I thought I was finished with my insanity but I had a comment that I want to reply to. Not because it particularly touched a nerve, but because I keep getting comments about something being wrong with me because I am submissive. I keep being told I need help and I need to be someone different to who I am. I need curing and saving from myself. I rarely say anything when I read these comments because I know they have read an entry or two and have completed their first year of psychology and they suddenly feel like they have an in-depth view of who Mac and I are and how they can fix me. Usually I just smile and move on, but just this once I am going to say why I don't need their help.

Yes I submit to Mac, but as much as we joke around about Mac's perfection, He is not a god. He is a man. As much as He completes me, I complete Him. As much as He makes my life better, easier, happier, more constructive, I do the same for Him. As much as I make mistakes, He makes mistakes too. Just as I do not want to be without Him, He does not want to be without me. Together we live a brilliant loving life.

As for therapy, been there, done that. I have had what I consider to be my psychiatrist (not psychologist, not therapist, but a trained psychiatric Dr) since I was 18 and discovered that it was very easy to hurt myself. I now only see him twice a year and that is only because not everyone can be cured some people just go into remission. It would be damned easy for me to slip back into the chemical imbalance that causes depression. Done that a few times too. Before Mac, my appointments were once a week. I was falling apart trying to be the strong independent woman everyone told me I had to be. I was working myself into exhaustion, I was not sleeping, I could not get out of the hole I was in and it was getting deeper in spite of all the help I was getting. I never hid from Mac who I was or my illness. He knew it all long before we were together and He still loved me. My psychiatrist knows it all, the domination, the submission, the self-loathing that appears sometimes and the choices that I allow Mac to make for me and us. He knows how we have chosen to live our lives. He knows us personally and he sees a happy healthy couple with no more than the usual amount of hang-ups for people our age. He is happy with the way that I am progressing. He sees the relationship between Mac and I as a positive part of my life.

I too, used to think that I was abnormal. But I am not that much different than any other woman out there that likes it when her man is someone she can look up to and admire, someone she wants to be her lover, her friend and her protector. I fit into the same box on the shelf that they do. The same box my grandmother fitted in to. I have the same sort of relationship she had with Pop and I have never known two people happier with their lives. It doesn't make me out of the ordinary to feel out of whack when my hormones are raging. (Ovulation, menstruation.) I don't need therapy. I need the love of a good strong man. And lucky for me, I have it.

As for the pre-occupation with sex, this is a sex blog. I sort of get on a soapbox and rave about other things, but the purpose of this place is really to chronicle the sex life that Mac and I have. I may use our sex or a fantasy to illustrate something I feel because I find most people understand sex and I find that I can express myself easier with sex. We do other things besides fuck. We watch movies, go out to dinner, we wash up together, eat ice cream, go shopping, have conversations and read. He works and I do the things I like to do. Of course there is a lot of sex in our lives. We are young, healthy, active people with no kids, why shouldn't we do something so pleasurable as much as we can? I am sure as we get older and add children to the equation the sex life of Mac and Sarah will slip into the vanilla world of 'shh honey you will wake the kids.' Until then, fucking on the stairs is our way of saying 'Christ it is good to be young!'

Even on the days that I have trouble seeing that I am an intelligent, witty, sharp, beautiful, sexy and sensual individual, I still know that I am the luckiest woman alive.

Even with the darkness I sometimes feel, I wouldn't change places with anyone in the world.

And there is no way on this Earth anyone will ever convince me that I could have it all without Mac.

Why does our society assume we have to do everything on our own? I give so much more because He is there for me. I will no longer believe that it is wrong. I will not let anyone make me ashamed of being submissive anymore.

I am Mac's Sarah and every day I grow prouder of that fact.

I will now return to smiling quietly to myself when I see any comment that mentions I need help.

Yesterday I was at lunch with Emma and some other girls from Emma's office when one of them announced that men rarely know the colour of their partner's eyes. She said that men always know their partner's breast size, but it seems that eyes just blend into the face. She had apparently tested this on couples that had even been together for years and found that most men just have no clue. Straight after lunch I grabbed my phone out of my bag. I needed to check.

Mac answered the phone after two rings.

'Hello' He said gruffly in that I am an important business man and your call is interrupting me so get on with it voice that He always answers the work phone with. (You can see why He isn't in customer relations.)
'Hey Babe.' I said.
'Oh hello you.' His voice immediately softened and I could hear the smile. (God I love that)
'What colour are my eyes?' I asked.
'Hazel leaning towards green.' He said without hesitation.
'Oh gosh.' I said. 'I love You lots.'
'Why?' He said suspiciously. 'What have I done now?'
'Well because we were having lunch and so-and-so said that men rarely know their partner's eye colour but they always know the breast size and not only did You get the colour right, You even added the shade!'
'Oh' He said. 'Good job I guessed right then huh?' (He is such a smartass at times.)
'Don't ruin it for Yourself McBroden.' I grinned.

He chuckled then told me to shoo as He had important Man things to do and I was keeping Him from getting them done with my girlie questions. I laughed and we said goodbye and hung up.

I would not have gotten upset if He didn't know. Mac hardly remembers what He had for breakfast or where He put His wallet or His mother's phone number (at least she tells me He doesn't remember it, because He doesn't call) and asking Him in the middle of a workday when His mind was probably on a dozen different things was probably not really fair on Him. But to have Him answer without hesitation and get it right made me feel all warm and tingly inside.

It really is the little things that count.

(P.S. Before anyone tries this at home, just remember that you shouldn't ask a question unless you are prepared for the answer. Please don't use it to start a fight.)