Cuck Connection

The scene always starts out innocently. I want to be near and to connect. I want to play with energy and see if we can pass it back and forth between us. I want to feel turned on and I want to turn him on. Both of us have our desires and they overlap. But when he is in front of me I sometimes have a challenge getting started. While I don’t feel like what we do is debasing or humiliating on its own, it definitely can have roots there and I am never confident enough starting at that level.

I tell him a little bit about the struggle, about how while we play together wonderfully, I am not entirely certain how it fits into the scope of our relationship, whatever that means. I am incapable of holding back my feelings and so he has known how I have felt about him for quite some time now. My love does not prevent me from using someone. Usually loving someone helps enhance wanting to use them. It makes the fantasies more delicious. It helps me to feel a sort of ownership which means that I get to play with my toy however I want to. But that is not the framework of this relationship, or at least is not in my head. So I asked for help bridging the gap for me between what is mine and what isn’t mine; what seems appropriate and inappropriate.

It was a slow journey to arriving and walking into the house without explicit permission. It was a slow journey to getting him inside of the house and coming straight to my bedroom. He waited for explicit permission there as well. Asking him to simply jump in with how he would like to spend our time together seemed like it might be a bit much to ask from him but he exceeded my expectations when he came to my bedroom and kneeled on the floor. This was not an unusual position for him – not out of reverence or protocol or setting a scene – just for the simple fact that the dog is very short and he is very tall. He made it that far on his own before he started asking permission again, which was easily granted.

I watched as he lowered himself and kissed the top of each boot. I’m not always wearing boots in my bedroom but I had also just gotten home, right before he arrived, and hadn’t started undressing or getting comfortable yet and he saw – and took – an opportunity. I enjoy watching, as a voyeur, but I also enjoy getting to pet the back of his head, the back of his shoulders, while he is in that position. I let him kiss each of my boots and then offer to help him up. I am extraordinarily pleased that he did something for himself, and for us, ultimately, something that would reunite us after being apart. 

There was not much time today, not enough time for a full thought-out scene, but that also isn’t the entirety of the relationship. I have had many play partners who would arrive, we would scene, and then they depart and that is a fine model for a relationship. That is not who he is though. He moves slower than that, delves deeper than that, and so sometimes we sit around and talk. Sometimes I press myself against his body and steal all of his warmth. Sometimes we run errands together or attend discussion groups. Sometimes he simply gets naked and I touch him so that I can feel like he is mine. I pour my energy into him and he takes it and I am satisfied watching the way that he smiles and drinks in the touch. Sometimes he is touch starved and doesn’t know how to say it or ask for it and so I invite others to pet him as well, so that he can feel adored and appreciated. 

He invited me to a party that I’d wanted to go to but wasn’t explicitly invited to. I had already made arrangements with two other people to visit our local dungeon that night, to play. I asked if he minded and he did not, so we grouped up together for this party. We socialized and watched some scenes. He exhibited the precise same level of manners and etiquette that I have always seen from him, guiding me across the muddy lot, showing me the best places to step. I was grateful I wore boots this night too. He weaved in and out of my presence, never gone for too long, never intrusive when he returned. He assisted in some scenes by lending his height so we could attach a carabiner for stringing someone up. He enjoyed watching some scenes on his own. I played with my girl and delighted in all that she could take over one of the most unusual and decadent looking spanking benches I’ve ever seen.

By the end of the party, I wanted to play in different ways, ways that I don’t want to play in front of a lot of other people. We wrapped up and said goodbye and I took him home with me. I put him in my bed and undressed him and told him to get comfortable and he did. I invited my pup in and he undressed. We talked about the way things should go and once we were on the same page, I got to watch my cuck do all of the things we’ve talked about doing before, that we’ve explored doing a little, and talked him through how to give a blow job in the way that my pup likes best. The two of them are at odds against one another: my cuck has no gag reflex and can blow my pup in all of the ways that he enjoys the most, just trying to get him off so he can swallow his load while it’s hot and earned; my pup enjoys a great blow job but has almost never cum from receiving oral, even though he’s open to it, and encourages my cuck in all of the right ways to do all of the things that might get him there. It’s a delight to watch and encourage and I love getting to whisper things into my cuck’s ear while he’s going down on another guy.

