I had been so very unhappy. During the winter I had a love affair with all things sugar, and when sugar couldn’t cut it, I went with salt. I adore Entenmann’s Chocolate Covered donuts. They were how I started my day. Every day. Two a day. Fourteen of them every week. They were my crack. Like any respectable food addict, I had been using food as my drug. It was evident in my appearance.
I read some soccer mom’s erotica. It contained a healthy dose of BDSM. The submissive I had packed away and shoved into the Room of Things I Don’t Think About, sloughed off her restraints as if they were paper, as if they had not been holding her for some 13 years. She began banging on the door of her cell. I could not quiet her.
I thought “Well, she’s not going to shut up. Let’s see what we can do for her.” When I last had been in the lifestyle, AOL was king and everyone entered chat rooms with “age/sex/loc”. I went looking for a BDSM related chat site. I found myself on alt. It was like AOL had been, but different. I spent some time chatting folks up. I was having a grand time.
I raised the subject of BDSM with DH. He was on board – happy that I seemed happy. I told him about alt. “Have fun” he said. I had a conversation about public play with a regular in SafeHaven. I looked down at my body and proclaimed that public play was not now, nor would it ever be, for me. I stopped eating donuts.
May – 176 pounds
You began talking to me. We danced the dance unique to the two of us. I said that you needed to know we would only ever exist in the little white box. You said we would outgrow it quickly. Sitting at my desk, I laughed and shook my head. “He has no idea who he’s talking to. Please!”
You continued to spend copious amounts of time with me. I had to leave for a weekend at the end of the month. I was upset that I would not be able to speak with you for several days. I was shocked at my upset. I had a moment of “What is that about?”
On vacation I had the occasion to don my swimsuit. DH looked at my overflowing cleavage and asked if I was going to the pool “like that”. I looked in the mirror – it’s amazing how one can look at one’s image day after day but not really see. This time, I saw and was horrified.
I thought of you. I thought of what you would think if we ever met and this was how you saw me. It was intolerable.
August – 143 pounds
You and I decided to meet. We obtained permission from our significant others. I had been working to get to 140 pounds prior to our meet. The headstand injury put the kibosh on that when I could not exercise for the two weeks prior. Those three pounds turned out not to matter at all. You were everything I had believed you to be. You seemed to like me just fine as well.
October – 136 pounds
We did the meet and greet thing with DH. DH approved of you. I disrobed for someone other than DH for the first time in more than 15 years. I submitted. You and I played. It was amazing. We both had drop proportional to the level of anticipation and play. Drop was not fun.
November – 133 pounds
I could not get rid of the last three pounds. You assured me by the end of our week together, it would be gone. The hood. The sleep sack. The mummification. The 25 inch waist. The leather. I cannot wait for January.
Today – 129 pounds
I am lighter both in body weight and personality. You have given me hope. You cherish me as no other. My belief that I would never be truly happy has been shattered. The sadness left my body seemingly in direct proportion to the weight I’ve lost. Yes, I did it because of you. This is the case with so much of what I do these days.
I need you to be happy. I need you to be proud to own me. When I am at your feet in supplication, I need you to look down and see the physical manifestation of how hard I work to please you. You have changed my body. You have changed my mind. You have changed my soul. You have changed my life.