There is two sides of our lives but sides doesn’t best describe how it is as sides implies you are looking at one, or the other. It is not like that and yet I cannot find a good analogy.
Much of the time we are an “ordinary” couple with a low level of service, nothing more than an attentive boyfriend shows to his new lover. He holds the door for me, runs my feet when I present them, makes me coffee when I ask, all the things I have come to think of as routine, ordinary, day to day. I know others would see them and think them special, and yet some would see them and think I have cast adrift my independence by not opening the door for myself, still have arms after all.
At the other extreme he is bound, tied at my direction or by my hand, often blindfolded, always at my mercy. He has nothing to do then other than be my boy. Seeing him stood waiting for me with ankle and wrist cuffs in place makes my heart quicken, catches my breath. I am filled with a rush of desire.
Most of the time we live in the pink mixed overlap of the white ordinary day to day life and the red heat of a scene. In that pink the act of opening the door for me never gets old for him & for me acts as a reminder to him of who I am & what place I have in this union. Often questions are posed in such a way as to necessitate that he call me Miss, again a reminder of who I am.
We live in a place where I think nothing of reaching for his crotch while he is making dinner just so that I can hear the protesting noises he makes & feel the rush of knowing he won’t stop me.