I was going along minding my own business, hoping my wife would be happy about something. She tells me she has trouble figuring out how to respond to make me happy. This means what?

If I share that I need physical intimacy (aka SEX ), and she has trouble with being sexually attentive, approachable, and vulnerable, then it’s better for me to not express my needs.

It is time to put the mask back on. Stop the naïve optimism. This is what reality looks like.

How often have we heard that communication between spouses is of utmost importance?

Well it’s true. Then again. I have nothing to say any more.

Just not worth it.

After a period of doing than usual stuff, shower,AA, visiting S, my AA sponsee, late lunch w J (Cracker Barrel), I decided I needed a nap. Truth be told, I am exhausted, probably from trying to keep J happy.

So I lay down and slept on and off. I might lay down some more and sleep some more. There is physical exhaustion present, emotional burn-out too.

J tells me she is down now. And I think it’s my fault. Cognitively I know that’s nonsense. J needs no help from me in making herself miserable.

I believe the best advice, for me right now, is to watch Popeye cartoons and let J be “down” till she isn’t any longer.

I have been awake about two hours. I have watched two trains, #98 and #86, pass through Ashland. I made some coffee, heated a croissant, and read some blog posts. Now I’m watching two English ladies go “mudlarking” on a beach in Yorkshire, I think.

I’m settling in, preparing to go back to bed. The magic of early morning has worn off. My erotic imagination is returning. Stay tuned.

C, #2 son, in addition to Asperger’s Syndrome, has Oppositional Defiant Disorder. He will challenge pretty much anything one says to him. If I told him the sky is blue on a cloudless, sunny day, he would challenge me.

So when I told him the uneven surface of his front porch represents a trip hazard and he could be held legally liable for bodily injuries in the event of an accident, I get a multiplicity of arguments from him. He just needs to correct the situation. Exhausting.

Now, I am calming down so I can sleep. But these little episodes underscore the absence of emotional nurturing in my life. J is angry with C also. So I get concerned with her upset. I don’t feel cared for.

Just have to suck it up. Then figure out a way to talk to J about this need being met. I say this because when I express my needs, she acts hurt and guilty for her shortcomings, with no change on her part.

Night all.

I am awake. I slept three hours. I saw my psychiatrist on Monday, told him I was doing really well, and, for that moment, that was the truth.

Now, I’m not so sure. I have been awake about ninety minutes. I have some body pain. I want to cry. J is asleep. I am watching a Russian who does videos on YouTube, Marina Morlock. She is a chatterbox, but she smiles a lot. And wears red lipstick. What’s not to love? She sounds like Natasha from the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons.

Right now she is showing us Russian women’s underwear, modeling as best she can while holding her Smartphone. Her camerawork is dizzying, at times

Changing the subject, l should have been a plumber. Everybody told me I was smart and should go to college, which I did. My advice to everyone, learn a trade. Forget college.

Every negative thought I have ever had or felt about every human being whoever lived is coming into my consciousness right now, including myself.

I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. Going to try another nap.

It isn’t as if most days aren’t all about me. C’mon now. But Sunday was about brunch and visiting with C, yesterday was a doctor visit, shopping, cooking, and writing. So today, I’m not going anywhere, except a meeting and the Y. And I will sit, maybe write, fix homemade macaroni and cheese, and do nothing more strenuous than that stuff.

I was particularly pleased with the eye round I fixed last night.   Dinner was well-received. Today, who knows what I will fix. I did buy a two pound bag of Brussels sprouts. They taste great sauteed. Maybe with some roasted chicken breasts and brown rice.

More later.

Later:

It is 0614. I hear the train horn for Amtrak #86, Northbound, all the way To New York City. The lights are a geometric kaleidoscope on the Virtual Railfan camera lens. More rain. Stay in.

J is taking her shower. Will she work longer than the hours for which she is scheduled? Who knows?

I decided a roast chicken is a good dinner choice with stuffing and mashed potstoes. Maybe buy some dinner rolls. I

I need a good massage.

