S and I cancelled our date on Tuesday.  It’s a combination of her house having the vomits yesterday and things going on with her boyfriend, who, at least I think, needs her to be there for him 100% this week.  I’ve been riding the high of realizing how much I’ve grown and healed and changed in the last year. Last weekend, I had a good talk with my boss who failed me last weekend, we hashed it out, and then I sent an email to the entire management team.  It’s a well-written narrative that asks them to be better at responding to the needs of their staff. I’ve had a few responses and they are positive. My real responsibilities with my full-time job finished apart from a few details and summer is looming large.  I’m dealing with the heaviness of the responsibility of everything being on my shoulders in my home and with my kids. I’m raw as fuck. I’m happy with my new-found ability to share my hurt when it’s going on, or at least doing it that one time. The fact is, it just sort of happened.  I realized I had two people in my life who needed to know what was going on in my world at that moment. I needed to tell them, because I want to share my life, the good and the bad, with them. There’s a level of trust, respect, and acceptance in what I have with A and S that I’ve never had in my life.  It didn’t happen by accident, we built it together, but it didn’t happen purposefully either.

Over the last couple years, I’ve unpacked so much that was unhealthy in my life.  I unpacked years of passive aggressive communication and blame and manipulation. That was how my childhood was with my dad, so I grew up thinking it was normal.  I dated a series of men and even attracted friends who communicated in the same manner, not to mention my sister. Despite how amazing my mom is, I was completely broken in the way I responded to others and communicated myself.  Changing myself began when I went on depression meds. I asked for help, because in that moment, I was desperate for anything to help me cope, because the alternative was unthinkable to me. It let me cope, antidepressants made me…well…me…again.  I think it was hard on F that I was OK again. For at least six years, I had been depressed. High functioning, low level depression, that turned into acute depression of the emergent sort after #4 was born. My low-level depression was gradual and was accompanied by the arrival of baby #1, #2, and #3, plus my pregnancy with #4.  It was wrapped up in an acute period of depression between baby #1 and #2 when I had two miscarriages and secondary infertility caused by an ovarian cyst. What this meant is that my early years of motherhood were coloured by the constant anger and defeatism that overcame me in ways I didn’t understand at the time. It was made worse by a very manipulative husband who didn’t take an active role in our life without me asking or demanding that he did.  I became the caretaker of our life together. Organizing the kids, the house, the meals, the activities, the childcare, the yard maintenance, all the logistics of life. There is a post on Facebook that goes around about the emotional workload of being the wife and mother that seems to drive it home every time I see it. The workload that we take on as the managers of our lives, on top of our full-time jobs (or full-time and casual job), is enormous. All of this put together meant I didn’t communicate well.  I just did. I did all the things and didn’t ask for help and when things were hard, I just got angry and huffed and continued to do all the things. I did the things because I had to, because I didn’t have a partner to do it with me. I had a partner who attacked me for my feelings and didn’t engage in our life without pressure from me. I was easy to manipulate and control because I wasn’t capable of communicating effectively and I was depressed and just trying to keep afloat. Add to that pregnancies and newborns and toddlers and moving internationally and new jobs and more new jobs and the fact that we both worked in emergency services and new houses and more newborns and more toddlers and three kids under three and I finally couldn’t handle it and I had to ask for help because for so long no one had been giving it to me and I needed a way to keep being strong.  

Then I was strong again.  I was me again. I started making good decisions for myself. I went through the six weeks it took to adjust to meds and went through the crazy time that was having a newborn, a one year old, a three year old, and a five year old and a husband who turned my illness into a reason to be a victim. Slowly, inch-by-inch, I began to establish boundaries.  I became strong, advocated for what I needed, stood up for my children, and then, a huge coincidence happened. I ran into an old friend from my grad school days who told me a job in my field was being posted. One that I would be perfect for. I applied for it, I got it. I took it. I took it despite F not wanting me to. He wanted me to stay home with the kids.  Even though he knew that wasn’t something that made me happy. Even though he knew my career was important to me. Basically, my happiness wasn’t important to him. Then I excelled at my job, but even more, I love it. It’s my dream job, with amazing coworkers, a fabulous work-life balance and so much support. Then polyamory came into my life. I was forced to communicate with my partners and learn about the things I needed and the things they needed and everything in between.  Something even more amazing happened at the same time. I had A and D and they cared so much about how I felt and what I wanted and needed in our relationships and I learned how much was missing in my marriage. F was dating W and that just caused a world of hurt in our world and as I established boundaries, he would go to greater lengths to violate them and get his way, and since I didn’t back down, it got worse and worse. Then I asked for a divorce.

That’s when the healing began.  When you remove the poison that is slowly leeching the life out of you, one drop at a time, the titration stops, but the damage is still there. It’s not an immediate fix. It takes time, medicine, patience, and rehabilitation to to recover from a lifetime of hurts.  I have no doubt that I’m not done healing. I don’t think we really ever are. I remember talking to my parents about how conditioning from F dictates my response to situations, and my step-dad saying my mom still is triggered sometimes, 31 years later, by things because of the dysfunction that my dad brought to her life.  I expect the healing to continue and the hurt to probably hit unexpectedly as life goes on. Time has worked in my favour to heal my wounds. My medicine has come in the form of the amazing partners who love me and accept me for who I am despite my flaws. For me the patience is always a huge struggle and the rehabilitation is ongoing.  Part of the rehabilitation is opening the wounds, exposing them for what they are, treating the infection inside, and then sewing up those wounds to heal properly. The problem is it takes time to find, open, and expose those wounds.