My pup doesn’t get off but he’s ready to, which makes it my turn to play. I almost always start on my back so that he can see my face as he mounts me. He opens his eyes real wide and lets out the softest gasp as he pushes inside of me. It Always feels like Home to him. Once he is positioned, he reaches out to take my cuck’s hand and lays it across my chest, inviting him in to play as well. We can coordinate well between the three of us. I am playing with my cuck, my toy, enjoying his arousal as we all play together. His hand stays mostly still – we’re in foreign territory to him, of which my pup does not know – he doesn’t know what we do together at all. I tell my pup to be still, to simply be, so that I can use him to get off. I like his weight on top of me so that I can grind against him, and let my cuck watch me do it this time. Then it’s time to roll and pounce for real.

In times past, my cuck had been blindfolded so that he did not have any preconceived notion of how this went down, so that the way that I enjoy to fuck with my pup didn’t discourage him. This time I let him watch and positioned him for my own pleasure as well. It should come as no surprise that my pup prefers doggy style and this time I was able to get my cuck right in front of me. I’d had this fantasy of having him kneel at the end of the bed so that I could be staring into his eyes while I was getting fucked and he had agreed that it sounded hot. Instead, I pressed my mouth against his and so then he got to feel every time my breath changed, and even got to help muffle some of the sound that came from me when things got especially exciting. My pup did a good job of giving us grace and not going as fast or as hard as he could have, so I could keep my mouth against my cuck’s. Then, when he was done, he removed his condom, showed it to my cuck, and handed it to me before he slipped off just to watch.

I told my cuck to get on his back and there was no hesitation. I got on top of him and positioned myself so I could rub against him. I had residual energy I wanted to give him. I held the condom full of cum right above his mouth and I told him I would do it today and he smiled. At this point, I know I can just put my fingers against his mouth and he’ll open up, and he did just that. I turned the condom upside down and poured it into his mouth, then shoved the condom into his mouth. I played with his hard cock for a little while and then he asked if he could masturbate and the voyeur in me can never say no. I slid back just the smallest amount, so he could touch himself, and told him yes – as long as he still worked on cleaning out that condom. 

It was in the days after that, I kept thinking about the way that he had pressed his hand against my chest in that scene and didn’t do much else. My pup couldn’t have known that he’d never touched me like that before. He’s never been around us when we played. But it reminded me about how we all have our different preferences and what one person might like about me might not be what the next likes about me. I also have my preferences – the way I want to express my sexual energy with my pup won’t look the same as how I want to express it with my cuck. So when my cuck sat on my bed with me, to spend time with me, for us to connect, it all finally clicked into place.

I scooted back to the head of the bed, instead of being pressed against him. I like exploring the size dynamic between us, as a lot of people express when they are in FLR relationships – he’s half a foot taller than I am and I like figuring out how I can fit into his body. When I’m standing, my head can rest right against a divot he has in his chest, right beneath his collar bone. He can rest his chin on my head. I can wrap my arms all the way around his body and position my feet between his so that I can feel like we are one. I tell him all the time, be still like a tree and let me climb all around. He’s gentle, all of the time, extremely aware of his limbs and extremely cautious of knocking me over, or pushing me, or doing anything accidental that he’s not trying to do. 

I’ve gotten undressed, into my house clothes, and my bare feet. I rest them in his lap and instinctively he wraps his hands around one of my feet and smiles. This is still new with me, and I have a different set of sensations that I enjoy – the lighter the better, and if it’s good enough, I can orgasm from that alone. He’s always offered to give foot rubs and I just typically decline. He’s good at them though, strong in his hands but gentle, and feedback is important to him. It’s not just about what he wants to do but more about creating an enjoyable experience for both of us. I talk him around what I like and what pressure is good and he accepts and adapts immediately to any feedback he’s given. 

