Fucking Rules

He's too good for me. I say this a lot, but it's because I mean it. In part, I think that my standards are not quite accurate (this has nothing to do with him and much more to do with my perceptions of my own worth) and in part, I am absolutely an ungrateful cunt who should be paying more attention to being kind, respectful and obedient.

I get him angry a lot. Over little things really. Not little, like he shouldn't be upset, more little like I should know better by now. I have rules, but they are the overview types, not the explicit type like this. Let's see, they started like this:

I must always refer to him as Sir. (I'm okay with this one. Obviously, since his name is no big secret, I'm not that good. It doesn't always feel organic, so I call him Johnny, or muffin, or baby, or chocolate sex poodle...I really like that one. Grin.)

I have to be obedient with any direct orders and instructions. (Yeah. Well, a girl can try. This is the one getting me in trouble lately, and you have to understand, this one is not a game to him. I forget that a lot because he's generally so relaxed and easy-going, and then I push too far. Like that time a couple of days ago when I was pulling out all the keys on my computer and wanted to vaccuum the keyboard, and he said I could get the vaccuum, but then I went too far and turned it on and used it and I heard him telling me to stop, but I just yelled, "I can't hear you over the vaccuum!!" He got really angry and I got my first ever - fucking ridiculous - timeout. That sucked. I should have known better. I am supposed to do exactly what he says and nothing more. In fact, there has recently had to be a rule about this, too, since I am inclined to be clever.)

Everything I want to do when I get up from the computer has to be cleared with him. Everything. (See, this developed out of this argument that we used to have where I would get up from the computer when I was talking to him and in mid-sentence, I'd be like, "Hang on one sec," and then be gone. This was infuriating for him because, him being him and all, he had to know exactly what I was going to do. If he thought it was my flighty, distractable stuff, he would say no. So, now if I want to do anything, I have to ask, "Can I go wee? Can I get something to eat? Can I put something away?" And additionally, if I ask to go to grab a blanket, I am not allowed to do anything other than get a blanket. Apparently, I have a tendency to make use of all my time, but getting a blanket does not mean go to the bathroom, get a snack, lock doors, pet my kitties, or anything else.)

I have to work to my potential and not just what gets me by. (I have a teeny problem with being satisfied with satisfactory. Sir finds this unacceptable - though this makes him a massive hypocrite...which he is okay with - and thinks I should doing things on time and to the best of my abilities. This rule is still in negotiations.)

I have to be on time. (This means in everything. Sir arranges his schedule around me often and I have a tendency to let the time get away from me. I'll ask him to meet me at 1:15, for example, but then I won't get back till 2, 0r 3, or the evening. I fully understand why this rule exists and I have tried to be more considerate because I know how much he sacrifices in terms of time, energy and sleep. He also thinks this is a bad habit, and has the expectation that I will do this across the board, since I have gotten in trouble at work for being nearly late...or late...sometimes. I try. I do.)

I will watch my language -- actually, I will adjust my language, appropriate to the situation including tone and manner. (HA! I think this is more of a fucking joke than anything else. One time, Sir made me keep a Profanity Journal. I enjoyed this because I'm a little visually OCD and I made it all pretty, documented which swear words I used, and studied my trends. Turns out I use FUCK and SHIT the most, though CUNT is a close third. I don't use BITCH much at all and I was never sure if ASSHOLE counted, but I recorded it anyway. I found my journal the other day when I was cleaning my house. My cats had dragged it under the bed and pissed on it. They know how I feel. It's in the city dump now. Sorry, Sir. Somethings just can't be taught.)

There was a bedtime rule, but thankfully that's been 86'd. Along with the consumption of any drugs rule.

I am not allowed to touch my cunt without permission. (He pointed out, just yesterday actually, that there is a distinct possibility that I may never again touch my pussy or play without permission; he asked me how I felt about this. I rolled my eyes. A lot. Good job he couldn't see that. I said, "I've come to terms with it. I don't get a choice, right?" And he agreed, said it was a good attitude. Now, to be fair, I have broken this rule twice. I think this rule is the one he is most adamant about. I am his. Everything I feel is because he allows it; if I try and mess with that, it makes him beligerent. I know better and I don't ever intend to do it again. The punishments are severe.)

I can't remember if there are anymore. We're not the kind of people that document every little thing. On the one hand it's good cause then my rules are more flexible. On the other hand, it sucks balls cause then my rules are more flexible. I am all too familiar with the following sentence: "I think there needs to be a new rule now..."

Generally my response goes something like this: "Awwwwwwwwww. Really?!? Another rule?"

This post started very different than it ended. Sir knows that this blog exists now and he's looking for it. He'll never find it; I'm too clever. But, that means that soon, he'll be peeking in and I got him to promise me he'll post once every three days. I said I'd post once every four days. He thinks this is unfair and I think, "Tough shit, baby." But I told him my posts would be much longer than his. And besides, I'm managing three blogs right now, so fuck right off! Grin. Yeah, the language rule's going swimmingly.