Right now, I’m somewhere in the middle of this whole process.  I have open wounds, partially healed wounds, festering wounds, and wounds I haven’t identified.  I have wounds that have healed and helped me form a protective barrier and be strong after being vulnerable.  This here is the whole thing that is getting me right now. For the last year(s), I’ve had so many people comment on how strong I am.  These last few days I realized that strong was not what I was. I was broken and in need of rebuilding. Strong for me has come out this last week as I’ve been vulnerable and shared so much more about who I really am with A and S.  I’ve stood up for myself and asked for what I need and got it. I’ve recognized how positive this was and have been riding the high of it. But I’m not healed, I’m raw. I’m so, so, so, very raw. Like any exposed wound, I am cognizant of the fact that I could re-injure myself at any time, far easier than if I didn’t have those pre-existing wounds.  That’s what makes it really scary.


Earn my submission

My submission is not owed to anyone.  My submission was given to A as a gift because he earned it.  He earned it through gaining my trust, respect, love, and obedience (in bed only – I’m a pain in his ass the rest of the time).  He earned it by talking through things with me, establishing limits together, discussing fantasies and how to fulfill them, and showing me, through his actions, that he is worthy of my submission.  He earned it by being there for me every day for the last year and a half, by working through twisty bits with me, and by dominating me in the most amazing ways every week.

So you know what, aspiring doms?  You need to do the same thing. If you are a dom and you want me to submit to you, the first thing you need to do is gain my trust and respect.  So when I tell you that I am a submissive and that I’m poly and I’d like another boyfriend, that is not your cue to talk dirty to me or demand that I meet you in a field somewhere for some kinky fun or call me your dirty little slut.  

What should you do?  You should talk to me. Get to know the strong, independent, intelligent woman that I am.  Talk to me about my life, my philosophies on how I create connections with people and allow my relationships to evolve, about my career and what it means to me, about my kids and how I manage coparenting with a narcissistic passive aggressive asshole, or even about where I’ve travelled, lived, or call home.  You know what, the subject matter doesn’t even matter, just take an interest in me as a person. Until you know me as a person, respect me for all the things I bring to the table, value me for my brain, strength, incredible nerdiness, and openness to every type of connection, I will not submit to you.

When I was dating D, we had really hot vanilla sex. There was never going to be anything more than a really fun vanilla connection between us, had we continued dating to today, and I never wanted anything more with him.  The sex was fantastic as it was, and he, to me, was a gentle giant with a soul that invited me into comfort and love. I would have never considered a D/S dynamic with him, and loved what we had. When I was dating O, he was really jealous of A.  A consequence of this was that he pushed for a D/S dynamic with me. The first time we did it, it was pretty fun. The second was a disaster. It felt forced and awkward to me. I realized that he was pushing for a sexual dynamic in the bedroom that wasn’t a dynamic we naturally had.  I was never comfortable submitting to him, our dynamic was vanilla, and had he left it at that, it probably would have remained really hot, but alas, it didn’t. Contrast this to A, who was only ever just himself. At the beginning, we just had really great sex. There was no power exchange, just mutual ravaging of each other as soon as consent was given.  I loved that he took charge, guided me with what he wanted to do, but I was just as likely to take control in the beginning, and even still, I’m often the one who initiates. What triggered our descent down the rabbit hole? Me. Not him pushing me, but me asking him to take control of me and experiment with me. Who drives our ongoing descent? Me. Who has control in the bedroom?  Him, because I give it to him, because he earned it.

There is nothing more offensive to me than the man who starts talking to me like I’m his submissive before he earns that place in my life.  Really, it turns my vagina into a desert capable of dehydrating the strongest camel in the herd. All of this makes me wonder how doms and subs work in the larger community and if that approach, the one where a man sexualizes a woman and assumes things about her desires and position in life without actually knowing her, is normal, or actually works for men.  But for me, you need to dominate my brain and stimulate me intellectually before you dominate by body and stimulate me sexually.

When the heartbreak hits

I spent this weekend alone.  A few hours ago, I picked up my kids, and now I’m processing all the things that I allowed myself to feel this weekend.  I’ve reached the point where the heartbreak is overwhelmingly painful.  I’ve got a lump in my throat, a tightness in my chest, and a knot in my stomach.  I feel physical pain at the loss of what I had with O.