He moves slowly and methodically, repeating everything on my other foot too, for symmetry. He pauses for a moment when we’ve gotten to the part that would be the end, but I smile and tell him to keep going. Keep going to but scoot towards me, because my short legs are only so long, and I want to be comfortable while he plays. He kisses the bottoms of my feet so softly and slowly, and I see this peaceful expression of pleasure cross his face. I settle back so I can watch – I think I’ve mentioned that I’m a voyeur. He asks before he does anything and in his fashion I answer yes before he can finish. I know what he wants and I know where he’s going and I trust him enough that I can say yes to him over and over again. 

I get to watch his face as he presses kisses to the bottoms of my feet, the bottoms of my toes, the tops of my feet. I watch as his eyes close when he gently slips my toes into his mouth. I get to make eye contact with him as his tongue slips between my toes. I get to wiggle my toes against this plush beard that he’s kept for me. I slide the bottoms of my feet against his face slowly, and softly, getting that very light, orgasmic feeling coursing through my body while he continues to slip his tongue in where he can, as he kisses when he can. When we’re done, he rests his head against my feet again and I can feel his breath – I match it, like I always do when I’m creating an energetic bond.

Herein lies the true connection, the true energy exchange – with attention and intention, we can be precisely where we want to be. When I am aching to feel him, it is not about how to connect with him in ways that I “should” – dates or cuddling or touching in traditional ways – it is about figuring out what moves  us, in honoring the dynamic that we are building, so that we can thrive in pleasure that is meaningful to us both.

Beware Their Stories

When I start to get to know someone, I like to sit back and listen. If I know them in a public space, it’s much easier to listen to what they’re telling other people when they’re socializing. What do they like to do for fun, what was their last relationship like, what are they looking for in the scene? If all of this sounds good, then I will start engaging in conversation with this person myself. Typically it looks like a verbal conversation in public which is then often taken to private messages on FetLife where we can get to know one another a little bit better. What I’m looking for there is depth of answers and consistency.

Most people who know me will say I have an interrogation fetish. I like to ask questions and get in-depth responses to them. I like to ask questions and then circle back around to questions I’ve already asked because I’m looking for congruency. I want to ensure that the person I’m speaking to isn’t fabricating answers based off of what they think I want to hear but rather what is true for themselves.

The other thing I’m looking for is the types of words they use. I want to know how they describe themselves, how they describe their best friend, and how they describe their ex. I want to hear how they describe their best experience and their worst experience. I look and listen for words like ‘see’, ‘feel’, and ‘think’ so that I know what they value the most. In hearing how they talk about their ex, I’ll have a better idea of how they’ll talk about me when our relationship ends (because like a favorite comedian of mine jokes, every relationship ends). Do they speak respectfully of their ex even though the relationship ended or are they just another ‘crazy bitch’? Finally, are they able to see their own faults in the demise of the relationship or are they blameless in their eyes? Perspective helps frame things for me.

Once all of this information is gathered, I usually have a pretty good idea of whether or not I want to engage with a person. I can tell whether or not I’ll fit into their narrative and I can usually tell if I’m going to be the good guy or the bad guy. Every now and again I’m surprised but that’s okay because I always leave room to be surprised.

A lot of my relationship stories get whispered to a doll, usually very early in the morning. I greet her, tell her a tidbit or two, and her reaction lets me know if I’m on the right path or not. She’s just outside enough to be able to see things differently than me and just inside enough that if she thinks something is going wrong or poorly, she’ll let me know. Because while most dolls are inanimate, mine is not.

So when my stories starting changing away from just how charming he was into just how much I was dreading bringing up this subject, which I’ve brought up several times before, because who knows how he will respond, she asked me what caused me to feel that way? What was preventing me from makings corrections to the course? What was the path I felt I was still leading us down if I couldn’t tell the team we needed to make adjustments? She was subtle but insistent, my favorite combination of warning.

But this time, it wasn’t my story that changed the course of the relationship forever, it was his. It was a story that he told himself, that he ran past me, that he took off running with forever. It was similar to the story that I’d been hearing for months already – that he was all alone – that I had been trying to understand. Each story he told me, I heard about how noble the character was for being all alone, even though the character was never alone. There was always someone standing by him. Always someone checking in on him. Caring about him, maybe from the shadows, but almost always right in the light, visible for everyone to see. Each time I asked about this aloneness while there were others present, there was some kind of justification.

