Valentine’s day 29-Sara

Pel has tripped headlong into wild abandon. The burn as my arms are wrenched almost to the breaking point. The smooth feel of the soft cool wood against my face. The feel of him filling me up. Taking everything that’s his. That I give him freely.

It ends too soon. My body twitches and yearns for one more minute, one more hour of time with him. But we can’t leave Tara alone for too long. When I found Tara, she seemed really decisive and put together. It turns out, that was a well entrenched facade that has crumbled away.

I love her to pieces but I don’t like what her presence is doing to my marriage. We have to be laser focused on her needs most of the time. We chose not to have kids. We don’t even have pets because our lives are normally so busy that we’d hardly see them. But here we are trying to help a emotionally and physically abused young lady.

We need to sit down and have a talk about our goals moving forward. I’m not happy with getting the short end of the stick all the time and I don’t think Tara is getting the help she needs. We’ll talk after tonight.

This is all dancing through my head while my hands gently take care of Pels cuts and abrasions. He’s pushed his body to the limits trying to take care of our physical needs. I can see the Exhaustion in him. I know that he wants nothing more than to call quits and curl up with us both and read a book or watch TV. But he keeps pushing, trying to show no weakness. And I know that’s because of Tara. He’s called halt before with me and we’ve rested.

I’m going to need to call it, I think. He can’t lose face. Which again proves he’s not in the headspace to commit to Tara. If he was he could let his guard down and be less than perfect.

Tara. That poor girl. Pel left the dossier out in plane sight behind the wall painting and in his work safe. Her previous master, and I use the term loosely, beat her, broke her. He would hurt her for compliance, for failure, because it was Tuesday. He’d force her to watch from her cage while he hurt other women. Then beat her for each time she looked away. The only reason she got away is because he broke her completely and, in his words, she wasn’t any fun anymore.

It’s good that Pel murdered him. I’m happy he did. Fuck, it’s too bad you can’t kill someone twice. But that leaves us with sweet Tara. She really is smart and kind. But everything makes her flinch. Makes her spiral. I didn’t know what I was getting us into.
She was my choice. Pel wanted one of the older office managers. He said she reminded him of one of his grade school teachers. One he’d always wanted to do naughty things with. A precocious scamp was young Pel.

Still, he should have shared Tara’s background check before we made the invitation to live with us. That was my fault for letting him get away with that. Plus he sprung it on me in the afterglow of about 50 orgasms, my head wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. I could have said no later but it seemed like we’d be able to do this.

I glance over to the doorway. Pel has gone stark still. I can’t even see his chest rising with breathe. Then he’s gone. I can hear his heavy footfalls as he runs across the living room. I move to the doorway and see him cradling Tara and singing to her.

Fuck! Something we did or she saw triggered her. I glance at the clock and see that she’s been alone for a little over thirty minutes. Fuck, fuck, fuck! We’ve not left her alone for more than 15 minutes in the last six months and at the beginning not more than 5.

I pad over to where Pel has our Tara cradled in his arms, singing some nonsense verse that I know he invented on the spot. I press myself against Tara, the feel of flesh against flesh. Warmth spreading between us. Her soft cries breaking my heart.

13 day spiral

My head is a wasps nest
breaking apart and flying out terror
little reminders of times gone by
there are obvious things I’d say/have said/will say
but the other truths are the hardest
the ones that say I’ve failed her by not being the man who could be loved again
by not being the man she knew
I can’t get back to that person
he died with her
but now I can’t get to someone who can hold a lover
because I just don’t fit
not right
not now
a dull chant
No one wants to hear

State of the Union

In my bright eyed youth, I was a less than good person. I did things. Profitable morally questionable things. But I’ve never been one for morals. Ethics and honor, sure, but common morality never held my interest.

But even that ended and when my interest in the lifestyle if not the money began to wane, Morgan found me drinking a rum and coke at a club. She took me back to her place and we fucked. It wasn’t making love or anything controlled. It was pure animal need. But for some reason I felt drawn to her. So it wasn’t just sex, it was something else.

But I didn’t think that at the time. I kept going back to her and I always told myself it was just sex. Until it became evident it wasn’t. You can only spend so many nights holding each other and talking before you are forced to acknowledge that you just want to be with them. Morgan had an interest in Dominance and Submission, and in pain. In BDSM parlance she was a pain slut. It is not an insult. She gloried in it.

