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    I keep asking myself if this is really what I want.

    Do I want a life spent picking up a man’s dirty socks and getting swatted on the ass in the kitchen for no reason other than because he wants to? Do I want to learn, past the point of thinking about it, how to automatically defer to him, submit to him, put him in the forefront of my thoughts where now only my children reside? Do I want to do this with any man and most particularly do I want to do this with Tucker?

    When I am tired and grumpy and have a list of chores to be done and I choose to ignore them all and just go to bed I imagine ten years in the future. What if Tucker wants me to lay out his clothes and prepare his lunch before I drag my grumpy ass to bed? What if he wants to fuck when I finally do crawl into bed and I just want to sleep? What if he expects me to get up with him at that ungodly early hour he rises before the sun even thinks of getting up and I hate anything except full sunlit mornings? Do I really want to be in a position where I cannot justifiably say “Screw you, I’m tired” without getting some serious backlash?

    Right now it is exciting and erotic when Tucker makes me do something I would rather not do. When he makes me get out of a nice warm bed to get him a glass of water I get a little wet because he has that power and is wielding it over me. Right now when he fucks me even though I am feeling pissy and angry at him I come really, really hard because he is forcing to do what he wants to do, literally. But five years, hell fifteen years, in the future am I going to think it’s anywhere near this erotic to be tossed and dragged and poked and prodded? Will the “fun” of being in service melt away after a while, after the honeymoon ends and I get sick of being told what to do?

    I told Tucker the other day that I have been waiting eighteen years for the type of relationship I have now with him. Perhaps it is my naiveté that keeps me believing that what we have won’t grow old, that having wanted this for so long means that it will be a key component in my satisfaction for a very long time. Maybe I should just keep believing it and it will just keep being true simply from dint of will. We each create our own reality and if my choice is to create a reality where I am happy serving Tucker in everything from his dirty socks to sucking his cock even when I’m tired and grumpy then that just may be enough.

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    “So when am I going to meet your ex?”

    “Whenever you want,” I said. I was not at my articulate best. Tucker had caught me off guard while I was driving and thinking about shoes. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

    “I was thinking, since you want me to stay over with you and the girls in preparation for us all going to the coast together next month, that it would be a good idea for me to meet him. If I was him, I’d want to meet me,” Tucker explained.

    “That is a really good idea,” I replied. Tucker’s ability to see all angles of a situation and understand how everyone might be affected continues to surprise me. Not to mention his willingness to become a real and significant part of my life, and his commitment to doing precisely what is best for me and my children. “We can do it this weekend coming up, when he drops the girls off. I’d like to give him some advance notice, just so he isn’t surprised. I’m pretty sure his girlfriend stayed over at his house with the girls long before I ever met her.”

    “But that’s different,” Tucker said.

    “Yes. I agree. It is different. Especially with little girls,” I said quietly.

    Fast forward two hours. Tucker and I were browsing through Target when I spotted two girls playing with the big bouncy balls.

    “Do you see that?” I asked Tucker, reaching for his arm.

    “What? They’re big bouncy balls,” he said, paying more attention to where he was going than where I was pointing.

    “Those are my daughters with those big bouncy balls,” I insisted. At that moment I spotted my ex and Tucker realized who the girls were.

    “Hey!” My ex saw me and then quickly looked at Tucker. I started fumbling with an introduction.

    “Hi, I’m Tucker.” Tucker turned to my ex and stuck out his hand. My ex shook it and introduced himself. The girls turned, surprised to have run into us, and I gave them each a hug.

    This spontaneous meeting, just hours after Tucker brought up the topic and pointed out the very good reasons for it needing to happen, is just one more way in which I believe the universe is trying to tell me that Tucker needs to be in my life. If he and I and my girls and my ex were all put in the same place at the same time in the midst of this entire city on a cool Spring weekend afternoon then surely there is a reason to which I may not be privy but about which I will feel free to speculate.

    I do not believe that the four most important people in my life randomly ended up in the wide aisle of a department store based on nothing more than chance. I have said it, repeatedly as of late it seems, and I will say it again: Tucker is meant to be in my life and I am nothing less than completely thankful that he is.

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    One of the patients on “House” last night was named Tucker. I’m pretty sure it was a repeat but I’m thinking that the last time I saw it I wasn’t dating the man I call Tucker. Maybe it stuck in my head somehow and percolated up to the top when I was searching for a name.

    Tucker is the only man I’ve dated who spent time “doing something” with me and the girls. In celebration of my elder girl’s birthday the four of us (two grown-ups, two girls) went to a popular children’s museum here in town. We have all spent time together at my home prior to this but this marked our first expedition out into the real world as a group.

    Everyone, I am pleased to say, did wonderfully. The children were well-behaved, listened to both of us fairly often, and treated Tucker with respect and kindness. I was relatively relaxed, managed to keep up with being in the middle of my ultimate power dynamic (below Tucker, above the girls), and didn’t lose track of anyone at any point. Tucker was… well, Tucker was pretty amazing, actually.

