These last couple of weeks have been rough.

I wish I could blame it on some outside source, point to something or someone to blame but the fact is it’s all in my head.

I’ve been struggling these past few weeks on the fact that I’m unable to give Sade things I’d like to give her.

I’d love to take her somewhere on vacation instead of needing to have a stay-cation, I’d love to be able to take her out to dinners, I’d love to be able to provide her a place to live where we could walk around our block and not worry about our safety.   

I need to say at this point that I know these are first-world problems to have.   Whenever I’ve felt down about it I eventually remember that, while I haven’t had a raise at my current job in over 6 years, at least I have a job. I’ve got a number of friends who can’t even say that.  

It’s important to note that these aren’t things she’s asking for.  She’s so understanding and didn’t even flinch when I told her I didn’t think I’d be able to afford to take her on a vacation this year even though last year I sad “hopefully next year”. 

Still the fact that I know she could easily find a guy who could give her all of those things and more makes me feel….guilty.  Almost like, in our relationship I’m the one getting the better deal. 

This snowballs, making me feel insecure and just down in general. 

And through all of it she remains supportive, tells me she doesn’t need expensive things and tells me she loves me and always will. 

I don’t know what I did to end up with her.

So I’m trying to not mope about it but turn my frustration into some energy that will bring a better life for us in 2013.  What is that?   I have no idea but I’m going to try and find it.

One of my earliest emotional memories is the feeling I’d get when returning home after a long vacation or a even a trip into town.   We’d pull off the highway, take a right down the paved road for a few miles, past the rural school I went to, past a few pastures, past a few wheat fields and eventually turn down a long gravel road.

We’d go over a few hills and and after about a mile you’d come over the last hill and it would come into view.  

The farm.

My home.

First you’d notice the red barn, the red quonset and then the yellow house, then the silver grain bins, the chicken coop, the trees and the cattle.

My dog would run along with the pickup when we made it about a half-mile from the house.

The closer I’d get, the more the feeling would wash over me.   It was a feeling of relief that I was back where I belonged.

When my parents divorced I was about to start junior high.  I took it harder than the rest of my siblings.  I’ve always been the most emotional one.  My sister was old enough to know it was for the best and my and my brother was too young to really understand.

But I wasn’t the divorce that really upset me, it was leaving the farm.   Sure we were moving only 30 miles away but even a foot outside of the farm was too far away.

I’d still work on the farm through junior high and high school but my dad forbade me from becoming a farmer.  He wanted me to have a better life than he did.  Is my job better than had I been a farmer?  Possibly, but it’s far less noble that’s for sure.

My heart broke when we had to sell the farm a few years ago.  The only reason I buy the occasional lottery ticket is in the small chance I’d be able to buy it back someday.

But I realized something this morning when I woke up next to her.   That feeling I got when we’d pull over the hill and first see the farm, I get that feeling when I wake up next to her.

She is where I belong.

And she smells much better than the chicken coop.

I was recently asked a few questions for Vibrations Direct in the UK.  You can find my answers here.

I fell asleep on the couch. She had been busy working on research and I was doing work for a client when I eventually passed out around midnight.

I should say that  I’m a very heavy sleeper.  So heavy that she’ll sometimes ride me in my sleep and I’ll barely even remember it the next morning.  This time she was doing things that made it impossible for me to stay asleep.

I vaguely remember her putting the handcuffs on me, pushing my hands up over my head and ripping my pants off while I was on the couch and sliding a towel underneath me.  I remember catching a glimpse of her wearing her leather harness and her cock.

I remember her spreading my legs and sliding into me, pushing my shirt up to expose my chest and pinching my nipples with one hand and stroking me with another.  Fucking me while stroking me and using my cock as leverage to slam into me.

I don’t remember how long she fucked me I was in such a daze but soon she was counting down from ten and when she hit “one” she then ordered “Now!” and a wave rushed over me for the longest time.

After I came down from the high I noticed the clock displayed just after three in the morning.

We showered.   Washing her back was all it took for me to be ready for round two and soon our wet bodies were in the bedroom but this time it was all about her pleasure.

The last thing I remember was looking at the clock and noting it was after four in the morning.

I woke up late for work, rushed out the door and made it into the office in the nick of time.  I was in a fog for the rest of the day.  My body achy and numb.

Worth it.