On Friday night, I went to Robbie Burns night.  This is the same Robbie Burns night event that A goaded me into going to last year, the day after we broke my bed.  The same night that ended up being such an amazing night with both A and D, when I ended up at D’s house while his amazing wife volunteered to sleep on the couch.  O was supposed to be my date this year.  I asked a few friends to pinch hit for him after I broke up with him and finally managed to get one of my friends who I’ve known for 23 years to accompany me.  She was a delightful date and fit in well, having met A and his wife and D and his wife before.  Yes, D and his wife were there too. It was the first time I saw him since the ridiculous drunk texting incident, which I now think was hysterically funny, and am rather thankful it happened, as it was the key step in me finally getting over him.  I’m not saying I don’t still love him, because I do.  But I absolutely wouldn’t take him back if he begged me.  I am in love with the man I dated then, not the man I know him to be now.

I had a great time at Robbie Burns. I enjoyed the scotch; I enjoyed the company; I enjoyed the food.  I didn’t particularly miss O’s presence and other than saying that my friend was pinch hitting for a boyfriend I just broke up with, he didn’t come up.  It was the first time I had spent a whole night out in public with A and his wife.  A isn’t big into public displays of affection, and that is also true with his wife.  I got a kiss when we got into his truck and a kiss after his mom left, yes, that’s right, his MOM!  The thing is, he was out at a function with his wife and his girlfriend.  His girlfriend that only half the people there knew about.  So he was a husband, but not a boyfriend that night.  It was weird, not hard, or upsetting, but weird, to see them in their husband and wife roles.  To see them casually touch each other in the way couples do.  Hands on knees, a rub of the arm, a hand on the shoulder.  To be a part of that night but apart from someone I love.

I cuddled A in the back seat on the way home.  It was nice. It filled me with comfort.  I am in need of reconnection, however, to be the focus of his attention without the rest of his life there.

After A and his wife dropped my friend and I off at home, I crawled into bed.  I slept for 14 hours.  For the first time in months, I slept until I couldn’t sleep anymore.  I woke up with a cold and the deep sadness of heartbreak that overwhelmed me completely.  I am constantly on the move and busy and rushing from thing to thing. I took Saturday for myself to do nothing. I don’t remember the last time I did nothing for a day, but it was definitely at least 10 years ago.  I watched five movies.  I didn’t move off the couch.  But most importantly, I cried.  I cried until my entire face was swollen and my eyes felt like sandpaper. I cried that deep guttural cry that consumed my body and made me struggle to breathe.  It was the ugliest ugly cry of my life, made worse by the hoarse throat and grainy cough.

It was cathartic, in a way.  I guess I knew it was coming. I told A the day after all the awful happened that it would be about a week and a half until the *real* pain hit.  When I’d cry and the heartbreak would hit. Well, it hit.  Heartbreak like I’ve never felt before. I thought the heartbreak after D was the limit of the pain I could experience and it turns out that I was wrong. I long for the hurt I felt last May.

In typical *me* style, instead of asking for what I needed (remember how bad I am at being vulnerable), I tried to entice A to my house with dirty pics and promises of hot sex, and the exhausted man who is too busy for his own good chose sleep over me.  I’m sure if I had told him where I actually was emotionally, that I needed someone to wrap their arms around me and make me feel taken care of, he would have actually been here.  He probably thought I needed too much of him.

The fact is, I am in a constant state of emotional pain turned physical because it’s so real and all-encompassing.  I alternate between the desire to shut down emotionally and be strong and independent and I “don’t need anyone” and the need to have someone I love and trust hold me, keep me safe, and make me feel protected.

There is this crazy knowledge inside of me that I chose this.  I chose the the “rip-the-bandaid-off” approach to ending my relationship with O and the immense pain that comes with it, over the long, slow destruction that would have occurred if I had elected to try to move on.  That I chose to feel this overwhelming hurt over many small hurts.

I have an army of people who love me who are waiting to support me in anyway they can. This includes S, who has been amazing, patient, kind, supportive, and altogether very sexy about the whole thing.  A, who has helped me forget by taking me away so I’m only aware of him and what he’s doing to me, but also with his frequent check-ins and understanding as I tell him how much I hurt, and his desire to be here for me, even when he can’t be.  To D’s wife, who was so loving and supportive.  To A’s wife, who sent me love yesterday, knowing I needed it.  To my mom, who reminded me of my value when I was feeling so very broken.  To so many others who love me because I’m me.

I am broken.  I am hurting.  I am overwhelmed.  Tomorrow, I’ll see A.  He will hug me and for the moment that he holds me, all my pain will disappear.  I will feel his arms around me. My breath will slow.  I’ll smell him. And I will let go.

There is something amazing about going through heartbreak while in love with someone else.  To be deeply in love with someone and mourning the loss of deep love with someone else at the same time.  While I hurt, I recognize the love I have.  I will heal.  While I heal, I have so many people who love me to help me get there.

Understanding my submission

A couple weeks ago, A and I had a pretty crazy session, and there was a lot of biting involved.  Most of it wasn’t particularly painful, or, more accurately, it was the right kind of pain for this girl.  I had a tubal ligation a few months ago that left me with a tiny scar on my lower abdomen.  Completely unintentionally, A bit me on my scar, and ironically, it didn’t hurt, but clearly it disrupted something underneath the scar, because the next day, I had a HUGE bruise. I suspect that it busted open some scar tissue beneath the external scar, causing a bit of bleeding.  So, this was the bruise I was sporting the first time I had sex with O:


I had, of course, warned him that A and I are kinky. That I would frequently have bruises and that they were obtained consensually, and more often than not, directly asked for.  I explained that I like vanilla as much as BDSM, that I take pleasure from all kinds of sex, and that he didn’t have to feel the need to do what A does to me, in fact, part of what I love about him is that he doesn’t do what A does to me.  Different people scratch different itches.  

