“Ma’am, would you please chain me down and fuck me?”

Spoiler: She did.

This actually dates back a ways, shortly after the last blog entry. Jalan and I had a date. And it’s time for a happy entry.

We planned to go see Iron Man 3. We hadn’t been to a movie since before my health turned, we enjoyed the earlier installments, it looked like fun, and had pretty good word of mouth. That, and I’m a fan of most of the Marvel Studios productions. Off we went, fully expecting to enjoy it, but that I’d be laid up the next day from the strain.

We were too late, and the show was sold out. So we stretched the trip, buying tickets for the next show (about 90 minutes later). We drove across the parking lot (I’ve got my placard) to a steakhouse/grill we hadn’t been to in some time and had a lovely meal — one of the few meals out since my health turned. With permission, I took a 5-Hour Energy at dinner. I normally am not permitted caffeine after 1pm.

Driving back across the parking lot, we made it to the movie and had a good time. We stopped for me to buy her flowers on the way home. I am directed to buy her flowers each month timed to commemorate my collaring, but couldn’t manage in April — first time I’d missed.

By then, I was completely wiped out and we went home to rest. But a few hours later, as we were getting ready for bed, we talked and touched, as we do. Some caressing, a little fondling, a lot of kissing, some squeezing — being close. Then we started settling for sleep, but I reflected, and said, “Ma’am, I think I have at least one spoon left.” We refer often between ourselves to the spoon theory — the original formulation is at http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/wpress/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/ .

In response I heard, “Oh, do you?” So then I asked the titular question: “Ma’am, would you please chain me down and fuck me?” Her answer? “Gladly.” And so she did.

It was the second time we’d had sex in a month. Under ordinary circumstances, that’s a slow week for us, but recently there’s been, among other issues, a fear that I’d be breakable — runaway blood clot, any kind of badness — as well as a healthy respect of the fatigue/exhaustion issues.

And the next day? I was tired, but I was not wrecked. I’d known it was going to be worth it, but it was nothing like the cost I’d been expecting. And we had sex!

Since then, we were out for one reason or another almost every day last week, only one of them for a medical appointment. Most of the outings were brief and sedate, but out. And the world didn’t end, I didn’t fall apart, and my mood started to lift. I feel like I’ve finally kicked the exogenous depression from the health issues.

I have to respect the problem, and still need to find out what it is exactly, but I don’t need to be ruled by it.

It’s not such a bad life. And it has sex in it again.