Master and Submissive, Part Three; Responsibilities and Requests
Dear Master,
I am sorry. I have hurt you, I have been selfish, and I have been too focused on My own pain to notice yours. You accuse Me of arguing, not listening, being difficult, not caring; of not being a good girlfriend, submissive, and student. I am arrogant and argumentative. I don't trust what you say, I argue with what you tell Me. I refuse to accept responsibility for My emotions, blaming them instead on you. I run away from everything, spending as many nights away from home as possible. Even when I am home, I don't tell you what bothers Me, I ignore it all and pretend that it will go away and focus on laundry and telly and anything else. I resent you and mistrust you.
I must change this, that much is clear. I do not know how; some of these things, such as arguing, are so natural to Me that I often times do not even notice Myself doing them; others, such as trusting you, are things I do not feel I have much control over.
It is said that nothing is quite so hard to ask for as assistance. I ask you now, help Me. I will change for you, because I love you; I want you to be happy. I will need your assistance, though. Please.
I have but one other request for you, and it is to be nice. You act like an asshole, and this is not My imagination, not something I invented. Others back Me up on this: you are rude, cruel, insulting. It hurts Me, breaks My heart, makes Me cry, makes Me doubt you, your word, your love. I will do anything for you, everything you ask, so long as you ask, not bark. When you criticize Me, you do it gently. I will listen, be obedient, but please, be gentle with your words. I do not think you realize how they hurt Me.
Am I blowing this out of proportion? Is this a neurosis of Mine? Perhaps. I will concede that it is, I will admit fault, I will work to cure Myself of it. I stand by My request, though: I do not find it to be unreasonable. If a person loathes broccoli, it would not be outrageous for them to refuse a broccoli dish, as opposed to eating it regardless.
Please, Sir. This would mean the world to Me. Please.
I love you.
Sincerely,
Anastasia
I am sorry. I have hurt you, I have been selfish, and I have been too focused on My own pain to notice yours. You accuse Me of arguing, not listening, being difficult, not caring; of not being a good girlfriend, submissive, and student. I am arrogant and argumentative. I don't trust what you say, I argue with what you tell Me. I refuse to accept responsibility for My emotions, blaming them instead on you. I run away from everything, spending as many nights away from home as possible. Even when I am home, I don't tell you what bothers Me, I ignore it all and pretend that it will go away and focus on laundry and telly and anything else. I resent you and mistrust you.
I must change this, that much is clear. I do not know how; some of these things, such as arguing, are so natural to Me that I often times do not even notice Myself doing them; others, such as trusting you, are things I do not feel I have much control over.
It is said that nothing is quite so hard to ask for as assistance. I ask you now, help Me. I will change for you, because I love you; I want you to be happy. I will need your assistance, though. Please.
I have but one other request for you, and it is to be nice. You act like an asshole, and this is not My imagination, not something I invented. Others back Me up on this: you are rude, cruel, insulting. It hurts Me, breaks My heart, makes Me cry, makes Me doubt you, your word, your love. I will do anything for you, everything you ask, so long as you ask, not bark. When you criticize Me, you do it gently. I will listen, be obedient, but please, be gentle with your words. I do not think you realize how they hurt Me.
Am I blowing this out of proportion? Is this a neurosis of Mine? Perhaps. I will concede that it is, I will admit fault, I will work to cure Myself of it. I stand by My request, though: I do not find it to be unreasonable. If a person loathes broccoli, it would not be outrageous for them to refuse a broccoli dish, as opposed to eating it regardless.
Please, Sir. This would mean the world to Me. Please.
I love you.
Sincerely,
Anastasia