I’ve mentioned several times here that A has been going through an extraordinarily difficult time in his life.  He’s been dealing with it amazingly well, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t worried about him.  He has a lot of work stress, family stress, and relationship stress going on.  It’s a trifecta of awfulness and while I’m in awe of how well he is dealing with everything, I have also been quietly waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.  Mostly, I expected him to fall off the radar for a night and get totally crazy drunk and then suffer for a day or two after because of his indulgence.  I was worried one or more of his realities would hit and he’d bottle up again.  In true A style, he snuck in a drunk while his wife was getting her hair done, we had an interesting drunk texting conversation, and he had his meltdown verbally with her in the car on the way home.  He either is embarrassed by what he said or truly doesn’t remember, because the next day he was all apologies to her and claims (to me) he doesn’t remember what was said.  

Then, last week, I developed left flank pain that increased in intensity and started radiating centrally and forward that was so bad that I couldn’t sit comfortably.  I reached my breaking point on day three of this pain and headed to my local emergency room.  Going in, of course I was texting with both A and O, and they each were worried about me.  I told them I thought one of two things were going on: 1)  I had a kidney infection and needed IV antibiotics; or 2) the bite mark caused more damage than I knew and I had a build up of blood internally causing issues.  Well, proof once again that I’m not a physician – it turned out that I have a pinched muscle in my back that’s causing left flank pain.  They gave me a shot of Toradol and sent me home, where I proceeded to drink a bit too much wine and that’s where both A and O found me when they came to check on me that night.

As stuff in A’s life is coming to a head, I was texting with O, saying I didn’t sleep well, largely because I was worried about A, and he said: “If A is verging on cracking up from all the pressure and is having episodes where he is not really in control of himself, please promise me you will be careful.”

Me: “Of course.  Honestly, he has never said or done anything to make me concerned. He can be a pain in the ass, but he’s always been very caring and gentle except when I ask for him not to be. I’m not worried”

O: “That’s cool. I guess I am just saying to be sure he is in control when you put yourself in his control. You were at the hospital last week for what you thought might be internal bleeding so forgive me if I am coming across as overly cautious. “

Me: “Hahaha.  Point made. But that was unintentional on his part!”

O: “That is exactly my point: unintentional=not in control. Just…be careful please. I care about you.”

Me: “No, it wasn’t out of control at all. It was a non-painful bite over my surgery scar. Had it been anywhere else, there would not have even been a mark.  It was an accident, not lack of control.”

O: “Be careful please.”

Me: “I will. But you need to understand that I have no concerns at all. I have no reason to mistrust A.  In fact, if I did, it would destroy our dynamic, as it only works with trust. I think your imagination is getting the better of you. We have all been drunk and said things that were inappropriate. That’s what happened here.”

O: “Of course you know A best and you are probably right about my imagination. I am not questioning your trust in him. It is just he has been a little random in him behaviour lately. …I am not trying to limit you, really. I am learning it is not easy for someone to care about someone in a bdsm relationship with someone else (when the first party hasn’t built up their own trust with the someone else yet) and communicate that care to the other without sounding controlling…

…I realized on the walk over that askin0g you to be careful was a trigger for you. It has probably been used against you in the past. I apologize if I brought up bad associations for you. I will be more cognizant of my usage of that word in the future. …”

Me: “Can I say how much I love that you are so introspective and think about how what you say and do affects the people you love?  I was trying to think how I was going to respond to you and realize I don’t really need to.”

Truthfully, I was upset when I read the first part of his last text.  I decided to put my phone down and think how I would like to respond to O.  I was upset by the portrayal of A as out of control.  I was upset that my judgement was being questioned. I’ve never seen A anything but in control and I’ve tried to push him outside his comfort zone many times. But as I thought about it, I realized that this is the second time in a week that people who don’t know A well have talked about him in a less than positive way.  I realized that it must have something to do with me and the way I talk about him, the dynamics of our relationship in and out of the bedroom, and my portrayal of our interactions together.  

I’ve known from the beginning of our relationship that A isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.  I’ve talked to a person or two who say they don’t understand him or he wasn’t their favourite person, and because I once thought he was a little too cocky, I sort of understood.  As I got to know him better, I saw past the somewhat cocky and arrogant exterior and realized that there is a man with a giant, kind, empathetic, and generous heart behind his walls.  All along, I said to every person: “It’s OK if you don’t like him, I just want you to respect our relationship, because he is important to me, and he’s not going anywhere”. Truthfully, now that we are so close, it really bothers me when people misjudge him.