The last story that I heard from him was about how something he said was taken out of context. That what he said couldn’t have possibly been perceived the way that it was because that’s not how it was intended. It was said by someone who cares. That the words spoken were twisted up just to accuse him of something he wasn’t. That he couldn’t have possibly meant what they thought he meant because he was a nice guy. Others even agreed with him, what a nice guy he was.

The story continued from there. That not only was a nice guy who couldn’t have possibly said what this person heard, but now this person was going to take this lie and tell everyone about it. That this lie was going to spread so far and so deep that it was going to ruin him. No one would ever want to know him ever again because of this lie, this story that was being told about him that couldn’t possibly bear any resemblance to the truth because he was a nice guy who would never say such a thing.

From there, the story wove on in that not only would this person share this lie so that no one in the world would want to be his friend, but that they would tell me this lie as well, so that I would not want to be close to him any longer. That this lie would be so convincing that I certainly wouldn’t be able to see the truth, and our relationship would be altered forever.

This lie was so blasphemous that they should have just been quiet and listened better instead. They should have been more careful with the words he was speaking. They should have controlled themselves better and asked clarifying questions because surely he couldn’t have said anything in any way that could be misconstrued and so the miscommunication was certainly on their end. For sure, without a doubt. If they’d just remained calm and listened better. If they’d only known that he wasn’t like that. If they’d only realized that other people knew how good he was, then they’d never even question what he’d said.

There was no room for me to assure him that my mind could not be so easily swayed by just one version of the story. There was no room for me to ask if perhaps he had misunderstood anything on his end. There was no room for me to mention that this is what I had been afraid of happening – a miscommunication so monumental that there was no reasoning allowed, just feelings and shutdowns. This was the story he had insisted would never happen. That when I warned if someone couldn’t feel heard by him, they’d find someone who would  listen, and that someone might be an entire community of people. There was no room for me to share how I felt about the situation – but there never was. I was always just content to close the book, trying to keep space open enough to hold a new story, without being allowed to edit or give constructive criticism.

So when the new story unfolded – that the support or perspective I was trying to offer was unethical – I listened carefully. Where should we go from here? What should we do? What did I think? When we started out, this story was supposed to be co-authored. We would each write a piece and share it with one another. In the beginning we’d gone back and forth, taking turns, adding to the development of the characters and the plot. But now, he didn’t need help. He’d developed what he wanted to see and what I had to offer didn’t seem quite as important. Time and energy would only be wasted if I continued after that point of realization, so de-escalation was the only answer I could think of. It had been successful before, where communication was open and the relationship ebbed and flowed, and it felt nice. So that was the agreement.

I shared this story recently with someone who cares about me. I was examining what had gone so wrong that de-escalation meant cessation of communication entirely. This person, a new favorite poet of mine, shared with me: It wasn’t de-escalation; it was a complete evacuation. And in that moment I realized that he was sharing the only story he’d ever shared with me – that of being alone. If he was with someone and cared about, he couldn’t be noble or strong. It was only in the pits of loneliness that he could experience grief and grief was the connection that he longed for the most.

The Business of Breaking Up: Xenocide

The Philotic Web is a philosophical and metaphysical construct of the Ender’s Game series of books by Orson Scott Card. The philosophy of philotes and the philotic web they create first appeared in Xenocide, the third book of the series. It describes the interconnection of not only all the aiuas in the universe, but also the lesser-intelligent philotes. The “web” itself is used by Jane to access not only the combined knowledge of humanity, but also as a pseudo-storage device to house her memory and higher reasoning functions.

The web is the direct result of every philotic connection in the universe. These connections never touch each other in the truer sense of the word “web,” but every being can be linked to every other being by their interconnected philotes. These philotic connections are not static, and can be strengthened or weakened over time. For example, Si Wang-Mu and Peter Wiggin begin their journey together having only a small philotic connection. As they spend more time together and grow increasingly more affectionate and emotionally attached to each other, their connection grows stronger and stronger.