    For a man who does not have children of his own and who does not spend any appreciable time around other people’s progeny, he seems a natural. Many of the qualities that make him so well-suited to being my Dominant also serve him very well when dealing with my children. He treats them with the same directness, compassion, and even-handedness with which he treats me. He is consistent, reasonable, funny, open, reliable, and they know that he can be trusted. He mirrors my attitude toward guidance, discipline, proper decorum and manners and is quick to back me up when either of the girls goes astray under his watch.

    There are very few men to whom I would entrust that most precious part of my heart, the part that walks around in the form of two young girls, but Tucker is among that tiny group. He told me, later that night when we were discussing the day, that my safety and that of my girls is more important to him than his own. He takes the responsibility and privilege of being a part of their lives very, very seriously and will do nothing to squander their trust in him. He is so diametrically opposed to the way Michael lived his life, in every fiber of his being and every move of his body, that I cannot help but throw random thanks outward to the world, universe, and god for putting him in my life.

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    Some weeks I spend more nights with Tucker than I do with my daughters.

    Over a two week period my girls stay with me a total of seven nights – three the first week, four the second week. That leaves me with a total of seven nights when I used to sleep here all alone. Now I either stay with Tucker or he spends the night here with me almost every single one of those formerly lonesome nights.

    I didn’t realize the extent of Tucker’s involvement in my previously solitary time until he pointed it out. We were talking in my bed late one night and Tucker brought the math to my attention. I tried to dismiss his numbers with my usual feigned (and funny) self-assurance and know-it-all attitude. Then I paused and he knew I knew he was right. It knocked me a little sideways when I thought about it seriously the next day.

    It has been almost precisely five years since I last lived with someone other than my children. In sum total I have only spent one month out of my entire life co-habitating with someone to whom I was not joined in holy matrimony and that was due only to the lapse between my college graduation and our wedding date. And I’m not sure that that one month even really counts because my mother was staying with us the whole time. Something about maternal supervision kind of ruins the newness of living with someone in a committed relationship.

    Spending this much time with Tucker, having him in my space for several days in a row, is clearly a new experience for me. Over the past few weeks I have even lent him the use of my spare housekey for various reasons related to convenience and divergent timing in us arriving at the same location. Once he was scheduled to work later than he wanted me staying up so I gave him the key to let himself in without me having to get up to answer the door. Twice when I was sick he tucked me in bed at a reasonable hour and then went to visit his best friend. I gave him the key so he could return at his leisure and I could enjoy my drug-induced slumber.

    Now I am considering the combination of both of these developments. Tucker and I have a standing understanding that we will spend at least two nights, and most likely three, together every week. I have no reason to keep my spare key for myself and no one else to whom I would feel safe giving it. So why not combine both into one and let him keep the key?

    But like I asked him, is this something that I am taking too casually? A major step I am bypassing for the sake of convenience? Is there more to giving a man your key than that of which I am aware, having not done it in quite some time and certainly not for these reasons? Should I be making a bigger deal of this and waiting until a more appropriate time? Or is love, desire, and time spent together reason enough?

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    The four easy ways Tucker could tell I was really sick this weekend:

    I wasn’t wearing socks when he came over Friday evening.

    I didn’t wear sexy underwear or a bra the whole weekend.

    There is still a large, untouched piece of chocolate pie in my refrigerator.

    And, my kitchen was a mess.

    It was only this morning when I made it downstairs before he did and started making pancakes and cleaning the kitchen that he thought I might be getting better. Never ones to let something as mundane as a head cold get in the way of fucking, we’d been having sex almost as much as usual. I especially loved the “I’m barely awake but I’m really hard and horny so let’s get this over with and go back to sleep” fucking Saturday morning. When I complained that coming made my head hurt (sinuses and pressure and all that) Tucker let me go easy on myself, but that didn’t stop him from doing what he wanted to do.

    He brought me soup, juice, and crackers Saturday evening because I was too worn out to even think about cooking or going anywhere. While we were eating he made a joke about taking care of me and how such a thing might not be allowed by certain hard-line M/s lifestyle folks.

    “I wouldn’t be allowed to get sick,” I countered teasingly.

    “No, it would just mean you weren’t really a slave,” he said.

    “Right. It would be proof that I’m not a ‘twoo’ slave,” I laughed, thinking of the ridiculousness that flares occasionally on Fetlife about what a “true slave” is and what she does.

    “Well, I for one am glad I get to take care of you,” he said.

    “Why is that, Sir?” I asked.

    “I like taking care of my toys. If one of them gets broken I don’t get to play with it,” he explained.

    “Of course! That makes perfect sense. I like that you can take care of me, too. Otherwise I’d probably have to go find a sister slave to fill in for me and make sure you were taken care of,” I said.

    Later (back in bed for more fucking and a quick nap) I expressed my sincere appreciation for all Tucker had done for me.

    “I like taking care of you,” he whispered as I held my palm against his cheek. “It’s the way it’s supposed to be. How long has it been since you’ve had someone take care of you like this? Mother’s don’t count, it’s their job.”

    I didn’t answer. I just closed my eyes against the easy tears I felt and pouted out my lips a little.

    “That long, huh?” he asked. I shrugged and curled more tightly into him. No one, save perhaps my husband on rare occasion when we were married, has ever brought me soup and juice and tucked me into bed. Tucker does so many things, so naturally, that it always surprises him when he finds out he is a unique gift in my life, but I never fail to notice it.

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