Jacqui took her back pack, slung it over one shoulder, adjusted the ball cap to a particularly jaunty angle, reflecting a studied nonchalance. She strode across the tracks, then climbed the steps of the Inn. It was almost picture book, Hallmark Channel quaint. But she sensed she wasn’t the first Woman With A Certain Attitude who crossed its threshold

“Oliveira, Jacqui. I’m here with Mr Poindexter.”

” Ah yes. I see. Welcome to the Inn, uh Jacqui?”

Sensing the clerk’s confusion around the gender she presented, she offered a title, “That’s Master Oliveira, Grace.”, reading the name off her ID badge. This was the first time she got to choose her own honorific.

” Of course. Again, welcome, Master Oliveira. Here is your key to the Hanover Suite. The elevator is to my right, should you prefer.”

“Thank you, but the stairs will do nicely.”

“The suite is to the left at the top of the stairs,” Grace added, as Jacqui strode toward the stair landing.

Jacqui easily climbed the stairs, turned, knocked twice, then put the plastic card in the reader.

Upon seeing “Dex” sitting on the bed, legs extended, watching TV, she walked to him, but not before stopping to turn off the television at the set. She took his chin in one hand, looked him squarely in the eyes, then slapped him with the leather gloves she gripped in the other hand.

“Why are your clothes still on? Why aren’t you on the floor, ready to kiss my boots, and where is your collar?”

“Let’s start over, shall we? Get naked. Now.”

She watched as he took off his Brooks Brothers shirt, slipped off the Gucci loafers, (those buckles, she thought, cringe worthy.) Next the khakis, and the banal over the calf socks.

He stood, facing her, in his white undershirt, and “tighty whitey” briefs (More cringing. Just No.)

“Stop right there.” She walked behind him, took her Buck knife from its sheath, opened the blade, and cut the shirt and the briefs from his body. She made big cuts on each side of the shorts. And then meticulously cut the shirt down each sleeve from the crew neck and, then down the back. His body now was surrounded by patches of white, as if the cotton knit jersey material was a cloud and Dex, magnificent and nude, was some Renaissance Prince in a fresco, ascending to Heaven.

She gave one cheek of his buttocks a slap, to see how the gloves would redden them. She noticed the JO tattoo, done in red and bordered in black, then walked around to face him. She looked at his chest, pleased to see the titanium nipple rings, then to his belly, assessing the frequency and efficacy of his exercise regimen, then to his penis, erect from Jacqui’s robust scrutiny.

She noted the absence of hair at his crotch, particularly on his organ and scrotum.

“Kyle does a thorough job, doesn’t he?”, Kyle being the Gay aesthetician, at the Brazilian waxing salon, that she researched and where she ordered Dex to go.

“Yes Mistress.”

“No Dex. From now on I am Master.” He corrected himself, addressing her with her now preferred honorific .

She walked behind him again, slapped his other ass cheek, commanded him to spread his cheeks in order to inspect his now hairless ass crack.

So what do they say at the gym Pretty Boy?Do the other men check you out, all naked, pierced and inked?”

“I suppose they do, but I try not to draw attention. I don’t want to get tossed out. It’s a family place, not a meat market.”

“So it is, Sport.”

” I’m not through getting you ready. Get your collar. Present it to me, respectfully, on your knees.” He obeyed.

She assessed her work, with her desired adornments.then buckled the collar at the nape of his neck.Tbe titanium O ring at his Adam’s apple matched the nipple rings. Reaching in her back pack, she took two silver chains, fastened both to th collar’s O ring and one to each nipple ring.

” That should make you very aware of your place, boy., just in case the butt plug makes you too, uh, complacent.”

“Butt plug?” he thought. Again she reached in the back pack for the plug and, thankfully, he thought, the lube.

“Now let’s get you dressed. Not to worry, we’re not putting on too grand an exhibition.”  She tossed him a pair of women’s silk panties, with a seam down the back parting the ass cheeks. They were black with pink bows at the leg openings.

“Your regular clothes will do. Put them back on. You won’t need a tee shirt. How about dinner at that restaurant down the street ?”

To be continued.