I think that people take his attitude and then start extending it to our dom/sub dynamics.  I think that in theory, people understand that everyone has different desires, kinks, and fetishes, and that for some, nothing but missionary vanilla sex is ever needed and for others, group sex with whips and needles and all kinds of “out there” kinks is the order of the day.  I have very liberal minded friends and partners.  They generally say that they don’t understand the BDSM stuff that A and I are into, but they support our choices and understand that it’s consensual and something we do love.  The problem is, I think that they want to support it, but because they don’t understand it, they can’t. Then, if they have assumptions about myself, or A or anyone else, they conflate the ideas and misunderstandings like this occur.  

This fact has me wanting to put into words what my relationship with A is *really* like from my perspective.  Who A is to me.  I hope I can accomplish this, although I’m not sure I can.  

A is my boyfriend.  He is everything that the word should inspire you to think when you think of a boyfriend.  We have spent more time together lately with our clothes on, either just chatting with each other in his truck, or having an adult beverage at a local pub, or out at a disappointing sex show, than we have naked.  Our dom/sub dynamic has a very defined start and stop.  It is only in the bedroom and it is only while we are actively playing.  I’ve been asking for him to just come in and ravage me, but consent, in the form of a very enthusiastic “YES!!!” is necessary every time. Truthfully, I initiate sex over 95% of the time.  There is no victimization or abuse in our relationship, everything we do, we do because I’ve asked for it.  

When not actively playing, the majority of our relationship we could pass as a vanilla couple.  In the last week, he made time to come visit me during my one hour lunch break at my second job.  He crawled into the back seat of his truck with me just to cuddle me because I was having a hard time.  He declined a back seat blow job because he “really enjoys just talking” to me.  There were moments in the truck where we just looked at each other and smiled, hugging and kissing gently and lovingly.  A few weeks ago, when I was having feelings about A and U having “lunch”, he was legitimately concerned he hurt me. He called me to talk it out.  Ten months in, we had our first phone conversation because he was concerned about how I was doing emotionally and I gave him reassurance that I was not, in fact, hurt and angry, but understood that I needed to process what had happened and work through it.  He’s the boyfriend who has told me, unequivocally, how amazing he thinks I am, and how I’m the “best girlfriend ever’, (not just because of the awesome sex, but because as he says, I’m “unlike anyone he’s ever met”).  The love and the connection has just intensified exponentially in the past months as his walls began crumbling and the man I knew was behind those walls has come into the light.

Those things explained, I need to talk about what I get out of submission.  What needs to be reiterated is exactly how strong of a person I am.  I’m highly educated, I have a professional career that I love, I work a second job because it’s different and dynamic and allows me to help people in real time, and I need the money because I am paying for a divorce.  My separation means that I parent my four children 60% of the time and that they are with their dad the rest of the time.  As part of my separation, I will take over the mortgage on my house and assume all responsibility for the bills associated with it.  I have an amazing in-home caregiver who cares for my children when I’m at work and who cooks, cleans, and does laundry, generally being entirely responsible for the fact that I always have clean underwear and can find anything at all in my house.  I have had a huge diversity of experiences in my life, some of them awful, some of them wonderful.  But I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I am a support to the people around me.  I am not easily manipulated, pushed around, or abused.  

For years, I had fantasies in my alone time about submission.  I never thought it would happen, because I was monogamous and F was not at all dominant.  Then, when I first had sex with D, I realized I liked a man who took control.  BDSM wasn’t his thing at all, but he knew what he wanted and wasn’t scared to drive the bus.  When we got drunk and I crossed the couch and A and I started our relationship, he was even more willing to drive the bus.  I started talking about things I wanted to try, largely because he was the first man who was ever hard enough on my nipples.  (Truthfully, I’d never enjoyed my nipples being played with before.)  The fact that he was naturally hard on me turned me on, and as I talked more about things I’d like to try, he obliged.  I created my own dom, in a sense, as he became one because I asked him to.  What I found was this:  I am submissive through and through but only sexually.  I like being told what to do.  It never ceases to amaze me that I instantly get wet when I’m given an order.  A texted me once on his way over with a picture of a girl kneeling on the floor, hands on knees, looking down, naked, with the caption: “Like this toy.  Nipple clamps are not optional”.  I was immediately ready to be fucked.  I was waiting exactly like he asked.  It’s all just hot to me.  I like that he uses me like he wants. I love the rush and sting of any and all of the floggers. I love the squirm and the squeal that come out of me with nipple torture or biting.  I frequently soak the bed before he’s even touched my pussy. The more immobile I am, the hotter it is for me.  For him, he prefers to give me orders and have me able to move at will, because that means that I am continuing to submit, constantly making the choice to come back for more.  

When we first started our trip down the rabbit hole, I would text him during the day of our date and tell him what I wanted him to do.  He would oblige and add a bit here and there. Somewhere along the way, I stopped doing so.  I usually say if something is off the table, but rarely ask for anything unless I really want it.  He is in sole control of the bus most of the time.  (Which is good, because by the time he’s done, I can rarely walk!) At the beginning, he was gentler, he started slow and worked up.  He checked in often. I’d ask for harder, and he’d say “Not today, we want to do this and check in first and escalate slowly”.  He was careful and methodical and generous and kind.  My experience was everything to him.  Now, I don’t need to ask for what I want, because he knows me so well.  What he comes up with is always better than what I would request.  There’s also something super sexy in the unknown.

