in the beginning of our dating years. He says there's always been this innocent playful side to me that he's had this overwhelming need to protect since the day he met me (which is why he's held on through all the crap I put him through).

So we've been exploring it, and it's been both freeing and healing. I know it's a hard dynamic to understand and even harder to explain. For us, it's not an age-play, run around in pig-tails and short skirts and diapers thing. It's not a pedophile thing either -- I am still very much an adult. It's mostly about this safe place he's given me that allows me to be myself -- vulnerabilities and all.

The problem lately though is I feel like the 'little side' is taking over. She requires a lot more 'care' I think than the 'slave' side of me, and I don't like feeling like I'm high maintenance all the time. And although this part of me loves to make Daddy happy, it doesn't enjoy the 'service' side of things as much as that 'slave side'.

Daddy is very much a Daddy Dom. Even before I called him 'Daddy' he nurtured more than demanded. He says he identifies more as a Daddy Dom. So I know this is what he wants. And I'm very happy in the safety and comfort being his 'little girl' brings.

Daddy also still says I'm his 'slave'. I still do a lot of things for him on a daily basis. But to be honest lately I'd rather be cuddling than pleasing him. I'd rather be in his arms than on the floor. My pain tolerance has dropped. Even on this blog it shows -- I know my posts sound like an ten-year-old girl, but I know that's because that 'little' part just leaks out when I write about us.

I'm afraid I lost that 'slave headspace'. And I really, really miss her.

We've been talking about this lately-- he wants me to think about what and why I'm feeling like this. And any possible ideas that I think would help me.

I don't know...I keep running through new rituals or different names that might help. Then I stop and wonder if I'm really missing those 'slave' feelings or just insecure about the 'little girl' part of me. Then I realize that yeah, I do miss it very much. But if Daddy's right and this part has always been there then it was there when I was in that 'slave mindset' last year. So I bang my head against the wall and wonder why can't I get those feelings back? Ouch, that hurts.

I'm always his submissive, that hasn't changed. He leads, I follow. But why can't I seem to do it as both his 'little girl' and his 'slave'?

Positives

It's Monday again, and once again I'm scrambling with what to write. Eeeek.

Daddy likes to give me 'assignments'. When I was struggling with 'feeling his dominance' he had me spend the week making a list of every time I did feel it (which helped me focus on what he was doing instead of what I thought was missing). He's had me work on getting over my issues with writing sex by assigning 'fantasy writing assignments'. Last week my assignment was to finish and post my blog on 'sex and shame'. It had been sitting there as a draft for quite a while and without his push it probably would've stayed there for good.

An ongoing assignment I have everyday is to come up with 'Positives' every morning. Daddy seems to think I have an issue with only seeing the negative sometimes. He'll point out that I could get dozens of comments gushing about one of my novels, but it would be the lone one that tells me how 'horrid' it is that would make me want to throw it away and give up writing forever. So yeah, he's probably right.

So to help me have a more 'positive outlook', I have to come up with five positive things each weekday morning. Sometimes this is really easy. I mean Fridays I kind of get a freebie since one of my positives is always 'It's Friday.' Mondays are always the hardest. Today's even harder because this past weekend was kind of 'blah' thanks to not feeling so hot and crappy weather. It's made even worse because we've been having a lot of 'blah' weekends thanks to the craziness of the holidays and we are about to have even more. Not a lot of 'Daddy D/s' time. Plus I'm not one for much 'holiday spirit' thanks to my very dysfunctional family.

So I thought I'd try to cure some of my 'subby blues' and list five positive things for the upcoming week and multitask by blogging them. Hoping Daddy will count this as extra credit :)

1. Last week's assignment to post about the 'sex and shame' had me nearly in tears. I was like 'Nooooo. I like everyone who comes to my blog, I don't want to scare them off'. But it drives Daddy crazy when I worry too much about what people think, and he was right that I shouldn't worry so much. Thank you to those who left such nice comments, and a big thanks to everyone for not running away.

2. I wrote last week about my friend Brittney and the way she was treated for not being afraid to be so open about sex. What I didn't write about was the two decades afterwards where she was constantly getting her heart broken over by men who would use her and discard her. How she was often told she 'wasn't the type of girl you bring home'. And how all she desperately wanted was a 'husband and kids and white picket fence' to call her own. A few years ago she met a really really nice guy who makes her very happy and this past weekend he proposed. I am so thrilled for her.

 3. Daddy didn't write a post this weekend, but he re-designed the blog. And it's pink and black (two of my favorite colors). He won't let me do our bedroom in these colors (boo), but I love them on the blog. So thanks Daddy.

4. Despite a 'blah' weekend, I did get lots of spankings on Friday. And once again, felt a lot better on Saturday.

5. I'm very excited about Daddy's new assignment this week. This upcoming weekend is our last weekend before out-of-town family will be traipsing in for a while so it's really our last chance for fun in 2013. And Daddy said my assignment is to 'look forward to it'. Ooooh....yay! Now nobody around here better get sick or anything....