The philotic connections spoken of in the Enderverse can grow to monumental proportions based solely on emotional and “spiritual” connectedness. Grego is spoken of as having formed a very intense philotic web with the angry mob in Xenocide in a matter of minutes. Additionally, philotic connections can cause physical disturbance or emotional distress when severed.

It is also important to note that philotic connections exist between living and non-living things alike. -Wikipedia

 

For me, a M/s relationship will trump any other kind of relationship I may be engaged in. No matter how many people I’m dating, seeing, or playing with, there is only going to be one person that I am settling into a M/s relationship with and that one person will always have the majority of my focus. There may be times where I have to spend time with a boyfriend or a girlfriend or where we’ll go out on dates and on those dates they will have my full attention. There will be times where I am creating scenes to do with another person or if I’m actively involved in a scene with a person they will have my full attention. The rest of the time though, the drive to work, the idle moments when I’m waiting to do something, while waiting in line — those moments belong to the person that I am in a M/s relationship with.

Finding someone who can fit in that role is difficult. I never realized just how difficult it was to find someone who would be compatible enough with me to serve in that role until this year. Before this year, I suppose I lucked out. Or perhaps I just didn’t know enough about myself or what I wanted to set down a good enough description to call them into my life. Either way, it’s been a blessing and a curse. I understand myself better now, I know what turns me on more, I know what I need from relationships, and I can’t find just anyone to dance this dance with any longer.

The beginning of forging this connection comes before I even meet them. It is almost ritualistic in the way that it works. Once I’ve processed the last of what I needed to, digested the experiences that I’ve had, learned from my mistakes, that’s when I’ll usually put into the universe what it is that I’m seeking next. When my mind is open and free of the past, when I’m ready to learn more, my request is answered. Sometimes the answer is more obvious than other times but it is always answered in some fashion. The recognition will come when we meet, when I can feel their energy surrounding them, when they can take me by surprise. There are times when I can tell from the first time I look at them and there are times where I don’t know until we touch or kiss. Once that connection is made evident though, that’s when the process becomes a participatory event for me.

From my past I’ve learned to take things slower, read cues better. I used to ask a lot of questions but I don’t do that so much these days. I let the information trickle in on its own. I used to be pretty fantastic at stalking online to get the information that I wanted and even now I’ve left that well enough alone. What happens is a lot of thought. When a person does something to catch my attention, I find my attention turning to them more and more often. In an average day, I think about a lot of things. I’ll think about each person that I’m dating, scening with. I’ll think about each book I’m reading, each new subject that has been presented. I’ll think about work, about play, about what needs to be done at home. I’ll think about taking care of my pets, of what to have for dinner, of what to write next. But when I’ve found someone who’s piqued my interest, someone that I might consider moving into a M/s relationship with, most of those thoughts are silenced in favor of trying to create a life around them, how to include them, how to train them, how to spend time with them, how to create rituals that would make things important to us, and what protocols I would like to include to make everything more sacred.

I slip on that step quite often. I’ll start thinking of people like that sooner than need be. I explore sometimes, just to see if it’d be a good fit. Usually I can tell right away if they’re going to be able to fulfill what I desire most from them but not always. I try to keep things open. These days I try not to think of anyone in that way. I think of them only as they present themselves to me. It is a defense mechanism more than anything but it’s one that has worked out for me and that I intend to pursue further.

Once some kind of power exchange relationship is established, whether formal or informal, once the thoughts have been created and then exchanged and verified, once we engage in some kind of physical relationship, that’s when the real connection is made. Once we get through the almighty touch barrier, that’s when I really work on strengthening our relationship. I have always used touch as a way to connect myself to another. This is part of why I’m so selective about who I touch, who I hug, and who is allowed to touch me in return. That is why some people are allowed to touch me on some parts of my body that others will never be allowed to touch my. My face is a prime example of this.