I became her top and over the course of a year or so, her Sir. It had gotten to the point where I could see spending my life with her. Until that September morning that took her from me. You can read about that elsewhere.

So I had become a Dominant. And in controlling others in that context had found a measure of peace. But with Morgan’s death came a bleak sadness that would persist for years. The anger and sadness made me a dangerous top and I came right to the edge of control a few times. In those years, I hooked up with an old friend from my life pre-Morgan.

Eric began pulling me out of the darkness. And through his love, I found the strength to keep going. I also found that being a top was not all that I was. With Eric, I felt safe. I didn’t want to be in control all the time and with him I learned Submission. We were happy for a time but he was unwilling to stay in one place and wanted a 24/7 Sub. Which I am not. I finally asked if he would stay with me. He wasn’t and we parted.

So I wasn’t a full time Dominant and I wasn’t a full time Submissive, so what was I? Was it just play to me? No, I enjoy the psychological aspects too much for it to be just play. So after some research and searching my heart, I find myself a Switch. And that fits comfortably. But I also found that play relationships and even long-term sub or dom relationships were not wholly what I wanted.

So what did I want. What was missing? That’s right. The thing I denied with Morgan, and that which I wanted but never fully realized with Eric. Love. And all that entails. So began my search and I thought I found it several times and each time I was wrong. Then all unaware, writing my poetry and stories, a heart was reading and opening. Scattered comments and likes and this person was always on my mind. I am and was disappointed when they wouldn’t comment but would like what I wrote. I always want to know why, why something is liked.

And when she would comment it was like a sunburst. And I knew, I was falling in love. I started really paying attention and at the last confessed the state of my emotions and very much to my surprise found my affection returned. So after years of searching, she found me. Like lightning from a clear blue sky. I don’t know what the future holds, can’t know it.

But Goddess of my heart, I love you. It has been a long journey and now that we’ve found each other I am profoundly grateful to whatever gods or spirits intervened, if any did. Or just the spinning chance of the cosmic wheel. In any case, my Cha’trez, you have me. All that I was, all that I am, until the stars burn out in the sky. Until the universe collapses, and even then my love for you will exist.

The past and the long road out of it

I used to wallow in sadness. The least pretense to be unhappy and I took it. I know now that that was an emotional and physiological response to the overwhelming guilt. Overwhelming guilt I felt because I had a fight with Morgan the night that she died. Not because of the fight but because without it, I would have been with her and it is unlikely she would have died. But, and this is crucial, she was with a seemingly accomplished top. References and all. I imagine it played something like this, he started light. She wanted/demanded a heavier hand. He complied. She lost herself to the float. He didn’t properly gauge the damage. She passed out and was breathing shallow. He panicked. He fled.

I got worried when she didn’t come home. I went to the house they were supposed to be at. Found the door ajar. Found Morgan still bound to the pillory. I untied her. Checked her breathing, checked her pulse. Shallow and thready respectively. I called a private ambulance service. I cleaned the blood from the whipping away and saw that he had hit the kidney area several times. This likely caused shock to set in. I held her while we waited. She stopped breathing. I resuscitated her. She started breathing. The doctor and paramedics came in. Remember, this was a private ambulance service. They checked her and got her in the ambulance. On the way, she stopped breathing. Her heart stopped. They tried everything. CPR, paddles, they tried for ten minutes or so. She died on the way. She never woke up. She was the first great love of my life and she died inches from me. And I, her lover, her Sir, was powerless to do anything.

I took the blame. I took it all. Her family never liked me, they blamed me. They never told me when the funeral was. I don’t even know where or if she was buried. I’ve done cemetery searches but haven’t found her. I wouldn’t put anything past them. She was estranged from them with good reason. With the blame came the guilt. For ten years, I never looked back over the events of that night. I just took it as given that had we not fought, she would have been alive. So it was all on me.

But that’s not the truth. I played a part. Yes, she should not have been alone. But, she was an accomplished, experienced masochistic submissive. She knew her limits. He was supposedly a accomplished, experienced top. Turns out later that people that vouched for him didn’t really know him that well.

It was a accumulation of circumstances and events. Had he called the ambulance instead of running. Once I was on scene, I did everything possible. Do I desire it otherwise? Yes. I would give nearly anything to undo that night, but did I cause it, was I responsible for it all? No. I was not.