What I get is simple.  I get lost completely in sensation.  There is absolutely nothing else going on in the world when I’m with A.  I am totally and completely with him in that moment.  The sensations overwhelm my body.  Each strike, each thrust, each gag on his cock is everything in that moment.  There’s a point where pain becomes pleasure and pleasure and pain mix to set my whole body on fire and I become overwhelmed with the sensations and fall into this amazing ‘subspace’ where I just am.  It’s the most liberating and all encompassing sensation I could ask for. The intensity and build up of all orgasm control play lights me on fire.  He was the first man to make me squirt and it happens regularly now.

What it isn’t is me lying there taking a beating. There’s laughter and joking and whining and begging and feedback and checking in. There are orders and control, but no one would question that I like it. It’s not constant pain, in fact I’d say I spend more time orgasming than getting flogged, thanks to a magic wand and forced orgasms. We debrief to a different extent every time. Sometimes it’s collapsing in each other’s arms and not saying much, sometimes it’s dissecting what happened and what we liked, didn’t like, what was too much, what we want more of, and where we would like to take things.  Sometimes we watch stand up comedy sketches or listen to music together. Sometimes we just chat about life. The point is, aftercare is a huge part of everything we do. There’s never a quicky with us.

Whenever we try something new, A will check in with me periodically.  During our foursome, he stopped what he was doing, I was a puddle on the bed, and he came over, lovingly stroked my hair and kissed me and asked me how I was doing, if I was OK, and if there was anything I needed or wanted. If I say something is too much, he dials back or switches to something else. If I say “no” to something, he always respects it. He is always watching for my reactions and feedback and body language.

I asked A what he gets out of being my dom. He said he didn’t know, or couldn’t put it into words.  He said he does it because I love it, what he enjoys is how I respond to him.  All this together just reminds me that I need to be better at explaining that this is about me and what I want more than about him *doing* something to me.

The true power in power exchange is in the hands of the sub. Submission is a gift given willingly and the submissive controls every limit and how it will be pushed. I could end everything with a simple word: “red”.  I’ve never even got close to saying it, because, like every great dom, A knows me and my limits and how and when to push those boundaries.


I keep starting a version of this post and either falling asleep or getting distracted with one of my million other priorities.  The thing is, life is so good, that it’s kind of difficult to write about.  It kind of seems like “Here’s my charmed life and it’s awesomeness, care if I rub your nose in it right now?”  But then I got thinking today, thanks to Facebook memories.

This coming Friday is one year since my first date with D.  He hasn’t shown up at the last couple events that we should have run into each other at, so either he has shit going on, or he’s avoiding me.  I guess it’s possible that I made it that awkward, but I like to think that I couldn’t have that big of an effect on him.  Realistically speaking, it doesn’t matter to me.  I’m so caught up in my relationships with A and O, that I haven’t thought about D at all apart from a “Huh, too bad he’s not here, he’s missing out”.  So when my Facebook memories popped up yesterday with a “Congratulations on one year of Friendship” video (yes, we were Facebook friends before we met in person), I was shocked to see him, and then shocked that I hadn’t thought about him in so long.  

When I was trying to pick a letter for O for this blog, I gave him a choice of letter, his first name starts with a “D”, so it makes sense that he would be D, but since it was taken, this wasn’t an option.  We settled on “O”, and that was it. Truthfully, D has come to mean more than the name I referred to D as in my blog.  When I first asked F for a trial separation, D sent me this song:


I love this song.  The Dickhead theme kept me going through some of the harder days of my breakup with F.  It’s why D sent it to me.  Something to make me laugh about all the crazy stupidity that was going on in my personal life.  There were days when I listened to it on repeat.  I may have once turned it on full volume when F was talking to me about something and treating me inappropriately. I left it in my YouTube playlist and it continued to come up from time to time.  Now, the song no longer makes me think of F, although “Dickhead” can be a very good name to sum up who he is.  But every time it comes on, it reminds me of D.  It turns out that D no longer is as simple as a letter to maintain anonymity.  I guess it stopped being just that soon after I fell for him.  D, someone I was once Devoted to, someone I Desired, and someone I thought was part of my Destiny, turned out to be a Disappointment, a Deplorable communicator, and a DICKHEAD!  

It’s childish. It’s funny.  It’s apt.  It’s true.


Freedom and love: G gives me perspective

Life is still incredibly amazing. I’ve made so many good decisions for myself in recent months, and my happiness is the reward for each individual success.  Tonight, G came over for dinner.  She is so great at communication that she came over a few weeks ago to ask for a little more time and connection with me.  Instead of doing things, she needed to connect – have substantial conversations and just be with me.  There are few things in this world that I appreciate more than people I love who communicate well, and this is true in this case also.  It’s so easy to give the people you love what they need when they ask you for exactly what that thing is.  Well, this evening was full of connection.  We cuddled and chatted and had supper and just laughed and talked and, well, were.  We just were.