Every time I’m with someone who I like, that I care about, I’m attempting to strengthen our relationship. I touch them on the back, primarily. The head. These are safe places, especially if the relationship is geared towards being nonsexual. If it is supposed to be a sexual or intimate relationship, then I prefer to touch their hands. Any skin-to-skin connection is good for me. I love to touch faces if I’m intimate with a person but otherwise I would rather not touch them in the face at all. Once I feel we have a strong connection, a good physical bond, then I’m more willing to allow them to touch me in return. This too is something that I’ve been exploring. I’ve found that while I enjoy physical affection, I still prefer to be more selective about it, still as guarded as I once was.

To me, one of the most important parts of being with someone is knowing their body inside out. I want to know what spots makes a person shiver in, which ones garner no response at all, which spots they hate being touched in, and which spots can turn them on. I want to know what feelings arise when I touch them in every spot. I want to know what faces they make, what effect my touch has on them. I want to know every inch of their skin. I want to know what every mark has come from. I like to know about the little scars, the discolorations of their skin, anything that is out of the ordinary. I had never been with anyone that had ever really had scars until recently and at first I was afraid that I would dislike them, treat them differently. I treated them differently — I enjoyed touching them more than any other part of his body. They seemed neglected, I was drawn to them, and I wanted to help forge a relationship through them. I don’t want to touch and love just the beautiful parts of someone or someone’s body, I want all of them.

All of this time touching and thinking helps to elevate the relationship for me. I want to train them, learn about them. My efforts, my energy, are spent primarily on them. I start thinking about our life together, goals we could achieve together. I consider whether we want the same kinds of things. This is when I start putting ritual and protocol into our relationship. If it has no meaning to them, we’re going to have difficulties. If they do have meaning, only if it’s because it has such meaning to me, then I think we’ll get along all right. I would like to someday meet someone who is effected by my protocol or my ritual enough that when they cease, they actually miss it. Or miss me. Or miss what it was supposed to have meant to both of us.

This is also the time where I start researching again. I start looking through the resources that I have in order to help grow and sustain the relationship that we are developing. Once we’ve been isolated enough that I can teach this person the way I want to do things, that’s when I want to start branching out. That’s when I want them to develop their own support system outside of the friends they brought to the relationship with them. This is the point at which I want them speaking to and learning from other submissives. At this point, I’m hoping they’re secure enough in who they are, in who we are, in who I am, that they can feel as though they can bounce ideas off of me as well — perhaps even suggest their own rituals or protocols that would have some kind of meaning to them. This is when I want them to hear about how other M/s relationships work, how they interact with other Masters and slaves, how there is a network of people like us and how we can relate to them. I’ve never made it to this point before but I’m hoping that sometime in the future I will.

As the final step, I hope that we can stand united together well enough that we can teach others. That we can tell our story of how we met and how we chose to walk a path together and explain how we got to where we are now. I hope that we can influence others in a positive way, I hope that we can always learn new and better ways to maintain our relationship, and I hope that we can befriend others that are like us, who can encourage us to remain on our path no matter how difficult it may become in the future. I feel that anything worth having is worth fighting for.

On a more personal side of things, I spend a lot of time working on myself in the meanwhile. I look for what I might need to know or do specifically for the relationship. I want to make sure that if my slave has a need, I will meet it, or will find a way to have it met. I spend a lot of time working on my energy, ensuring that I am always projecting correctly. I want to make sure that I meet my slave with love and tenderness and understanding and patience. I do my best to never react but to instead provide a safe environment in which we can discuss their thoughts and feelings and sometimes that can suck me dry. There are always ways to have the energy restored, but it cannot always happen immediately. I do my best to keep myself open to them in a way that I would not normally keep myself open. I ensure that I always know where we are going, are always striving for something, are always doing something together. I try to keep things together. I try to be solid. I try to walk this fine line of being the boulder and the intimate person that they need in order to surrender. I have to stay two, three steps ahead of them. I have to anticipate their reactions and prepare for that. I need to always be thinking. I need to always be feeling. I can’t take a break from those things, even if I want to. The hardest part for me is sharing myself with them in return. Sometimes remaining open to affection is the most difficult thing I will ever do.