The Pain I Don't Want

I know being a slave means you're supposed to serve him, but sometimes lots of times it's Daddy taking care of me. Several weeks ago, I woke up one Saturday morning in major pain. Daddy dumped me in the bathtub and then put me back to bed. He went out and got movies and snacks and we spent the entire day cuddled up in bed.

Sadly this isn't the first time.

I have fibromyalgia. I know lots of women are in the same leaky boat, and all I can really say is that it really really sucks sometimes. I've been suffering from the painful 'flare-ups' off and on for the past eight years and have tried several different drugs along with physical therapy. But either it makes me feel goofy in the head or quits working, so for the most part I manage the pain with ibuprofen and wine.

Most days I'm okay - especially if I mange to eat healthy and exercise, avoid stress, not experience any major weather changes, and not be in those final days leading to my not so favorite time of month. And since starting TTWD though I've discovered another 'fibro management' trick for me. That night a few weeks ago -- he spanked me pretty darn good and I felt worlds better on Sunday.

Unfortunately the aching is back this week and I'm miserable. It's been days of snow and cold and PMS.

Hoping that means lots of spanking tonight....

Sex, Shame, and My Inner Slut

Okay this post was hard to write - so please forgive me if I'm long and rambly.

This need of mine -- to submit-- has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. The fantasies about being tied up, being controlled, being enslaved started back in my childhood. I was drawn to my mom's romances about the pirates who would kidnap the girl and half her bosom would be hanging out on the front cover. The pictures of the chains wrapped around the ankles and wrists of the slaves in the story of Moses in my Bible called to me in very kinky ways (oh, please don't send me to hell for that one). And oh yeah there was that scene in Return of the Jedi with Princess Leia.  Heck, I even accidentally figured out how to give myself an orgasm around the time I learned to ride a bike. I say accidentally because I had no idea what it was at the time -- just that it was fun.

But at the same time as this was happening, I was growing up super-involved in a Christian church. We were there practically everyday of the week. I attended their school during the day. So pretty much every day faith, religion, and the idea that sex was some an extremely sacred act was being shoved down my throat. We were taught sex was something that happened in the confines of marriage and that things such as masturbation and fantasies were wrong and a way of 'cheating on your future spouse'. Those dirty little fantasies of mine --  I became deeply ashamed of them. I learned to bury them so deep so that nobody would ever know. I hid behind the façade that I was a good, sweet, innocent Aurora.

But in the back of my head I always felt God knew about them. And I think this made me even more ashamed of them.

About the time I hit junior high, my family moved to another state. My parents quit going to church and enrolled me in a public school. Going from the private school I grew up in to the public school at the time was like jumping in a lake when it's fifty degrees below zero.

Huge shock.

One of my very first friendships began with a girl I'm going to call Brittney (she would love that if she knew). Brittney was loud (what some would define as obnoxious), gutsy, and not afraid to speak her mind. About anything. She also had quite the kinky side and wasn't afraid to show it -- the majority of everything I learned about sex and kinky sex, I owe to her.

I was drawn to Brittney because she was everything I was not. Extroverted. Confident. Brave. But the closer we grew as friends, the more she let me in on her own insecurities. Brittney ran on the fringes of all those normal junior/high school cliques, never really quite fitting in anywhere. She was excluded because of her boldness. Constantly called names by the girls...expected to 'put out' by the boys.

If my religious background wasn't enough to shame me into hiding behind my 'good Aurora' image, being an observer to the constant slut-shaming Brittney experienced throughout her teen years pretty much sealed the deal. I became so good at hiding 'kinky me' that even Brittney (who I'm still friends with today) would never believe me if I told her about some of the stuff Daddy and I do now.

I ended up losing my virginity to my first boyfriend because I was tired of being that 'good Aurora'. I figured maybe it would help shed some of that image. Unfortunately though, the whole experience brought back a lot of that 'religious guilt' to the point that I got it in my head I could never be with anybody else now so I'd have to marry that particular boyfriend. (yes, I seriously thought this way). This was a disaster that ended one night with a bottle of peppermint schnapps and another guy who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. It's odd...looking back I can clearly see it as rape. But it was also an ending to this boyfriend being my 'one and only'.

This is what Daddy got when he got me. I was messed up -- so much shame and guilt over what I had done. I was in therapy for an eating disorder and to deal with lingering issues over a babysitter who had molested me when I was five. I had hacked off my hair, weighed less than 90 lbs, and was smoking terrible things. And I was still so ashamed of sex that I hated it.

Yeah, I was a real catch -- I really still have no clue what Daddy saw in me. Maybe he thought I'd be good in bed...ha!

I was both a terrible girlfriend and wife when it came to sex. Daddy likes to say that I gave up control to him in everything but the bedroom, and that makes sense. I didn't think about sex much. I didn't want it. I only did it for him, and I wasn't very good at hiding that fact. I preferred it lights out, missionary, quick, and without any cuddling. And please oh please don't try to give me an orgasm. Poor Daddy -- it kills me to think how much I hurt him throughout the years. I struggle with so much guilt over this.