So much happened in my life in the last week that there was a lot to catch her up on. With O, who has taken my life by storm and with A, who has been a bit of a storm of his own this week.  Talking about her world and its developments and a healthy dose of sex talk and sex toy conversations. It was wonderful!

Among the things that came up was how she never asks for help from others.  That several of the people in life are rarely aware that she is struggling until she fills them in later after she’s done processing. That is so familiar to me.  In fact, it sort of hit home when she said that, because she was the only person for months who knew that I was still hurting about D. That when I saw him it was like getting hit in the chest with a bazooka (no, this has not actually happened to me, it’s what I imagine getting hit in the chest with a bazooka would feel like).  I mentioned that to her and we talked through a few points to do with him.

Specifically, I realized that while I had been honest with myself when I saw him about still loving him, I had only been honest with G about what I was still feeling.  Even then I wasn’t completely clear with her.  Then a few things happened.  It was pointed out to me in conversation with someone who has never said a bad thing about D before that he is a total asshole.  I immediately proceeded to defend him and was stopped.  Simply put, he said: “Anyone who did to you what he did, in the way he did it, is an asshole.  There’s nothing to discuss there.”  This truth hit me hard.  It also happened only a few days after I had drunk texted D.  Now, my drunk text wasn’t particularly bad.  I wasn’t proclaiming everlasting love or pining for him.  I was just thinking about him and reached out.  I was drunk, so it wasn’t the most coherent ending, and the next morning, I apologized, said my train of thought clearly derailed and exploded, and explained that I wanted nothing from him but would like to be friends.  It was kind, apologetic, and I was a little vulnerable in it all.  He never responded.  

It’s funny to me that this seemingly small, insignificant event, one that I laughed off nearly immediately, was the final nail in the coffin of my affection for D.  In the end, I realized how little compassion and understanding he truly feels for others.  I realized how selfish and uncommunicative he was.  How he didn’t respect me enough to just say “hey, no thanks” to an offer of meeting for lunch.  

I was explaining all this to G today, and I said: “I could forgive him for dumping me the way he did.”  For not communicating when I had questions or offering an explanation or honouring what we shared.  But when he showed so little compassion for me when I asked directly for a response, I couldn’t hide behind the excuse that it was a one time thing.  All that time I spent thinking he was true to himself and did what he felt he needed to do to be happy meant I didn’t realize that he actually is just an uncompassionate, selfish, broken person.  This isn’t easy for me to write.  I write it, and despite months of  being apart, my go-to is to defend him. To focus on those amazing times before he broke up with me.  To forget that he hurt me worse than any man ever has.  

But G said several somethings tonight that hit me right where I needed to be smacked.  The first thing she said was that she couldn’t believe I could forgive him, because she hadn’t.  She said she is still every bit as angry at him as she was on day one because the way he acted was inappropriate and he hurt someone she loved.  She said she is pretty sure it was my divorce that was too much for him, which was too bad.  I said that the unfortunate part is that if he had just hung out and waited it out, only a couple months later, I was, by far, the best version of me I had ever been.  I pointed out that the people who waded through that dark time with me were now the people who were receiving the best version of me they possibly could.  That I am the best me in every part of my life now.  That people like A stuck it out and supported me and were everything I needed them to be.  He was exactly what I needed him to be on so many nights where I was done with everything in my world and I needed him to make me forget it all.  I remember saying to him that I needed to not talk about my hurt or anger, that I needed him to overwhelm me with sensation and make me forget anything and everything but what was going on in the moment.  I remember saying a version of that for weeks (months?) in a row.  I know that he never once failed to do so.  He helped me forget.  He helped me numb myself.  He helped me heal.  He helped me become the me I am now.  Not because he supported me (which he did) or that he put up with my crazy (which he did), but because he LET me hurt and be and process and ask for what I needed and take charge and just held on for the ride. He didn’t demand anything of me and never tried to save me and he was exactly what I needed him to be because he let me be the strong independent person I am and the weak person who needed to heal at the same time.

What she said, that hit me like a ton of bricks straight to the head, was: “Did it occur to you that what you got was the best version of D, and that he wasn’t good enough for you?”  Wait!!! What???  The idea that the best version of him wasn’t the wonderful times, but the man who broke up with me via email with no reason and then cut off all communication with me wasn’t what I was expecting, but when it hit, it hit hard and stuck there.  She’s absolutely right.  

As my best friend, soul sister, and a person I love unconditionally, G has my heart in her hands. She knows me well, she loves me deeply, and she isn’t scared to verbalize the hard truths.  Today, she said something that threw me for a loop.  She said that the people in my world who love me and attach to me thrive off my love of life, my energy, and my enthusiasm. That when I am down, or going through a dark period, like this summer after D dumped me, and I had to process all the hurt of the previous six months,  they can’t feed off my energy, and it’s hard for them. Some people, who want and can give that love and energy back to me when I’m not able to give myself, stick by me, support me, and love me.  Others, who just want to take, well, they leave, killing off a bit of that part of me that gives.  Fortunately, that giving part of me regenerates once I evict those people from my heart.  I’ve just completed that regeneration.  It’s amazingly liberating.  When I talked to A about this the other day, he made the point that I’m finally at that point where I can love in a way that isn’t limited due to hurt.  That I’m free again.  I think my NRE with O is a true expression of that new-found freedom and space in my heart, freed by my finally letting go of D. Freedom and love: basic human rights, at least in my world.