So when a break-up occurs, when a relationship ends, I suddenly have to take all of this time and energy, all of this thought and touch, and I have to find a way to dispense of it. I’ve spent the time together elevating the relationship above all others that I have, striving for a connection stronger and in some ways more fragile than any other I’ve had before, and now I have to find a way to destroy it before it can destroy me. For all the time and energy I’ve put into this person I can feel them. I can feel their heart and their soul. I can feel their breath and their beat. I can feel their fears and their hopes. I can feel their wishes, well and ill. I have less time to close it all down in. I wish that the connection were like an icicle or some feeble cable that could be smashed or slit and I would be free but the act of disengaging is almost as complicated as the act of engaging.

Day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute I have to actively remind myself to not think of them, to not invest the time, to stop spending the energy. All the practice that I’ve done to tune into that person, to feel them while we’re apart, I have to reverse it and attempt to block them. I have to put up shields where previously I was working so hard to tear down walls. I have to close myself off when for so long I was trying to hold myself open. While doing all of this, I have to be sure I don’t lose myself. I have to make sure that I don’t take it so far that I stop feeling. I have to make sure that I don’t build the walls so high no one else can come through. I have too much of a conscious to completely close a person out so there’s always a door, a window, a gap — something they could wriggle through if need be. That one last act of sensibility before I allow myself to collapse.

I have to stop thinking of them when I see other people together. I have to disengage from using them in my fantasies. I can no longer devote my orgasms to them, because that’s one of the quickest, strongest ways I create a physical intimacy with a person, especially if we can’t always be together. I have to stop thinking of them when their song comes on the radio. I have to remind myself that there are other people who could use my attention. I put away the notebooks with the lessons in them, with the reminders. I have to clean out my calendar, which is something new I’ve learned. There’s nothing quite as devastating as being reminded that someone important in your slave’s life is celebrating something wonderful the day after the relationship ends. The hardest part of all is that I have to stop thinking of them as mine.

I no longer have any stake to them. They are no longer mine. The body that I came to love, it is no longer mine. The ideas that I used to adore hearing, they are not mine to hear. The goals they wanted to achieve with me are no longer ours to share. The days of the year we celebrated together are again just days of the year. They are no longer a lover. Hardly a friend. But worst of all, they are no longer my slave. I am no longer an Owner. I have to be careful to not tie my identity to them too tightly — I have to still be able to stand as what I identified as before them after them.

I will never be able to take back the time and the energy or the resources spent on them but I wouldn’t want to anyhow. I would never want anything returned to me, even if it could be. If I loved them, they have a piece of my heart always. They may not protect it, they may never care about having it, but it could never be returned, even if I longed for my heart to be whole again. I gave it freely, for them to do with it what they would, and that promise remains even after the relationship ends.

After some time, the connection starts to fade. One song on the radio at a time. One event at a time. One day at a time. Weeks later, I stop anticipating the sound of our morning text. Weeks after that, I no longer have to stop myself from asking them about their day, or what they thought of the weather last night, or whether or not they had a good time on the vacation I knew they were taking. I have to stop watching. I have to stop thinking. I have to allow the connection to sink back down, to linger on the same plane as every other relationship I could potentially have. There will always be that one thing that sets it apart from all the people I’ve never met. There will always be the remembrance of what we once had. If I pass them in a crowd, it won’t be a matter of thinking that person looks nice or I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere before — the connection will always remain strong enough that if I see them in a crowd I will remember what they smell like, I will remember a laugh we shared, I will remember some silly stupid thing we did like kissing in a tunnel of soda while doing grocery shopping. There will always be that jab, that feeling, when I see them, but over time, when the connection has faded enough, it will eventually feel more like a static shock rather than a lightning bolt through my heart.

Good

I want there to be good in the world. So much that I’m certain I see good when there is none. I see good where no one else can. I see good amidst so many other negative things that it’s already lost its shine.

