Disclaimer: This post mentions topics involving consensual sexual violence. Not suitable for individuals under eighteen years of age. Reader discretion is advised.
In all of my posts, my aim has always been to be honest, to be real and to be genuine about my life in a 24/7 BDSM relationship. There are good days, there are bad days, there are fun days and there are just okay days. Just like any other couple, we have special moments and we have arguments and fall-outs, too. The aim of this post is two-fold. First, naturally, to show the real side of these dynamics in the hope that you will never be under any false pretences as to how they should be, how they can be, and how perfection simply doesn’t exist in the real world. Secondly, this is about accountability rather than naming and shaming, and even if Matt hurt me, this is about holding him accountable for his actions as I am accountable for mine. I know the risks of sharing this and he, I hope, understands my reasons why. This is not to hurt him, to shame him or in any way portray him as the worst Dominant to roam the earth. This is to show that he, too, is imperfect, he too is only human and he too makes mistakes sometimes, just as anyone else does. If you make a mistake, have faith and take heart: You too are only human.
“What do you want to do about tonight, love?” I asked, I leaned against the door frame as I considered him. Tonight, Kinky Fuckery Friday. Do I light the candles, or don’t I?
“Tonight?” he asked, almost startled by my question, “I didn’t know there was a ‘tonight? I thought that… because we did a thing, I thought there wasn’t a tonight? I thought tonight was just football and stuff?”
I sunk into myself, kicked by this realisation. No tonight. Now what?
Admittedly, ‘the thing’ had been good, ‘the thing’ had been fun, and I had no qualms about doing ‘the thing’ at 2AM.
“Shh! You’ll wake up the neighbours” he’d told me, I didn’t comply.
There was something about that, something about that moment, that giving myself to him. I was his in the moment, completely and utterly his, his to do with as he wishes. For his part, he loved that, he loved that I gave myself over for him. I wanted to worship him like no one before me had, I wanted to serve him and to do things with him that nobody would know, at 2AM and while the world slept. By daybreak, I’d be back in control once more.
So perhaps, this is why it stung so much now that he didn’t want me. Now that he had no use for me, I felt used.
In a bad way, I told myelf, and that’s not okay.
Once he left me to go and watch the EUFA England-Scotland game, I curled up under the duvet and promised myself I’d stay there until I felt ready. I didn’t care how long it took, I wasn’t ready, and that’s okay.
When I’m mad, I’m known for being a bit of an ice queen. I don’t sulk, I simply withdraw until I’m good and ready. My answers are usually short and curt and it’s as though somebody cut the puppet’s strings. The once-energetic me fails to exist and I fall into a cycle of can’t-be-arsedness. The things that needed to be done, don’t get done. Instead, they can get done tomorrow.
I do hold my parents responsible for this because my reaction to stress is exactly the way my parents used to behave. Rather than resorting to an argument, the likes of which usually get the police called, my parents’ approach was always to disengage, withdraw and in some cases, to walk out of the family home. As a child, it can be quite traumatic to be left to fend for yourself for a few hours for something that wasn’t your fault.
As a youngster, children’s emotions were not treated the same way as adult emotions. As a child, if we were upset, we were not allowed time to ourselves to think. Children’s emotions, or “bullshit” as they were more frequently known by my mother, were subpar to adult emotions. Even if they were real and valid, sometimes, it seemed as though we simply weren’t allowed them unless they were approved of first. Because of that, I believe, I stopped sharing them.
This, I believe, is why I struggle today. Are my feelings still bullshit? What if they are? Might they be? To some degree, I had to find that out for myself, through counselling, talking and therapy: Nope, my feelings are perfectly valid, just as valid as everyone else’s. I have a voice, and I’m allowed to use it.
Having studied psychology in great detail, I believe now that my parents were in an emotionally abusive relationship, though perhaps by accident rather than design. My parents loved one another dearly and I don’t doubt that, but they had very unhealthy ways of resolving conflict and didn’t see that their marriage needed help. Instead of withdrawing for a period of time, my mother would storm off to the park or my Dad would go out for a drive. Stay in the home, if you can. That’s what councillors advise, and it’s what my parents didn’t do.