Part 3: A’s thoughts about our first date

I threw in a quick “A, want to write your version out for me?” line in my last blog post about our first date and how we ended up together yesterday.  A obliged me with his version and it was super fun to read.  Copy editing only, although there are a few of my comments interlaced again (I particularly like that I get to say what I want without interruption).

My first date with the person who has now been a regular part of my life for the past 9 months or so: 

We connected electronically, and decided that drinks would be a good, safe first date. I was tasked the duty of picking a location, so I picked one of my favorite locales.  This was shot-down nearly immediately as her husband was planning on having a date at the establishment, so plan B it was.  (GF: day of, actually, when I checked our shared calendar and realized he was going to the same place!  Nothing like the pressure of a last minute venue change on a first date!) We went to a pub on the edge of downtown, easy for both of us to get to after work, and big enough and loud enough that we would be swallowed up by everything happening around us, and our conversation wouldn’t be overheard!!  Going into this date, I had learned from friends of ours that one of them (D) was struggling with the dating/poly culture in Edmonton, and wasn’t having much success.  I will point out at that time, I wasn’t having much success either, but I’m picky and choosy and notoriously oblivious to obvious cues specifically from women who are interested in me, so its more my fault than anyone else’s.  

The date. I think I arrived first, as I have an issue with being early for everything, turns out GF has the issue, so it was basically a race to see who could be there earlier! (GF: I arrived first, at least 15 minutes early, and A arrived late – the only time he’s ever been late in our entire relationship!) GF came in and we hugged (GF: He came in. I extended my arm to shake his hand, and he said “I’m a hugger!” and pulled me in for a quick hug)  and sat down and started a 5 hour 2 or 3 bottle of wine conversation that ranged far and wide, and it was amazing. Or at least parts of it where amazing.  The unbelievable coincidence of GF knowing two people that my wife and I are close to, and that the husband (D) was her second first date that week was a little surprising and off-putting.  Still after that the conversation swung back into regular, natural conversation and it was still very good.  Then she very casually, as one would normally in conversation when telling a story, said the name one of her daughters.  GF has written about this a couple of times, but that name is uncommon – very uncommon – and to hear it unprompted and unprepared had an obvious impact on the conversation, the mood at the table, and my general talkative nature.  The loss is not something I spend a lot of time talking about, and it’s not normally something that I just throw out on a first date!  That changed the tone of the conversation, as I had to explain what I’m sure was a perplexing response to a name to GF as she was ‘pestering’ me for answers.   (GF:  I was so confused by his response.  I said my daughter’s name and his reaction was profound and unexpected.  I said he couldn’t react like that to me saying my daughter’s name and not tell me why.  It certainly took some convincing to get him to spill the heartbreaking story.)

I picked up a vibe from GF that a second date wasn’t looking promising, the coincidences were just too close to home and that sexual energy just wasn’t sparking. (GF: Safe to say we found that spark and created a roaring bonfire!!!)  I think that I had also decided at that time I needed to bow out for similar reasons but also for D to have a chance as I recognized that GF is a pretty amazing person and I wasn’t 100% sold on us as a couple/dating going forward.  Sometimes my thoughts and compassion for others steps out and puts other’s needs ahead of mine.  This is one of those cases. Generally speaking I’m a two date guy, first dates can be super hard, lots of pressure, unknowns, etc, etc, but a second date has less pressure and people are generally more themselves and thus I am able to get a better read on people.  This probably explains why it took me so long to figure shit out with GF, I never had a “second” date.

The rejection email.  Most of our conversations happened via email, so it was the natural choice to send the note that there wasn’t a second date in the cards. (GF: This is very true, it never seemed weird to me that he sent it via email. It’s not like we dated for six months and he decided to break up with me via email, that would be a douche move!)  GF has eluded to it in other posts, and while I’m flattered, my ability to read people is not as good, precise, or as directed as she makes it sound. I’m no professional mentalist able to discern your thoughts based on what you are wearing, how you are sitting and what you do with your hands!  It’s also something that I’m not always 100% aware of or that I do consciously (if that makes any sense). So the email, it was a genuine attempt to convey my thoughts and the lack of chemistry, I hate people being ‘ghosted’ or left wondering what happened.  I also truly enjoyed the conversation, GF is smart, like crazy, could be scary, intimidatingly smart, which I love! So the offer to meet for coffee/drinks again, was just that, I enjoyed the spirited conversation and discussion we had. Finding someone who could have these types of discussions, and keep up, hold their own and have the spirit and back-bone to stand up to me and my thoughts was somebody I wanted to keep around. It was that simple, there was no, or I don’t recall there being any, ‘ulterior motive’ to continue the connection.  Everything else that has happened has just been a massive bonus, and I’m thankful that I sent that ‘rejection letter’.