After ten plus years, I was finally able to unpack the sequence of events.(80 percent recall where touch is a factor and the ability to compartmentalize to a severe degree). Once I had done that it was clear, I share some of the blame. But I didn’t cause the damage; I didn’t ignore the signs and I didn’t abandon her. Once I accepted that, the guilt disappated.

So, my experience is that sadness goes on and on. But it doesn’t now. Without that guilt feeding me self doubt and loathing, the sadness trickles away. It’s the oddest thing to not feel depression when I become sad. It’s like trying to dance to music half remembered from the distant past. I’m not even sure I ever knew the steps. But I like dancing, though I look like I’m crazy probably. So, I’ll dance, I’ll write, I’ll sing, I’ll love. And we’ll see.

The journey

After Sara was taken, I became a nearly bottomless well of anger and sadness. I tried to fill that hole with sex and control. When that didn’t work, I tried to fill it with anger and blood. That alleviated the constant ache. But did nothing to heal me.

Eric changed all that. He picked me up, healed my wounds. Taught me to love again. But sometimes relationships don’t work out, he left and eventually found M. Eric died in early November. I know M still grieves, still rages, still weeps. I miss Eric, but he was not my ‘the one’.

The ‘one’. Not really a concept I believe in. What I do believe is that there are people whose magnetic polarization is the opposite of yours and when you find them, there is a instant connection. Why do I mention this? I found someone who flipped me, someone who felt right.

But after several months, It’s been brought to my attention that what I thought was true, may not be. More, likely isn’t. Effectively they called yellow. And while that could mean that it may work out, somehow I’m not thinking it will.

But I’m hopeful. Because, I have loved. I have been loved. I know who I am. They are worthy of love. So while it hurts, until they call it, I will be there. I’ve known pain. I know I can survive this. It’s difficult, but any chance at love is worth the price.

I hope to always feel that way.

Sunday night dream

I dreamed I was a warrior. A spec ops type. Retired and taking care of security for a vast mansion filled with antiquities. The mansion was inherited. It was mine. I was cataloging it’s contents and came across a piece that a old friend, a lover, would like to see.

It gave credence to a piece of her family’s history. It was about a man who once led a group of villages, a fighting force of ten thousand, unprecedented in the time during the rise of Carthage. He was returning from a battle to the east when he learned that Carthage had sent the majority of its forces to his home village. If they raced they may reach home and save it. But there are other cities/villages he is responsible for.

If they move now, they could occupy Carthage, then turn their sights home and remove a threat forever while expanding their might and becoming a full fledged nation state. This man chose to save the village gaining him the eternal love of his people and losing the war. In the aftermath, they save the village but between them and their aggressors is a series of ambushes and pickets.

Had they chosen to hit Carthage, they would have done so from a area not well defended because they were already out of pocket. It was designed to remove him and the force he could muster. And once Carthage had fallen they would have been able to roll up the ambushes from a direction they weren’t expecting. A defeat in detail.

Instead of that he lost three quarters of his men after saving his town. And by the time he stood outside Carthage, years later he no longer had enough men to take the city. Because Carthage won, they tell the tale of a petty king and tyrant who forced this conflict. But these artifacts and papers prove that he was a good man and simultaneously remembered as the worst general of his age and the best. He held that force together for years, and though they were ill from dysentery and flux they still followed him.

A single choice and the history of the world would have been very different. This man is supposed to be her ancestor. Her family has done well down the years and she inherited the title of Duchess. She is French. In this world the French Revolution was peaceful guided by her family.

I want to rekindle the affair, I still love her. We sit in an atrium filled with light from skylights and the sound of birds outside. We are drinking a light wine and lounging on soft leather couches across from each other. We are making small talk and it comes up that she is married. I ask was she married two years ago when we were having the affair. She says no, the marriage was recent and already she grows bored with it. The person doesn’t share her passion for history, for music, opera, and life. But it was a appropriate suitor as defined by her family.

I sense that she will divorce him. What she just described are my passions. I won’t interfere in the marriage, but I will be here for her when she chooses to make the same choice of her ancestor. Love over logic. I will research her husband and render any move he can make against her a shiny tempting poisoned apple.

I bid her farewell with the scans of the pieces and copies and translation. Kiss her on the cheek and tell her, she still has my heart, and she should come to me when she has cleaned out her house. Dream ends watching her drive away.