Daddy will be the first to remind me that he's far from perfect. That he's made lots of mistakes and there were many times he hurt me deeply. And that it's not quite the sexual desert I remember it as. There were some good times where I actually was into it. Times where that dirty side slipped out, and he began to suspect that there was a kinky side to me. He remembers that the first time he ever brought me to an orgasm was when he handcuffed me to the bed. I asked him why he just didn't make me his slave right there and then (and saved him all that crazy heartache) and he'll tell me that I wasn't ready yet.

I've always been a slow learner. I guess I'm just lucky that Daddy's super patient. He could've...maybe should've...given up on me so long ago. But he didn't. He waited for me...he waited for that inner slut of mine to break loose.

And when she finally did, it was crazy. I think we had sex for the first month straight. Or at least it felt that way. It was freeing to finally be free from all the shame.

Once Daddy stopped spinning though, he took the control and slowed things down a little bit. I began to learn that being Daddy's slut isn't just about the sex. Oh that part's great -- very great. So great that I weep for all those lost years. But being Daddy's slut means that I've finally been able to open up, to let him in, to love him with everything inside of me. To stop hiding and let him see everything.

I've come a long way, but I still struggle with this shame sometimes. It slips out. I get insecure. I find myself getting embarrassed. I struggle with writing sex or about sex. I have trouble being naked. I still feel the shame whenever I share a new fantasy with him.

When the insecurities come, so does that 'good Aurora' shell that I perfected all those years ago.But Daddy doesn't let it stay. He fought too hard to break that shell, he's not about to let it come back.

It's a day to day thing sometimes -- but I trust him.

No more 'good Aurora'.

Online Limits

Daddy controls the time I spend online. Usually when he's home, it's his time and family time. No blogging, surfing the web, or hanging out with my writer friends on Facebook. There's more time and flexibility for that during the weekdays and sometimes even during the evenings. But weekends are different. There's shopping, cleaning, and church. Daddy and I have a 'date night'. Any sewing I do happens on the weekend. Sometimes I get time to glance at my phone, but never for too long or else Daddy will take it away.

It's a good thing to be semi-unplugged. I enjoy being there in the moment with him and our girls. But I'm also supposed to blog on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so it's a bad thing for Monday mornings if I don't have blog post already written and scheduled before the weekend.

Like I didn't do last Friday. Eeeeep.

Daddy not only limits my time online, but he also limits (somewhat) what I can do. He moderates this blog and the comments. He tracks where I go online. And he controls what I can do when I'm online too.

I have a habit of googling everything. Sometimes this a very helpful and useful habit. It's research for my writing. It's helped fix the garbage disposal. It makes a great spell check. But every time I get a weird symptom, I also google it. And before you know it I've diagnosed myself with cancer or am convinced I'm having a heart attack. And I know I'm not the only one out there who does this...

This drives Daddy crazy. So much so, that now he's banned WebMD and googling 'health related' topics. Not only that, apparently he's blocked the site too.

He says he would prefer I'd be diagnosed by a real doctor instead of Dr. Aurora.

Balancing Act

This past week I had Aurora focus on expectations...actually on not having expectations.  As I've mentioned before, Aurora is a thinker.  Her brain is going non-stop.  She thinks and analyzes and researches and thinks some more.  This is a trait that I love about her.  It is the reason that she is so creative.  However, at times this trait can cause issues.  She tends to think so much that she begins to play out scenarios in her head that lead to expectations.  Sometimes a fantasy of hers will turn into an expectation that it will happen on a given day or sometimes she will expect a letter or email.  And while she often gets these things...it needs to be my decision on when to give them.

One of my rules for Aurora is that she have no expectations.  Expectations are not fair to me because often times I am not aware of them.  They take the control away from me and give the control to her.  And of course, expectations often lead to disappointment.  And so we have worked and focused on having no expectations this week and I must say that Aurora has done very well.

So as we have progressed through this week, it has made me realize how closely expectations, insecurities and consistency are intertwined.  I contend that Aurora's insecurities sometimes cause her to have expectations and Aurora respectfully contends that it is the other way around.  I imagine that they probably feed off of each other at times.  For example, if one is insecure about not getting enough attention, it could very well lead to one believing that this much needed attention is right around the corner...thereby expecting it.  On the other hand, if one is expecting attention and does not receive it, they become insecure.

Then you have consistency.  Consistency is good.  It makes Aurora feel safe.  However, consistency must be balanced as well.  Consistency can lead to expectations at times.  If I send Aurora an email or write her a letter for 5 days in a row...then she will expect it on the 6th day as well, as would any normal person. So by being consistent, sometimes I am creating these expectations. 

So this is why I believe that being a Daddy is a balancing act.  She needs consistency to drown out the insecurities.  I need no expectations.  Too much consistency can create expectations and create insecurities. 

But this is what I love about my role.  Diving into Aurora's head.  Figuring out what makes her tick and taking that knowledge to make her the best she can be.  It's a never ending puzzle.  This puzzle that is Aurora...that is what makes me tick.