A month ago I had to text the Rook and ask him why someone would lie to me. I’ve never been in relationships before where someone felt the need to lie to me. He explained to me that the experiences that I’ve had aren’t entirely realistic. It’s not bad that I haven’t had that experience before, but it’s likely that it will happen again in the future. Maybe not from the same person but from someone else.

I had to wonder why someone would think that they could guilt trip me into caring for someone. I want to only see the good in him, someone so lost and lonely, clinging to the remnants of what he’s known of love. He sees the good in her and wants us to see the good in her as well, though it’s obvious there’s very little of that in this particular person. But I forgave him and moved on, silently.

I want for people to be honest and forthcoming and upfront and transparent. I want for people to have good intentions. I want for people to care about other people more than they care about themselves.

My delusions that all people are like this lead me astray sometimes. I want to think that because I see good in this or that, everyone else does as well. I don’t want to have to go through life skeptical or cynical. I don’t want to have to know better. Over the years, more and more of that has seeped into me. I relished in it for a while and didn’t much care for who I was or how it made me feel and so I pushed it back. More and more, I find that I need to bring it back.

I wanted to believe, with all my heart, that standing up for someone that I care about is enough to set things right. Turns out it doesn’t matter. It’s not a drop in a bucket. Turns out, I can really only hold people close to me and make sure that when they’re with me, when they come to me, they know that they have a safe place to be. But in order for it to be a safe place, I have to keep a lot of the rest of the world out, because a lot of the rest of the world isn’t like me. Or mine.

I wanted so badly to believe that I could find a community in which to learn and grow. I wanted to find people that could teach me. I wanted to be able to leave it up to the masses. Everyone would have our best intentions at heart, right? Unfortunately that’s just not how it goes. That’s just not how life works. I’ve spent the past 10 years of my life working things out for myself, slowly but surely. I’ve found my own way, created my own path, and picked up a few people who helped me out at various times. So when did I lose faith in myself? When did I start to think that maybe a group of people would know better for me than me? Why did I think that’s how it could work?

The only good answer I can come up with is just that I wanted to belong somewhere. But the more I tried to fit in somewhere, the more apparent it became that I am not going to fit in anywhere. From my kinks to my lifestyle, from my gender to my orientation, there is no appropriate label for me. There is no definition that can sum me up. I remember teetering on the verge of anger and sorrow while riding in the car with the Rook and Junk, wishing desperately that I could sum myself up in a few words, to either be gay or straight, to either be male or female, to be just this or that. Unfortunately I don’t get that luxury is what I told them. My words must have had some bite to them, because I remember the silence that hung above us all for a second before the Rook tossed out a joke that was meant to ease the tension.

I wanted to just be a Master or a Top or a Dom or an Owner and have everyone understand what that meant. Feel like someone got me, just for a minute. That connection; that understanding. But I’ve realized I’m not going to have that. Not in a group. Not in a community. I will have it, moment from moment, person from person.

That moment when I asked the Rook if he could masturbate in front of someone and cum and he asked what the point was. I told him to sit on her chest, jerk off over her face, and for him to complete the thought, “And tell her she isn’t worth me using any of her holes” made me feel that for a moment, for that second, he could glimpse into my brain and actually understand the mental Sadist within me.

That moment when she knelt in front of me and offered me a drink through the protocol that I taught her but then finally looked me in the eye and called me ‘Miss’, I felt like she finally understood the connection that that was supposed to bring to us.

That moment when he took my hand, opened us up, and poured his energy straight through my body. Where he walked straight into the front door of my heart and made himself at home before I could even remember how to throw my shields up, so surprised that anyone could have gotten through what I’d previously put up. I felt like someone might actually understand me.

Moments from strangers when they speak to my heart. Moments from loved ones where they read my mind without me even knowing what I was thinking. Small gestures, small connections. That’s what it’s really all about. I’ll never get that from a community. I’ll never get that from a group of people. I’ll never be able to take an entire lecture and apply it straight out of the box. I’ll always have to sift through and find what’s applicable to me, what makes sense to me, what feels right to me, what turns me on individually. I don’t know how I lost sight of that for the time that I did, but I’m sorry that I did, and I’m sorry it took what it did to bring me back.