Even if Matt and I try hard to maintain and improve our communication, that has come more from wanting to be what our parents were not, rather than seeing our parents as rolemodels themselves. By comparison, my grandparents had a relationship full of laughter, companionship and love from start to finish, and when they had their spats, they resolved it by simply snubbing one another for a short period of time. There was no walking out, no slamming doors, absolutely zero confrontation or hostility. I supposed that that was a sort of war mentality, people were used to being in close proximity in bunkers for hours, days or even weeks at a time. Walking out wasn’t an option, people had to find ways to get along.
“What are we doing about tea, love?” Matt asked, sliding onto the bed beside me.
“It’s too late for me to eat now” I replied, “sort yourself, if you like. I’m not that hungry.”
“You need to eat something” he insisted.
“I did, eight hours ago” I smirked.
“Before sleep, Mrs S” he chastised, I smiled weakly and sighed.
“What is it?”
I led on the bed and stared deeply into the pillow. Alright, it’s now or never.
“I just feel a bit… forgotten” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“Forgotten? How so?” he asked.
“With tonight,” I replied, hauling myself up onto my elbow, “you were talking about answering your Bat-Signal and stuff, and about service this evening and all, and I just thought that…”
“I’m sorry” he said, “I didn’t realise that you meant… I thought that after we did the thing last night, tonight was sort of off. What with the game and us doing away with Fridays and all.”
“Communication, Mr S” I teased, “I’d have thought that a respectable Dominant such as yourself would know about the importance of clear communication, or do I have to get some sticks and spell it out for you, semiphore-style?”
“Go on then” he shot back, challenging me.
“Don’t try me, otherwise I’ll invest, and I’ll find somewhere to store my light sticks” I threatened, “somewhere on your person, deep”. He winced.
“I don’t think I’d like that too much.”
“No, me either” I replied. “I don’t like things stuck up my butt either but that ain’t stopping you! Maybe I should pull em out real fast as well, see if you rev up, too?”. Matt roared with laughter. I hadn’t let him forget about that incident.
“Come here,” he said, pulling me to him so that I lay in his arms, “I’m sorry about tonight.”
“It’s fine, but it’s not all about sex, either. Bad, Mister Matthew. Naughty” I teased.
“It’s mental too, I know” he replied.
“It is” I agreed, rotating my shoulder to flex out the tension. Yes, it’s mental. My shoulders know it’s mental, but what are we doing about that now? Hey, ho.
“I just felt a bit cheated. I’ve been following all of your rules, about looking after my hair, not eating biscuits for breakfast and not saying the two words that I’m not allowed to use. Now it just feels like you’re a controlling, narcissistic arsehole who won’t let me have any fun”. He stared at me for a moment, mouth agape. Okay, even I agree, that one was from the hip.
“Mrs S,” Matt chided, “low blow.”
“Okay, so aside from tonight, how else have I been giving you mixed signals?”
“Well, I mentioned about after the football earlier but it seemed as though you were keen, that’s why I thought… ” I said, somewhat hesitantly.
“I didn’t think the service thing was going ahead because James isn’t coming over?”
“You’re still my Dominant” I pointed out, “or you’re supposed to be, anyway”. I shot him a wink. He glared at me.
“Okay, service. Like how?” Matt asked, I sighed. Educating people can be challenging enough. Recommending books is one thing, but what when they refuse to read?
“Fetching drinks, kneeling on the floor, all that kind of stuff. I’ve given you plenty of reading material over the years” I said pointedly. “You’re great in a session, you’re just a bit hopeless outside of it.”
“Yes, thank you, dear” he said coolly.
“No problem, happy to help” I teased, waving away his sarcastic gratitude.
“Fetching drinks… if I told you to fetch me a drink, if I know you, you’d either tell me that I know where the fridge is, or tell me where to stick said drink” Matt noted. I nodded, he’s not wrong.
“But as my Dominant, it’s up to you to deal with that kind of backchat, if it’s dealt. I mean unless of course this is all just for show and I have free reign after all?”. Did he really expect much sense from me?
“This is true, and no, because you’ll wreak pure havoc if nobody is there to rein you in”. Again, he’s not wrong.
“Kneeling on the floor… that’s not really us.”
“No? You’re the mean person who likes to make me kneel at the start of a session. Why stop there?”
“True also. Well, it’s something to consider, I suppose.”
What did I just do?